Sophie shook her head and rubbed one hand at her forehead. “My dear sister, I cannot tell you of my sorrow in hearing this.” Her hand fell back to her side, and she scrutinized Christina, her eyes narrowing a fraction. “You do not believe that any of this is your fault, do you?”
Ducking her head, Christina looked down at her hands. “I believed him. I let myself trust every word. Perhaps I was foolish.”
“No, you were not.” Sophie came to sit back down again, grasping Christina’s hand and looking straight into her eyes. “You have done nothing wrong, Christina. When a gentleman shows us particular attention, when he pulls us towards him,and when he declares that he has such a great depth of feeling within his heart, we have every cause to believe him – especially when he is a gentleman of honor. You have no reason to think poorly of yourself, I assure you.”
“But I loved him.” Christina’s eyes grew damp as she shook her head, looking down at her hands again. “I fear that I still do, despite all that he has done, which is more than foolish, is it not? When he saw me yesterday, and when I saw him, there was such a coldness in his eyes and expression. It was a look I had never seen before, and it made me feel so very foolish. I think… I think there was still a part of me that hoped that, in seeing me, he might realize what a mistake he had made. That there might be acknowledgement of the pain he has caused, mayhap even an apology for what he did to my heart.” She shook her head and sighed. “Instead, there was only ice in his eyes whenever he looked at me.”
“I should speak to him,” Sophie said stoutly, although Christina quickly begged her not to do so. This made Sophie sigh, and she nodded, promising she would not.
Sophie was quiet for a moment, her fingers pleating the fabric of her skirt — a habit she had when her mind was working through something. "I will say this, however. I have been watching the gentlemen who attend you this Season, Christina. It is a sister's prerogative." She glanced sideways. "Lord Pennington, in particular, strikes me as a man who is performing warmth rather than feeling it. His questions are always a fraction too specific — about our family, our arrangements, our father's estate. I noticed it at Lady Mowsbury's and again at the Southport card party." She paused. "It is of a piece, I think, with the letters he sent us in the country. Do you remember? Always so concerned, always asking after our situation with more particularity than one might expect of a distant cousin. I used to read them aloud to Mama and findmyself wondering, by the end, what exactly he wished to know." She sighed. "I may be wrong. But I have learned to trust what I observe over what I am told."
“Surely not Lord Pennington, Sophie,” Christina said, though the protest came more from habit than conviction. “He has been all kindness since Father’s death — to Mama especially. You cannot mean to suggest?—”
“I suggest nothing. I only ask that you watch him, when next he calls, and tell me what you see then.” Sophie’s voice softened. “I may be wrong, as I said. But I will not be at ease until I have looked again.”
For a moment neither of them spoke. Then Sophie pressed Christina’s hand and seemed to set the thought aside, drawing herself back to the nearer grief.
“But Coventry —” Her voice firmed. “I want him to know just how much pain he has brought you. He should be punished for what he has done.”
Christina gave her a wobbly smile.
“Perhaps,” Christina agreed, softly, “but there is nothing to be done.”
Sophie’s lips twisted. “I wish you had told me, Christina.”
“I did not want anything to mar your happiness,” Christina replied, honestly. “I could not have let myself bring a shadow to your joy.”
“But you have had so much to carry alone,” Sophie said, gently. “And with the loss of our dear father, that pain must have been all the greater.”
The mention of their beloved father had Christina dropping her head again, pushing back the threatening tears. “I have endured well enough.”
“But you will endure alone no longer,” Sophie promised. “I am here for you now, Christina, just as you have given your support to me.”
Christina sniffed. “I must ask you not to share what I have told you with any other, Sophie. I know it is a difficult thing for me to ask, since husbands and wives are so dear to each other, it is expected that they will share their burdens, but I cannot have it known to any other. Not as yet.”
“I quite understand.” Sophie set her shoulders back. “We will find you a happy match, and your thoughts of Lord Coventry will disappear.”
Christina did not hold the same hope but smiled all the same.
The Southport card party was not the sort of event Christina would have chosen for herself, had she the liberty to refuse it. The rooms were warm, overfilled with candles and guests, and the press of perfumed air clung to the back of her throat as she entered on her mother's arm. Clusters of gentlemen and ladies mingled near the card tables, their laughter mixing with the clink of glasses and the soft shuffle of dealt cards.
Christina pressed one hand flat to her stomach, held it there for a breath, then released it. She adjusted her gloves, smoothing fabric that was already smooth, and lifted her chin a fraction — the posture of a woman who was perfectly composed and had every intention of staying so.
"Come, my dear." Lady Bedford steered her gently through the first room. "I see Lady Mowsbury. Let us join her."
Christina allowed herself to be guided, but her gaze drifted. She could not help it. Her eyes swept the room with the precision of someone cataloguing every potential threat and ally — the clusters of gentlemen near the hearth, the matrons settled on soft chairs near the windows, the younger ladies gathered around the pianoforte. She noted the nearest door, the French windows that opened to a narrow terrace, and then, catching herself, forced her attention back to her mother.
Lord Coventry was not here.
The thought arrived unbidden, and she pressed it away at once, irritated by its persistence. She had no reason to look for him. No right to care whether or not he was present. And yet, even as Lady Bedford introduced her to Lady Mowsbury's small group, Christina's attention continued its restless patrol of the room.
It was when she turned to accept a cup of ratafia that she noticed the gentleman arriving at the door.
Lord Pennington stepped into the room without the usual announcement of a carriage — there had been no sound of wheels on gravel, no handing of a hat to a footman that she could see. He had arrived on foot, then. She registered this without particular interest, filed it to one side like a letter she intended to read later, and returned her attention to the lady speaking beside her.
She did not have to wait long before he found her.
"Miss Oldham." Lord Pennington appeared at the edge of their group with the ease of a man who considered himself always welcome. He bowed with a practiced grace, his smile wide and his eyes warm. "And Lady Bedford. How delightful to see you both. We are family, after all, and I confess it lifts my spirits to find relations in such company."
