Chapter 4 #3
Thus Anthony found himself paired with Sophia, a fact he had actually guaranteed beforehand by paying Lady Pilkington a few carefully chosen compliments and offering a single pink rose.
The lady had blushed and giggled and told Anthony that she had intended to pair him with the sister of an earl anyway, of course, but a little token of affection went a long way to securing the match.
Sophia grasped his arm lightly, and he fought the urge to place his hand over her fingers. He glanced at her, wondering if she would set the tone for their evening or if he should attempt something to set her at ease. To set himself at ease. In the end, she decided the matter for him.
She gave him a smile that seemed genuine and void of her earlier discontent.
“I’ve spent the time since your departure from London looking high and low for a friend and confidante to replace you, Lord Wilshire, and I’ve had a most vexing time of it.
I do hope you’re prepared to apologize very prettily to me. ”
Humor sparkled in her eyes, and he realized, his heart sinking, that she must truly believe every word he’d written to her in that awful letter.
She seemed to have accepted it, to have found the wherewithal to move forward, despite what Jack had mentioned about the state of her heart.
It was for the best, of course, because her safety was paramount, but Anthony had hoped, somewhere in the back of his mind, that she would come to him in fury, demand to know what he was about, why he’d left, express her hurt and dismay and anger, thereby proving that she cared for him as much as he did for her and that perhaps when he found the Janus Document they might resume their path.
He returned her smile and dredged up a show of charm, hoping it didn’t sound forced.
“I shall put every effort into such an apology then, my dear lady, and hope that in time you will find it in your heart to forgive me.” He wanted nothing more than to take her by the hand down the hallway and into the library where they could speak alone, where he could explain.
Anthony pulled out Sophia’s chair at the table and waited until the footman had seated her before taking his own seat.
Conversation buzzed around the group, which was large enough to require two tables that accommodated twenty-four people each.
Usually skilled in monitoring several exchanges at once in a small crowd, Anthony found himself struggling to pay attention to anything but the woman seated next to him.
Sophia said something to him, but he was at sea like a fool.
Had her dark lashes always framed those tawny eyes so beautifully?
Had her expressive face ever truly looked at him with joy and affection?
Might he, even now, be her husband if Lord Braxton hadn’t interrupted his life that fateful night and thrown his plans awry?
He blinked. “I’m sorry?”
She wrinkled her brow. “Are you feeling well, my lord?” She paused. “I asked if you have enjoyed your time in India thus far.”
“Yes, very much.” He scratched under his collar with one finger. “Sophia, please no ‘my lording.’ There was a time when I believe we considered ourselves the very best of—”
“Friends. Yes, I know.” When she reached for her glass and took a swallow, her eyes narrowed.
Or perhaps her expression hadn’t changed, for when she looked at him again, she was all things flirtatious and light.
“I suppose I shall make an exception in your case. Propriety would insist we address each other more formally, given the time that has passed since we last were together, but as Jack holds you in such high regard, I will not take you to task for using my Christian name without permission.”
Blast. Was she in earnest? Were they truly reverting back to the beginning of their relationship?
They had very likely had a conversation similar to this one right after Jack and Ivy’s wedding when they began to spend more time in one another’s company.
His frustration mounted, his anger at Braxton and the Millers reaching new heights.
He had no choice but to follow her lead.
“I thank you for your permission, of course. How crass of me to have made presumptions.” He managed a tight smile and a wink.
This is ridiculous. They were speaking as strangers.
The woman knew more about him, about his views on life, and his struggles as a youth with his family, than anyone alive or dead.
There was nothing he hadn’t shared with her except for his status as a spy during his war years.
And keeping that from her had been more force of habit than anything, an instinct to protect her from the espionage and danger that had dogged his heels.
He had put it behind him. It was finished.
Except now it wasn’t.
Anthony stifled a sigh and leaned back slightly as the footman placed the first course before him on the table.
He ran his customary glance around the room, unconsciously taking note of who was seated where, who conversed with whom, who seemed out of sorts.
He looked for anyone who acted differently than they had in the short time he’d known them.
The clergyman and his wife seemed stiff, but he couldn’t truly say it was an anomaly. Mr. Denney ruled his congregation and—one might assume—his family with an iron fist. Mrs. Denney was a woman of relatively few words and no strong opinions.
The First Cavalry Light Brigade was represented by its usual cast of characters, mostly favorable fellows with a few rowdies thrown into the mix.
Lady Pilkington was firm about rules of conduct at the Residency.
Where their military training left off, her edicts took over, and according to Dylan, there had been no incidents of note at the Pilkington mansion.
There had been a time when Anthony would have shared every detail with Sophia and solicited her opinion on the characters in play.
Perhaps in the coming days or weeks, he and Sophia might find their way back to that place where they knew what the other would say, would think.
And she would tease him for bothering to care about mundane details of elite social gatherings, and he wouldn’t tell her that he didn’t truly care, but he only wanted to hear her laugh, to listen to her talk, to gauge her assessment of people that was as good as any operative he’d ever worked with in the field.
There was the ultimate irony, he supposed with a small shake of his head as he spooned the last of his soup.
Sophia would have made an excellent spy.