Just One Season in London (7 page)

He was yards away, taking time and space to bring his mount under control. Wise of him, Sophie thought, to keep some distance from an unknown rider and an unfamiliar animal. Now, however, he pulled the gelding around and came back toward her, and she nudged the mare and met him halfway.

“It was rude and thoughtless of me not to stop well before I reached the edge of the village,” Sophie said. “I do beg your pardon, sir, but you have the most wonderful command of your mount, not to have knocked me into the dust as I deserved!”

She was looking at the horse as she spoke—he was a glossy black gelding, big enough to have bowled Moondust over entirely. Big enough to have seriously injured both of them, in fact.

Sophie raised her eyes to the gelding's rider and had to smother a gasp. She had never seen a young man who was so handsome. Beneath the stiff brim of his hat, his hair curled in ringlets of an even brighter gold than her own, and his wide-set eyes were an unusual shade of greenish blue. His features were regular, his profile perfect, his shoulders broad, his face lean and youthful… He might have been a classical statue come to life. He was older than she was, she decided, but not by much.

The handsome young man controlled his horse with ease, turning him in the street and bringing him up alongside Moondust. He touched his hat respectfully and smiled, which made his features seem even more like those of an angel.

Sophie felt a little dizzy. “Oh,” she said feebly and wondered if this was how men felt when she smiled at them. Was she acting as besotted as most males seemed to do around her?

“It is an honor to encounter you,” he said softly. “
There be none of Beauty's daughters with a magic like thee.
”

His voice was just as beautiful as the rest of him—like bells on a crisp spring morning, Sophie thought, even though he wasn't making a whole lot of sense.

He must have seen her puzzlement. “Byron,” he said simply. “It seemed the only thing to say.”

Lord Randall pulled up beside them once more. “I must apologize, sir.” He sounded both appalled and breathless, as though he had been the one involved in the near collision. “I trust no lasting damage has been done to you or your mount through Miss Ryecroft's heedless action?”

How dared he interrupt that beautiful voice when all she wanted to do was listen? Before she could stop herself, Sophie said sharply, “I've already expressed my regret, Lord Randall. And I'm not some pet puppy whose behavior you are responsible for!”

“The fault was not yours, Miss Ryecroft,” the Greek god said, “but mine. I was not watching when I burst out from between the buildings.” Somehow he had managed to get hold of her hand—no mean feat with the two horses sidling and flirting.

Lord Randall was finally silenced, and he seemed to be paying her no heed. Sophie turned to look over her shoulder, interested to see what could possibly have drawn his attention away from her and the gentleman she had almost run down.

Riding straight toward her down the village street was her mother, with Lady Brindle's groom trotting along a couple of lengths behind. Sophie felt her stomach turn over.

Lady Ryecroft had obviously seen the chase down the hill, as well as the encounter at the edge of the village,
and
the hand-holding—for her mouth was a tight line and her spine was so rigid that Sophie didn't see how her mother could stay in the saddle without shattering.

Sophie knew she was in for it now—though with a last feeble hope of heading off trouble, she said brightly, “Hello, Mama. Did you have a good ride?” It was a foolish question, for anyone could see that no matter how pleasant her ride might have been at the start, Lady Ryecroft was no longer having a joyous morning. Sophie gave a tiny tug and pulled her hand away from the Greek god's.

Her mother's gaze seemed to burn. “Sophronia,” she said firmly. “I believe I indicated that you were to stay at Brindle Park.”

Sophie's jaw dropped with the injustice of it. “But you
didn't
, Mama! You said I wasn't to come riding with you, but—”

“Ma'am,” Lord Randall said, “I must take all the responsibility. I should not have allowed Miss Ryecroft to coax me into taking her out.”

“
Coax
you?” Sophie protested.

“But having done so, I own it was my duty to have maintained control of her mount, and—”

“What an utter hum!” Sophie said. “As if you could!”

