Page 3 of The Scandal of the Season (Fairfax Sisters #2)

Chapter Three

ALMACK’S ASSEMBLY ROOMS, ST JAMES’ SQUARE, LONDON

Two weeks later

‘I think almost everyone is afraid of the old cronies of Almacks,’ Phoebe whispered as she waited for the footman to take her card, ‘but I find they’re a bit like homemade puddings: once they’ve let off a little steam, they really are quite squidgy on the inside.’

Sophie suppressed a chuckle as she adjusted her pink satin gloves for the hundredth time since exiting the Damerel carriage.

‘Thank you, dearest sister. Now I’m going to conjure up an image of boiled suet whenever I’m introduced to any of the important matrons and patronesses!’ she remonstrated.

Phoebe grinned as she attempted to smooth out a crumple in her new oyster silk ballgown.

‘That’s not such a bad idea. It will make you wary, and wary is good in London society.’

‘Lord and Lady Amesbury of Amesbury Hall!’

The receiving line moved forwards, as the tones of the bulging-eyed footman rose above the drone of esteemed personages present.

‘The Viscountess Damerel of Damerel House, Miss Sophie Fairfax of Knightswood Manor!’ he pronounced hoarsely.

‘So how does it feel to be introduced as “The Viscountess Damerel”?’ Sophie asked curiously as they passed through the doors and into the crush of the main ballroom.

‘Honestly?’ Phoebe quizzed, accepting a glass of lemonade from a passing footman.

‘No, fancifully, what do you think?’ Sophie replied, with a laugh.

‘Well… a touch fussy!’ her sister returned after a sip.

‘But, you have to enjoy it a little?’ Sophie persisted, side-eyeing her sister. ‘After all, you barely waited four months before waltzing down the aisle with the viscount!’ She smiled dreamily. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever forget the flurry of snow as you left Knightswood’s Chapel in your ivory velvet pelisse, Phoebs– the one you promised to let me borrow, remember? It really was quite magical,’ she added with a sigh.

Sophie then had the long-awaited satisfaction of watching her fiercely independent sister flush the exact shade of rowan berries, just as an elegant couple paused to offer their felicitations. The result was an even rosier hue that Phoebe attempted to hide in the bottom of her lemonade.

‘First of all, calling my husband “the viscount” really does sound as though we’re still plotting his downfall beneath my coverlet,’ Phoebe replied when she could. ‘Just call him Alex, like Matilda!

‘And, as far as our wedding was concerned, it just didn’t make any sense to wait. Josephine had made such a good recovery, Aurelia had gone abroad with her parents and…’

She tailed off as a surge of deeper colour undermined her defence entirely.

‘You know, watching you marry for love has been the very best tonic,’ Sophie murmured wickedly.

‘Tonic for what?’ her sister challenged.

‘For putting up with years of declarations about how you would so much rather embrace a life of heroic adventure than marry any man, let alone for love!’

‘But I am living a life of adventure!’ Phoebe protested. ‘Just with rather more husband than I anticipated, which, I hasten to add, hasn’t been what I expected at all! In truth, I think Fred would call marriage ‘a right leveller’.’ She paused to tug on a length of escaped hair, and grin ruefully. ‘And yes, I do still worship the ground Mary Wollstonecraft walked upon– I just didn’t realise it was possible to be a happily married feminist!’

Sophie laughed, and placed her hand over Phoebe’s.

‘No one who’s ever known you would question your principles, dearest, and to be honest, I aspire to being a happily married feminine-nanist !’

‘A feminine-a-what? I’m not sure that’s quite the same…’

‘It’s better!’ Sophie grinned. ‘I’m a firm believer in both femininity and feminism, and that they can complement each other, so why not a happy marriage of the two?!’ She leaned closer with a mischievous twinkle. ‘And do tell me if there any particular aspects of matrimony you’d care to highlight as being particularly levelling, Viscountess Damerel.’

‘Sophie!’ Phoebe returned in a scandalised tone. She chuckled as Sophie fluttered her eyelashes.

