had Sofia, to start with. But as she’d lain in bed the night before, she’d remembered how her papa had always used to say she was full of pluck. That nobody nowadays thought so stemmed, she suspected, from the horrible events surrounding her papa’s death. By the time she reached Nettleton Manor, she’d been so relieved to finally find refuge that she’d done her utmost to fit in. It had taken a couple of years before she’d been able to stop worrying that her newly discovered family were not going to throw her out if she displeased them. And by then, the habit of behaving with extreme caution had taken deep root.
She still swam, though, and climbed trees, whenever she was sure nobody would find out. And last night, when she’d seen that lady in such awful trouble, she hadn’t stopped to think about the consequences. She’d just run to help.
While all this was flashing through Sofia’s mind, the Duke had turned to give Aunt Agnes a really blistering look. ‘Your niece appears to have a very compassionate nature, Lady Norborough. I am sure her enquiries as to what she could do extended only to visiting to offer comfort, or something of that sort.’ He turned back to Sofia. ‘Am I correct?’
‘Well, no... I mean, I am sure I would not be permitted to actually visit,’ she said with regret, darting an anxious glance in her aunt’s direction. Visiting the lower orders was one of the things she said Sofia was to avoid at all costs, considering the company she’d kept in her earliest years. ‘But I did wonder if I could contribute, financially, towards her care...’
‘Now just a minute...’ This time it was Uncle Ned who was raising an objection.
‘It does your niece credit,’ said the Duke. ‘However, in this instance, Miss Underwood,’ he said, turning to her and gentling his tone, ‘the care of Mrs Pagett will be charged to the committee who organised the event. After all, they were responsible for the safety of all those who attended the supper and fireworks. Whatever it was that caused about two-thirds of them to go off simultaneously, instead of one at a time, there can be no doubt about that.’
He got to his feet and looked at her aunt and uncle for a moment or two in the kind of silence that had them all holding their breath.
‘I shall call to take your niece for an airing in my carriage, tomorrow. Be ready,’ he said, turning to her, ‘at three.’
For the second time in as many days, Oliver drew his curricle up outside Miss Underwood’s lodgings, wondering why on earth he was altering his busy schedule to squeeze in a meeting with her. He’d had no intention of doing more than assuring himself she was recovering properly from the incident at the fireworks when he’d called the day before. He certainly hadn’t intended to invite her out for a drive.
But then her aunt and uncle had talked over her so dismissively. Which was so unjust, given the bravery she’d shown in rushing to Mrs Pagett’s help.
He hadn’t liked the way her uncle had dragged her away that night.
And he hadn’t liked the way they’d both berated her for behaviour that to him seemed compassionate and caring.
That was what had prompted him to invite her to drive with him this afternoon—the chance to detach her from their overbearing, disapproving presence, so that he could talk to her freely. About Mrs Pagett.
It had nothing to do with the flare of attraction he’d felt when he’d seen her sitting in that drawing room, in full sunlight. He met dozens of pretty girls all the time. She was nothing out of the ordinary. It was just that he had a preference for slim brunettes with brown eyes, that was all. The fact that he’d seen her legs through her ripped gown had probably stoked the more primitive side of his nature, too. He had no need to worry that he was developing an unhealthy interest in her.
In fact, by the time he’d driven her through the town and along the seafront he was bound to have discovered some flaw in her personality which would enable him to relegate her to the status of passing fancy.
He tossed the reins to his groom, pressing his lips into a firm, determined line. The girl he’d seen at the fireworks display probably didn’t exist outside his imagination, anyway. She certainly hadn’t put in an appearance in her aunt’s drawing room. That girl had been all polite propriety and butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth missishness. Even when he’d spoken to her directly, he’d gained the impression she wanted to shrink into the sofa cushions and disappear from view. If he’d come across that Miss Underwood at a ball or a supper party, he wouldn’t have spared her a second thought. He certainly wouldn’t have drifted off to sleep with a vision of her, crouching on the ground, holding Mrs Pagett’s hand in his mind. Or gone on to dream about joining her on the ground and giving in to the temptation to run his hand through the rips in her skirts to find the silken skin of her calves.
He mounted the front steps and rapped on the door. Putting this inconvenient fascination for Miss Underwood to bed was what he would accomplish this afternoon. And then he could return to his well-ordered existence where his every move was dictated by duty, honour and reason.
Not emotion or desire.
* * *
‘Here he is!’ Aunt Agnes was practically jumping up and down on the spot. She’d spent all morning deciding what to wear. If there had been time, she would have gone out and purchased an entirely new carriage dress and bonnet. ‘Oh!’ She clapped her hands to her chest. ‘He has come in the most ridiculous vehicle. There can hardly be room for us both in it. I hope he doesn’t intend...’ She whirled round to look at Sofia with narrowed eyes. ‘It is the height of impropriety to go driving, alone, with a single gentleman to whom you are not related.’
‘You had better inform him of that fact when he comes in,’ said Sofia, tongue in cheek.
‘Don’t be ridiculous! As if he needs telling. He must have changed his mind about the outing, that is what it is,’ she said, trotting over to the mirror and fluffing her hair into place. ‘At least he is gracious enough to come and inform us.’ She plopped herself down and arranged her skirts only a moment before Babbage came to announce their visitor.
The Duke strode in on the tail end of the butler’s words. He glanced at Sofia, where she was sitting on the sofa, Snowball next to her with her muzzle on her lap. ‘Good afternoon, ladies,’ he said, bowing to each of them. ‘Are you not ready?’ He shot a rather irritated glance at Sofia. ‘I did specify three o’clock and I do not wish to keep my horses standing.’
‘Oh, but we thought you must have changed your mind,’ said Aunt Agnes.
He whirled on her. ‘Why should you think any such thing? Besides, if I had done so I should have sent a note. Well?’ He turned to Sofia again.
‘I have only to don my pelisse and bonnet,’ she said, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on his and pretending not to notice the frantic, yet furtive, way Aunt Agnes was trying to attract her attention. If she wanted to forbid her from going out with him unchaperoned, then she should jolly well have told him that it was highly improper behaviour the moment he’d suggested it. Sofia had never been invited to go out for a drive with a gentleman to whom she was not related. And she had no intention of letting such a treat slip through her fingers. Hadn’t she promised herself, when Uncle Ned had finally agreed to bring her to the seaside, that she was going to make the most of every opportunity for enjoyment that came her way? And start putting the past behind her?