The gelding's rider bowed to Lady Ryecroft, then to Sophie, and touched the brim of his hat with his crop. “No damage done, ma'am. Miss Ryecroft, I'm Carrisbrooke.” Sophie felt as if choirs were joining in a hallelujah for the sheer joy of hearing him speak.

Carrisbrooke. Wasn't that the young earl she'd heard Lady Brindle mention at dinner last night? So that explained why Lord Randall was treating him with humble respect, despite the earl being so much younger. She really should not have given in to a temper like that in front of him, no matter how aggravating Lord Randall had been. Her mother's frown was no surprise.

“Carrisbrooke,” Lady Ryecroft said tightly. “How pleasant to meet you. We must return to Brindle Park immediately, however, as we will be going home today.”

Sophie goggled at her. “Today? But,
Mama
…”

Lady Ryecroft gave her a quelling glance, and Sophie subsided. She'd been on the receiving end of that look frequently enough to know there was no ignoring it.

The moment I meet someone interesting
, Sophie thought. She let self-pity wash over her for a moment before she tugged on Moondust's reins and obediently fell in beside her mother.

But she darted a look back over her shoulder and was pleased to see that Carrisbrooke was watching her as she rode away.

***

Portia
held her tongue until the front door had closed behind Lord Ryecroft and his curricle had pulled away from the house and headed east from Grosvenor Square. Once she was absolutely certain he was gone, she turned from the drawing-room window to face Lady Stone. “You cannot be serious, ma'am.”

“…forty-nine, fifty,” Lady Stone said. “It took less than fifty seconds for you to break down. What a disappointment you are, Portia. I wagered with myself that your nerves were so strong you weren't going to say anything at all. But as it happens, you didn't even hold out for a full minute.”

“If you think making fun will keep me quiet, ma'am, I must tell you that you are deceived indeed. You, introduce a debutante? Sponsor her appearance in society?”

“I am certainly able, you know. I fancy I know everyone who is anyone in this city.”

“Take her all over London, to every ball and rout and party, day after day and night after night?”

“I go to many of them anyway.”

“And how long has it been since you attended an assembly at Almack's?”

“A while,” Lady Stone conceded. “Two or three years, perhaps. But I might enjoy it again.”

“You would have to give up the card room and spend every moment chaperoning her.”

“But you see, that's the best part of the idea, because I won't have to give up anything at all. That, my dear Miss Langford, is why I have
you
.”

Portia was speechless.

“As my companion, you're the ideal chaperone for a young woman in her first Season.”

“But you told Lord Ryecroft that you would personally see to it!”

“As I have done, by putting his sister in your capable hands.”

Portia had to admit, as she thought back over the conversation, that Lady Stone had not lied; she had merely allowed Lord Ryecroft—and Portia—to believe whatever they wished.

“You're the perfect chaperone, in fact.” Lady Stone sounded pleased with herself. “You're young enough to mix into her crowd, so you can stay close at hand and see exactly what she's up to. You can even hear what she says to the other chits when they're chattering to each other in the withdrawing rooms at balls. That, you must admit, would be difficult for someone like me to accomplish.”

Portia had to bite her lip hard at the image of Lady Stone surrounded by giggling young women—trading gossip with them, admiring new hats, tying their ribbons and corsets, mending rips… and sharing confidences along the way.

“Yet you have that air of respectability that every chaperone requires.”

Portia sighed. “And how do you think it's going to look to society—your bringing out Lord Ryecroft's sister?”

Lady Stone sighed sentimentally and clasped her hands together under her chin in a gesture worthy of a charade. “I suppose society will fondly think I'm a childless lady who wishes to recapture lost opportunities by pretending, for a Season, to have a daughter.”

“No,” Portia said bitterly. “They'll think you're an old woman who is trying to curry favor with an impecunious but handsome young man because you feel an unnatural attraction for him!”

Lady Stone looked into the far distance for a moment. Her index finger tapped gently against her jaw.

Portia didn't know if she should feel pleased that her employer seemed to have understood her point at last, or concerned because the work of canceling this odd start of Lady Stone's was bound to fall on her companion's shoulders. The one thing Portia looked forward to even less than presiding over Sophie Ryecroft's come-out was telling her brother the entire idea had been called off.

