Mistress Of Madderlea. Mary Nichols

but she is of no consequence, not out of the top drawer at all and must be discounted. Your grandfather would not entertain such a one.’

      ‘No. So, I am to make a play for Miss Roswell, am I?’

      ‘You could do a great deal worse. It was fortuitous that we went to my mother’s soirée. Unless you make a push she will be snapped up.’

      ‘I do not intend to make a push. I cannot be so cold-blooded.’ They had arrived at the door of the club and turned to enter. ‘But if, on further acquaintance, I find myself growing fond of her…’

      ‘Oh, I forgot that love was an item on the list.’

      Richard laughed and punched him playfully on the arm.

      ‘Very well, I shall call on Lady Fitzpatrick tomorrow and suggest a carriage ride in the Park. And now, do you think we can forget the chits and concentrate on a few hands of cards?’

      Lady Fitzpatrick and the two young ladies were sitting in the parlour the following morning, discussing the previous evening’s events, when the footman scratched at the door and, flinging it wide, announced in a voice which would have done justice to a drill sergeant, ‘My lady, Lord Braybrooke wishes to know if you are at home.’

      ‘Braybrooke?’ her ladyship queried, making Sophie wonder if she was losing her memory as well as her other faculties.

      ‘He was at the gathering last evening, Lady Fitzpatrick,’ Charlotte said. ‘Surely you remember?’

      ‘Oh, Braybrooke! To be sure. Rathbone’s grandson. Show him in, Lester. At once.’

      He disappeared and she turned to Charlotte. ‘Who would have thought he would call so soon? He must have been singularly taken by you. Now, do not be too eager, nor too top-lofty either, my dear. Conduct yourself decorously and coolly.’ Fussily she patted her white curls and adjusted her cap, took several deep breaths and fixed a smile of welcome on her face, just as the footman returned.

      ‘Viscount Braybrooke, my lady.’

      Richard, dressed in buff coat, nankeen breeches and polished hessians, strode into the room and bowed over her hand. ‘My lady.’

      ‘Good morning, Lord Braybrooke. This is a singular pleasure.’ She waved a plump hand in the general direction of the girls. ‘You remember Miss Roswell and Miss Hundon?’

      ‘How could I forget such a trio of beauties, my lady? Quite the most brilliant stars in the firmament last evening.’ He turned and caught Sophie’s look of disdainful astonishment before she could manage to wipe it from her face and his own features broke into a grin. He was bamming them in such an obvious way, it made her furious, all the more so because Lady Fitzpatrick was simpering in pleasure and Charlotte’s cheeks were on fire with embarrassment. He plucked Charlotte’s hand from the folds of her muslin gown and raised it to his lips. ‘Miss Roswell, your servant. I hope I see you well.’

      ‘Quite well, thank you, my lord.’

      ‘And, Miss Hundon,’ he said, turning to Sophie almost reluctantly, ‘you are well?’

      ‘Indeed, yes.’ He was having the same effect on her as he had had the previous evening. A night’s sleep and time to consider her reaction had made not a jot of difference. He exuded masculine strength and confidence, so why act the dandy? Why pretend to be other than he was? This thought brought her to her senses with a jolt. She was acting too, wasn’t she?

      Lady Fitzpatrick indicated a chair. ‘Please sit down, my lord.’

      ‘Thank you.’ He flung up the tails of his frockcoat and folded his long length neatly into the chair.

      Sophie watched in fascination as he engaged Lady Fitzpatrick in small talk. To begin with he was frequently obliged to repeat himself, but as soon as he realised her ladyship was hard of hearing—a fact she would never admit—he spoke more clearly, enunciating each word carefully, winning her over completely.

      Sometimes he addressed his remarks to Charlotte, smiling at her and flattering her, but rarely turned to Sophie. She was glad of that. He was far too conceited for her taste and she sincerely hoped Charlotte would not be such a ninny as to fall for a bag of false charm.

      It was several minutes before he could bring himself to speak of the true reason for his visit. It had been a mistake to come, but Martin had nagged at him unmercifully, reminding him of his grandfather’s ultimatum and in the end he had concluded it could do no harm. Little Miss Roswell was pretty; she had a rosy glow about her and an air of insouciance he found at odds with her position as heiress to a great estate.

      But the other, the country cousin, disturbed him. Her eyes, intelligent, far-seeing, humorous, seemed to follow his every move, to understand that he was playing a part dictated by Society. He was not behaving like his normal self and he was afraid she would call his bluff and expose him for the clunch he felt himself to be, a feeling with which he was not at all familiar. How could she do this to him?

      He had come to ask Miss Roswell to take a carriage ride with him, but she would have to be chaperoned and it was evident that was the role Miss Hundon was to play. Her watchful eyes would be on him every second, protecting her cousin, reducing him to an incompetent swain.

      ‘My lady,’ he said, addressing Lady Fitzpatrick. ‘I came to ask if you and the young ladies would care to join me in a carriage ride in the park tomorrow afternoon.’

      ‘Why, how kind of you,’ she said, while both girls remained mute. ‘I should very much like to accept, but…Oh, dear, I am afraid I have undertaken to visit Lady Holland.’ She paused. ‘But I do not see why you should not take the young ladies. Miss Hundon will chaperone Miss Roswell and their groom can ride alongside. If you are agreeable, of course.’

      ‘I shall look forward to it.’ He rose and bowed his way out, leaving two thunderstruck young ladies and a very self-satisfied matron behind him.

      ‘Well…’ Lady Fitzpatrick let out her breath in a long sigh. ‘I never thought you would engage the attention of someone so high in Society so soon.’

      ‘No doubt he has heard of my…’ Sophie paused and hastened to correct herself ‘…my cousin’s fortune. Madderlea is a prize worth a little attention, do you not think?’

      Charlotte’s face was bright pink. ‘That is unkind in you, Sophie,’ she said. ‘Do you not think he likes me for myself?’

      Sophie was immediately contrite. ‘Of course, he does, my dear, who could not? But you must remember that you, too, are superior and have something to offer.’

      ‘Quite right,’ her ladyship said, after asking Sophie to repeat herself. ‘Now, we must discuss clothes and what you will say to him, for though it is one thing to attract his attention, it is quite another to keep it.’

      ‘What do you know of the gentleman, my lady?’ Sophie enquired, for Charlotte seemed to be in a daydream, and someone had to ask. ‘Apart from the fact that he is grandson to the Duke of Rathbone. Is he the heir?’

      ‘Indeed, he is. His father was a second son and did not expect to inherit, particularly as the heir was married and in good health, but the old Duke outlived both his sons. There is a cousin, I believe, but she is female.’

      ‘Can she not inherit?’ Charlotte asked.

      ‘Unlike Madderlea, the estate is entailed. Richard Braybrooke came back from service in the Peninsula to find himself Viscount Braybrooke and his grandfather’s heir.’

      ‘A position, I am persuaded, he finds singularly uncongenial,’ Sophie put in.

      ‘Yes, he is a most congenial gentleman,’ Lady Fitzpatrick said, mishearing her. ‘Such superior address and conduct can only be the result of good breeding.’

      Sophie choked on a laugh, making Charlotte look at her in alarm. ‘If good breeding means one is insufferably arrogant, then he is, indeed, well-bred,’ she murmured, while wiping tears of mirth from her face