A Noble Man. ANNE ASHLEY

      “She might be wilful on occasions, Thomas,” her ladyship responded, once again finding herself coming to Sophia’s defence, “but she’s no fool. She may still harbour some girlish romantic notions, but I believe she will think long and hard before she ties herself to any man.”

      The Earl remained unconvinced, but the Countess had more faith in their daughter’s judgement. “Leave it to me, my dear,” she said in her placid way. “I’ll have a talk with her.”

      Final arrangements for the ball kept the Countess occupied for the remainder of the afternoon. Even if this had not been the case she would still have refrained from searching out her daughter and raising the topic of marriage, simply because it could only make the situation worse if Sophia felt that both her parents were intent on her making a superb match before the Season was over.

      In fact, nothing could have been further from the truth. Although the Countess could well understand her husband’s concern over their only daughter’s future, and could appreciate, too, even though he had not admitted to it in so many words, that he was eager to keep fortune-hunters at bay, she saw no earthly reason why Sophia should not relax and enjoy her first Season in London. If she did happen to make the acquaintance of some personable gentleman with whom she could happily spend the rest of her life, all well and good; if not…well, there was always next year.

      It was in this very understanding mood that the Countess entered her daughter’s bedchamber in time to see the skilful young abigail positioning a spray of silk flowers in Sophia’s beautifully arranged black locks. Unlike her occasionally volatile daughter, her ladyship always kept a tight hold on her emotions, but there was definitely a hint of pride in her grey eyes as she studied her daughter’s faultless appearance.

      “My dear, you look utterly charming,” she announced in her quiet way, while nodding dismissal to the maid.

      Although Mother Nature had been undoubtedly generous, blessing her with lovely face and figure to match, Sophia was singularly lacking in conceit, as she proved now by glancing at her reflection with scant enthusiasm. “This is a very pretty gown, Mama, and I do like it very well, but I would have preferred to have it made up in dark blue or red. Madame Félice said that, with my colouring, vibrant shades would suit me best.”

      “And Madame Félice has earned herself something of a reputation for never being wrong, I know,” the Countess responded. “Nonetheless, I’m still old-fashioned enough to believe that only pastel shades are suitable for young ladies. After you’re married, of course, the wearing of richer colours will be perfectly in order.”

      She caught her daughter’s suddenly assessing look in the dressing-table mirror, and smiled. No, she mused, there was precious little wrong with Sophia’s understanding. Nor did she suppose for a moment that her daughter would disgrace herself by eloping with some penniless nobody, providing, of course, pressure was not brought to bear which might induce her to commit such folly.

      “No, my dear, I didn’t come to your room with the intention of discussing the subject of marriage,” she assured her, knowing precisely what was going through that pretty little head. “I should imagine you’ve heard more than enough on that particular topic for one day.”

      Sophia almost sighed with relief. Her mother, always remarkably composed, was unfailingly sympathetic to the feelings of others. How she wished she could be more like her! Sadly, though, she feared she had inherited the occasionally fiery and frequently stubborn Cleeve temperament.

      “I’ve never known Papa to be so unreasonable before. He seems to suppose that only a person of rank and wealth will make me a good husband.”

      The Countess, appreciating only too well her poor husband’s dilemma, remained silent. How could a loving father explain to a much beloved daughter that her hand might be sought in marriage for her fortune alone, without hurting her feelings?

      “And yet it was he who instilled in us all,” Sophia went on, “that a servant can exhibit just as much nobility as a duke. Perhaps he taught me too well, for I would much rather be married to a good and worthy man, no matter what his position on the social ladder, than marry a titled gentleman simply because by doing so I could continue to live in luxury.” She cast her mother a look of entreaty. “You can understand that, can’t you, Mama?”

      “Better than you think, my dear. What you are trying to say is that you wish to marry a man you can love and respect and, moreover, a man who will love and respect you in return.” Seating herself on the chaise-longue, she held out her hand and waited for her daughter to join her before adding, “Your father wants that too. He is only concerned for your happiness, Sophia. He would do everything within his power to ensure that you do not make the mistake that he once made.”

      The Earl’s first marriage was a subject that was rarely mentioned—taboo, almost. Sophia had, none the less, learned enough over the years from elderly servants and friends of the family to be certain that her father bitterly regretted marrying the beautiful Danielle.

      “Yes, I do understand,” she said softly. “But I have yet to meet a man with whom I could happily spend the rest of my life. I’m afraid, Mama, that the Lord Vales of this world are not to my taste.”

      “Middle-aged dandies were never to mine either, child,” the Countess confessed, giving her daughter’s hand an affectionate pat. “There is no earthly reason why you should accept a proposal of marriage if you do not wish to. Sooner or later I feel certain that you will meet some personable young gentleman who will succeed in capturing your heart, but until such time, do not worry your pretty head over it any more.”

      This was easier said than done. Although slightly reassured by her mother’s understanding attitude, Sophia remained decidedly troubled. She hated being at odds with her father, while at the same time she continued to resent the unreasonable stand he had adopted. Was it her fault that four gentlemen had proposed marriage to her since her arrival in town? She certainly hadn’t offered any one of them the least encouragement, unless agreeing to partner someone in a dance was considered sufficient inducement for a gentleman to propose marriage.

      It was all so ridiculous, she decided, rising to her feet and accompanying her mother from the room. She had barely exchanged more than a dozen words with any one of those rejected suitors, so what on earth had made them suppose that she would make an ideal wife?

      She was not so small-minded as to suppose that just because love at first sight was a phenomenon that she herself had failed to experience the event never took place. She was well aware, too, that gentlemen were frequently beguiled by a pretty face. She could not help wondering, though, whether she would appear quite so appealing to certain members of the opposite sex if it were not for the fifty thousand pounds her father had promised to settle upon her when she married.

      A slow and wickedly calculating smile curled the corners of what one besotted young fop had been overheard to call the most kissable mouth in London, as Sophia caught sight of her father standing at the entrance to the ballroom in readiness to greet the first of the guests. His threat to disinherit her if she married without his approval might well be turned to her advantage. If it became common knowledge that she wasn’t an heiress at all, those offers for her hand might swiftly lessen and, with any luck, cease altogether, leaving her free to enjoy her first Season in London without causing further friction between her and her sire.

      The idea, once firmly embedded, quickly began to grow, and Sophia had little difficulty in putting her plan into effect by dropping a word here and there into a receptive ear. Although the Season had not officially begun, London was certainly not thin of company, and invitations to the Yardley ball had been eagerly accepted. Among the four hundred guests were many hopeful mamas whose daughters sadly possessed scant claim to beauty. It was only to be expected, therefore, that some doting parents would be only too willing to pass on unfavourable snippets concerning a dangerous rival, especially if it increased their own offspring’s chances of achieving a suitable match.

      Consequently, as the evening progressed, Sophia became increasingly satisfied with the many long and thoughtful glances cast in her direction. She was not so foolish as to