Page 2 of The Scandal of the Season (Fairfax Sisters #2)
Chapter Two
KNIGHTSWOOD MANOR, DEVON
February 1821
‘T he trouble with notorious rakes is that they cannot bear anyone else behaving notoriously!’
Sophie smiled primly as she pulled a ringlet free from her golden locks that were dressed à la Sévigné, and paused to inspect the effect.
‘You mean like pigwidgeoned dunderheads ?!’ Matilda asked, rolling herself up inside Sophie’s coverlet, roly-poly pudding style.
‘Matilda!’ Sophie scolded as Josephine stuffed another of Cook’s infamous shortbreads into her mouth and tried not to snort.
‘What have I told you about listening to Billy Briggs and the village boys! Thomas will stop your pin money for a month, and you’re already on your best behaviour after the pig-race debacle.’
‘That wasn’t just me!’ Matilda protested.
‘Edward and Henry placed actual bets, and I heard Phoebe say?—’
‘I don’t want to know what Edward and Henry did. Or what Phoebe said!’ Sophie exclaimed.
‘And a pigwidgeoned dunderhead isn’t what I meant anyway!’
She returned her attention to her ringlets and a new velvet ribbon.
‘Harriet gave me a coming-out talk,’ she clarified, rolling her eyes, ‘and specifically warned me against notorious rakes, who “behave scandalously, and get away with it” because they’re so charming? She also said the moment anyone tries to 'play them at their game’ they lose interest, because they cannot bear a threat.’
‘Oh! You mean, like a libertine?’ Matilda frowned. ‘What game?’
‘Matilda Fairfax, what on earth do you know about libertines at the grand old age of thirteen!’ Sophie admonished.
There was a muffled giggle before the youngest Fairfax emerged from the coverlet, wearing her most indignant expression.
‘Actually, I overheard Harriet telling Cook, that Mama said Thomas might end up an awful libertine if he didn’t find himself a wife by the extremely old age of thirty!
‘Though Blackbeard the fearsome pirate also fought for libertines, I think?’ Matilda added, wrinkling her nose.
‘Blackbeard the fearsome pirate fought for liberty !’ Josephine corrected, dissolving into peals of laughter.
‘And really, dearest,’ Sophie exhaled, as though in pain, ‘it’s probably best you don’t go around repeating unsavoury gossip, especially if it concerns members of your own family!’
‘But if Mama said it…’ Matilda began, before catching the warning light in her sister’s eye. ‘Oh well, what game anyway?’ she grumbled, retreating inside the bedding.
‘Why, the season of course!’ Sophie returned, dabbing a small amount of homemade lavender perfume on her wrists and neck. ‘Otherwise known as the marriage mart, or entertainment of the ton, while gentlemen sit in Parliament and make all the important decisions about our lives.’
‘You’re beginning to sound like Phoebe!’ Josephine accused with a grin.
‘I’ve never disputed that the female mind is vastly underappreciated,’ Sophie retorted. ‘Only that real change requires a little more ingenuity than swapping our corsets for pantaloons and calling ourselves heroines. Not that I wouldn’t look extremely fetching in a pair of fitted riding breeches, of course,’ she murmured, side-eyeing her reflection.
‘Of course!’ Josephine chimed in, still grinning.
‘For I do believe,’ Sophie mused, ‘and I say this entirely without prejudice, that I have a better leg than most gentlemen…
‘Anyway, Harriet says the game or season is a ‘vicious place for any debutante’, for while mamas and their offspring vie for the biggest prize, there is always ‘a pack of notorious rakes waiting in the wings’!’
She mimicked their old nurse perfectly, while bringing her new Prussian parasol to her shoulder, musket-style, and eyeing her youngest sister with suspicion.
‘They prowl the market,’ she growled, stalking the bed and making Matilda shriek and retreat back inside the coverlet. ‘Hunting the finest trophies , before using every last ounce of their wit and charm for the kill! And woe betide anyone who gets in their way’—she paused to take aim at Matilda’s giggling, padded form—‘for they are pigwidgeoned dunderheads indeed!’
