“I was under the impression you have sisters, Miss Grant,” purred Miss Sangford. “That must surely be some consolation to you. Perhaps you might introduce us and we could visit with you together in the library.”
“Bess is not yet out in society,” replied Sophia, burying the urge to thump the woman with her volume of poems. It would be the highest form of poetic justice she could deliver. “And Adriana is…away.” She glanced at her father. His ears were burning, but he remained silent. Of course he would. Unless he was forcibly reminded of her, Adriana did not exist.
“Father, I will need a footman,” she hinted, though really she just wanted him as far away from Miss Sangford—descendant of the HanoverSanfords—as possible.
“I will have one sent to you. And I will look in on you presently.” He touched his forelock to his guest, who lowered her eyes demurely.
The moment he left, Sophia hissed at Miss Sangford, “What are you playing at? My father is a suspicious man. Do not goad him. You will undo your own scheme. And us along with it.”
A smug response formed on Miss Sangford’s lips, but it summarily dissolved when the footman approached. He lifted Sophia in a smooth, practiced motion. She placed her arms around his neck—an action that should have felt intimate, tender, but never did. It was done merely to steady herself, an attempt to maintain a bearing of dignity in an undignified position. What he felt, she could not say. Perhaps it was simply a task to be completed. Maybe, like Katie, he performed his duty with an added sense of kindness and loyalty.
Regardless of his motives, he transported Sophia carefully to the library, a minor hero in her story, while her adversary followed like an ominous shadow.
Chapter Eighteen
Sophia was gentlydeposited on the library’s sunny window sofa. Katie took up a protective position at her right shoulder, squaring off against Miss Sangford, who had followed close behind. Upon their arrival, two gentlemen seated nearby, bent in concentration over a scattering of yellowed pages, lifted their heads in unison.
“Oh, Lord Carthige, Mr. Mannerly, I see you have found my mother’s sketches.” Sophia smiled as she made herself comfortable on the plush, burgundy upholstery. “They are rather good, aren’t they? She had such an eye for detail. You should see her watercolors. Unfortunately, they are upstairs. They really were too lovely to hide in a dusty, leather binding. Father had them framed and they hang in and around our various bedrooms. I could have the footman fetch one, if you like.”
“That will not be necessary,” the earl assured her, rising from his chair. “With your permission, we shall take our leave. You will have come here for a modicum of privacy, and we shall not disturb you.”
Sophia cast an anxious glance toward Miss Sangford.
“Please do not leave on my account,” she replied hastily. “I only seek relief from the press of bodies and the closeness their multitude of breaths create. There is room enough here for us to share without repeating those conditions.”
“You are certain?” he asked.
“I am. Perhaps now you will reconsider my offer to show you one of my mother’s paintings?”
“May I support Miss Grant’s suggestion?” came the even tones of Miss Sangford. “I should very much like to see her mother’s artistic skill.”
The sincerity in her voice was so convincing, Sophia wondered if it could be real. Miss Sangford put so much effort into her pretense at warmth, it was strange that she should not choose to embrace it as an authentic part of herself. It would have made her search for a husband easier. And she would not have been the outcast in good society that she was. True friendship must have surely escaped her. Those who sought her company were no better than herself. They gave her no motive for improvement. Sophia found herself feeling a little sad for Miss Sangford. Until she remembered why she was here.
Lord Carthige, oblivious of Miss Sangford’s motives, dipped his brow in acquiescence. “If the young lady is to be satisfied, then perhaps it is not such an imposition to have the painting sent for.”
“Excellent!” Sophia turned to the footman, who had withdrawn to an inconspicuous position against the wall. “I think the portrait in the hallway outside George’s room is a good choice. It is not Mama’s best work, but it is still very fine. And it is an easy size to carry down the stairs.”
The footman left at once, and Sophia caught Tobias’s eye.
Now. It was time.
“I suppose,” she said hurriedly, keen for the torment of this task to be over, “introductions are in order. My lord, may I introduce Miss Irene Sangford?”
“Sangford?” inquired the earl. “I am not familiar with your family.” He turned to his nephew. “Was she on our list?”
“She came at my personal invitation, my lord,” Sophia explained, while Miss Sangford stood like a horse whosepedigree was in question. “She is…er…that is to say…her family is descended from the Hanover Sanfords. A distant relation to the queen, I am told.”
Why was she defending the woman? She despised her! But the idea of there being a list that one was not on brought out Sophia’s protective instincts. She had too often been on such unwritten lists.
“Ah, yes.” His lordship smiled, the mystery solved. “Are you a fellow connoisseur of poetry, Miss Sangford, or are you here simply to support a friend?”
To declare herself a friend would have been such an abomination of the truth that even Miss Sangford could not manage to say it. She spluttered a little as she formulated a response that was both suitable and attractive to her target. “Yes…well…if one is a friend to poetry, one must be a friend to Miss Grant. Her writing is most endearing.”
“Is it?” Lord Carthige frowned. “That is not quite the word I had in mind. But then again, women see things differently. Which of her poems would be an example of this endearing quality? I would like to read it again with new eyes.”
Sophia suppressed a grin. It was becoming clear that, while Miss Sangford had come prepared to charm the earl, she had not, in fact, researched the materials with which to charm him. It was amusing to watch the machine of her mind slip gears behind her startled eyes.
“I would far rather hear your thoughts on the matter, my lord,” Miss Sangford deflected. “Your wealth of experience makes your opinion far more worthy.”
