Page 8 of A Counterfeit Engagement

The angle of the morning sun shifted, sending a beam of warm light across her bed, and Sophie shifted and began to wake. She opened her eyes, and her breath caught in her throat.

Ah, yes , Sophie thought, I’m not in Seaton any more. I’m in London, Portman Square, in the house the Duke of Belford has hired for us. Which, though I am certain he does not know it, used to be our house.

There was no point in delay, but even so, Sophie did not yet move to rise.

She sat up in bed, legs bent and arms around her knees, and looked around her.

She was in her own dear room again, even though all the furniture was different, and finer than anything her family had owned back then.

Still, there was the same charming window-seat, and the same view of a little park across the way from the window.

Looking at that window-seat, where she had spent so many happy hours five years ago, it was easy to believe that no time had passed at all.

They had arrived last evening with only enough time to meet the housekeeper and staff, have a late supper, and arrange their things. The pleasure and pain of going over the whole house and being reminded of memories from a different life yet remained.

There was a soft knock at the door. “Come in,” Sophie called out quietly.

Isabel opened the door and rushed in. Eagerly, she sat down on the bedcover next to Sophie.

“It’s been so long,” Isabel said. “Five years. It feels like a lifetime!”

Sophie nodded. “We left so suddenly. It almost felt like a dream.”

“But now we’re back,” Isabel said. “Back, and for a whole London Season at that. Sophie, I am glad — selfishly glad — that you decided to help the Duke of Belford. Just think what fun we will have!”

Sophie laughed. “I hope you are prepared for some jealousy, Isabel. When you have your first ball and are presented to the matrons, the gentlemen will absolutely swoon!”

Isabel smiled at her earnestly. “I don’t need all the gentlemen, Sophie, I just need one. The right one!”

Sophie reached out and squeezed her hand. “I only hope we can find him. You’ll do the rest,” she teased. “Now, let’s get ready for breakfast. Then we’ll go over the house and look at everything.”

Isabel nodded and jumped up energetically. “I’ll see you at table,” she said, and bounded back to her own room.

Sophie stood and went to the wardrobe. For the time being, her choice of dresses was simple enough: a blue muslin, another in white with rather threadbare cuffs, her best dress kept carefully for balls and assemblies, and the pink gown she had travelled in yesterday, now sadly crumpled and worn.

The journey had been as easy as care and wealth could make it.

The duke seemed eager to make sure that she and her family did not regret the bargain they had struck, and he was fulfilling his side as lavishly as possible.

Each day on the road, undertaken in one of his carriages and with stops at inns of his choice and at his expense, had been a model of luxury.

The townhouse, too, was nicer than anything they had envisioned, even aside from the strange coincidence of it have been formerly their own.

Socially, too, the duke had shown that he intended to fulfil their arrangement to the hilt.

Quite apart from the introductions and invitations that would be an essential part of making Isabel’s Season a success, he had indicated that he meant to make his younger sister known to them and fully a part of their plans.

The thought of beginning an acquaintance with a young lady who had grown up with all the wealth and consequence of the Haverly family was a rather daunting one.

Sophie could not help but picture her cousin Mary.

She had thought her a friend, once — before their families had grown too far apart in wealth and consequence, and everything had changed.

Sophie could not relish the thought of meeting a young woman of still greater privilege and self-esteem.

She sighed and picked up her soft blue muslin. It was well enough.

If Sophie was rather quiet at the breakfast table, it was thankfully hidden by the excited chatter of her mother and sister.

“How wonderful to see the dear old house again,” Isabel said gaily. “I never thought we would. And how strange for the Duke of Belford to choose our own house! For, of course, he couldn’t possibly have known.”

“I should not think so, my dear,” their mother said. She looked around the room fondly. “It is good to be back again. It brings back so many memories of your father.” Her eyes were slightly moist as she said it, but her smile was sweet.

“And to go shopping in London!” Isabel breathed excitedly. “Just think of it! For once, we will see the latest styles for ourselves, instead of hearing about them months later!”

Mrs Anderson laughed fondly. “I hope it will fulfil all your expectations, my dear. But you must remember, it may be some days until we can go. We must be at home when the Duke of Belford calls with his sister.”

“Of course, Mother,” Isabel said at once. She smiled dazzlingly. “I will try to conduct myself with some patience. But you know, I really do think that the Duke of Belford will wait on us as soon as may be. Today, if I had to guess.”

Sophie looked up. “Surely not, Isabel,” she said mildly. “His Grace must have many more important things to concern himself with than us.”

“Than Mother and I, perhaps,” Isabel allowed roguishly. “But sister, I rather think that he will come to see you again just as soon as he possibly can.”

Sophie snorted. “Isabel, you know as well as I that this is just a stratagem to show Mary Collins up for being a wretched little schemer. It is not as though he actually intended to marry me.”

“Indeed,” Isabel agreed with highly suspect neutrality, and fell silent, still more suspiciously.

“Isabel,” Sophie said quietly. “I have already known the embarrassment and grief of disappointed hopes once in this room. Do not push me for a second time.”

Isabel looked up quickly, all playfulness dropped from her expression. “Oh, Sophie, I am sorry. It was thoughtless of me.”

“Calling it ‘disappointed hopes’ makes it sound as though you were partially to blame,” Mrs Anderson said quietly. “Roger Webb deserves no such courtesy. He acted the part of a scoundrel.”