‘You know I can’t!’ Phoebe continued. ‘Thomas will actually murder me if he finds out I’ve told you anything, plus you know you can’t keep a secret for love nor money!’

‘Please? I’ll return your primrose muslin,’ Sophie persisted, undeterred by the threat of their eldest brother.

‘No, and you can keep it,’ Phoebe insisted, her eyes dancing. ‘All I can say is that matrimony holds a number of surprises and some of them are even better than… macaroons!’

For a few seconds they eyed one another stubbornly, before dissolving into a fit of silent giggles that threatened to undo all their efforts to appear like sophisticated ladies of the ton. Then Phoebe caught the eye of one of the matrons and was forced to recall that while she was happily married, her sister had yet to share the same advantage.

‘I must tell you, Alexander and I received the most generous letter from Dr Kapool this morning,’ she tried, rapidly changing the subject. ‘He wrote that his research will allow him to join us at Ebcott Place in the late spring. Isn’t that wonderful? Josephine and Florence will be the first to benefit from an education under the watchful eye of a doctor in residence!’

‘Mary Wollstonecraft really would approve,’ Sophie returned, her voice still wobbling.

‘I like to think so,’ Phoebe said. ‘And to claim credit too, but of course none of it would have happened without Alexander.’

‘But of course!’ Sophie agreed.

‘Who’d have thought that the haughty old viscount would turn out to be such a staunch feminist? Or that he’d offer up his country house for the furtherance of female education generally?’

‘Well, he really is neither haughty nor old,’ Phoebe began indignantly.

‘There you go again!’ Sophie retorted with a chuckle, ‘but please don’t change anything for me. It’s so refreshing for a society wife to be madly in love with her own husband. It gives me hope for the same.’

Phoebe rolled her eyes as Sophie took a sip of lemonade, wondering if her sister was also recalling a certain dancing-eyed Captain Damerel. Once he’d threatened to divide them, though, while Sophie had always suspected Phoebe of withholding some of the truth, it was months ago now.

‘When will you and Alexander take your honeymoon?’ she asked, as Marchioness Cholmondeley, one of the peacock-styled patronesses, passed by.

They both sank into a swift, respectful curtsey.

‘In a week or so,’ Phoebe replied, relieved to be back on safer ground. ‘Alex is determined we’ll see Florence and Tuscany in April– something about the Ponte Vecchio in the spring apparently– so we make for Paris first, and travel on from there. ‘Hopefully we’ll also see Vienna and perhaps the Alps too, but it will all depend on how long we can be away from Ebcott Place.’

‘You always wanted to go on a Grand Tour,’ Sophie smiled wistfully.

‘Well, it’s not touring as an actor, or riding bareback across windswept clifftops,’ Phoebe mused with a rueful smile, ‘but, I think I can put up with a tour of Europe without too many regrets.’

‘Spoken like a true Fairfax!’ Sophie replied, laughing. ‘And now you’re somewhat annoyingly happily married, perhaps you can stop filling Matilda’s head with all your old notions? She really does believe she can marry Misty and become a pirate!’

‘Misty, as in my fifteen-year-old Dartmoor pony?’ Phoebe quizzed.

‘Yes!’

‘Excellent!’ Phoebe chuckled, raising her glass.

‘Of all of us, I wager she’ll be the Fairfax to do it!’

‘Oh don’t encourage her, Phoebs. I?—’

‘Ladies laying a wager? Now there’s something you don’t overhear too often in Almack’s.’

Startled, the sisters turned to face the tall, enigmatic gentleman who’d paused beside the lemonade table behind them.

‘But please, do accept my sincere apologies for interrupting such a lively discourse!’ He smiled disarmingly. ‘I’m not really in the habit of doing such a thing, particularly when the ladies are so very fair, but you took me by surprise you see, and I’m not generally surprised by much these days.’

‘Not at all, Mr…?’ Phoebe curtsied politely, as the gentleman made a very elegant leg to them both.

