Page 15 of A Counterfeit Engagement

It was not until the next evening that Sophie had the opportunity to speak to Isabel alone. After Mrs Anderson had gone to bed, Sophie slipped across the hallway and knocked gently on Isabel’s door.

“Come in,” Isabel called out softly. Sophie silently opened the door and came inside.

She set down her candle on Isabel’s bedside table and sat on the foot of her bed.

“What is it, Sophie?” Isabel asked her. It was evident that Isabel had not been sleeping, or even at the point of composing herself for sleep.

A novel lay in bed beside her, the page marked by the edge of the sheet slipped in between the pages.

Sophie nodded at it. “That is a rather dangerous bookmark. If you forget it, you will tear the page.”

“That is true enough,” Isabel said. She took a slip of ribbon from her bedside drawer, bookmarked her page properly, and set the book on the table. “Get to the point, Sophie. I am sure you did not come in to see whether I was mistreating my books.”

“Indeed not,” Sophie said. She hesitated. “Isabel…did Mr MacCraig offend you in some way? Did you have some cause to mislike him?”

“Certainly not,” Isabel said, looking rather shocked. “I should like to know why you thought I did.”

Sophie shook her head. “You acted strangely when he asked you to dance, you know. It was almost as though you were surprised or even offended by his asking.”

“Well, I was not,” Isabel said. Sophie saw with astonishment that she did not intend to say anything more. It was most unlike Isabel to be so short with her, or indeed with anyone.

“You will have to say rather more, the next time you see him,” Sophie said gently. “It seems some ladies have disdained Mr MacCraig for being Scottish and partially lamed. I am told he wondered if you might be one of them. And that is a rumour that you would not want, I am sure.”

Isabel sat up and threw off the covers in her indignation. “Sophie,” she said in breathless rage. “You cannot mean it. The ton is truly so shallow that some ladies — more than one — think of it! — mislike such a man for being Scottish and a hero?”

“Your disgust does you credit,” Sophie said. “I only hope you showed Mr MacCraig as much of your spirit when you danced together.”

But Isabel was shaking her head. “Sophie, I am afraid that I did not,” she said. “He was rather quiet, and so was I. I must own that I felt rather shy with him, in a way I have never experienced before. And I did not know or think to counter anyone else’s prejudice.”

“It is understandable that you would be shy at your first London ball,” Sophie said. “You need not worry. I am sure that Mr MacCraig will understand.”

“I hope so,” Isabel said in a small voice. She looked closely at her older sister for a moment. “Sophie, what do you think of Mr MacCraig?”

Sophie was rather surprised. “I hardly know him, Isabel,” she said.

“We have had only a few minutes of conversation, and we have not so much as danced with one another. But I have liked what I heard. And I have the highest respect for the duke’s taste and character.

I think I would like any dear friend of his. ”

“I am glad of it,” Isabel said, rather oddly. She looked strangely abstracted. “Is that all you wanted to tell me, Sophie? Only I am rather sleepy.”

Sophie looked narrowly at her little sister, who did not appear tired in the least. “Indeed, that is all I wanted to say,” she said agreeably. “Goodnight, Isabel.”

“Goodnight, Sophie,” Isabel said immediately. Sophie rose, took up her candle, and left the room.

You are hiding something from me, Isabel, she thought. For the first time in our lives, you are hiding something from me. I should like to know what it is.

∞∞∞

Over the decade since he had inherited his father’s position and estate, Jonathan had gradually transformed the study in his London townhouse so thoroughly that little trace of his father’s occupation remained.

The books his father had owned were still there, but they had been moved to newer, larger shelves, and their number had increased dramatically.

Jonathan had had his father’s desk moved to the attics and replaced with one that must have been from his grandfather’s day, badly in need of refinishing, but a grand old piece once that was done.

The carpet had been exchanged for a fine Aubusson in shades of green and blue, and he had selected drapes that exactly matched the lightest green.

He had not intentionally set out to banish his father’s ghost from his old sanctum, but when he realised that was exactly what he had done, he had breathed a sigh of relief.

Jonathan was sitting in the comfortable chair behind the desk, reading a letter newly arrived from Nathanial, when Sarah stood in the doorway and looked questioningly at him, asking with the crook of an eyebrow if he was at liberty to talk.

“Please, come in,” Jonathan said, gesturing to the chair across the desk from him. Sarah promptly came and sat.

“Your letter from Nathan?” she asked. “How does he find the West Indies? Does he say when he will return?”

“He likes them very well indeed,” Jonathan said.

“I have not finished reading it yet, but if you will wait a moment, I will finish now. Then I may answer your questions as best I can. Or — provided that Nathan has written nothing unfit for your youth or requiring privacy — you shall read it too, if you like.”

“I should like that very much,” Sarah said, and Jonathan returned to his letter.

