Chapter Four
Such was the splendour of Glanmore House that Sophia’s mother’s easy chatter trailed off as the building came into view, its height and grandeur dominating the other, also impressive, houses around it.
The Jacobs were not poor by any means, but this was wealth on a scale that Sophia had never encountered before.
Even though it was only early spring, months before flowers normally made an appearance, delicate petals lined the curved carriageway, nodding in the breeze as if bowing a welcome.
The vibrant colours softening the otherwise imposing building did nothing to make her breathing any easier.
The beat of the horses’ hooves began to slow and the reality of what was about to happen crashed into her, knocking the air out of Sophia’s lungs. She gripped her mother’s arm so tightly she could see her white knuckles beneath her skin. ‘Mama, I cannot do this.’
Her mother turned her gaze away from the carriage window to face her.
In the dim light of the carriage, her face was thrown into shadow, making it impossible to read her expression.
For a heartbeat or two there was only silence.
Sophia tightened her grip, hoping the gesture would explain all the things she couldn’t say.
This was too much; meeting these people was ridiculous.
She could not become engaged to a man she did not know, could not talk to his family as if the whole thing were a normal everyday event.
Mama’s gloved hand closed over hers and she squeezed.
‘You, my darling, are the bravest of all my daughters. I know this situation must be difficult for you. You like to have your life ordered and contained and this betrothal has the potential to be untidy. This morning will make you uncomfortable in a way that your sisters or I would not experience if we were in your place. You have much more of my mother’s temperament in you than any of the rest of us and that makes you different.
Do not think I have not noticed how exasperating you find the rest of us and our ways.
And yet, you are so fiercely loving, so tenacious, so positive that every day I am proud of you.
You can do whatever you put your mind to and this will be no exception. ’
Sophia’s lips fell open. She and Mama were not close friends, and although she adored her mother, Sophia often didn’t understand her.
Mama was effervescent, a glass of champagne in human form.
Sophia had her curls but nothing of her personality.
Mama loved spontaneity; anything unplanned brought Sophia out in a rash.
Mama thought that Marrisa’s plan to trap the duke into marrying was as romantic as a Byronic poem; Sophia thought it was nothing short of a nightmare.
Sophia’s family were always telling her to relax and enjoy herself more, not seeming to understand it was fundamentally impossible for her to do so.
Although never stated outright, she’d always believed her difference made her family awkward.
No one had ever said anything so wonderful to her like that before.
Reeling from the unexpected compliment, Sophia allowed herself to be tugged from the carriage and up towards the grand front door.
The dreadful effects of the brandy had faded after copious cups of sweet milk tea and toast, but now her stomach was churning as if a thousand butterflies had taken up residence and were trying to flap their way free.
A smartly dressed butler opened the door almost before they had finished knocking, and although he was the most dignified man Sophia had ever met, he somehow exuded welcome.
Now was not the time to puzzle out how he was able to achieve such a feat.
Not when all her energy was focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
The walk to meet the Dashworth family was both the longest and the shortest one she had ever taken.
Large halls echoed with the sound of their shoes on the highly polished floor; no bursts of laughter from raucous sisters could be heard coming from any of the closed doors they passed.
Sophia had once visited an exhibition early in the morning, before the crowds had woken and made their way there.
This residence reminded her of the hushed reverence of the quiet moments she had spent with others there to see the artifacts with no one else talking their ear off.
Far too soon the butler was announcing them into a long sitting room with the Earl and Countess of Blackmore standing to greet them.
Sophia vaguely remembered them both from the night before.
They had helped her to their carriage and the countess had taken her and Tabitha to their respective homes.
With her had been Lord Christopher’s other sister-in-law whom, to Sophia’s deep shame, she could not remember.
The countess was all smiles now, no hint that she was scandalised by Sophia’s behaviour.
She wore a pale yellow gown, the neckline bordered with an intricate design of interlocking vines.
Sophia studied that rather than look at her directly, not able to face any condemnation in this graceful woman’s eyes.
Because how could she not feel contempt for the woman who had forced her youngest brother-in-law into offering a proposal he did not want to make? To say nothing of the drunkenness.
As the conversation continued, Sophia found the confidence to look up and take in the surroundings.
The butler had said the words the Blue Lounge when he had led them here and the dedication with which the designer had stuck to their theme was staggering.
There was not a single item that was not a shade of the colour.
‘It is quite something, is it not?’ said a deep voice from her right, coming as if from nowhere.
She jumped at the unexpected noise, shock rushing through her, making her heart race. Turning, she found Lord Christopher standing only a few steps away. ‘You need to stop sneaking up on me.’
‘When have I done that before?’ he asked.
Her maid had taken great pains with her outfit this morning, picking the pale pink dress she was wearing because it complemented her skin.
No amount of preparation could wipe away her clamminess; she was sure the brandy was making a reappearance in the sweat beading across her upper lip.
Her betrothed, however, looked annoyingly perfect.
His exquisitely tailored clothes clung to his wide shoulders and tapered waist and his cravat was an art form in itself.
His dark hair fell across his forehead in the style worn by young men, and he had been shaved so closely, she could not make out any stubble.
He looked remarkably composed to be meeting his unknown betrothed, especially when she had snapped at him rather than offer a greeting.
‘In every encounter we have had, you appear when I do not expect you.’
Behind him, her mother, the countess and the earl all moved to a settee, their chatter sounding light-hearted. Neither she nor Lord Christopher made any attempt to follow them. If the others were going to be talking about the wedding, they needed to be plotting the opposite.
‘I can understand your surprise at my presence in the conservatory,’ he said.
‘I did not think for a moment that you would be in there and I was equally as astonished to discover you there as you were to see me. But your shock at me arriving at your side is surprising, given that this is the house I live in and Sutton announced that I was in the room when you arrived.’
She was about to remind him that he had sneaked up on her in the library too but managed to stop herself before drawing attention to a moment she hoped all involved had forgotten.
‘I was expecting you to stay over there.’ She gestured to the side of the room he’d been standing in when she had arrived.
‘I did not realise you were aware I was in the room.’
‘The butler said as much when we entered.’
‘And yet you were surprised by me speaking to you.’
Was he annoyed by the fact that she hadn’t fawned over him like a young debutante? Surely not. It was not as if they meant anything to one another. ‘What were you expecting?’
He scratched his neck; his fingernails were blunt and neat, no sign that he bit them. ‘I suppose I thought you might acknowledge me in some way. Nothing grand but a smile or a grimace or something to indicate we are more than just strangers.’
‘We are not more than strangers.’
He sighed, the sound taking her back to the library floor and her utter humiliation.
‘It is very blue,’ she said before they could discuss last night. ‘The room, I mean.’
Clasping his hands behind his back, he looked about him. ‘It is incredibly blue,’ he agreed. ‘It is obnoxious and overwhelming and yet I find that it is one of my favourite rooms in the house. It is where we often meet as a family.’
Despite the grandeur of the driveway and the imposing entrance to the house, this room did have a homely feel to it.
‘I like it,’ she said, before cringing. Her words had sounded impossibly childlike and gauche.
Although why she thought that mattered, she didn’t know.
It wasn’t like she wanted to impress Lord Christopher, the opposite, in fact.
‘May I show you my favourite piece in here?’ he asked.
Glancing towards Mama, she saw that she was now about to take tea with the earl and the countess. None of them were paying any attention to them.