‘Sophie!’ Matilda wailed as her sister dropped the parasol and began tickling her mercilessly instead.
‘Trophies like Arabella Huntingdon?’ Josephine sniffed, immersed in a library copy of Lord Byron’s Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage.
‘Yes, just like Arabella Huntingdon,’ Sophie sighed, finally taking pity on her sister and returning to her toilette. ‘Though how she didn’t guess Lord Sutcliffe was a cad remains a total mystery to me. She agreed to a clandestine elopement, thus compromising her reputation, and for what good reason? She is never to be seen anywhere in town, while he is rarely to be seen out. It was truly a marriage of contrivance, and how she ever thought it would end otherwise was the greatest piece of folly.’ She pulled a small pair of lace day gloves from her dressing table drawer.
‘Phoebe is happy and she nearly eloped,’ Josephine said with a frown.
‘Well, yes, but she didn’t actually marry the brother she planned to elope with!’ Sophie replied drily. ‘And Phoebe and the viscount are an exception anyway,’ she added.
‘They were not only lucky enough to find love, but also to make a perfectly respectable match that the ton has embraced. It is the best and most fortunate of outcomes! Can you imagine actually desiring to spend time with the person you’ve married, rather than planning your happiness around their absence? It has to be most satisfying– a meeting of both hearts and minds…’ she tailed off wistfully.
‘Phoebe and the viscount never agree,’ Matilda scowled. ‘They’d argue over breakfast eggs, given half the chance!’
There was a brief silence before they all started to laugh.
‘That’s very true,’ Sophie conceded. ‘In fact, sometimes I’m not sure who’s more disagreeable of the two!’ she added, making them laugh harder.
‘And yet… they do seem to love being perfectly disagreeable together. It’s the oddest sort of happiness I’ve ever seen,’ Sophie sighed, wiping her eyes. ‘But then, perhaps that’s the secret. Perhaps real, enduring love is only to be found with someone similar enough in nature, and yet confident enough in spirit not to concede their opinion every five minutes? Perhaps the combination keeps both interest and affection alive?’
‘Like Titania and Oberon!’ Josephine exclaimed, her eyes shining. ‘Or Romeo and Juliet, or Hermia and Lysander… or?—’
‘Yes, yes we get the picture, dearest,’ Sophie assured rapidly, before Josephine recited her entire list of favourite fictional lovers.
‘Is that what you want though, Sophie?’ Matilda asked, frowning. ‘To find someone you can be perfectly disagreeable with? Because I think it a terrible idea. You’ll be forever enacting a Cheltenham tragedy!’
‘Moi? A Cheltenham tragedy?’ Sophie repeated, throwing up her hands in mock horror. ‘Though you may be right,’ she smiled after a beat. ‘And, disagreements and tragedies aside, I fully intend to make an advantageous love match this season!’
She paused to flick open her new ivory brisé fan with practiced ease.
‘For why shouldn’t it be possible for modern debutantes, who know their own mind?’
She peered coyly over the edge of the fan.
‘You really do sound like Phoebe!’ Matilda declared, grinning.
‘Phoebe didn’t want to marry at all,’ Sophie replied, ‘whereas I can’t imagine not marrying! But that doesn’t mean I’ll settle for just anything either. I know it seems that only gentlemen can be ambitious or have aspirations in this life, while we are required to play a much milder role, but I wish for as much success with my husband’s heart as I do his situation. And if it is not to be that I am woken up with violent protestations of love and devotion every day, I shall move to Paris and become a famous modiste instead!’
‘Good grief!’ Josephine exclaimed, pushing her loose spectacles up her snub nose. ‘Does Thomas know about your ambitions in the fashion industry? And surely all that devotion, violent or otherwise, is going to get very wearisome after a while? I mean, I’m happy you’re my sisters of course, but some days I could quite easily go without seeing any of you.’
‘Charmed, I’m sure!’ Sophie glared at her sister.