‘Lord Dominic Rotherby, at your service. I believe I have the pleasure of addressing Viscountess Damerel? And the delightful Miss Sophie Fairfax too?’ Sophie flushed as the striking gentleman in a Sardinian evening coat bestowed the most dazzling smile on her, before returning his gaze to her sister. ‘What a pleasure it is to meet the lady who has finally made an honest man of Damerel. I salute you, Viscountess. Though why he has abandoned you to the veritable wilds of Almack’s so soon is beyond my comprehension. I’m not sure I would be so complacent.’

Sophie watched curiously as Lord Rotherby lifted Phoebe’s hand to his lips with practised ease. His moss-green eyes were alight with humour, but also distinctly sincere, and she suppressed a qualm. Harriet had suggested some bachelors of the ton considered married ladies fair game once their position was settled, but surely none would have such effrontery in Almack’s.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Lord Rotherby,’ Phoebe replied with a faint frown, ‘but my husband is neither my keeper nor my gaoler, and I believe myself quite equal to the task of chaperoning my younger sister, without falling prey to too many villains and predators.’

Rotherby’s lips twitched, while Sophie watched.

‘Oh I’m sure there’s no need to be cross, Phoebe,’ she interjected. ‘Lord Rotherby was only jesting, as all gentlemen are wont to do. You should know better than to pay my sister a compliment, sir. She’s pinked a man for less!’

‘Sophie!’ Phoebe objected, glaring at her sister.

‘But how intriguing!’ Rotherby drawled.

His eyelids lowered lazily as he took a pinch of snuff from an elaborate snuff box and smiled at Sophie’s guilty, dancing eyes.

‘Pray do tell all, Miss Fairfax. Is this a family trait, perchance?’

‘Dear Lord!’ Phoebe muttered, closing her eyes.

‘What a notion, my lord!’ Sophie chided with an even rosier hue. ‘It’s more a family expression for a set-down. Phoebe is quite famous for them! And my youngest sister is much the same, though Josephine and I tend to prefer a rather less spirited approach.’

‘Is that so?’ Lord Rotherby replied, his forest greens alight with amusement.

‘And Miss Josephine is another of the refreshing Fairfaxes, I take it?’ he added. ‘Have I had the pleasure?’

At this, Sophie felt the heat of Phoebe’s gaze and looked pointedly at her lemonade. There was a strict dry rule enforced at Almack’s, and no opportunity to indulge the way her sister had with Devil’s Brew.

‘Miss Josephine Fairfax is not yet out, sir, and not likely to be for some time to come,’ Phoebe replied pithily. ‘And now, if you will excuse us?—’

‘A pity! Still, I hope you are both finding London society to your taste? Aside from impertinent gentlemen who ask too many questions of course– though I imagine the refreshing Fairfaxes must take it all in their stride!’

His eyes glinted roguishly as he took another pinch of snuff with a distinct flick of his wrist.

‘You really must excuse any frankness on our part, sir,’ Phoebe returned with a frown. ‘Fairfaxes aren’t exactly known for their fragility or meekness.

‘But, as to the rest, the season is yet young, and I’m certain my sister will continue to enjoy all the appropriate distractions and suitable company that London society has to offer,’ she added carefully.

‘But of course, and I’m certain the ton will be clamouring to become better acquainted with the Fairfaxes,’ he replied, with an amused smile. ‘Though it may be useful to recall that, in the midst of all the prestigious balls and select soirees of the season, it is usually the unsuitable company who make it the most fun!’

Phoebe shot Lord Rotherby a hard glance, as Sophie smothered a chuckle.

‘But isn’t that always the case, Lord Rotherby?!’ she exclaimed impulsively. ‘It’s all very well being primped and preened like a peahen for debutante balls, but no one says anything above how well one looks, or how daring Miss-so-and-so is for wearing the very latest French fashion…’—Phoebe eyeballed her sister despairingly—‘That is to say, we don’t look for unsuitable company, of course,’ she added swiftly. ‘Only that everyone seems to behave so particularly in town that one barely talks about anything real at all. And it’s not that I’m not enjoying all the balls and races and musical soirees, and the shopping, of course, for I am partial to a pelisse and have been designing my own for some time now… but there’s just that feeling that if everyone could relax their hems a little it would be so much more?—’

‘Oh look, I do believe that’s Lady Worthing! Look Sophie, Lady Worthing!’ Phoebe interrupted, before Sophie could commit every crime known to polite society.

