Alexander looked up to see the entire table had come to their feet, the ladies ready to withdraw, all eyes turned in his direction. He barely recalled dessert he’d been so lost in his thoughts. It may have been toffee cake.
“Absolutely,” he took a final sip from his glass. “You know how I enjoy a brandy.”
Chapter Eleven
Once the intolerabledinner was finally over, Papa escorted Roxboro and Lord Damon to his study to partake in a brandy and a cheroot, while the Canterbell ladies made their way to the drawing room to await them.
Sophia thought it a stupid custom, to separate the sexes after a meal. She didn’t care if a cheroot was smoked before her, in truth, she’d tried a cheroot herself. Sneaking one from her father’s study, Sophia had run to the very back of the gardens behind a flowering wisteria when Mama and Mara left to go shopping one day. After a great deal of coughing, and having made so much noise Powell found her, she came to the conclusion that puffing on a cheroot wasn’t something she’d enjoy again in the future.
But one should always try new things.
Sophia had wanted to point out to the others in the dining room as they all came to their feet, that Roxboro didn’t require a brandy after imbibing so heavily of Father’s favorite scotch throughout the meal. She’d counted eight glasses while he enjoyed the duck.
Eight.
But she restrained herself.
“Stop frowning, Sophia. You’ll give yourself wrinkles,” Mama cautioned, taking a seat with a sigh. “I don’t understand why you continue to be so averse to your future. Things did not start well, that much is true, but the path has been set forward. It does you no goodto antagonize Roxboro or Lord Damon. Why you continue to make things harder for yourself, I do not understand.”
“I would embrace my marriage, Mama.” Sophia’s sister settled perfectly on the settee.
Like a bloody swan.
“Of course you would, dear.” Mama patted Mara’s hand before both regarded Sophia with twin looks of exasperation.
She expelled the air in her lungs slowly, primarily to keep from screaming at them both. The assumption that she was always difficult, stubborn and more a challenge than was warranted wasn’t an incorrect one. She’d been born that way. Perhaps something had happened to Mama when she carried Sophia, to account for her unpleasing personality. The idea was worth considering.
“Were you inordinately frightened or did you fall down the stairs before my birth, Mama? Or eat something far too spicy, that might have given you indigestion? Or were you cursed by a gypsy, perhaps, when—”
“Cursed by a gypsy? Good lord but you are fanciful. No, nothing untoward at all occurred when I was with child.” She looked between Mara and Sophia and raised one plucked brow. Taking the glass of ratafia offered by Powell, she said, “But youwerecombative even in the womb. Kicking and moving about. As an infant, you had colic for months. Always fussy. Red-faced. Angry at all of us for having been born.”
“Oh.” Well, that explained a great deal.
“Sophia, if you cannot smile, at the very least, try not to appear as if you’ve something bitter in your mouth. Attempt to be pleasant. I beg you. The duke behaved wonderfully at dinner despite drinking half the contents of the sideboard and dodging your insults. Roxboro was lovely when he called upon you. He took you for a carriage ride through the park and then to Gunter’s.” She lifted the ratafia to her lips once more and paused. “Roxboro is doing everything to makesomething of this…misstep. I do not understand why you cannot do the same.”
“I find him charming,” Mara piped up.
“As do I,” Mama said. “Despite his unwelcome reputation which I am inclined to believe might be exaggerated given what I’ve seen thus far.”
Sophia’s lips parted. Aghast. “You said yourself he was disgraceful, Mama. A terrible libertine. Goodness, you informed me I’d be a young widow as he’d likely trip and break his neck due to his love of drink.”
“I said no such thing,” her mother insisted.
Sophia’s fingers clasped together and twisted. “You did. You said—”
“I agree that the situation is unwelcome,” Mama interrupted, as usual. “I am not fond of scandal, nor your father. But I do not understand how you found yourself in the Perswick gardens if you dislike Roxboro to such a degree. If he is so disagreeable, why converse with him at all?”
Sophia looked down at her lap. Studied her fingers as they laced and locked.
Mama would never understand. She’d been a great beauty once, just like Mara. Lauded for her modesty and ladylike manners. Mara was very like her. How could Mama possibly comprehend how Sophia had to go through the world, always being compared to not only Mara, but the great Lady Canterbell? Having Roxboro, arguably the most spectacular man in London, a jaded rake who could have any woman he wished, seek out Lady Sophia, the other Canterbell daughter had been…intoxicating. Vindicating. Proof that possibly she wasn’t so unappealing. For the first time in her life, Sophia had felt…seen.
Until Roxboro abandoned her in the garden and Sophia realized she wasn’t special. Or desirable. Only a source of amusement for a libertine who’d had too much wine. Any girl would’ve done just as well in his drunken state. He didn’t even have the decency to remember her.
“We mustn’t blame Sophia, Mama. What young lady in herposition when encountering a gentleman like Roxboro,” Mara paused to position herself so that when Roxboro and Lord Damon came through the door, she would be the first thing they’d see. Perfect. Modest. Lovely. “Wouldn’t be tempted to lure him out to the gardens to steal a kiss?”
“I did notlurehim.” Sophia threw a pillow at her sister.
Mara caught it with one hand before it could hit her in the head.
