She had barely exchanged more than a dozen words with any one of those rejected suitors, so what on earth had made them suppose that she would make an ideal wife?
She was not so small-minded as to suppose that just because love at first sight was a phenomenon that she herself had failed to experience the event never took place. She was well aware, too, that gentlemen were frequently beguiled by a pretty face. She could not help wondering, though, whether she would appear quite so appealing to certain members of the opposite sex if it were not for the fifty thousand pounds her father had promised to settle upon her when she married.
A slow and wickedly calculating smile curled the corners of what one besotted young fop had been overheard to call the most kissable mouth in London, as Sophia caught sight of her father standing at the entrance to the ballroom in readiness to greet the first of the guests. His threat to disinherit her if she married without his approval might well be turned to her advantage. If it became common knowledge that she wasn’t an heiress at all, those offers for her hand might swiftly lessen and, with any luck, cease altogether, leaving her free to enjoy her first Season in London without causing further friction between her and her sire.
The idea, once firmly embedded, quickly began to grow, and Sophia had little difficulty in putting her plan into effect by dropping a word here and there into a receptive ear. Although the Season had not officially begun, London was certainly not thin of company, and invitations to the Yardley ball had been eagerly accepted. Among the four hundred guests were many hopeful mamas whose daughters sadly possessed scant claim to beauty. It was only to be expected, therefore, that some doting parents would be only too willing to pass on unfavourable snippets concerning a dangerous rival, especially if it increased their own offspring’s chances of achieving a suitable match.
Consequently, as the evening progressed, Sophia became increasingly satisfied with the many long and thoughtful glances cast in her direction. She was not so foolish as to suppose for a moment that everyone would believe the rumour which was circulating about her, nor did she consider that a supposed lack of fortune would deter every gentleman from making her an offer, and made allowances for this contingency by not standing up with the same gentleman more than once.
Nevertheless, she was never short of a partner, and the evening was well advanced before she managed to leave the dance floor and search out her good friend Robina Perceval, who also happened to be enjoying her first London Season.
“This is a truly magnificent ball,” Robina announced when Sophia had almost slumped, exhausted, in the vacant chair beside her. “I do not think I’ve ever seen so many people crowded into one room before. The dances Aunt Eleanor organises at the Angel back home are nothing to it.”
Sophia was not so impressed. Unlike Robina, who lived a rather quiet life at the vicarage in Abbot Quincey, a small market town situated within easy walking distance of the Cleeves’ country home, Sophia had attended many large parties since the age of sixteen. “Yes, a dreadful squeeze, isn’t it? You’ll need to accustom yourself to such gatherings, Robin, because I’m reliably informed that a party isn’t considered a success unless you’re forever stepping on someone’s toes.”
She took a moment to gaze about the crowded ballroom, trying to pick out the odd familiar face. “I was sorry to learn that your cousin Hester would not be attending, but her brother Hugo is here. I danced with him earlier.”
“I understand that Aunt Eleanor and Hester will not be arriving in town until April.” Robina couldn’t help but smile. “I think if it was left to Hester she wouldn’t be coming at all. Unlike Hugo, she has no taste for town life. She would much prefer to remain locked away in that attic room of hers. Though what she finds to keep her so occupied up there for hours at a time is anybody’s guess. Who would believe a brother and sister could be so dissimilar!”
Her smile faded as she glanced at her friend’s lovely profile. They had known each other most all their lives, and had always been the very best of friends, so Robina experienced no hesitation in saying, “I think you should know that there is a rather unpleasant rumour circulating about you tonight.” It was then she noticed the betraying twitch at the corner of her friend’s mouth. “Never tell me that you put it about that you haven’t a feather to fly with! What on earth possessed you?”
Well aware that the vicar’s daughter would never betray a confidence, Sophia didn’t hesitate in enlightening her. “So you see,” she went on, after repeating the gist of the interview with her father earlier in the day, “I was forced to do something to stem these ridiculous proposals of marriage. And it isn’t as if the rumour is a lie. Papa has threatened to disinherit me if I marry against his wishes.” A defiant little gleam sprang into her eyes. “And to be perfectly honest with you, at this precise moment in time I’m inclined to do precisely that.”
Robina sat silently digesting what she had learned. She had been taught to consider envy a sin, but couldn’t help feeling a touch resentful over her friend’s privileged position. Their circumstances were vastly contrasting. Sophia could reject suitors at will, whereas she herself would need to consider very carefully any offer of marriage that came her way. There was no fault to find with her lineage: both her parents came from noble stock. The Perceval name was an old and honoured one, but that did not alter the fact that she was little more than a country parson’s daughter whose dowry was woefully small. Her parents, though comfortably circumstanced, were by no means wealthy, and they most certainly could not afford a second London Season for their eldest daughter with three younger ones eagerly waiting to be launched into society. So Robina felt it her duty to accept any reasonable offer of marriage. But how she wished that she too could marry just for love!
“I have been away from the steadying influence of the vicarage a few days only,” she remarked with a wry little smile, “yet already I’m in danger of being corrupted by the dangerously frivolous lures and heady atmosphere of the metropolis.”
Sophia frankly laughed. “My staid little friend being led astray…? By whom or what, may I ask?”
“I shall explain some other time, for unless I much mistake the matter, a gentleman is approaching, with every intention of asking you to dance.”
Lord Nicholas Risely was, indeed, heading in their direction. Tall, slim and very good-looking, he was a firm favourite with a great many of society’s leading hostesses and, consequently, was invited everywhere. His attire was faultless, his address excellent, and as he just happened to be the son of a duke, albeit a younger one, he was looked upon as being a very eligible parti.
In the normal course of events these facts alone would have prompted Sophia to add his name to that list of gentlemen best avoided, but she had not. Instead, she had permitted him to add his name to her dance card, simply because she had been most reliably informed that Lord Nicholas Risely was not on the look-out for a wife.
Happily allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor, she couldn’t help noticing the strange look he cast her as they prepared to join one of the sets. “Something appears to be troubling you, my lord,” she remarked. “I cannot imagine you are concerned over making a cake of yourself. You are such an excellent dancer.”
As luck would have it the steps of the dance separated them, which granted Lord Nicholas the opportunity of formulating a response. Having met her on two occasions before, he had already decided that he rather liked Sophia Cleeve. She was bright and witty, nothing like the majority of simpering misses who flooded the marriage mart every year. If he had not been quite content to continue with his bachelor existence for a few years longer, she would have been just the sort of girl that would have appealed to him.
She was immensely pleasing on the eye, too. Perhaps not a beauty in the true classical style, but certainly lovely enough to prompt many a spiteful tabby with a daughter of her
