Marrisa pulled a face at Sophia’s barefaced lie.
‘Besides, I should change.’
‘Why? You look delightful in that outfit. It really emphasises your…’ Her sister waved a hand in the direction of Sophia’s chest.
‘Marrisa! You must not talk like that.’
‘Oh, pish posh, there is no need to be so missish. It is not like all those horrid ladies from the other night are here in our private space. If I cannot tell you that your figure looks sublime in that outfit within the comfort of our own home, then what point is there to life?’
Sublime? Really? Sophia glanced down at herself. The cut did emphasise her curves, but no one had ever told her that was agoodthing before. Surely Marrisa was exaggerating. ‘Has anyone ever told you that you are very dramatic?’
‘Yes. You. All the time. That does not take away from the fact that your betrothed is about to hear the worst poetry ever written and only you can save him from this terrible fate. But you are dithering because that dress is a little on the tight side.’
‘Tight!’
‘In a good way.’
Before Sophia could argue that there was nogoodway to be told that your clothes didn’t fit you properly, Marrisa was bundling her in the direction of the sitting room.
The door was slightly open, giving her a moment to pause and look in without being observed. Lord Christopher was standing by thefireplace, one arm resting along the top, giving every indication that he was a man who visited often enough to become completely at ease with his surroundings. He was wearing a long, dark coat that fell to his knees and his dark hair was windswept. As she watched, he ran his fingers through it, pushing it off his forehead.
‘He is quite pleasing to the eye,’ murmured Marrisa.
Sophia squeaked in shock; she had forgotten her sister was still with her. Not because she had been distracted by Lord Christopher but because she had… fine, so she had forgotten where she was standing because she had been admiring him. He was a fine figure of a man, and she could appreciate that, even if her loyalty lay with Robert.
Hoping that he hadn’t heard her make a noise, she pushed the door fully open and stepped into the room. ‘Lord Christopher,’ she murmured, shocked to find her voice was unsteady.
‘Miss Jacobs.’ He bowed his head, his dark hair falling forward. He pushed it back again, his eyes meeting hers, an amused smile lurking in their depths. ‘How are you on this fine morning?’
‘Very well, very well. And yourself? Do you fare well?’ Her tongue felt thick in her mouth as if she were learning to speak for the first time and the words weren’t quite sure how to emerge.
‘I am also well. Are you ready for our outing? I must say I am pleased to be tasting my first ice today.’
‘Excellent, excellent.’ Why had she started repeating herself like this? She had never done so before and it made her sound like a ninny. Hopefully, it would stop when her family were no longer staring at them.
‘You better go before Annie gets back with her poetry,’ said Marrisa.
‘Do not be unkind,’ responded her mother, before Sophia could say the same thing.
‘I am not being…’
This discussion had the potential to go on for a long time unless Sophia put a stop to it. ‘Please send our apologies to Annie, but we really must get going.’
‘Indeed, we must,’ said Christopher. ‘But I should like to listen to it when I return.’
The room fell silent at Christopher’s words. Obviously, they were politely meant, but if Annie got wind of it, then he would be obliged to listen to lots of it. And, well, there was little worse than sitting through a few minutes of Annie’s writing. Not that Sophia would say such a cruel thing out loud. She wasn’t a monster and did not want to crush Annie’s dreams. None of them did, but none of them wanted to submit themselves to the torture either. It was a difficult balancing act.
As if they all realised they had fallen into an odd silence at the same time, they all started talking at once. None of it made a great deal of sense, but eventually Sophia managed to extract them both, and they were soon on their way with no one having uttered any poetry. Her maid, sitting to her left, turned slightly away from them to give them the illusion of privacy.
‘What beautiful greys,’ Sophia said as they bowled along the street at a brisk pace. ‘Are they yours?’
‘They are. I won them from a friend.’
‘Is he still your friend? I am not sure I would like you if you had taken two such fine specimens off my hands.’
Christopher’s teeth flashed in response, but he kept his eyes facing forward, concentrating on driving, and she was grateful for that. Her father loved to drive his carriages, but his enthusiasm often made thejourney with him feel particularly unsafe. He tended to wave his arms around explaining things to her while she rather thought both hands should be occupied in keeping them alive. Christopher’s concentration was fully engaged on how his horses were traversing the streets.
‘John was annoyed with me when he realised I had no intention of backing out of the bet. But I had seen the way he was treating them, and I believe he was not giving them the care that they deserved. I think they are happier in my brother’s stables, and I attend to them whenever I can.’
