Page 14 of A Counterfeit Engagement

“Indeed, we should not,” Jonathan said shortly.

He did not like to think of it, somehow.

There is no need for an estrangement, after all , he thought.

It is not as though we will become enemies when we have sprung our trap.

We will still be friends and allies. It is only this false engagement that will be no more.

And why does that thought distress me so?

∞∞∞

The whirl and bustle of the ball made time pass as though on wings.

It seemed to Sophie as though she had hardly come laughing from the dance floor before it was time to join her next partner and begin again.

The evening seemed scarcely begun before it was time for the waltz.

Jonathan came to collect her in the close press of the crowd.

“Shall we, Miss Anderson?” he asked her.

Sophie offered him her hand as they moved into the first posture of the dance.

Over his shoulder, Sophie could see Sarah and her partner for the waltz, a young man she had not yet met.

She could see, though not overhear, how he and Sarah seemed to be talking pleasantly together.

“Lady Sarah seems pleased with her partner,” Sophie murmured.

“That is Edward Sanderson, an old family friend,” Jonathan replied. “He’s a good man, though not, I think, anything more than a friend to her.”

Sophie raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps he might do for Isabel, if Lady Sarah truly isn’t interested.”

“I would not hesitate to give him a sister of mine,” Jonathan agreed. “If he and Isabel get on well together, it would be a good match.”

Sophie smiled up at him. “We shall wait and see. I must not be too tempted to meddle, or I shall not deserve Isabel’s confidence at all.”

“No, indeed,” Jonathan said. The first swelling notes of the waltz began, and they fell silent, carried away by its rhythm. For long moments, speech seemed unnecessary as they followed the forms of the dance together.

Such a strange privacy in dancing , Sophie thought. Here we are in the middle of a crowded room, and it feels as though we are completely alone. As though he and I were alone in all the world. I feel I could say anything, do anything.

At that moment, Jonathan broke into her reverie by saying, “A penny for your thoughts, Miss Anderson.”

Sophie was very much afraid that she blushed. “I was thinking that — I was thinking of how much I enjoy the waltz,” she stammered.

“I, too,” Jonathan replied. “Although I must say I never knew what enjoyment in a dance truly was until I danced with you.”

For a long moment, Sophie did not reply. “You need not flatter me, you know,” she said at last, keeping her voice calm and pleasant with an effort. “After all, we are here as good friends. Surely simple truth is enough.”

“I hope we will always be good friends, Sophie,” Jonathan said, his voice so low that no one would overhear the shocking familiarity. “And I swear to you that what I said was nothing more than the truth. If the truth is flattering to you, I am afraid you have no choice but to accept it.”

Sophie laughed. “You are incorrigible,” she said, “but I am afraid I have no heart to check you. I am simply enjoying myself too much to resist.”

“Then don’t,” Jonathan urged her. He was suddenly aware of the closeness of her body, her hand clasped in his.

The soft touch of her hand on his shoulder, and his hand lightly resting on her back.

Sophie smiled up at him with such intimacy, the humour in her eyes always reminding him of their shared secret.

What a thing , Jonathan thought, to share all your secrets with someone. To laugh together without making a sound.

I should very much like to kiss her.

Jonathan, you idiot, stop staring at her lips, or she will think you are a cad. Because, in fact, you are acting like a cad.

With an effort, Jonathan forced himself to look over Sophie’s head, as though he needed to carefully steer them through the other couples whirling around them. After a long moment, his heartbeat had calmed enough to risk looking into her eyes once more.

“Miss Anderson,” Jonathan said, hardly knowing how he meant to go on. “There is something I have been meaning to ask you.”

Sophie smiled up at him. “Then please ask it, Your Grace.” His hand felt strange in hers for a moment, as though he had clutched it tightly and instantly forced himself to release it. It was odd for so controlled a man, Sophie thought.

“It is that — I had wondered if —“ Jonathan stuttered to a halt.

He took a deep breath, setting his thoughts in order, and gathered himself to speak.

Sophie was looking up at him in the whirl of the dance, waiting patiently.

Her smile looked gentle, open, as though she was content to go on waiting as long as it might take.

Reluctantly, Jonathan made up his mind. You idiot. As though you could be a fit husband for such a woman. As though Sophie would choose a mere cold business arrangement after knowing what a happy family could truly be.

“About our plans,” Jonathan began. My voice is steady, at least — thank God for that. “I would very much like your opinion on when we should spring the trap.”

Sophie looked thoughtful. “It should be well into the Season, I think,” she began.

“I would not like to have anything disturb Isabel’s chances of finding a husband.

Once she is known to everyone by personality as well as appearance, it will not matter if we cause a little commotion.

Is there a particularly prominent ball, one that would be most embarrassing for Miss Collins? ”

“That is a good idea, indeed,” Jonathan said thoughtfully. “It occurs to me…my own family has not had a ball these ten years and more, since well before my mother’s death. If we were to hold one now, the novelty would instantly make it quite the event.”

“Then perhaps it is time for you to host a ball, Your Grace,” Sophie said playfully. “How shall you like being a host?”

“I will look forward to it, indeed,” Jonathan replied. He lowered his voice. “Both for the pleasure of your dancing, and for the anticipation of finally springing our trap.”

They smiled at each other conspiratorially. Then the waltz ended, and it was time to resume their public faces.

“I wonder how my sister and Mr MacCraig are getting on,” Sophie mused as they walked off the dance floor together. “She behaved so oddly when he asked her to dance.”

“I rather wondered at that,” Jonathan said. “You have no way to account for it? I have seen a number of women think less of Arthur for being Scottish, and a few even for his limp, but I can’t imagine your sister being one of them.”

“No, certainly not,” Sophie said with finality. “I can’t account for it at all, for Mr MacCraig seemed perfectly pleasant to me. I will ask Isabel about it when we are alone. Perhaps she was simply overwhelmed. It is her first ball, after all.”

“I shall look forward to the solution with great interest,” Jonathan said. He bowed over her hand, and in all the whirl and bustle of the crowd, they did not see each other again until it was time for the carriage home.