The Earl Plays With Fire. Isabelle Goddard
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away and she would be free of any threat of a marriage proposal.
She had dressed with some care for the evening. After the unsettling events of the last few days she felt the need to look her best. The emerald silk gown opening to an underdress of the palest green gauze was a stunning creation, her hair flaming in contrast and the green of her eyes reflected in its deepest tones. A low bodice revealed the pale perfection of shapely breasts and shoulders as smooth as alabaster. Without immodesty, she knew from experience that she would attract the attention of most of the men there. Not Richard’s, though. He would certainly not be at Almack’s. Even in his youth it had been a place he’d always refused to attend, though she had often begged him to be her escort.
She looked across the table at her sister who was drinking soup with exaggerated care, intent on preserving her gown. With a start she realised that Sophia was dressed rather too elaborately for dinner at home and wondered why. The conundrum was soon solved.
‘Sophia will be coming with us,’ her mother announced with studied carelessness.
‘To Almack’s?’ Christabel asked blankly.
‘Yes, of course, to Almack’s.’
‘But what about vouchers?’
‘I have managed to obtain some. Lady Jersey was kind enough to bestow them on me at short notice. She understood the position and wanted very much to make Sophia’s acquaintance.’
‘Nobody gets tickets for Almack’s that quickly, Mama, so you must have known for some time that Sophia was coming to London.’
Her mother made no reply and the ruthless interrogation continued. ‘I thought you said that you and Papa had decided only recently that she should visit—in fact, you must have been plotting it together for weeks!’ The net seemed to be closing in on her ever more tightly.
Her mother’s telltale blush revealed her unhappiness at the deception while Sophia’s face was one of untroubled victory.
‘Hardly plotting, Bel. Sophia’s coming to stay was certainly not part of any grand plan. But when Sir Julian began to grow ever more particular in his attentions to you, it seemed sensible to introduce Sophia to ton society a little earlier than we planned. I heard only last week that your brother and sister were on their way, but said nothing. I knew you had a lot on your mind and thought it would be a delightful surprise.’
‘Delightful,’ Christabel offered drily. ‘But do you feel that the dress is quite right for the occasion?’
‘And what, pray, is wrong with my dress?’ Sophia asked combatively.
Lady Tallis, who had unsuccessfully tried to direct her younger daughter to one of the more modest creations hanging in her wardrobe, interjected gently, ‘Christabel has such refined taste, my dear, and she is familiar with what is most suitable for Almack’s. Why don’t you reconsider the magenta? The rose chiffon would become you so well.’
‘The rose is boring and I have no intention of being boring.’
‘You won’t be that,’ Benedict put in unhelpfully, ‘the whole world will see you coming at fifty paces.’
‘You have no notion of female dress, so hold your tongue,’ she spat.
‘I have no notion of going to Almack’s either so I won’t be the one who has to hand out the sunshades,’ her unrepentant brother grinned.
‘What is this, Benedict, of course you are to come with us,’ his mother chided. ‘You will need to put on evening dress. I assume that you brought it with you.’
‘But not to do the pretty at Almack’s,’ he grumbled.
After a good deal more in this vein he agreed reluctantly to squire his mother and sisters. Almack’s he stigmatised as being the waste of a good evening and issued a cryptic warning that he would be leaving pretty promptly as he had far more interesting prospects in view.
Almack’s was always crowded even at nine o’clock in the evening. The doors shut promptly at eleven and anyone arriving after that time, no matter how important, was barred. The patronesses controlled every aspect of the club with iron fists and Lady Jersey’s vouchers had been hard won. In the entrance hall Sophia stopped to preen herself in the Venetian mirror, which hung at the bottom of the red-carpeted stairs, but not for long. Her mother was soon ushering both girls upwards into the main salon, ablaze with a thousand candles hanging from crystal chandeliers and tucked into the wall sconces. People looked curiously at the small party, finding it difficult to believe that this new young woman was Christabel’s sister. There could be no greater contrast, one tall, willowy, an ice maiden with flaming hair, the other shorter, rounded and an undistinguished brunette. No wonder the gown had to be magenta. It was Sophia’s way of seizing some of the attention that always fell so unfairly to her sister.
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