“Perhaps we ought not to talk about it,” Isabel said. “Sophie, does it still — if I am not asking too much, do you still regret him?”

Sophie shook her head. “No, Isabel,” she said.

“It has been a long time now since I have learned better. For all the pain of having an engagement broken off so abruptly, I have come to think myself fortunate. I did not know who he truly was. And I can think of one thing much worse than having an engagement broken off so — to be married to the kind of man who was capable of it.”

Mrs Anderson reached over and squeezed her elder daughter’s hand tightly. “You are wise, my dear. I am glad of it,” she said simply.

Sophie smiled at them both. It is the truth, she thought , every word of it. I told no lie. Because I can be glad to be rid of Roger and still hurt to be cast aside.

∞∞∞

At eleven o’clock, Sophie, Isabel, and Mrs Anderson were all gathered in the drawing room, trying and failing to be engrossed in their work.

Isabel was playing the piano. But as she was merely passing over old, long-since mastered pieces, it was easy to see that her attention was elsewhere.

Sophie was reading an account of travel through Italy — or at least, trying to.

She kept turning a page only to find that she had not the least idea of what had happened on the page before, and must go back.

Mrs Anderson was engaged in needlework, but for all her usual dedication to the art, she did not seem to make much progress.

It is foolish of us , Sophie thought ruefully, because after all, there is no reason to expect they will come today.

Almost at that moment, someone knocked at the door.

It was not long before the butler came in and announced the Duke of Belford and his sister, Lady Sarah Haverly.

“Thank you, Giles. We are at home to visitors,” Mrs Anderson said in a faint voice.

Isabel stood up from the piano and came to stand next to the sofa where Sophie was trying and failing to read.

Sophie herself lay down her book and forced herself to take a deep, calming breath.

It seemed like only a moment before Giles was returning with the Haverlys.

“His Grace Jonathan Haverly, Duke of Belford and Lady Sarah Haverly, ma’am,” Giles announced with a solemn bow. “Mrs Martha Anderson, Miss Sophia Anderson, Miss Isabel Anderson.” He bowed again and left the room.

Holding tightly to self-command and good breeding, Mrs Anderson turned to her visitors with a friendly smile. Sophie had never been so grateful for her mother’s good sense. “It is so kind of you to visit us, Your Grace, Lady Sarah,” Mrs Anderson said warmly. “Please, do sit down.”

Jonathan walked self-consciously into the room and sat on a chair near Sophie’s side of the couch, but Sarah rushed over to Isabel, seizing her hands impulsively.

“I am so glad you are here, you can’t think!

” she said. “This will be my first Season, too. I’m so relieved I don’t have to do it alone! ”

An answering smile broke out across Isabel’s face. “I won’t be half so scared to meet everyone if you’re there,” she said simply. And with that, they chattered together as though they had known each other half their lives.

“You must forgive Sarah, Mrs Anderson,” Jonathan said — though, it must be admitted, he sounded pleased rather than reproachful. “She has always wanted a sister.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Mrs Anderson said with a smile. “Nothing could be more delightful to a mother’s heart than to watch one of her daughters make such a friendship.”

Sophie turned to Jonathan. “There were so few people in Seaton,” she said softly. “There were hardly any girls of Isabel’s age. She will be delighted to make such a new friend as your sister.”

Jonathan smiled at her in answer. Distantly, he heard Mrs Anderson making a polite apology, something about excusing herself to prepare a few things for the afternoon.

He was certain he managed to make a polite reply, though he could not have said just what it was.

At any rate, Mrs Anderson left the room without seeming to think his reply odd.

Jonathan hoped so, at least. He found it difficult to look away from Miss Sophia Anderson.

I have seen diamonds of the first water, Jonathan reminded himself.

I have seen truly stunning beauties. And she — she is not that.

Only I have never seen a woman who had such depths to her. Whom I so desperately wanted to know.

“Miss Anderson, will you forgive me for being impertinent?” Jonathan said suddenly.

Sophie looked at him in surprise. “I find it difficult to imagine you being impertinent, Your Grace. Is there something you wished to ask me?”

“Yes,” he said immediately. “It is only this: Miss Anderson, among your family and closest friends, are you ever called Sophie rather than Sophia?”

Sophie smiled at him. “It is funny that you should think of it, Your Grace. Always.”

“It suits you,” Jonathan said, hardly knowing what he was saying. There is something to even a false engagement , Jonathan thought. It gives you such a sense of knowing another person. As if you could tell them anything, anything at all.

Remembering himself, Jonathan sat up a little straighter, leaning away from Sophie. Our engagement is only a stratagem, after all. And to act otherwise is not merely dangerous, it is unfair.

If Sophie noticed his sudden coolness, she said nothing about it.

A stream of pleasantries carried them over through the rest of the visit and the leave-taking.

As he was about to step into the carriage, Sophie leaned over to him and said in a whisper, “I don’t believe our sisters have stopped talking for a moment since they met today. ”

Jonathan gracelessly suppressed a laugh, which came out as a snort.

Reluctantly, he had to admit that it was not merely the fiction of being engaged that made her so easy to talk to.

That was something inherent in her, in the meeting of their personalities.

It was merely the luckiest of chances that the woman caught in this mess with him possessed the twin blessings of humour and sense.

On the ride home, Sarah was bubbling over with delight at their new acquaintances, particularly Miss Isabel Anderson. Jonathan was grateful for her enthusiasm. It allowed him to merely nod and agree in the appropriate places, saying little.