A Noble Man. ANNE ASHLEY

her an offer, and made allowances for this contingency by not standing up with the same gentleman more than once.

      Nevertheless, she was never short of a partner, and the evening was well advanced before she managed to leave the dance floor and search out her good friend Robina Perceval, who also happened to be enjoying her first London Season.

      “This is a truly magnificent ball,” Robina announced when Sophia had almost slumped, exhausted, in the vacant chair beside her. “I do not think I’ve ever seen so many people crowded into one room before. The dances Aunt Eleanor organises at the Angel back home are nothing to it.”

      Sophia was not so impressed. Unlike Robina, who lived a rather quiet life at the vicarage in Abbot Quincey, a small market town situated within easy walking distance of the Cleeves’ country home, Sophia had attended many large parties since the age of sixteen. “Yes, a dreadful squeeze, isn’t it? You’ll need to accustom yourself to such gatherings, Robin, because I’m reliably informed that a party isn’t considered a success unless you’re forever stepping on someone’s toes.”

      She took a moment to gaze about the crowded ballroom, trying to pick out the odd familiar face. “I was sorry to learn that your cousin Hester would not be attending, but her brother Hugo is here. I danced with him earlier.”

      “I understand that Aunt Eleanor and Hester will not be arriving in town until April.” Robina couldn’t help but smile. “I think if it was left to Hester she wouldn’t be coming at all. Unlike Hugo, she has no taste for town life. She would much prefer to remain locked away in that attic room of hers. Though what she finds to keep her so occupied up there for hours at a time is anybody’s guess. Who would believe a brother and sister could be so dissimilar!”

      Her smile faded as she glanced at her friend’s lovely profile. They had known each other most all their lives, and had always been the very best of friends, so Robina experienced no hesitation in saying, “I think you should know that there is a rather unpleasant rumour circulating about you tonight.” It was then she noticed the betraying twitch at the corner of her friend’s mouth. “Never tell me that you put it about that you haven’t a feather to fly with! What on earth possessed you?”

      Well aware that the vicar’s daughter would never betray a confidence, Sophia didn’t hesitate in enlightening her. “So you see,” she went on, after repeating the gist of the interview with her father earlier in the day, “I was forced to do something to stem these ridiculous proposals of marriage. And it isn’t as if the rumour is a lie. Papa has threatened to disinherit me if I marry against his wishes.” A defiant little gleam sprang into her eyes. “And to be perfectly honest with you, at this precise moment in time I’m inclined to do precisely that.”

      Robina sat silently digesting what she had learned. She had been taught to consider envy a sin, but couldn’t help feeling a touch resentful over her friend’s privileged position. Their circumstances were vastly contrasting. Sophia could reject suitors at will, whereas she herself would need to consider very carefully any offer of marriage that came her way. There was no fault to find with her lineage: both her parents came from noble stock. The Perceval name was an old and honoured one, but that did not alter the fact that she was little more than a country parson’s daughter whose dowry was woefully small. Her parents, though comfortably circumstanced, were by no means wealthy, and they most certainly could not afford a second London Season for their eldest daughter with three younger ones eagerly waiting to be launched into society. So Robina felt it her duty to accept any reasonable offer of marriage. But how she wished that she too could marry just for love!

      “I have been away from the steadying influence of the vicarage a few days only,” she remarked with a wry little smile, “yet already I’m in danger of being corrupted by the dangerously frivolous lures and heady atmosphere of the metropolis.”

      Sophia frankly laughed. “My staid little friend being led astray…? By whom or what, may I ask?”

      “I shall explain some other time, for unless I much mistake the matter, a gentleman is approaching, with every intention of asking you to dance.”

      Lord Nicholas Risely was, indeed, heading in their direction. Tall, slim and very good-looking, he was a firm favourite with a great many of society’s leading hostesses and, consequently, was invited everywhere. His attire was faultless, his address excellent, and as he just happened to be the son of a duke, albeit a younger one, he was looked upon as being a very eligible parti.

      In the normal course of events these facts alone would have prompted Sophia to add his name to that list of gentlemen best avoided, but she had not. Instead, she had permitted him to add his name to her dance card, simply because she had been most reliably informed that Lord Nicholas Risely was not on the look-out for a wife.

      Happily allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor, she couldn’t help noticing the strange look he cast her as they prepared to join one of the sets. “Something appears to be troubling you, my lord,” she remarked. “I cannot imagine you are concerned over making a cake of yourself. You are such an excellent dancer.”

      As luck would have it the steps of the dance separated them, which granted Lord Nicholas the opportunity of formulating a response. Having met her on two occasions before, he had already decided that he rather liked Sophia Cleeve. She was bright and witty, nothing like the majority of simpering misses who flooded the marriage mart every year. If he had not been quite content to continue with his bachelor existence for a few years longer, she would have been just the sort of girl that would have appealed to him.

      She was immensely pleasing on the eye, too. Perhaps not a beauty in the true classical style, but certainly lovely enough to prompt many a spiteful tabby with a daughter of her own to launch to start spreading malicious gossip about lack of fortune in the hope of making the lovely Lady Sophia appear far less desirable. It was all so unfair, so underhanded, and he for one had no intention of aiding any matchmaking mama’s cause by repeating what he had overheard that night.

      “Nothing troubling me at all, my lady,” he assured her, as they came together again. “Couldn’t be happier. This is a wonderful ball, and I am honoured to be dancing with its belle.”

      “How very gallant of you to say so, Lord Nicholas! Had any other gentleman said such a thing I would have been instantly on my guard, but with you I know I’m perfectly safe.”

      Now what the deuce did she mean by that? he wondered, as they separated, and didn’t hesitate to ask for an explanation when they came together again.

      “Simply that your good friend Freddy Fortescue assures me that you’re not about to relinquish your bachelor status quite yet and, therefore, I can accept your compliments without fear that you will be foolish enough to follow them up with a proposal of marriage.”

      Nicholas blinked. This was plain-speaking of the highest order, and he wasn’t certain that he cared for it very much. He might not have any intention of asking this chit, or any other for that matter, to marry him, but it was very lowering to be told that one’s suit would never be welcomed anyway.

      Sophia was not slow to notice the flicker of annoyance. “I’ve offended you, my lord, and I never meant to do so,” she assured him, her dazzling smile going some way to soothe a young gentleman’s bruised ego. “It’s just that I too am in no hurry to relinquish my single state either, and when I do it will never be to a member of the Ton.”

      He thought for a moment that she couldn’t possibly be serious, that she might well be indulging in some wicked jest. Then he recalled being informed earlier in the evening that Lord Vale’s suit had not prospered. The gentleman himself was not present tonight to confirm this or not, though whether his absence stemmed from pique at having been rejected, or having a prior engagement, was anyone’s guess.

      “You see, Lord Nicholas, men of wealth and rank hold no appeal for me.” Sophia decided that it could only aid her cause to spread this about. “I am determined to marry a worthy man, no matter how lowly his station in life.”

      “A footman, rather than a marquis; a groom rather than a duke,” he suggested, half-joking. “I rather