She was thinking how best to break it to him when Lady Stone said, “Do you truly think he is?”

“Poverty-stricken? My dear ma'am…”

“No. You called him handsome.”

Portia stared at her. “We're talking about you here, Lady Stone—not me.”

“Are we, my dear? But what an innocent you are if you do not realize there's nothing at all unnatural about a woman of
any
age feeling attracted to a young buck like that one. He's not only handsome; he has a winning way about him—unusual for a man his age. Inheriting so young—and facing such financial strictures—has matured him beyond his years.”

Portia opened her mouth, thought better of what she'd like to say, and closed it again.

Lady Stone laughed merrily. “Oh, don't look at me like that—and don't be such a ninnyhammer. Have you not even stopped to think? The girl has a mother, after all. Lady Ryecroft will hardly allow her daughter to be launched into society without her assistance.”

“Oh,” Portia said feebly. “Of course.”

“One might think you had your mind so firmly upon Lord Ryecroft that you'd forgotten all else… It will appear to the public that Miranda Ryecroft and I are the best of long-lost friends, especially since I've just returned from the corner of Surrey where she lives.”

“And you think people will believe you're giving Lady Ryecroft and her family houseroom only for
her
convenience?”

“Perhaps not. But I'll tell everyone I'm inviting them in order to make your life more lively.”

“Mine?”

“A dull existence you have of it, Miss Langford, being a companion to an old lady like me. But never let it be said that I'm not a thoughtful employer. With some young things about the house, you can't possibly be bored to extinction.”

Overworked
, Portia thought.
Annoyed… put-upon… aggravated beyond reason…
But no, Lady Stone was right; with the Ryecrofts in the house, she would absolutely not be bored.

“Yes, indeed,” Lady Stone mused. “It's you I'm thinking of.”

“I am honored beyond reason, ma'am.”

Lady Stone didn't seem to hear the ironic twist in Portia's voice. “As well you should be, my girl, because the sort of man who will seriously court Sophie Ryecroft is exactly the kind you're looking for.”

“I am not looking—”

“Then you should be. And since she can't marry
all
of them…”

“You believe that perhaps a crumb or two might fall my way?” Portia said dryly.

“And why shouldn't it? You're presentable enough, and your pedigree is nearly as good as hers.”

“If one leaves aside the fact that I earn my living as a companion.”

“Irrelevant. Of course, you'll need some new dresses too, if you're to go about in the lovely Miss Ryecroft's wake and help to keep her on the straight and narrow. You'd best get started on that right now so the dressmakers will be free by the time the Beauty arrives. I wonder how long Ryecroft will be about bringing them? Better inform the housekeeper that we'll need the guest rooms opened and polished too.” Lady Stone yawned. “I believe I'll have a nap; I was wakeful last night.”

For a moment Portia feared Lady Stone intended to tell her exactly what had kept her awake. She'd been mooning over handsome young Lord Ryecroft, no doubt—perhaps picturing him in her boudoir or visualizing him shucking his clothes in her bedroom… Portia could see the details of that vision with no effort at all. Lord Ryecroft's face alight with interest, with humor, with delight… with desire…

Only it wasn't Lady Stone he was looking at, in Portia's imagination. And it wasn't Lady Stone's boudoir that he seemed to fill to capacity, but her own smaller bedroom. She could actually see his hand, strong and tanned against the pure white of his cravat, as he began ever so slowly to unfasten it, revealing his throat… A little shiver ran over her.
Of distaste
, she told herself firmly.

“I won't need you for the rest of the morning, so you may start straightaway on arrangements for the ball.”

“Ball?” Portia was surprised she could speak at all.

“Yes, I'll be giving a ball to formally introduce Miss Ryecroft—and her brother, of course—to the
ton
. In about three weeks, I think.”

Portia was only surprised that Lady Stone had remembered Miss Ryecroft, and not her brother, was supposed to be the star of the show.