“Let us dance,” he said, taking her hand in his.
Nathaniel returned Sophie to her own group. He should have gone earlier, he knew, to pay his respects to her niece, since he had been presented to the girl in the park. Doing so, of course, would mean having to be presented to her parents too. But then Houghton was Walter Armitage’s brother. It was only right that he make the man’s acquaintance. There was no reason to keep his distance because he was bedding Sophie—the idea still seemed dizzyingly strange. There was nothing immoral in what they were doing—he had convinced himself of that during the course of the day. And there was nothing distasteful about it, provided they were discreet and kept the affair strictly private.
And so he went with Sophie, bowed to and smiled at Miss Sarah Armitage and complimented her on her appearance, and secured an introduction to her parents and her brother. Houghton, he discovered, had none of Walter’s ruggedness of build or floridity of complexion. He looked far more refined. They all talked about Walter for a few minutes and then, because Miss Armitage had stood close to him and gazed at him the whole while with the result that any prospective partners must have assumed she already had one, he felt obliged to invite her to dance the set with him.
That
seemed somehow improper, especially as the girl had that way of looking at him, he remembered from the year after Waterloo, when he and his three friends had quickly come to realize that they were being seen as very eligible young men. He had forgotten. Because he had come to town with the express purpose of shepherding Georgina and Lavinia about and finding husbands for them, it had not struck him that perhaps women—both mothers and daughters—would be looking at
him
as a prospective husband.
Miss Sarah Armitage was looking at him that way. So had her mother before he led the girl out. And of course Miss Armitage looked quite exquisitely lovely. He set himself to talking as little as possible—the intricate patterns of the dance discouraged conversation—and to confining his few remarks to dull, safe topics. But fate had conspired against him. It was the supper dance, and so he was obliged to offer the girl his arm when it was over and to lead her into the supper room and secure her a place beside him. He was obliged to talk with her, to smile at her, to give her the courtesy of his undivided attention.
He must be so terribly brave, she told him. He simply must tell her all about his courageous deeds in battle. She could not believe that her uncle Walter had been the only brave officer. He told her a few of the more amusing incidents he could remember, like the time when Major Hanley, an avid sportsman, had taken out his dogs and his cronies and had had such success at the hunt that they had come riding back to camp whooping and shouting and doing nothing to quell the exuberant barking of the dogs. Their colonel, who had been sleeping off the effects of a hearty dinner washed down by large quantities of liquor, had woken up startled and befuddled, had assumed a surprise French attack was about to descend upon his head, and had bellowed out commands that had thrown the whole camp into panic and confusion.
“But there was no French attack?” Miss Armitage asked after a short pause, her eyes wide with alarm.
He smiled gently at her. “There was no French attack,” he said. “Only Major Hanley and his friends and his dogs.”
“Oh,” she said. “He ought not to have been making so much noise, ought he? I daresay he might have alerted a French force had one been near. And then you and Uncle Walter and—everyone would have been in grave danger.”
“You are quite right,” he said, deciding that he must turn the conversation to bonnets or some such topic with which she would feel more at home. “I do believe Major Hanley was severely reprimanded and was contrite and never did it again.” He was about to add that the colonel had sworn off drink from that moment on, but he did not want her to believe she was being made fun of.
“And Aunt Sophie would have been in grave danger,” she added as an afterthought.
“Your uncle was there to keep her safe,” he said. “And all of us who did not have wives looked out for the ladies too, you know, as gentlemen must always do. Sophie was a particular favorite with my friends and me. We always kept an eye out for her whenever your uncle was on duty.”
“I am sure,” she said, gazing at him with what appeared to be real worship in her eyes, “she must have felt perfectly safe if
you
were close by, Sir Nathaniel.”
He smiled at her and looked about the room to find Sophie. She was sitting some distance away with her sister-in-law. But a gentleman came up behind her even as Nathaniel watched, and touched her on the shoulder. She turned her head, her customary smile on her lips, and—and something happened. She did not stop smiling. She proceeded to speak to the man and to listen to him and then turned to her sister-in-law, apparently to present the gentleman to her.