As he expected, there was nothing in it that Sarah might not read.

Nathan was much more likely to write effusively of his passion for local plants and hitherto unknown animals than of local beauties.

Wordlessly, he handed the letter across the desk to Sarah and smiled as she pounced on it.

I am lucky in my friends, indeed, Jonathan thought.

It is almost as though Sarah has three older brothers, not just one.

It was not long before Sarah had read the letter through. “He thinks it will be more than a year until he returns to England,” Sarah said quietly. “I did not think it would be so long.”

Jonathan nodded. “I miss him already,” he said ruefully. “It is a long time for a good friend to be away.”

“It is indeed,” Sarah said. She looked abstracted, Jonathan thought. No doubt missing their old friend. “Jonathan, have we any engagements for Thursday evening?”

“I do not think so. What do you have in mind?”

“At my piano lesson this morning, Dr Chard told me there will be a concert he thinks very well worth hearing. I should like to go, if we have no other plans.”

“Then we shall go,” Jonathan said easily. “Will you invite the Andersons to come with us?”

Sarah nodded. “I would like it above all things. If it is really worth hearing, I shall have much more pleasure in the music if I can share it with Isabel.”

“Send her a note,” Jonathan said, “and tell your friend that I will purchase the tickets. I hope Mrs Anderson and Miss Anderson will attend with her.”

“Thank you, Jonathan,” Sarah said with a smile.

“I shall write it now if you will give me your paper and pen, and you can frank the envelope for me.” Jonathan readily handed over the necessary supplies and sat in silence as Sarah wrote.

It was a pleasure to watch her even, regular handwriting fill the page.

Jonathan sometimes wondered if he would still be so very proud of his little sister if he had not become her guardian and the nearest thing to a parent for her.

It was impossible to imagine otherwise. Sarah was Sarah, kind, intelligent, and witty.

Surely, he would be just as proud of her, even if he could take no personal credit for raising her.

It was not long before Sarah ended the note with fond salutations and her elegant, looping signature, dried the ink, and handed him the completed missive. “There you are, and you must send it quickly, for I shall not be truly happy until I have Isabel’s answer.”

“Then there must be no delay, indeed,” Jonathan replied.

He rang for the footman who, quickly arriving, was prompt in sending the letter on its way.

Jonathan thought he would be nearly as glad of an answer as Sarah could be.

No one who moved in the ton of London could be unaware that the purpose of a concert was as much to see and be seen as to listen to the performers.

It would be the ideal setting to help bring Mary Collins’s confusion and vexation to a boiling point.

For the performer’s sake, I hope most of the audience will be more like Sarah than like myself, Jonathan thought. Abominably rude or not, the entertainment I most wish of the event is worlds away from a Bach concerto or an Italian song.

∞∞∞

“Look, Sophie, a letter from Sarah,” Isabel said gleefully. She waved the note at her sister. “The duke is inviting us all to a concert Thursday evening! We may go, may not we? Sarah says it is likely to be particularly good.”

“I do not think we have any fixed engagements,” Sophie said. She turned to her mother. “What do you think?”

“We shall go, indeed,” Mrs Anderson said. “Indeed, I am glad we have none, for I would not like to decline a London concert, and an especially good one, for anything. Write back, Isabel, and make the engagement. Thank His Grace for us.”

“Of course I shall, Mama,” Isabel said eagerly, and darted up the stairs to her room and her writing desk.

Sophie smiled across the parlour at her mother. “I am glad we shall not have long to wait.”

At that moment, the butler entered. He carried a silver tray holding yet another note. Bowing, he offered it to Sophie.

“Thank you, Giles,” she murmured as she took it. The room seemed to disappear around her as she opened the note and read the first few lines, then went back and read them again. “Oh, my.”

“What is it, Sophie?” Mrs Anderson asked with concern.

“You need not worry, Mama. It is from the duke. He writes to tell me that — while Sarah is truly excited for the concert and he believes it will be first rate — he also has another motive in hoping we shall be able to attend. Apparently, Mary Collins is much given to attending these performances. He thinks it will be the perfect venue to further our plan.”

“Be careful, Sophie,” Mrs Anderson urged.

“It is good of you to do all this for Isabel’s Season.

But I trust you will let all these plans be governed by your own ideas of discretion and suitability.

I have the greatest faith in the Duke of Belford’s good heart and good sense, or I should not have allowed any of this. But you must not let it go too far.”

“I will do my best,” Sophie promised sombrely.

A sudden smile lit her face. “But you know, mother, I hope I have not misled you. It is not just for Isabel’s sake that I agreed to this plan.

I, too, think that Mary Collins ought to learn that we are not to be trifled with.

” She bit her lip. “To own the truth, I thought it would be rather fun.”

“There is nothing wrong with that, Sophie,” Mrs Anderson said readily. She paused. “Only do be careful.”