Chapter Thirteen
Her family were gathered in the drawing room.
‘Look who is here, Soph,’ said Marrisa, leaping to her feet as soon as she and Christopher were in the room.
‘Robert has come to visit. He is staying for dinner so that we may catch him up on all our news. Do say you will stay too, Lord Christopher. It shall be quite the party.’
Cheeks burning at the gaucheness of her sister, Sophia turned to Christopher to tell him that he needn’t spend the evening with her, expecting him to look horrified at the idea of giving up a night at the gaming table, or whatever he did in the evening.
Instead, he was smiling at her with a look of adoration she had never seen on his face before.
Her stomach turned over, and she only had a moment to hope that she was not about to be sick in front of everyone before he said, ‘I should be delighted to stay, if that is not too much trouble.’
Before Sophia could say anything that might stop this hideousness from unfolding, her mother was fussing over Christopher as if he were a war hero just returned and making the introductions.
Robert was described as a family friend and neighbour from their country estate.
And Christopher, quite naturally, was introduced as her betrothed.
A thrill ran through her at the phrasing and she half-expected her hair to stand on end, but from what she could tell, she looked as normal as ever.
Not one person in the room turned around to stare at her, or claim she was a liar, even as sweat beaded across her forehead.
It seemed everyone could accept that she, Sophia, could truly get betrothed to a Dashworth brother.
That it wasn’t an absolutely extraordinary statement that could only be an untruth.
Obviously, everyone was aware of the circumstances in which the engagement had come about, or at least she assumed Robert knew.
He did not appear surprised by the announcement that she was betrothed, which meant he had to have heard the gossip, and if he had heard one part of it, he had probably heard it all.
But even so, why did no one think it was extraordinary?
Robert and Christopher shook hands, both smiling, both falsely, or at least she was sure that Christopher was.
She’d been watching his mouth curving upwards all afternoon and this was not at all what he looked like when he was happy.
With Robert, it was harder to tell. She hadn’t seen him since Christmas, and she couldn’t remember them laughing much at the time.
He’d been working on a book on botany, and they’d talked about it a lot.
When she could understand what he was saying, she’d found the subject fascinating and she’d liked how passionate about it he was.
But it was hardly a topic to induce much laughter.
He must have smiled though; she was sure of that.
She would not have pinned all her hopes of matrimonial harmony on a man who didn’t show signs of joy.
Where Christopher was all dark hair and sharp angles, Robert was fair with soft lips and rounder cheeks.
His skin was pale and prone to turning red when he was enthusiastic about something.
Not quite as tall as Christopher, he was still a good head and shoulders taller than her.
Both had wide shoulders and long legs and…
and she shouldn’t be comparing them physically.
Everyone knew the Dashworth brothers were handsome.
It was unfair to measure Christopher and Robert against other men.
‘Congratulations on your engagement,’ said Robert after the initial introductions had died down and everyone was seated.
‘Thank you,’ said Christopher before she could respond. ‘I am a lucky man. The luckiest man in all of England. In all the world.’
Oh, that was a good deal too much. No one would believe such fustian. But Robert was nodding along, as was her mother.
‘You are indeed,’ agreed Robert.
‘I am indeed.’
Oh, dear God. She was going to die a very slow, painful death.
‘Have you booked the church?’ asked Robert.
‘Not yet. Mrs Jacobs was planning to book her local church, but we wanted to make sure it was perfect for us before we confirmed. We plan to arrange that any day now, is that not right, my love?’ Christopher turned to her, his eyes innocently wide.
‘I, for one, cannot wait to be married. The sooner the better.’
Torn between the desire to laugh or poke him with a giant stick, Sophia made a noise that could be taken either way in response to his question.
‘I did speak to our vicar,’ her mother piped up. ‘He has confirmed that he can fit you in during the last week of the Season, if that is amenable to you both.’
‘Excellent,’ said Christopher, and if she hadn’t known he was lying through his teeth, Sophia would have believed he was as thrilled with the news as he sounded. ‘We shall visit ourselves.’
Robert swallowed, and was it her imagination or was he looking a little paler than he had at the beginning of the conversation? ‘Do you not want to be married in Peddleton?’ he asked her. ‘I always pictured you getting married in the village church.’
‘Oh, I…’ That was where she had always planned to marry Robert.
Set at the edge of a small valley, the church was a beautiful, grey stone building with a burbling stream running nearby.
But somehow, it wasn’t the right place to marry Christopher.
Not that she was marrying him, but still…
She couldn’t picture him there, in the peace and quiet.
If he ever did get married, it would be in town with his family around him, possibly his friends too.
It would be a wild and raucous affair, full of laughter and stories and teasing but loving comments from his brothers.
That vision was completely at odds with the wedding she’d always thought she would have, which was gentle and serene.
‘I will do whatever my love wants,’ said Christopher. ‘All that matters to me is that we are joined in holy matrimony for the rest of our natural lives.’
