‘Now he is here, should I tell him the truth?’ She didn’t know why she had phrased that as a question. Of course, she should tell him that her engagement to Christopher was a sham that she had no intentionof following through. Robert Harber was the man she wanted to become her real betrothed. Having secrets was not a good way to start.
‘Certainly not,’ said Christopher.
‘Explain why to me again,’ she said, not sure what answer she was hoping for from him.
‘You want this Mr Harber to come up to scratch, do you not? If he thinks he must work for your affection, he will stay in London until he has won your hand from me. If he believes he has a prize like you waiting for him, what is to prevent him from returning home without issuing the proposal you are holding out for?’
She tucked away the compliment about her being a prize to think about later. ‘I do not think Robert is the type of person to play games.’
Christopher waved a hand, dismissing her words. ‘Probably not intentionally. But even so, it will not harm him to have to work for your affection.’
Bringing the greys to a stop behind Harber’s carriage, Christopher leapt down and came round to help her descend. Distracted as she was by Robert’s unexpected arrival, she was still aware of the strength in Christopher’s grip as she leaned into his touch. The awareness added another layer of worry to her already troubled mind. She should not be as physically conscious of Christopher as she was, unless, perhaps she was like one of these fallen women Society gossiped about. The type of person who liked men’s attention. She’d not thought it before now, but she was starting to doubt herself.
Her fingers trembled as she climbed the front steps to her home and by the time the family butler opened the front door, the shaking was running through all of her. She definitely was not ready to face what was about to come.
Chapter Thirteen
Her family were gathered in the drawing room. ‘Look who is here, Soph,’ said Marrisa, leaping to her feet as soon as she and Christopher were in the room. ‘Robert has come to visit. He is staying for dinner so that we may catch him up on all our news. Do say you will stay too, Lord Christopher. It shall be quite the party.’
Cheeks burning at the gaucheness of her sister, Sophia turned to Christopher to tell him that he needn’t spend the evening with her, expecting him to look horrified at the idea of giving up a night at the gaming table, or whatever he did in the evening. Instead, he was smiling at her with a look of adoration she had never seen on his face before. Her stomach turned over, and she only had a moment to hope that she was not about to be sick in front of everyone before he said, ‘I should be delighted to stay, if that is not too much trouble.’
Before Sophia could say anything that might stop this hideousness from unfolding, her mother was fussing over Christopher as if he were a war hero just returned and making the introductions. Robert was described as a family friend and neighbour from their country estate. And Christopher, quite naturally, was introduced as her betrothed. A thrill ran through her at the phrasing and she half-expected her hair to stand on end, but from what she could tell, she looked as normalas ever. Not one person in the room turned around to stare at her, or claim she was a liar, even as sweat beaded across her forehead.
It seemed everyone could accept that she, Sophia, could truly get betrothed to a Dashworth brother. That it wasn’t an absolutely extraordinary statement that could only be an untruth. Obviously, everyone was aware of the circumstances in which the engagement had come about, or at least she assumed Robert knew. He did not appear surprised by the announcement that she was betrothed, which meant he had to have heard the gossip, and if he had heard one part of it, he had probably heard it all. But even so, why did no one think it was extraordinary?
Robert and Christopher shook hands, both smiling, both falsely, or at least she was sure that Christopher was. She’d been watching his mouth curving upwards all afternoon and this was not at all what he looked like when he was happy. With Robert, it was harder to tell. She hadn’t seen him since Christmas, and she couldn’t remember them laughing much at the time. He’d been working on a book on botany, and they’d talked about it a lot. When she could understand what he was saying, she’d found the subject fascinating and she’d liked how passionate about it he was. But it was hardly a topic to induce much laughter. He must have smiled though; she was sure of that. She would not have pinned all her hopes of matrimonial harmony on a man who didn’t show signs of joy.
Where Christopher was all dark hair and sharp angles, Robert was fair with soft lips and rounder cheeks. His skin was pale and prone to turning red when he was enthusiastic about something. Not quite as tall as Christopher, he was still a good head and shoulders taller than her. Both had wide shoulders and long legs and… and she shouldn’t be comparing them physically. Everyone knew the Dashworth brothers were handsome. It was unfair to measure Christopher and Robert against other men.
‘Congratulations on your engagement,’ said Robert after the initial introductions had died down and everyone was seated.
‘Thank you,’ said Christopher before she could respond. ‘I am a lucky man. The luckiest man in all of England. In all the world.’
Oh, that was a good deal too much. No one would believe such fustian. But Robert was nodding along, as was her mother.
‘You are indeed,’ agreed Robert.
‘I am indeed.’
Oh, dear God. She was going to die a very slow, painful death.
‘Have you booked the church?’ asked Robert.
‘Not yet. Mrs Jacobs was planning to book her local church, but we wanted to make sure it was perfect for us before we confirmed. We plan to arrange that any day now, is that not right, my love?’ Christopher turned to her, his eyes innocently wide. ‘I, for one, cannot wait to be married. The sooner the better.’
Torn between the desire to laugh or poke him with a giant stick, Sophia made a noise that could be taken either way in response to his question.
‘I did speak to our vicar,’ her mother piped up. ‘He has confirmed that he can fit you in during the last week of the Season, if that is amenable to you both.’
‘Excellent,’ said Christopher, and if she hadn’t known he was lying through his teeth, Sophia would have believed he was as thrilled with the news as he sounded. ‘We shall visit ourselves.’
Robert swallowed, and was it her imagination or was he looking a little paler than he had at the beginning of the conversation? ‘Do you not want to be married in Peddleton?’ he asked her. ‘I always pictured you getting married in the village church.’
‘Oh, I…’ That was where she had always planned to marry Robert. Set at the edge of a small valley, the church was a beautiful, grey stone building with a burbling stream running nearby. But somehow, it wasn’t the right place to marry Christopher. Not that she was marrying him, but still… She couldn’t picture him there, in the peace and quiet. If he ever did get married, it would be in town with his family around him, possibly his friends too. It would be a wild and raucous affair, full of laughter and stories and teasing but loving comments from his brothers. That vision was completely at odds with the wedding she’d always thought she would have, which was gentle and serene.
‘I will do whatever my love wants,’ said Christopher. ‘All that matters to me is that we are joined in holy matrimony for the rest of our natural lives.’
Forget the stick, she wanted to poke him with a giant log, ideally one with a sharp end. Not one that would cut the skin but one that might sting a little when pressure was applied. He wasn’t grinning on the outside, but somehow, she knew that he was on the inside.
