‘Richard, this is important. It is your sister’s future. Hannah has an excellent chance to have a glittering marriage. Could you use this Miss Ravel as an excuse to stay, rather than dashing off to London this afternoon?’
Richard tapped his finger against the scandal sheet, the beginnings of an idea forming. Pursuing Miss Ravel without interference from either parent and seeing if there was passion underneath the ice she presented to the world was tempting, but…
Richard folded the paper in half again. ‘What puzzles me is how quickly the papers have acquired the story.’
‘Someone is always willing to sell a good story.’ His mother gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Poor girl. It is the women I feel sorry for. The men can survive, but a woman, well, she always has the whiff of a scandal hanging about her skirts.’
‘I will sort it out before it becomes an inferno, Mother.’
‘I trust you to do the right thing, Richard.’
‘I am surprised you even need to say that, Mother. I know my duty. The necessity of doing it has been beaten into me since childhood.’
‘Did you have a pleasant time at the ball, Sophie? You said very little about it last night. You were back far earlier than I expected.’
Sophie’s hand froze in the act of buttering her toast. It made no sense for her stepmother to be asking further questions about last night. She’d given an account when she came, an account in which Lord Bingfield did not feature as there was no point in alarming her. Her stepmother seemed well satisfied then, but now she regarded Sophie with razor-sharp eyes. Her stepmother waved a newspaper in Sophie’s direction. ‘I do read the papers. Every item.’
‘The papers? Why should they say anything about me?’ Sophie asked, genuinely perplexed. Lady Parthenope had declared that the little incident was entirely innocent. She’d left it to Lord Bingfield to explain to his aunt that they would … alas … not be marrying.
‘It is what I want to know.’ Tears shimmered in her stepmother’s eyes. ‘I trusted you, Sophie, last evening and allowed you to go to the ball without a chaperon. When you were younger, you used to be involved in harum-scarum affairs and I despaired. After Corbridge, you changed. Perhaps you became a bit too stand-offish, but I retained hopes of you fulfilling your father’s dying wish and marrying into society.’
Sophie attempted to ignore the nasty prickle at the back of her neck. ‘Do what? What have I done? I behaved perfectly properly all evening. You knew about Cynthia’s elopement and approved.’ Sophie carefully kept her mind away from how she’d nearly kissed Lord Bingfield in the dark. Wanting to kiss him and actually kissing him were two separate things. She had behaved properly and they would never encounter each other again. ‘Show me the papers. I need to know what I have been accused of.’
Her stepmother held out one of the worst scandal sheets. Sophie’s eyes widened. ‘The redoubtable Miss R? Do I look redoubtable to you? I am the least formidable person I know. Really, Stepmother, I’m surprised you read such things! All they print are lies and tittle-tattle.’
‘How else can I find out what is going on in Newcastle, let alone in the rest of the country?’ Her stepmother dabbed her eyes. ‘Who is this Lord B who has captured your attention? Were you too ashamed of me to introduce us? I know I used to be in service, but that was long ago before your father fell in love with me.’
‘Ashamed of you?’ Sophie stared at her stepmother in astonishment. ‘I love you and whomever I marry had best love you as well or he will not be the man for me. Now that we have cleared that up, I want to know about your plans for your new bonnet.’
‘Sophie, stop confusing the issue with bonnets. The item in the papers. I shall not be deterred.’
‘You know it is a pack of lies, don’t you?’ She put her hand over her stepmother’s. ‘As if I would consider marrying without consulting you first. Honestly, Stepmother, sometimes you read too many penny-dreadfuls. When have I ever kept any of my friends from you? And I would never marry anyone who was not a friend first. I learnt a painful lesson three years ago.’
‘But there is a kernel of truth.’ Her stepmother’s cap trembled. ‘I know how to read your face, Sophie. You can never hide things from me, not things which truly matter. Who is this Lord B? Would Robert and Henri approve?’
‘Lord Bingfield,’ Sophie supplied. Her stepmother conveniently forgot the times when Sophie had kept things from her, including the precise truth about Sebastian. ‘He assisted me after Cynthia’s elopement. I doubt the entire proceedings would have gone as smoothly if not for his assistance. I was introduced to his aunt, Lady Parthenope, who is great friends with three of the Lady Patronesses at Almack’s. However, that is as far as it went. Someone has an overblown imagination and is making mischief.’
Sophie waited for her stepmother to ask about Lady Parthenope’s dress or what she had said.
‘Almack’s is far from the power it used to be and I won’t be distracted.’ Her stepmother frowned and Sophie’s heart sank. Her stepmother was worse than a dog with a bone about this snippet of gossip. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about Lord Bingfield immediately?’
‘Because you would have jumped to the wrong conclusion like you are doing now, and I was tired.’ Sophie crumpled the toast between her fingers. The last thing she needed after her broken sleep was to be quizzed about Lord Bingfield. Every time she closed her eyes last night it seemed she remembered how his breath had fanned her cheek or how he had nearly kissed her. The encounter was nothing to him, but she couldn’t forget it. About three o’clock, she had decided that she’d been foolish and arrogant to reject his offer of an innocent dance. She should have danced with him and been done with it. She never dreamt about any of the men she danced with. The knowledge did not make her any happier.
‘You were thinking about me and my health.’ The ribbons of her stepmother’s cap swayed their indignation. ‘Sophie! Do you think I was born yesterday?’
‘Given how you are reacting now, is it any wonder? You are seeking a romance where there is none.’ Sophie was unsure who she was trying to convince—her stepmother or that little place inside her which kept whispering about Lord Bingfield’s fine eyes. ‘Besides, I doubt Lord Bingfield’s ultimate intentions towards me were honourable. He inhabits the scandal sheets, after all. Remember The Incident and why I had to hurry up to Corbridge? I’ve sworn off men like that.’
Her stepmother’s eyes narrowed. ‘You had better hope it is a proper proposal from Lord Bingfield. People have long memories, Sophie. Your name will now be tainted from the mere association with his. Did you think about that last night when you were so busy accepting his trifling assistance? You know what your father wanted for you—a marriage into the higher echelons of society—and you have jeopardised that.’
‘You are talking fustian nonsense.’ Sophie tapped her finger on the scandal sheet. ‘How many papers?’
‘I have sent the butler to check. I should think most of them. Lady Parthenope sent me a note. She has invited us to take tea with her.’ Her stepmother’s hand trembled with excitement as she reached for the letter. ‘She wants to vet us. That’s what this is. You know what they say about her door-keeping at Almack’s. I shall need a new bonnet!’
Sophie bit her lip. ‘You can always refuse.’
‘One does not refuse Lady Parthenope,
