Robert made a sound that could have been taken either as consent or objection, and Sophia wished fervently that a hole would open up in the ground next to her so that she could jump into it.
‘Tell me, Lord Christopher,’ said Robert, ‘are you going to give up your racing and other… enjoyments, once you are married?’
Sophia rocked back in her chair, her skin burning. Robert had no right to question Christopher like this. She and Robert were old friends, yes, but this was the sort of question her father should be asking.
‘Yes,’ said Christopher immediately.
‘No,’ she responded almost as quickly.
‘No?’ Christopher turned to her, one eyebrow raised, no hint of playfulness in his eyes.
‘I would not want you to change yourself for me.’
The rest of the room fell away as she held his gaze. She was only aware of the rise and fall of his chest and the way the candlelight reflected in his eyes. He seemed to be searching her expression for something, and she held still, hoping he would read that she meant it. Theirs may not be a real engagement, but she believed what she’d told him in the corridor. She did not want him to make himself in any way different for her, whether it be for real or pretend. He was fun and laughter and that was a rare gift indeed.
‘You cannot mean that.’ Robert’s voice cut through the moment. ‘How will he take care of you if bothhislegs are broken?’
‘He is an excellent whip,’ she answered, not taking her gaze from Christopher’s. ‘That would not happen.’
She should turn and look at the rest of the room, but it was impossible. Christopher had told her that Robert would come for her once he learned of her engagement and it looked as if he was right. She understood that Christopher was trying to put himself in a badlight to make Robert even more determined to rescue her from this disastrous proposal, but the reality of it was far worse than she could ever have imagined. Watching and listening to Christopher make himself small for her was horrid. Letting Robert insult him was even worse.
‘Well,’ said her mother, ‘I think it is time to leave the gentlemen to their port. Girls, we shall retire.’
Normally, this stage of the evening was a relief. Sophia much preferred the relaxed atmosphere of the sitting room and the chatter of the women, who were often softer and kinder without men around, but tonight she had to force her legs into action to get her to leave. Moments ago, she had wanted nothing more than to run away, but now it did not seem fair to leave either man with the other.
In the general noise of everyone getting to their feet, Christopher murmured, ‘All will be well. Do not worry.’
Unfortunately, his words had the absolute opposite effect.
Chapter Fifteen
Marrisa was the last of them through the sitting room door. She pushed it closed and then slumped her back against it, her eyes alight with mischief. The sort of look which would normally chill Sophia to the bone, because it meant something chaotic was about to happen. Tonight, she could not think on it. Whatever she was about to do could not be as bad as the situation they had just left. For the first time in her life, she resented the tradition that men and woman separate after the meal. Without her there who knew what sort of mayhem Christopher might unleash? Not only him but Papa too. He was a dear man but as playful as four of his daughters. Leaving Christopher and Robert alone with him was like leaving a puppy loose in the pantry when it was stocked with delicious treats; intentions might be good, but any training would be forgotten in the excitement of the moment.
For so long she had dreamed of marrying Robert, but it would be a miracle if he was still talking to her by the end of this evening. Her family always confused him; their rumbustiousness was anathema to him. This evening, they had been fairly subdued for them, but Christopher had made up for it with his loquacious compliments.
As for Christopher, well… he’d known what he was getting into when he had told her not to write to Robert and inform him of the nature of their betrothal. He may not have intended this evening to happen exactly as it had, but he must have known there would be some sort of ridiculousness involved. The thought of it might not have bothered him; indeed, from what she understood of his character, this sort of scrape would appeal to him. Having his flaws pointed out to him at the dinner table was probably not what he’d had in mind, however. Perhaps now, he would see sense and they could end this engagement within a few days. She pressed a hand to her stomach where an odd pain seemed to have lodged itself. Nerves, no doubt.
‘That‘—said Marrisa, breaking into Sophia’s tumultuous thoughts—’was fantastic. It was the best meal any of us have ever experienced.’
Still fixated on Christopher and his lavish praise, Sophia muttered, ‘It was not that delicious.’
Marrisa’s eyeroll was so dramatic, Sophia feared for her sister’s eyesight. ‘Not the food, you ninny. The duel.’
‘What?’ It had happened; Marrisa had finally lost her mind.
‘Oh my goodness, Sophia.’ Marrisa raised her hands as if Sophia were the most hen-witted woman on Earth. ‘Surely even you could see those two men were fighting over you.’
Annie leaned forward in her chair, grinning wildly. ‘She was too busy staring into her handsome betrothed’s eyes to notice anything.’ Her sister transformed her features into a doleful, pitiful expression which Sophia supposed was meant to resemble her at dinner, especially when the rest of the room descended into giggles. Her mother’s gentle admonishment of, ‘Girls’ was largely ineffectual given that she was laughing the hardest.
‘Christopher is the more handsome of the two,’ said Marrisa, when they had all calmed down. ‘All that dark hair mixed with that firm jawline gives him the edge over Robert’s golden-boy, angelic looks.’
‘But he probably does not have his own seat in the country,’ argued Annie. ‘Not if he is the youngest son of five.’
‘The Dashworth family is exceptionally wealthy. He could probably buy ten seats in the country if he wanted,’ said Marissa.
‘Robert is less likely to get himself killed in some harum-scarum adventure. Sophia would probably prefer that.’
‘She would be a wealthy widow,’ said Marissa.