‘Fun?’ Lord Rotherby offered seamlessly.

‘Exactly so!’ Sophie replied, sparkling. She studiously ignored the sharp tug on her sleeve. ‘At home, we know everyone well enough to talk about real things, but here in town, one’s conversation is so restricted that you can’t get to know anyone, not really, and then there’s this feeling that beneath it all the debutantes might actually be the …’

‘Fun?’ Lord Rotherby repeated, chuckling.

‘Yes! That’s it exactly!’

‘That’s because you are ,’ he whispered theatrically.

‘Lord Rotherby!’ Phoebe gasped.

‘Miss Fairfax, I’ll let you in on a little secret which took me some time to fathom,’ he continued, unabashed. ‘While this year’s debutantes are whispering about the most handsome gentlemen with the fastest barouches and biggest estates, the very same gentlemen are placing wagers on the prettiest debutantes with the finest connections and largest dowries.

‘So, the London season really is a game, and you gentlemen are no better off than us,’ Sophie sighed.

‘On the contrary, Miss Fairfax,’ he replied languidly, ‘I believe gentlemen are much worse off– you at least have female intuition on your side.’

‘Well, at least you know gentlemen aren’t alone in their love of a wager anyway!’ Sophie replied with a wide smile. ‘And on that, Phoebe taught me most everything I know.’

‘How edifying,’ Lord Rotherby replied, eyeing Phoebe with amusement. ‘The viscountess appears to be a veritable connoisseur of so many matters. Tell me, what wagers have you made recently, that are not bound by oaths of secrecy?’

Sophie’s eyes danced, knowing she was being baited, while Phoebe gritted her teeth.

‘Well, last week I wagered Isabella Hampton that she was too polite to refuse to stand up with Lord Endercott– the gentleman over there with dubious facial whiskers– and I was right!’ she offered with a note of triumph. ‘She said they only danced a boring old cotillion towards the end of the evening, but that’s still a dance, as well we all know.’

‘But of course it is,’ Lord Rotherby agreed, his lips twitching. ‘And dubious facial whiskers you say? I can’t say I’d noticed, but now you’ve mentioned them, I can’t see anything else. Poor, unfortunate Lord Endercott!’

‘Lord Rotherby,’ Phoebe enunciated carefully, ‘I’ve just seen one of the patrons to whom we owe an introduction and I believe?—’

‘But of course, Viscountess,’ Lord Rotherby said assuringly, ‘such matters should never be delayed. But before you go, I should like to propose a small wager of my own, in full and open acknowledgement of Fairfax family prowess when it comes to wagers.’ He paused while Sophie chuckled delightedly. ‘I wager that you will both find your dance cards overflowing this evening, which is why I’d like to claim one from each of you before they reach that perilous stage. And if that is not appropriate for Miss Sophie Fairfax, then I trust you would have no objection, Viscountess, as you are already quite immune to the villains and predators of Almack’s?’

‘My sister does not manage my dance card, sir,’ Sophie replied swiftly, ‘and I should be delighted!’

She sank into her prettiest curtsey, while her sister met the amused rake’s gaze with exasperation. Sophie watched curiously. Lord Rotherby was one of few people she’d ever known to meet her sister’s challenge squarely, and he undoubtedly knew what was appropriate despite any pretence otherwise. He was also ridiculously handsome with enviable cheekbones, thick, satirical eyebrows and dark, velvet eyes– which he knew exactly how to use to his advantage– and yet, despite all this charm, she was convinced he intended no real mischief at all.

‘I am honoured, Miss Fairfax. Viscountess?’ Lord Rotherby queried, his eyes glinting with amusement.

Phoebe inclined her head abruptly, though Sophie could tell she was torn between not wishing to start any gossip and itching to give him a blazing set-down.

