look as she searched her brain for a good excuse.
‘I do take offence at having Miss Ravel’s attire discussed in such intimate terms, Putney,’ Lord Bingfield said, stepping between her and Sir Vincent. His stance looked more like a pugilist preparing to enter the ring than a man at a ball.
Sophie released a breath. Despite her earlier fear, Lord Bingfield had kept his promise. He was protecting her.
‘Why?’ Sir Vincent stuck out his chest. ‘I merely state what everyone will be thinking when they spot Miss Ravel.’
Lord Bingfield cleared his throat. ‘Miss Ravel is doing me the honour of considering my proposal and, until she has time, discretion is the best option. You did not see anything untoward and I would refrain from mentioning something you might live to regret.’
Lord Bingfield’s words circled through her brain. A proposal! What sort of proposal did Lord Bingfield have in mind? Sophie’s reticule slipped from her grasp and she made a last-second lunge to rescue it before it tumbled to the ground. At the same instant, Lord Bingfield reached down and caught it. Their fingers touched and a faint tremor went through her. He gave a slight nod and she remembered his earlier words—whatever happens, follow my lead.
She stood up and clutched the reticule to her chest. She had little choice. It was either go along with Lord Bingfield’s scheme or face certain ruin at Sir Vincent’s hands. She had to go against her hard-learnt habit and trust an acknowledged rake. All she had to do was ensure she refrained from making any rash promises to him. Easy if she maintained her poise and dignity.
‘A proposal? Do tell, Nephew.’ His formidable aunt rapped her fan against her hand. ‘I am all ears.’
‘It was the sort of proposal that I have longed to hear ever since I first encountered your nephew,’ Sophie said in a loud voice. ‘You do not know how happy it made me to hear his words. Perhaps it was a little rushed, but the location was so romantic. My heart simply soared.’
She glanced over at Lord Bingfield and saw that his eyes were dancing. They were as one on this plan. Her heart thudded.
‘Are you going to give him your answer?’
‘I think such a proposal merits careful consideration. Often a young woman has been led into folly by making too hasty a judgement one way or the other,’ Sophie retorted. A sense of thrilling excitement swept through her. For the first time in a long time, she felt as though she was living rather than merely existing, trying to be good and attempting to maintain a poised cold dignity in all her dealings with men. The realisation shocked her.
‘I am grateful that you are giving my proposal any consideration in light of my past,’ Lord Bingfield said.
Sophie tilted her chin upwards. ‘I have learnt that one’s past is never a guarantee of one’s future.’
‘You appear to be a highly sensible young lady, Miss Ravel, despite being out in the garden alone with my nephew,’ Lady Parthenope pronounced. ‘A word to the wise—even if you are overcome with heat, it is always best to keep your chaperon in sight. To do otherwise is to invoke comment. However, on this happy occasion I must forgive the tiniest lapse of judgement.’
Relief swept through Sophie. Lady Parthenope was practically purring her approval. Her reputation might survive.
‘I know your nephew has honourable intentions, your ladyship,’ Sophie said firmly, fixing Lord Bingfield with her eye.
‘I was unaware you were acquainted with my nephew. That is all, Miss Ravel. I must do more to further our acquaintance,’ Lady Parthenope said.
‘Come, come, Aunt.’ Lord Bingfield put his hand on his aunt’s sleeve. ‘Do I need to send you a note every time I meet a suitable unmarried lady? Every time I wish to make a proposal of a sensitive nature to said lady? If that is to be the way of the world, I want no part of it.’
‘It would be helpful, Richard.’ The elderly woman gave a sniff. ‘Your father was very tedious at our luncheon.’
‘Nor was I aware that you shared a close friendship with Lord Bingfield, Miss Ravel,’ Sir Vincent said. ‘The things one learns at balls. It puts our earlier conversation in a very different light. I do hope you remember every word of our previous encounter.’
A faint prickle of alarm ran down Sophie’s back, but she forced her lungs to fill with air. Sir Vincent’s threat was hollow. She was safe. Lady Parthenope had pronounced judgement. Despite the slight hiccup of Lord Bingfield being notorious, he had behaved impeccably.
‘Where did you think I was going to, Sir Vincent, after I delivered Miss Johnson’s note? I do hate being late.’ She made a curtsy which bordered on the discourteous. ‘I did say that I had a prior engagement. I failed to mention Lord Bingfield before because, quite frankly, it is none of your business.’
Sir Vincent’s mouth opened and closed several times.
Lady Parthenope suddenly developed a cough and Sophie struggled not to laugh after she caught Lord Bingfield’s eye. Her heart suddenly seemed much lighter. Tonight’s events were not going to be a catastrophe after all.
After tonight, she would not push her luck. She had to remember that adventures only became exciting in memory. During an adventure, one was often out of sorts and uncomfortable. Adventure should happen to other people, not to her if she wished to keep her reputation. Ice-cold calm and dignity while she waited to meet the man whom she could love. Friends first, but only after he’d proved himself worthy—it was the only way to have a great and lasting romance. She had seen the formula work with Robert and Henrietta and now Cynthia.
‘Sir Vincent may escort me in,’ Lady Parthenope said after she recovered from her coughing fit. ‘His mother and I were at school together. And, dear Miss Ravel, you may take your time as long as you come to the right decision quickly. It is blindingly obvious to me that nothing untoward happened here. You must not presume the worst, Sir Vincent. There again, your mother possessed that unfortunate habit. It obviously runs in the family.’
Lady Parthenope swept towards the house with a bleating Sir Vincent on her arm and the rest of her party trailing in her wake. Sophie waited until the noise had abated, feeling the cool night air on her face. She had survived.
Lord Bingfield held out his arm. ‘Shall we go, Miss Ravel? I take it you have had time to consider my proposal. My nerves shall be a-quiver until I hear your answer.’
‘I doubt your nerves ever quiver, Lord Bingfield.’
‘You wrong me.’ He put his hand to his forehead. ‘I may be the type to weep at dead daffodils.’
‘Are you?’
He stood up straighter. ‘Thankfully, no. I can’t remember the last time I wept at anything. Shall we go in before we invoke more comment?’
Sophie placed her hand on his arm. Her body became instantly aware of him and his nearness. His proximity to her was doing strange things to her insides and her sensibilities. Had she learnt nothing in the past four years? Rakes oozed charm and women forgot propriety when they were near them. The best defence was to be calmly aloof.
A