‘Ditto!’ Matilda called in a muffled voice. ‘And I’m most definitely not going to marry anyone disagreeable, or violently in love, or anything in the middle if I can help it.’
‘Why? Who are you going to marry then?’ Josephine quizzed. ‘Or are you going to be an old maid, like Harriet?’
‘Harriet seems perfectly happy to me!’ Matilda flashed. ‘And Phoebe says we should have as much choice as our brothers so if I can’t marry Misty I’m not going to marry anyone. I shall simply play the game until I’m much too old and toothless for anyone to want to marry me,’ she added, finally rolling out of her hiding place.
‘Hush Matty!’ Sophie said, laughing in a scandalised tone. ‘I think marrying a Dartmoor pony might be a stretch, even for you,’ she continued, ‘and young ladies don’t get to play the game. We are the game.’
‘All the more reason to change the rules then!’ Matilda retorted.
Sophie sighed.
‘Who knows, perhaps one day we will, but for now we must content ourselves with ensuring that those who seek only to trifle with our affections do not succeed.’
‘How?’ Matilda challenged.
‘Ah well that, dearest,’ Sophie said reassuringly, ‘is where you are fortunate to be a Fairfax, with more than your fair share of fearsome sisters to help you navigate the marriage mart. Although, in practice I do believe it is not at all difficult to know a true gentleman from a cad. Take Sir George Weston, for example. He has a respectable title, good connections and the last time we saw him he tipped his hat at me– twice! Perfectly gentlemanly behaviour.’
‘It was windy,’ Josephine qualified, readjusting her spectacles. ‘It looked as though he was struggling to hang on to it. Though, I do believe there is something of a Mr Bingley about him, is there not?’
Sophie glanced at her bookish sister and was surprised to see a faint blush stealing into her pale cheeks.
‘He has the most sensible countenance,’ Josephine continued, unaware of her sister’s continued study, ‘and appears to have avoided the silly, foppish ways most gentlemen adopt. He also has a quiet air of authority that neither seeks attention nor shies away from it, and his manner always suits the occasion. He neither tries too hard, nor not hard enough, and always knows just what to say too… In truth, he seems to me to be to be exactly what a real gentleman should be!’
She looked up then to find Sophie regarding her with such an owlish expression, while Matilda feigned vomiting, that she flushed and hid behind her book.
‘Now you’re the pigwidgeoned dunderhead!’ Matilda declared, snorting with laughter. ‘Any gentleman who ties his cravat in the mathematical style is a veritable fop. Alex said so, so it must be true!’
‘Matilda!’ her sisters chimed in protest.
‘You really mustn’t call Viscount Damerel Alex!’ Sophie remonstrated. ‘It’s so improper even if we are family– and no, it wouldn’t make any difference if you were a pirate either!’
‘Well, it was windy the day we saw Sir Weston, because I almost lost my bonnet too,’ Matilda returned mulishly. ‘Also, I think appearances can be very deceptive! Alex says he was considered a rake before he married Phoebe, which just goes to prove you can never be sure what gentlemen are really like until you’ve known them for a quadrillion years!’
It was Josephine’s turn to snort.
‘That’s a pretty long engagement by anyone’s standards, and Harriet says a lady shouldn’t keep any gentleman waiting too long for anything.’
‘Pah! Well, this is where my generation will be different!’ Matilda declared, snatching up Sophie’s parasol and lunging at the curtains.
‘We won’t be afraid of offending a few old cronies at Almack’s, just because we’ve no desire to be a trophy for some fortune-hunting rake!’
Sophie threw her gaze to the ceiling as Matilda proceeded to make short work of the thick, chintz folds.
‘Heavens dearest, I shall find you donning Fred’s breeches and heading to a London theatre next!’ she exclaimed.
‘Though you need not concern yourself too greatly,’ she added. ‘Thirteen is still a little young to be attracting the rakes and libertines of Georgian London. And in truth, I fully intend this season’s triumph to be mine and mine alone.’
She flicked open her brise fan and brought it to her face with her most determined smile. ‘Without a single, pigwidgeoned dunderhead in sight!’