‘I consider myself most fortunate, and before you think me the dullest bachelor in the room, I would like to propose one last wager,’ he added.

‘No one could ever think you dull, Lord Rotherby!’ Sophie reassured swiftly.

‘I am most relieved to hear it,’ he replied with a smile. ‘And my wager is this, Miss Sophie of the refreshingly forthright Fairfaxes: you shall have a dozen suitors fighting over your hand before the month is out!’

She chuckled delightedly.

‘Oh, my lord, you are truly incorrigible! But you know I can’t accept that wager for I am determined to make a love match, and nothing else shall suffice.’

‘A love match! Quelle surprise! ’ Lord Rotherby replied curiously. ‘For they are quite rare on the marriage mart. Your own fabled circumstances are quite the exception, of course, Viscountess Damerel.’

Phoebe’s eyes darkened suspiciously. ‘Indeed, if the tale of your whirlwind engagement and marriage was not doing the rounds,’ he pressed on, ‘I’d be quite inclined to say such a thing does not exist at all.’

‘Oh, but of course it exists!’ Sophie exclaimed, ignoring her sister’s pained expression.

‘How else do you explain music or poetry or… or the happiness of those fortunate enough to experience it? It’s so real that it’s visible!’

‘Well then,’ Lord Rotherby replied with a faint smile, ‘I’ll amend my wager to this Miss Fairfax: I wager you’ll choose to marry for any reason other than love by the end of the season! And the reason I’m wagering this,’ he continued, despite Sophie’s protest, ‘is that while the ambition you describe may seem noble, even the strongest of attachments rarely last a lifetime. Far better you spend your time pursuing a title and land for, unlike love, they are likely to yield a much more profitable return.’

‘Lord Rotherby!’ Phoebe and Sophie protested in unison.

‘Wager accepted!’ Sophie added furiously. ‘I said I’ll make a love match, and I will.’

He smiled and inclined his head. ‘Well then, we’ll consider our wager sealed, and I look forward to your endeavours on the marriage mart. I have no doubt you will be a sparkling success, Miss Fairfax, whomever you settle upon. Until the cotillion, and perhaps the Strauss, Viscountess?’ he concluded, his noble lips pressed into a faint smile.

Then before either of them could respond, he turned and disappeared through the crush.

‘Sophie!’ Phoebe hissed, the moment he was out of earshot.

‘We’ve barely been here above five minutes, and you’ve broken just about every debutante rule that exists!’

‘I was only enjoying myself,’ Sophie returned defensively. ‘The last time I checked, that was still permissible. And anyway, you didn’t refuse to dance!’

‘How could I, after you’d accepted?’ Phoebe retorted. ‘And I’m certain his wager would be considered fast too!’

She groaned and seized another lemonade from a passing footman.

‘Really, Phoebe!’ Sophie glared, ‘I’m so surprised at you. Whatever happened to forgetting the rules and running away to find your inner heroine?! At least I’ve not stolen Fred’s breeches, or drunk too much, or found myself in a duel with a common highwayman!’

‘That was different!’ Phoebe countered, much to the interest of three young ladies nearby.

‘Stuff and nonsense! How?’

Phoebe eyeballed her sister fiercely. ‘That was me, and this is you– the girl who wants to make an advantageous love match? And anyway, I never ran away.’

Sophie threw her eyes heavenwards. ‘And this is why I was reluctant to let you chaperone me in the first place,’ she fumed. ‘You were always far too protective, and now you’ve actually turned into Mama! Conversation is expected in Almack’s, and an invitation to dance is perfectly respectable. I’m not a little girl anymore, Phoebe, and I won’t be told I can’t enjoy myself. The sister I once knew would say we ladies have few enough privileges as it is.’

‘That’s still true,’ Phoebe fired back, ‘but Lord knows?—’

‘Good! Because I may be your sister but, as you said yourself, a Fairfax is neither fragile nor meek, and above all, we never turn down a wager! I have four months to prove Lord Rotherby wrong, and I am quite determined to do it.’

‘That,’ Phoebe groaned, closing her eyes, ‘is exactly what I was afraid you might say.’