Page 11 of A Counterfeit Engagement

For his part, Jonathan was too abstracted to be of much use to Sarah’s kindly plan.

One question tormented him — just how much of a villain was Roger Webb?

He was thankful that the girls were too innocent to think of the greater license in behaviour allowed to engaged couples.

Was it truly only a lack of dowry and opportunity that had kept Sophie from making a second engagement?

It was disgusting to think of a gentleman using a lady so ill, but Jonathan had never had any opinion of Roger Webb.

If there was any man in his broad acquaintance capable of engaging a woman’s heart, taking liberties with her virtue, and leaving her flat at the worst moment of her life, it was he.

“Jonathan!” Sarah said. Jonathan blinked. From her tone, she had been trying to get his attention for some time. He had been too abstracted to hear her. He cleared his throat and stood.

“Shall we go back?” Jonathan asked. The two young ladies agreed, and he offered an arm to each.

The walk back through the park was pleasant, if not accompanied by the same high spirits as before.

Sarah and Isabel earnestly requested to be taken by the lending library, and Jonathan was nothing loath to be a party to the errand.

He was happy for the chance to stand quietly and think while Isabel and Sarah made their selections.

It seemed like no time at all before they were back at the doorstep of the house in Portman Square.

“Won’t you come in?” Isabel said eagerly to Sarah. “We can look over our books together.”

“Of course!” Sarah said, and they were in the house and gone to Isabel’s room almost before they could be announced. Jonathan allowed himself to be shown into the parlour.

“Your Grace, good afternoon,” Sophie said warmly as she looked up from her letters. She put her quill and ink aside and stood, crossing the room to him. “It was good of you to take Isabel with you. She would have been dreadfully bored, had she remained here with me.”

Jonathan smiled back at her. “Isabel tells me you are a great letter writer. I hope we’ve given you a bit more peace for writing.”

Sophie laughed. “I must admit it was a luxury to have the parlour all to myself, and for such a long time, too. Did you have a pleasant walk?”

Jonathan couldn’t help grimacing at the question, though he mastered himself quickly.

“It was pleasant, at first,” he said in response to Sophie’s surprised look.

“Unfortunately, we happened upon Mr Webb. Miss Isabel was taken aback at the sight of him. At first, I feared she would faint. You need not be concerned,” he added hastily. “She is well now. I am certain of it.”

The colour had drained from Sophie’s cheeks, but Jonathan was pleased to see no more alarming symptoms. She was distressed, to be sure, but in no danger of being overcome.

“I suppose it is no surprise that he should be here,” Sophie said wryly. “With a little luck, we will have no occasion to speak. I am sure,” she said dryly, “that Mr Webb can have no more wish to speak to me than I do to him.”

“You are very forbearing,” Jonathan said. “Miss Isabel told us how it happened. How your father died, and Mr Webb withdrew in the cruellest manner. I do not think I could speak as mildly of him as you do. I should rather like to horsewhip him.”

“I should not mind it if you did,” Sophie said, so softly he could scarcely hear her. Alarmed, Jonathan looked up in time to catch the slightest glint of tears in her eyes before she could turn away her face. Unthinkingly, he took her hand and pressed it.

“Miss Anderson,” Jonathan said. “You must not blame yourself. For any of it. No man of good faith could have acted such a part. You could not have known. I would never have treated you in such a way…” Jonathan trailed off, thinking uneasily that he did, in fact, have every intention of breaking their engagement.

Albeit a sham engagement, albeit one both had gone into with their eyes open.

Nonetheless, his behaviour was not different enough from Roger Webb’s for him to be pleased with it.

Theirs would be a clean break, then. He would see to it that Isabel was well established in the world, that the family lacked for nothing, that Sophie had all the freedom and comfort she deserved. And never again would there be this easy, unfettered intimacy between their families.

Never again would he hold her hand.

“Your Grace,” Sophie said gently. “I know you would never act so dishonourably. You have never been less than honest and above-board with me.”

Jonathan’s mouth was dry. They were so close, sitting on the same sofa with scant inches between them. The soft bow of her lips was just there, so easily within reach. If they were engaged in truth, he could kiss it.

Jonathan opened his mouth to say he knew not what, when Sophie forestalled him by rising. Politeness demanded that he stand as well.

“Please excuse me, Your Grace,” she said. Take a deep breath, Sophie , she told herself. Stop imagining things. Stop hearing what you want to hear, and you might just get out of this without making an utter fool of yourself. This is nothing more than a role he’s playing. As you well know.

“Isabel and I must meet our mother at the modiste this afternoon,” Sophie said calmly. And it is true, although we do not need to leave as early as this. “Isabel and I must get ready, or we will keep her waiting. I hope we shall meet again soon.”

“We shall,” Jonathan replied mechanically, hardly knowing what he said. “It is not a week until the first ball of the Season. Will not you go with us in the coach?”

Sophie smiled at him. Strange, that smile. Jonathan felt instinctively that it was not quite right. “We shall be delighted, Your Grace. Now, I must go and remind Isabel of our appointment.”

“Yes, and send Sarah back down to me, if you can pry the two of them apart,” Jonathan replied. Sophie gave him another smile before leaving the room.

Jonathan nearly fell back onto the sofa as soon as she was gone. That was close — too close , he thought. Thank goodness Sophie has sense, for I certainly have none. Another minute, and I certainly would have kissed her.