‘Really? I rather think Lord Rotherby may have been proving his own popularity,’ Phoebe replied drily.
Sophie scowled at her perceptive sister, aware she sounded irrational, and yet with too much disquiet threading her veins to do much else. She also knew she was stubborn when it came to wagers, and that Lord Rotherby was a known and established rake of the ton, but for some inexplicable reason he bothered her more than she could put into words.
‘Dearest, you know Aurelia plays a very fast game, and that the gentlemen know it too,’ Phoebe said with a faint frown. ‘I shouldn’t spare a second thought for her flood of suitors when you have Kew Gardens at your fingertips.’
‘Lord, Phoebs!’ Sophie exclaimed, throwing her eyes to the heavens. ‘You sound like Mama, Harriet and Aunt Higglestone all rolled into one now! This isn’t about Aurelia at all. It’s just that Lord Rotherby clearly believes love is a tool, or a commodity, or something to beused, when you and I both know such feelings?—’
‘Are not always within our control?’ Phoebe finished quietly, recalling the moment she glimpsed the viscount and Captain Damerel fighting in Sydney Park.
‘Exactly so. And isn’t it the very definition of rakish behaviour to behave otherwise? Thank heavens there are gentlemen like Sir George Weston in the world. Jo and I believe he is the very epitome of a well-mannered gentleman with a title, respectable estateandgood connections. In fact, the last time I saw him, he?—’
‘Tipped his hat at you. Twice. I know.’
‘Well, he did! And he is such a handsome gentleman too, though we don’t tend to notice because he’s so sensible– don't you think?’
‘Possibly,’ Phoebe agreed, her lips twitching.
‘Anyway, I just can’t imagine someone like him using any kind of false means to engage affections, can you?’
‘No, I can’t,’ Phoebe replied. ‘And his manners and flowers do much to recommend him too, dearest, but he is a trifle quiet and serious for you, surely?’
‘And why should I not be an excellent match for someone quiet and serious?’ Sophie challenged. ‘I have as much of an enquiring mind and independent will as you.’
‘You do,’ her sister nodded sagely. ‘Together with a very lively and vivacious disposition that I cannot help but think would be wasted on someone like Sir Weston.’
‘Oh.’ Sophie paused uncertainly.
‘Well I was only going to say that I could no more think myself into loving Sir Weston for his sense, than I could into loving Lord Rotherby for his wit and charm. Such strong feelings have to come from another place altogether, don’t you think?’
‘I do,’ Phoebe agreed with a smile, ‘and I’m quite relieved to hear you say it.’
‘And in the meantime we must look to our own interests instead.’
‘Absolutely,’ Phoebe nodded.
‘Which is why I need to attend the new exhibition at The British Institution.’
‘Pardon?’ Phoebe paused, wondering if she’d misheard her wilful sister.
‘The British Institution,’ Sophie replied brightly. ‘At the Carlisle dinner, I heard there is to be an exhibition of Parisian ladies’ fashion there. All sorts of ladies’ clothing will be featured: pelisses, gowns, corsets, chemises, plus the newest fabrics and patterns. Just imagine, Phoebe,’ she appealed wistfully, ‘the world of French fashion under one roof. It’s my dream!’
‘I thought your dream was to make an advantageous love match?!’ Phoebe retorted with a laugh.
‘Oh it is!’ Sophie smiled winningly. ‘But my reserve dream, should such a gentleman not be found, is to move to Paris and design fashionable pelisses instead. There’s just one tiny drawback…’
‘Which is?’ Phoebe prompted suspiciously.
‘Debutantes aren’t allowed to go, on account of there being undergarments on display.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Well, exactly!’ Sophie exclaimed. ‘As if I’m likely to be plagued by such a thing when I wear them myself! Plus, they are French,’ she added with a shrug. I’d have to be a real ninny-hammer.’
Phoebe closed her eyes with a look of pained denial.
‘Sophie, wearing undergarments oneself– French or otherwise– does not make it acceptable to peruse undergarments at a public exhibition,’ she uttered in a strangled tone, ‘Just imagine what Aunt Higglestone or Harriet would say for a start!’
‘Well I hope both would understand that an interest in fashion requires one to have an eye to everydetail,’ Sophie returned stubbornly. ‘Besides, I think it’s very silly to pretend to be missish about such female things when I am female too. And I have already thought of a way to safeguard my reputation.’
