Sophie felt the weight of the whole world slam down on her.
Heavens, in all her lust and longing she’d forgotten that she would have toexplain.
Mr. Roseingrave’s brow furrowed ever so slightly.
Maddie sent Sophie a slantways smile, mischief lighting her up like a lamp. “She accosted me in the street, sir.”
Robbie snickered.
Mr. Roseingrave’s eyes widened. “Our Sophie?”
“Oh yes.”
Sophie’s face was stiff with horror. Was Maddie going to tell them everything? It was one thing to know herself that Maddie was planning a swindle for justified reasons. It was quite another to present the scheme to her father over small talk in the parlor.
Maddie nodded, seeming quite at her ease now that she had found some trouble to stir up. “I am a silk weaver, you see, and I’d left some fabric behind in a draper’s shop, while negotiating over the price. Your daughter noticed and came running to make sure everything was alright.” Her hand patted Sophie’s where it rested in the crook of her elbow. “It was a kind impulse, and made a very strong impression on me.”
Sophie was torn between wanting to bask in the compliment and wanting to tear her hair out by the roots.
Mr. Roseingrave made an approving noise. “You’re a weaver, then...” he said, and so the conversation continued until Annie announced dinner.
Dinner in the Roseingrave house was never a quiet affair. Voices murmured and laughed; conversations flowed over and around and through one another like currents in a mighty river. It made it easy for Sophie to let herself be buffeted by the stream while she tried to calm the racing of her heart.
Maddie sat next to Sophie and made herself agreeable to everyone—asking Robbie what he was reading, helping the twins tease one another, answering a volley of questions from Freddie with a patience that Sophie could never have sustained. “Do you weave in a factory?”
“No, I have a loom at home.”
“Have you ever worked in a factory?”
“For a little while.”
“Did people get injured?”
Sophie was aghast. “Freddie!”
“What’s the worst injury you ever saw?”
Mr. Roseingrave set down his silverware. “Frederick, you will save that topic for after dinner. Or never.”
Maddie’s eyes narrowed, and her voice turned slightly sinister. “Instead of a factory story, I know of a particularly gory murder. I’ll save it for dessert,” she both threatened and promised.
Freddie grinned. Robbie rolled his eyes with all the native aloofness of his sixteen years, but Sophie knew he’d find a way to listen if he could.
“Miss Crewe designs her own Jacquard patterns,” she said firmly, scrabbling for a safe change of subject.
“Really?” Mr. Roseingrave’s ears perked up at the start of any mechanical talk. “I should be interested to see how that works... Do you think it would be possible to weave music notation into silk?”
“If I could read it, it would,” Maddie said with a laugh.
“Sophie could teach you that,” Mr. Roseingrave said with a sidelong smile at his daughter. “She’s already teaching one young lady how to play. Her first pupil in Carrisford—the first of many more to come, we hope.”
Mr. Roseingrave went on: “You seem clever, Miss Crewe—I’m sure instructing you how to read music would be a trifle. You wouldn’t have to worry about the fingering, for instance.”
Sophie choked on a bite of potatoes.
Maddie’s expression stayed innocent. “Your daughter has a great talent for making people pay attention, sir. I think it’s safe to say I’d learn anything Sophie wishes to teach me.”
It was just shy of innuendo—or it would have been, if Sophie hadn’t caught the eye of her mother, sitting serenely at the foot of the table and watching her daughter and Maddie quite closely.