Forget the stick, she wanted to poke him with a giant log, ideally one with a sharp end. Not one that would cut the skin but one that might sting a little when pressure was applied. He wasn’t grinning on the outside, but somehow, she knew that he was on the inside.
By the time Peterson called them for dinner, she’d progressed from a log to a battering ram, even as she fought the urge to laugh at his antics.
The number of times Christopher had turned to her and called her his love had to be nearing one hundred.
Robert was now so pale, he was nearly grey and Marrisa was so excited by the whole thing, she was bouncing on the edge of her seat.
Dinner was a family affair and so the guests wandered to the dining room with no formality. Hanging back, she managed to grab Christopher by the arm and pull him back slightly.
‘What?’ was all she managed to say, when everyone else had moved out of earshot.
‘It is going rather well.’
‘Rather well! You sound idiotic.’
‘I know.’ He looked thrilled by her words. ‘Robert hates me. He cannot understand why you have agreed to tie yourself to such a buffoon. I cannot either.’
‘Firstly, you are not a buffoon, even though you are acting like one. And secondly, I am not tying myself to you.’
His arm flexed beneath her hold. Perhaps she should let go, but if she did, he might run off and act in an even more peculiar fashion.
‘You have changed your tune. I distinctly remember you calling me that buffoon with the pigs.’
‘That does not sound like me.’
‘You were inebriated on the floor of the Beauvarlet library at the time.’
‘I thought we agreed we were never going to talk about that again.’
‘I do not believe so.’ She was supremely irritated by him, but somehow his infectious grin made her want to smile back at him. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop it from happening. This was a serious situation; one of them had to be sensible.
‘Look at it this way. He does not know what I am really like,’ said Christopher, his eyes gleaming in the dim light of the corridor. ‘Right now, the only thing he is sure of is that the woman he always intended to marry is engaged to someone completely unworthy of her.’
‘Stop saying that about yourself. I know you are joking, but I do not like it.’ Something flickered in his eyes, gone before she could analyse it. ‘I do not want you to debase yourself on my behalf.’
His lips softened. ‘Sophia, you…’
‘And, another thing. The end of the Season is six weeks away. If we do nothing to stop her, my mother is going to book that church and you will find yourself with a wife you do not want. So, I suggest you stop saying that you will do anything I want, because in my mother’s world, that means anything she wants. ’
‘Sophia, I…’
But she had no intention of stopping until she had said everything that had been on her mind since the moment Christopher had turned into a man she didn’t recognise.
‘And another thing. How do you know Robert was expecting to marry me? And before you speak, there is one final thing, stop calling me, “my love”. It sounds ridiculous and puts me all turned about.’
There was a silence while she waited for him to respond. She wobbled his arm, as if trying to wake him.
His smile was slow and something squirmed in the bottom of her belly. ‘May I speak now?’
‘Please do.’
Christopher’s grin was almost wolfish. ‘You want him to think I am a few eggs short of a dozen. That way he still stands a chance to win your hand from me.’
Goodness, but this man was arrogant. There were plenty of reasons Robert would be able to win her from Christopher.
Plenty. She would be able to come up with lots the moment she gave it some real thought.
‘Robert knows I would not tie myself to a man who had fewer wits than a hen. Even if I was compromised and forced into it by busybodies, he would know that I would be working to find a way out of it and he would expect me to tell him if it was a ruse. We have been friends for many years. This choice will be bewildering to him because it is so out of character for me to act in such a way.’
‘Ah, but you have been dazzled by my uncommonly good looks. You have been unable to form a coherent thought ever since that unfortunate moment in the Beauvarlets’ conservatory.
You are confounded by me and find it impossible to resist my charm.
He is here to save you from yourself. The whole situation could not be more perfect. ’
In the dim light of the hallway, his eyes gleamed with amusement. He was absurdly handsome, but as he was well aware of the fact, she would not pander to him. ‘Again, he is not going to believe I fell under your spell just because you are taller than most.’
Not smiling at his bark of laughter physically hurt.
‘This has to be a fight Robert can win,’ said Christopher.
‘We can confirm that he has thought about marrying you. There is no reason for him to picture your wedding day otherwise. As to your mother booking the church, I can say something about Tobias wanting our union to take place on one of his estates. Nobody defies a duke, not even mothers of the bride. Trust me, the Tobias excuse always works.’
‘Oh, so this is not the first pretend engagement from which you have had to escape.’ Even though she was fairly confident this was the only time he had been engaged, pretend or otherwise, she wasn’t able to explain the sting of jealousy she felt.
‘Of course it is not. I meant… Oh, I see.’ He rocked back on his heels, his eyes gleaming once more. ‘You are trying to put me out of humour. It will not work. I only meant that I have used the Tobias-not-wanting-something-done excuse to get myself out of all sorts of scrapes.’
‘Does he know that?’
‘No.’ Some of the amusement faded from his eyes. ‘I should not think he would mind, however. Come on, let us go and put on a good show. You will find yourself out of this betrothal and into the one you want within a week.’
That should have made her feel better, but it didn’t.