But there was something wrong. Nathaniel was reminded of the way she had suddenly stopped dancing an hour ago and caused him to step heavily on her foot. It had been something very fleeting, and something she had denied afterward. But something had definitely happened. She had seen someone unexpectedly, perhaps.
He could not see the man’s face to identify him until he turned to make his bow to Viscountess Houghton and appeared in profile. He looked familiar, though Nathaniel could not immediately put a name to the face. And then he did remember—how could he have forgotten? The man was no longer in regimentals, of course, and therefore he did look quite different. Pinter. Lieutenant Boris Pinter. Always a weasel, ingratiating himself with superiors even at the expense of his fellow officers, dealing with subordinates with unutterable cruelty in the name of discipline, Pinter had been liked by no one and hated by many. He had been the only officer of Nathaniel’s acquaintance who had actually enjoyed watching a formal whipping and had hated to see any other man promoted.
Walter Armitage had once opposed Pinter’s promotion on grounds that had never been made public—and had won his point. Pinter never had made the rank of captain. Apparently he had not had the funds with which to buy the promotion although his father was an earl.
And Pinter was now talking with and smiling at Sophie—and being presented to Walter’s sister-in-law. Nathaniel frowned. And he could see now what was wrong with Sophie—the outer evidence of what was wrong anyway. Her smiling face was quite without color. He half rose from his chair.
But his view of Sophie was suddenly cut off by the appearance of young Lewis Armitage, who had come to take the empty chair opposite his sister.
“Oh, Lewis,” Miss Armitage said, “Sir Nathaniel is telling me
such
stories about French attacks and hunting dogs and sleeping colonels.”
Young Armitage grinned at Nathaniel. “I trust, sir,” he said, “that you have included no gory details to give Sarah nightmares for the next six months.”
“Indeed, I would never forgive myself if I had,” Nathaniel said.
“Oh silly, Lewis,” Miss Armitage scolded. “Sir Nathaniel has been just
entertaining
me. But seriously, I would just
die
if I had to follow the drum like Aunt Sophie did.”
Ken and Eden had gone to the rescue, Nathaniel saw after shifting his position so that he could see across the room again. They were standing on either side of Pinter, smiling, perfectly at their ease, talking with him, talking with her. He might have trusted them to notice too that she was in distress. He relaxed a little.
“Actually, sir,” young Armitage was saying, a flush of color in his cheeks, “I was wondering if you might do me the honor after supper of presenting me to the young lady in white whom you are escorting—your sister, I believe? With your permission, I would like to lead her into a set.”
He must be one or two and twenty, Nathaniel thought. He was blond and slender, very like his sister. He seemed to have a deal more sense than she—though she was not without a certain sweetness, he must confess. Armitage was heir to a viscount’s title and property. Probably not a wealthy one, but certainly respectable. He was not asking to marry Georgie, of course, merely to dance with her. But even so, the responsibility of bringing a sister out was a serious one. One would not wish her to make ineligible connections.
“I shall return Miss Armitage to your mother’s side when supper is over,” Nathaniel replied. “I would be happy then to take you to meet my sisters.”
“Thank you, sir,” the young man said.
Moira had crossed the room to Ken and the two of them were leading Sophie out, one on each side of her, each with one of her arms drawn through theirs. They were laughing and talking. Eden had taken the empty seat beside Viscountess Houghton and was engaging her in conversation. Pinter was looking around him, a half smile on his lips. For one moment before Lewis Armitage moved and cut off the view again, his eyes met Nathaniel’s.
The wars might be over and Walter might be dead, Nathaniel thought, but Sophie was still their friend. They would still watch out for her safety, the four of them, and protect her from the impertinences of the likes of Pinter. It made no difference that Nathaniel was now also her lover—certainly the other three would never know that fact. They could all be trusted to watch over her.
