‘Please? I’ll return your primrose muslin,’ Sophie persisted, undeterred by the threat of their eldest brother.
‘No, and you can keep it,’ Phoebe insisted, her eyes dancing. ‘All I can say is that matrimony holds a number of surprises and some of them are even better than… macaroons!’
For a few seconds they eyed one another stubbornly, before dissolving into a fit of silent giggles that threatened to undo all their efforts to appear like sophisticated ladies of the ton. Then Phoebe caught the eye of one of the matrons and was forced to recall that while she was happily married, her sister had yet to share the same advantage.
‘I must tell you, Alexander and I received the most generous letter from Dr Kapool this morning,’ she tried, rapidly changing the subject. ‘He wrote that his research will allow him to join us at Ebcott Place in the late spring. Isn’t that wonderful? Josephine and Florence will be the first to benefit from an education under the watchful eye of a doctor in residence!’
‘Mary Wollstonecraft really would approve,’ Sophie returned, her voice still wobbling.
‘I like to think so,’ Phoebe said. ‘And to claim credit too, but of course none of it would have happened without Alexander.’
‘But of course!’ Sophie agreed.
‘Who’d have thought that the haughty old viscount would turn out to be such a staunch feminist? Or that he’d offer up his country house for the furtherance of female education generally?’
‘Well, he really is neither haughty nor old,’ Phoebe began indignantly.
‘There you go again!’ Sophie retorted with a chuckle, ‘but please don’t change anything for me. It’s so refreshing for a society wife to be madly in love with her own husband. It gives me hope for the same.’
Phoebe rolled her eyes as Sophie took a sip of lemonade, wondering if her sister was also recalling a certain dancing-eyed Captain Damerel. Once he’d threatened to divide them, though, while Sophie had always suspected Phoebe of withholding some of the truth, it was months ago now.
‘When will you and Alexander take your honeymoon?’ she asked, as Marchioness Cholmondeley, one of the peacock-styled patronesses, passed by.
They both sank into a swift, respectful curtsey.
‘In a week or so,’ Phoebe replied, relieved to be back on safer ground. ‘Alex is determined we’ll see Florence and Tuscany in April– something about the Ponte Vecchio in the spring apparently– so we make for Paris first, and travel on from there. ‘Hopefully we’ll also see Vienna and perhaps the Alps too, but it will all depend on how long we can be away from Ebcott Place.’
‘You always wanted to go on a Grand Tour,’ Sophie smiled wistfully.
‘Well, it’s not touring as an actor, or riding bareback across windswept clifftops,’ Phoebe mused with a rueful smile, ‘but, I think I can put up with a tour of Europe without too many regrets.’
‘Spoken like a true Fairfax!’ Sophie replied, laughing. ‘And now you’re somewhat annoyingly happily married, perhaps you can stop filling Matilda’s head with all your old notions? She really does believe she can marry Misty and become a pirate!’
‘Misty, as in my fifteen-year-old Dartmoor pony?’ Phoebe quizzed.
‘Yes!’
‘Excellent!’ Phoebe chuckled, raising her glass.
‘Of all of us, I wager she’ll be the Fairfax to do it!’
‘Oh don’t encourage her, Phoebs. I?—’
‘Ladies laying a wager? Now there’s something you don’t overhear too often in Almack’s.’
Startled, the sisters turned to face the tall, enigmatic gentleman who’d paused beside the lemonade table behind them.
‘But please, do accept my sincere apologies for interrupting such a lively discourse!’ He smiled disarmingly. ‘I’m not really in the habit of doing such a thing, particularly when the ladies are so very fair, but you took me by surprise you see, and I’m not generally surprised by much these days.’
‘Not at all, Mr…?’ Phoebe curtsied politely, as the gentleman made a very elegant leg to them both.
‘Lord Dominic Rotherby, at your service. I believe I have the pleasure of addressing Viscountess Damerel? And the delightful Miss Sophie Fairfax too?’ Sophie flushed as the striking gentleman in a Sardinian evening coat bestowed the most dazzling smile on her, before returning his gaze to her sister. ‘What a pleasure it is to meet the lady who has finally made an honest man of Damerel. I salute you, Viscountess. Though why he has abandoned you to the veritable wilds of Almack’s so soon is beyond my comprehension. I’m not sure I would be so complacent.’
Sophie watched curiously as Lord Rotherby lifted Phoebe’s hand to his lips with practised ease. His moss-green eyes were alight with humour, but also distinctly sincere, and she suppressed a qualm. Harriet had suggested some bachelors of the ton considered married ladies fair game once their position was settled, but surely none would have such effrontery in Almack’s.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Lord Rotherby,’ Phoebe replied with a faint frown, ‘but my husband is neither my keeper nor my gaoler, and I believe myself quite equal to the task of chaperoning my younger sister, without falling prey to too many villains and predators.’
Rotherby’s lips twitched, while Sophie watched.
