‘Almost done, now. Such hair you have, miss! You must remember to wear your new bonnet for the picnic tomorrow, it brings out the light in your hair so well.’
‘Nell?’
The girl sighed. ‘It’s just servants’ gossip, miss.’
Sophie sat silent, questioning.
‘They whispered below stairs that Lord Dayle died because he wanted to.’
Shocked, Sophie said, ‘Surely no one believes …?’
Nell shook her head. ‘No, they just said he gave up. Got ill and didn’t fight it, then he just slipped away.’
Sophie turned around in her chair and gave Nell a measuring look. ‘The next time we are at Lady Dayle’s house, do you think you could …?’
Nell’s bright eyes shone. ‘Ask some questions?’
‘Discreetly.’ Sophie paused. ‘You’ve already shown yourself to be loyal and trustworthy, Nell. I know I can depend upon you in this matter.’
The maid straightened, her face proud. ‘Of course, miss.’
A knock at the door startled them both. Sophie called entrance, and a footman opened the door deferentially to announce a visitor waiting below.
With a flustered glance towards the lilacs, Sophie rose. Was it Charles? She gathered her shawl and steadied herself. Good, she could begin finding some answers straight away.
She entered the drawing room a moment later at a sedate pace, chin up, only to draw up short.
‘Lord Cranbourne, miss,’ the butler intoned.
Once again she found her uncle where she had been expecting someone else entirely.
‘Uncle,’ she said in the frostiest tone she could summon.
‘Niece.’ He was equally formal as they seated themselves and the butler offered to go for the tea. He watched her the entire time, his gaze sharply calculating.
As the servant’s footsteps faded in the marbled hall, her uncle spoke. ‘I was annoyed when I first heard you had come to town, I admit.’
‘I am amazed you thought to care one way or another.’
He crossed his legs negligently. ‘It doesn’t look well, you coming here without my sponsorship, but, after meeting you, I’m willing to overlook the matter.’
Sophie inclined her head regally. ‘That does seem to be what you do best.’
He leaned forward, suddenly intent. ‘Look here, niece. We can sit here all afternoon while you flail me with the sharp edge of your tongue, or we can get straight to the point. Which would you prefer?’
‘Whichever gets us finished quickest.’
He chuckled. ‘I’m impressed, my dear, and that is not something I say with any frequency.’ He shook his head. ‘I just never guessed you had any fire in you.’
The tight control she held on her rage snapped. ‘It is impossible that you would know anything about my character!’ She struggled to regain herself as the servants returned with tea.
Heavy silence hung in the room as she poured for them both and wished mightily for Emily’s return.
Her uncle was still entirely at ease. ‘I know more about you than you would think, young miss, never doubt it. I know you resent me, but what’s done is done. We find ourselves now in a situation where we can help each other.’
Determined not to let him see her out of countenance again, Sophie sipped her tea. ‘Your offer comes fifteen years too late, sir. I’m not interested.’
‘Don’t go missish on me now, girl. It took brains and courage to get here without my help. Now I can make sure you go much, much further.’ He leaned back. ‘I have connections. What is it that you want? To be a leading lady of the ton? A political hostess holding her own salons?’ He gestured to her colour-stained fingers. ‘A patroness of the arts?’
She merely shook her head in reply.
‘There is power to be had behind the scenes. True power. Empires are won and lost by chance meetings at a ball, by a loose word let slip over drinks. You could be a great help to me, and I can make sure you meet all the right people.’
Sophie closed her eyes in pain. She’d spent too much of her life hoping for some kind of attention from her uncle. Now here he sat and she only felt ill. He wasn’t interested in her, only in what she could do for him. Perhaps, she thought for the first time, she had been better off without his attention.
‘You are more like your mother than I thought possible,’ her uncle continued. ‘She had beauty and intelligence and spirit as well. But she chose poorly, and look what it got her. A few years of love in a colonial backwater and a watery grave.’ He sat straighter and stared intently at Sophie. ‘Don’t repeat her mistakes.’
‘I thank you for the confidence you have finally shown in me, sir, but I am not feeling at all well just now.’ She could stay no longer. What he did not know was that Sophie had her mother’s temper as well, rarely raised, but devastating in scale. One minute more of this and she would be throwing his offer, along with her cup of tea, in his face. Only the thought of Lady Dayle’s and Emily’s disappointment stayed her hand. She took comfort instead in imagining his reaction when all of her plans were revealed. ‘Pray, do excuse me.’
He rose and gave a short bow before declaring in a hard voice, ‘I’ll give you some time to consider. Don’t dawdle, Sophie. Together we can accomplish much.’
Shaking, Sophie rose. It was the first time he had ever called her by her name. Her anger fled, leaving her aching and empty inside. With a barely audible farewell she hurried out and up the stairs. The lilacs mocked her as she entered her room and flung herself upon the bed. First Charles and now her uncle—who would ever have guessed that getting all the things she thought she wanted would be so horribly disappointing?
She cried then, hard, racking sobs for the little girl who had only wanted someone to love her, and for the grown woman still searching.
Lord Cranbourne watched her leave. He turned and stalked out to his waiting carriage, fiercely ignoring the pain once again radiating down his left arm.
The chit was going to be a problem. He had enough trouble this spring chasing after a political appointment that should have come easily, and, far more worrying, dealing with his own body’s betrayal. Throw a headstrong brat into the brew and he might not be able to vouch for the outcome.
Inconstancy. Unpredictability. He was unused to such, yet they seemed suddenly pervasive, hanging thick in the air, obscuring his vision, fouling his plans. He was a man used to being in a position of strength, of knowing all the variables in myriad situations and understanding ahead of time where the players were connected and how the final act would play out.
In a world where knowledge was power, he was a very powerful man indeed, albeit, as he had hinted to his niece, behind the scenes. For most of his life it had been enough, but lately, when faced with these