Was it Pinter she had spotted when she was dancing with him? But why would the mere sight of him have had her faltering and then denying that anything was wrong? Would she not have simply grimaced and said something like—
“You will never guess whom I just saw”? She could have shared her distaste with him. They had both known the man, after all.
And why had she presented Pinter to her sister-in-law-even if he had asked? It would have been far better if she had merely inclined her head to him with icy courtesy and turned back to the table. He would have got the message and left her alone in the future.
Well, he would leave her alone in the future if he knew what was good for him.
Miss Armitage, Nathaniel noticed with sudden amusement, was describing to him in great detail the bonnet her mama had helped her pick out just that morning. It was apparently the most darling bonnet ever fashioned and worth every penny of the exorbitant price.
“Papa may disagree when the bill arrives on his desk, Sare,” young Armitage said with a chuckle.
“Well, there you are wrong,” she said, on her dignity. “Papa said that no expense is to be spared in showing me to very best advantage this spring.”
And then Nathaniel was further amused when another young man touched Lewis Armitage on the shoulder and proceeded to speak softly but quite audibly to him.
“I wonder if I might prevail upon you to present me to your sister, Armitage,” he said.
The young Viscount Perry, Rex’s brother-in-law. The gentleman who had taken Georgie for a lemonade during the waltz. He and Armitage were close in age and obviously knew each other.
Armitage performed the introductions and Perry secured the next set with Miss Armitage. She looked at the young man, Nathaniel was interested to note, with as much bright worship in her eyes as she had shown to himself. She was perhaps a young lady of some sense after all. She had come to London to find a husband. She was going to consider all her possible choices at least during her first ball.
She could do a great deal worse than Perry. But then so could Georgie.
This marriage-mart business could easily give a man a permanent headache, Nathaniel thought. He looked forward with some longing to the following night. Midnight, she had said. Twenty-four hours away. An eternity.
“Lean a little more heavily on my arm if you wish, Sophie,” Kenneth said. “It will be cooler in the ballroom. We will find you a seat in a moment.”
“Are you going to faint, Sophie?” Moira asked, her smiles and laughter gone now that they had left the supper room behind. “Kenneth will carry you if you are.”
“What nonsense!” Sophia said, pulling herself together. “But thank you both anyway. The supper room was very stuffy. This is very foolish. I never faint.” She laughed shakily.
“It is not foolish,” Moira said. “I was sitting with Rex and Clayton and Clarissa. Rex saw you with that man and muttered something that should have had me blushing at the very least, and he started to get up. But Kenneth and Eden had reacted faster. Who was he?”
“A particularly unpleasant former lieutenant,” Kenneth said. “All of us, almost without exception, had some quarrel with him, but he had a particular grudge against Walter Armitage, Moira, because Walter—with the concurrence of several more of us, I must add—blocked a promotion he had been expecting. He had no business approaching you like that, Sophie. He was fortunate the setting was so very public. One of us would have planted him a facer.”
“I feel better now,” Sophia said. “Really, it was just the heat. I did not mind so very much Lieutenant Pinter’s greeting me.” She could not repress a shudder at the memory of turning to find that it was
his
hand that was resting on her shoulder.
“But one could see that you did, Sophie,” Kenneth said. “And so you should have. He even trapped you into presenting him to Walter’s sister-in-law. I might plant him that facer yet.”
“It is really quite all right,” Sophia said.
“Some of your color is returning,” Moira said, patting her hand. “Poor Sophie. Have you seen him since your husband’s passing?”
“Yes,” Sophia admitted after a moment’s hesitation. She smiled. “He is responsible, I do believe, for my continued fame. It was he who came forward last year to inform the ton that Walter risked his life to save his when he was a mere ensign and Walter was a major. He even painted himself in a less than glorious light with the result that Walter appeared correspondingly more heroic.” She swallowed. “It was very obliging of him.” It was no such thing, of course. She knew very well why he had told such a blatant lie.