“You’re right, Penny. The flowers will be lovely. Thank you for cheering me up.” The thought of a colorful garden wasn’t really sufficient to improve Sophie’s mood, but it seemed unkind to say so.
“Why did you need cheering?” asked a male voice from the doorway. Sophie jumped, hoped fervently her reaction hadn’t been noticed, and turned in time to see Alex enter the room and claim a seat. He was immediately followed by Sophie’s butler, looking harried but determined.
“The Duke of Rockeforte!” James announced breathlessly.
“Yes, thank you, James.”
“I wish he’d stop doing that,” Alex grumbled as the man took his bow and left.
In an effort to appear mildly amused rather than suprised and imprudently delighted at his sudden appearance, she pasted on a smirk. “You tried to outrun him, didn’t you?”
“Yes, and an undignified spectacle it was too, racing past your manservant like a twelve-year-old boy.”
“I could have told you it wouldn’t work,” Sophie informed him. “I specifically instructed him to announce your arrival regardless of the fuss you might make. I’ve noticed how much you enjoy extra attention.”
Alex just snorted.
Penny did an admirable job of smothering a giggle. “Will you be needing anything else, miss?”
“Thank you, no. You may take the rest of the day for yourself if you like, I won’t be going out to night.”
“Thank you, miss.”
Sophie watched her maid depart, then turned a critical eye to her guest. True to his word, Alex hadn’t brought flowers, candy, or poetry. Sick to death of the vapid conversation she’d been forced to endure with other gentlemen, Sophie was forced to admit she would have welcomed Alex today with open arms if he had come bearing a basket full of poisonous asps. She was that desperate for a respite from her exhausting charade, and Alex provided the first chance she’d had for one in days.
Kate had left for Haldon Hall, her family’s country estate, to assist her mother with the final preparations before their house party, and Mirabelle had reluctantly gone to her uncle’s for a short visit. Sir Frederick’s company had allowed for some mea sure of relief, but he seemed rather preoccupied with personal matters of his own and made only sporadic appearances at events. It seemed terribly unfair that the one gentleman on the list she actually liked was the one she saw the least.
“You’re woolgathering, Sophie.”
“Hmm? Oh, so I was.”
“You haven’t answered my earlier question. Why did you require cheering?”
He asked the question lightly, but she noticed the careful way he studied her face. She kept her voice and expression shuttered.
“Just the weather,” she remarked with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“You’re lying.”
She looked at him in surprise. “Why would you say that?”
“If I told you how I know, you’d take more care in the future and I’d lose that particular advantage, wouldn’t I?”
“I believe I was inquiring as to why you thought you knew I was lying, not how you knew I was lying, which would imply that I actually was lying.” And if that tangled mess of words didn’t distract him from his original query, she rather thought nothing would.
“I’ve no interest in deciphering that, let alone responding to it. Just answer the original question, if you please. Why did you require cheering?”
Damn. She should have known that tactic wouldn’t work on him. She tried not saying anything at all, but Alex quickly filled the silence.
“You’re not going out to night,” Alex murmured thoughtfully. “You’re not ill, are you?”
“No, I’m not ill. I’m just tired. Am I not allowed to have a bad day?”
“Of course you are. I’m just curious as to why today receives that particular distinction.”
Sophie slumped in her chair. She simply could not think of a way to answer him without lying.
“Did something happen this morning?” he asked. “I ran into your Mrs. Summers in the park this morning. She mentioned you had a pleasant time last night…said you looked happy.”
She hadn’t been happy last night. She just hadn’t been miserable, at least not until the very end. She’d attended a large dinner party at Mr. and Mrs. Granville’s Mayfield home. The only affair of the week that had not claimed a single one of her suitors as a guest. That alone had made the dinner more pleasant than most.
She’d accepted the invitation because Mr. Granville was on her other list—the one of possible traitors given her by Mr. Smith. She’d enjoyed an evening of good food, and surprisingly good company considering the host was a possible Napoleon sympathizer. And, once again, she had done her duty by sneaking about his house and slipping into his study while the ladies went to the drawing room and the gentlemen stayed in the dining room to enjoy their port. And once again, she had come up empty-handed.