justifiably, tell her beaux about her.
It was not so easy to deal with Rothwick, she found. It seemed society forgave a man for his indiscretions, the way it never would for a woman. He still appeared—properly humble, to be sure—at Almack’s and at Lady Hassletine’s, and it seemed no one snubbed him at all! Sophia gnawed her lower lip in vexation at the memory. Surely there was some way she could let people know—discreetly, of course—how seriously he’d insulted her. Or better yet, show Rothwick that he had erred, and erred badly.
She would think on it. Right now she needed to have her maid retie her sash and make the best possible entrance at Mrs. Rockwell-Jones’s musicale. Sophia was sure to pick up a little information here and there. She would be going to the musicale with Alice Sharp and her mother, both of whom filled her with ennui, but it was better than being under her own mother’s anxious eye. Mrs. Sharp had more interest in the card games in the provided card-room than in music, and Sophia could easily shake off Alice. She would be left to do precisely as she pleased. Sophia smiled at the thought.
Upon their arrival at Mrs. Rockwell-Jones’s, Sophia noted the number of men in the room and felt the need to rid herself of her companions as soon as she could. Mrs. Sharp was already going in the direction of the card-room. Quickly Sophia introduced Alice—a shy child with mouse-colored hair—to a handsome Hussar and was rewarded with a grateful smile from the girl.
At least half of the gentlemen made their way toward Sophia at her arrival. It was gratifying until she noticed a gentleman she had never seen before. He glanced at her and then did not bother to look her way again. Yes, that was what was so annoying. He did not bother, of all things!
Sophia smiled at one callow youth at her side, causing him to blush and stammer something unimportant. She glanced at the man at the other side of the room. He was not at all handsome—too much of a long-shanks for that—and his skin was quite brown, contrasting oddly with his sun-streaked hair. She chattered and laughed at another unimportant tidbit that fell from the callow whatever-his-name’s lips. But there was something in the way that man lounged against a pillar, the negligent air with which he wore his finely tailored evening wear, that claimed him for a man of fashion and taste. Yet if he was a man of fashion, surely he knew it was required that he pay attention to her?
The man looked up then and caught her eye. For the first time in her life, Sophia blushed involuntarily and looked away. Annoyed, she made herself look at him again, but his gaze was on the musicians. She allowed a small frown to cross her lips in frustration.
“Have I said something wrong, M-Miss Amberley?” stuttered the youth at her side.
Sophia focused on him. Oh, yes. Jack Gordon. A second son of a viscount, with good connections and ten thousand pounds a year. However, he adored her. She gave him her second-best smile. “Oh, no, no! It is just that—that gentleman over there gave me such a peculiar look. I did not know what to think!”
Jack glanced in the direction her fan had waved. “Oh, him!” he said. His voice was scornful, but Sophia noted it was not without a touch of envy. “Pay no attention to him or his glances. That is Sir James Marlowe. He may be a seasoned traveler, and it’s said that he’s as rich as Croesus, but he is known for a... well, I suppose I should not say. He is a mischief-maker at the very least. I am surprised Mrs. Rockwell-Jones invited him.”
There was a general murmur of assent among the young gentlemen around Sophia, and a discussion of Sir James’s supposed adventures—with respect for Sophia’s shell-like ears, of course—ensued.
“Jealous, Mr. Gordon?” said a deep and musical voice. Sophia turned to find that Sir James had joined their circle.
Jack’s ears turned an unfortunate red. He opened his mouth to
It was not so easy to deal with Rothwick, she found. It seemed society forgave a man for his indiscretions, the way it never would for a woman. He still appeared—properly humble, to be sure—at Almack’s and at Lady Hassletine’s, and it seemed no one snubbed him at all! Sophia gnawed her lower lip in vexation at the memory. Surely there was some way she could let people know—discreetly, of course—how seriously he’d insulted her. Or better yet, show Rothwick that he had erred, and erred badly.
She would think on it. Right now she needed to have her maid retie her sash and make the best possible entrance at Mrs. Rockwell-Jones’s musicale. Sophia was sure to pick up a little information here and there. She would be going to the musicale with Alice Sharp and her mother, both of whom filled her with ennui, but it was better than being under her own mother’s anxious eye. Mrs. Sharp had more interest in the card games in the provided card-room than in music, and Sophia could easily shake off Alice. She would be left to do precisely as she pleased. Sophia smiled at the thought.
Upon their arrival at Mrs. Rockwell-Jones’s, Sophia noted the number of men in the room and felt the need to rid herself of her companions as soon as she could. Mrs. Sharp was already going in the direction of the card-room. Quickly Sophia introduced Alice—a shy child with mouse-colored hair—to a handsome Hussar and was rewarded with a grateful smile from the girl.
At least half of the gentlemen made their way toward Sophia at her arrival. It was gratifying until she noticed a gentleman she had never seen before. He glanced at her and then did not bother to look her way again. Yes, that was what was so annoying. He did not bother, of all things!
Sophia smiled at one callow youth at her side, causing him to blush and stammer something unimportant. She glanced at the man at the other side of the room. He was not at all handsome—too much of a long-shanks for that—and his skin was quite brown, contrasting oddly with his sun-streaked hair. She chattered and laughed at another unimportant tidbit that fell from the callow whatever-his-name’s lips. But there was something in the way that man lounged against a pillar, the negligent air with which he wore his finely tailored evening wear, that claimed him for a man of fashion and taste. Yet if he was a man of fashion, surely he knew it was required that he pay attention to her?
The man looked up then and caught her eye. For the first time in her life, Sophia blushed involuntarily and looked away. Annoyed, she made herself look at him again, but his gaze was on the musicians. She allowed a small frown to cross her lips in frustration.
“Have I said something wrong, M-Miss Amberley?” stuttered the youth at her side.
Sophia focused on him. Oh, yes. Jack Gordon. A second son of a viscount, with good connections and ten thousand pounds a year. However, he adored her. She gave him her second-best smile. “Oh, no, no! It is just that—that gentleman over there gave me such a peculiar look. I did not know what to think!”
Jack glanced in the direction her fan had waved. “Oh, him!” he said. His voice was scornful, but Sophia noted it was not without a touch of envy. “Pay no attention to him or his glances. That is Sir James Marlowe. He may be a seasoned traveler, and it’s said that he’s as rich as Croesus, but he is known for a... well, I suppose I should not say. He is a mischief-maker at the very least. I am surprised Mrs. Rockwell-Jones invited him.”
There was a general murmur of assent among the young gentlemen around Sophia, and a discussion of Sir James’s supposed adventures—with respect for Sophia’s shell-like ears, of course—ensued.
“Jealous, Mr. Gordon?” said a deep and musical voice. Sophia turned to find that Sir James had joined their circle.
Jack’s ears turned an unfortunate red. He opened his mouth to
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