Page 5 of The Scandal of the Season (Fairfax Sisters #2)

Chapter Five

THE ARCHERY PARTY

Another week later

‘I n fairness, my sister, the Viscountess Damerel, would have been happy to escort me, were it not for the inconvenience of her honeymoon,’ Sophie said airily, accepting the bow from Ursula.

‘Inconvenience?’ Ursula queried with a frown.

‘Well, she may not have called it an inconvenience exactly,’ Sophie amended, colouring a little, ‘or used those precise words, but she did agree the timing could have been better. And I, for one, will never understand the fuss about the exhibition when we all wear undergarments– plus these are French, which is hardly the same at all!’

‘Silk stays and drawers?’ Aurelia smirked. ‘You’re right, they’re very different to our boring muslin affairs.’

‘Silk thread ,’ Sophie corrected knowledgeably, taking her place at the shooting line. ‘But cotton in the main and anyway, it’s an exhibition of ladies’ fashion, not ladies’ unmentionables! In truth, I am much more intrigued by the Duchesse du Barry’s new troubadour style than anything else. A square neckline coupled with Renaissance pearls and silk puffs is such an interesting offshoot of Romanticism, don’t you think?’

There was a moment’s impressed silence while Sophie accepted an arrow from simpering Lord Riley, who offered to place it against the bow for her.

She declined.

‘It’s only fifty yards to the target. How difficult can it be?’ she smiled confidently, stepping up to the shooting line.

‘You’d be surprised,’ Isabella muttered from the garden table, stirring her tea from six to twelve o clock as she’d been taught.

Which was precisely the moment that both a small and distant visitor appeared on the Hamptons’s grand lawn steps, and Sophie let her arrow fly. ‘Oh!’ Sophie mouthed in sudden realisation, wondering if this would be the first and last archery party to which she’d ever be invited.

‘Good Lord!’

‘Duck!’

‘Not one of our guests at least!’

Fortunately, the sudden chorus of alarm alerted the visitor to his impending doom and he dodged the missile with a grace that made Sophie’s spirits sink further. Of all the gentlemen in London.

‘It was distracting!’ she defended hotly, as Lord Riley confiscated the bow without so much as a simpering word.

‘Good grief, it’s Lord Rotherby,’ Isabella muttered faintly. ‘My mother would never have forgiven us had we murdered him— Lord Rotherby, Good afternoon!’ she exclaimed in the same breath as he made his way towards them. ‘I do trust you are quite well?’

‘Still alive, Miss Hampton, which is always a bonus!’

Lord Rotherby’s moss-green eyes danced as he strode up to the small party.

‘And rest assured my business is with Lord Hampton. I have not arrived merely to provide your delightful party with target practice.’

Lord Riley guffawed loudly, as Lord Rotherby swept into a graceful bow.

‘Oh, what a pity you aren’t staying, Lord Rotherby,’ Aurelia said with a sigh. ‘Miss Fairfax here was just trying to persuade Miss Hampton of the virtues of the new scandalous ladies’ fashion exhibition, and I understand you’re quite the authority?’

‘On exhibitions, or scandalous ladies’ fashion in general?’ Lord Rotherby replied in an amused tone. ‘And I was under the impression that the new exhibition had been deemed unsuitable for debutantes? Either way, my personal view is that ladies’ clothing should be as scandalous as possible, of course.’

There was another low guffaw, while Isabella covered her embarrassment with an offering of extra thin ginger stem biscuits. ‘I really can’t apologise enough for the mishap with the arrow, Lord Rotherby,’ she said, turning the shade of their Sèvres teapot. ‘I’m sure no one was actually trying to murder you, least of all Miss Fairfax.’

‘Oh, I’m not sure that’s entirely the case, is it, Miss Fairfax?’ Lord Rotherby enquired, making short work of two of the proffered biscuits. ‘I wager it might have been quite satisfying for many reasons.’

‘Miss Fairfax wished to murder you?’ Aurelia smiled coquettishly. ‘Now this I need to hear.’

Sophie took a moment to survey Lord Rotherby’s languorous figure, wishing with all her heart that Aunt Higglestone hadn’t chosen this moment to peruse Lady Hampton’s new parlour curtains.

‘Lord Rotherby knows full well I didn’t intend to murder him,’ she returned coldly, ‘and I really don’t think it’s helpful to spread rumour and conjecture either. Perhaps, if my lack of skill has offended him, Lord Rotherby can content himself with the thought that I’m not likely to pick up a bow and arrow again any time soon.’

‘What a pity that would be, Miss Fairfax,’ Lord Endercott interjected pompously. ‘For archery is well known to import both grace and elegance to female deportment, as well as offer a healthy and agreeable pastime.’

‘Indeed!’ Lord Rotherby drawled, turning a piercing gaze on the foppish young gentleman. ‘And are you suggesting Miss Fairfax currently lacks any of those attributes?’

‘No, no! Of course not! What I was saying was… that is, I was merely…’ Lord Endercott tailed off in confusion.

‘Good. Then in future, I suggest you restrict your observations to the weather, and your over-ambitious tailor!’ At which point Lord Endercott flushed the very same colour as his overambitious tailor’s new line in waistcoats. ‘In truth, Miss Fairfax,’ Lord Rotherby continued, turning back, ‘all you really require is a little knowledge of bow grip– which any one of these young fops might have demonstrated– and you will be a formidable archer. If you will allow me?’

Without waiting for an answer, Lord Rotherby took the bow from the awestruck Lord Riley and positioned himself on the starting line.

‘Miss Fairfax?’ He indicated the space beside him as though he taught archery to vexed debutantes every Sunday afternoon.

‘I have four brothers at home, sir!’ Sophie said, glowering.

‘All the more curious, then, that not one of them had the foresight to show you how to hold a bow properly. Now, if you don’t mind?’

Despite minding very much, Sophie found she could think of no good reason that wouldn’t sound churlish the moment it left her lips. So she did the next best thing and joined his lordship with the bristling resentment of a child that was being forced to eat boiled cabbage.

‘Hold your bow loosely, like so,’ he began, ‘then draw your string back… I see your arm is quite rigid. May I?’

Sophie shook her head, determined not to show any reaction. Yet the touch of his fingers was having the most curious effect on her stomach. She blinked, trying not to acknowledge the shiver spreading throughout her tense limbs, whilst simultaneously fogging her thoughts in the most disconcerting way.

‘That’s it. Make sure the arrow is in the centre. Align your shoulders… aim and… release.’

Then, much to Sophie’s irritation, the slim shaft of wood flew straight towards the target board and buried itself within its small black centre.

‘Bravo, Miss Fairfax, bravo!’ Lord Endercott called out.

‘Bravo indeed, Lord Endercott. And, I believe Miss Fairfax may have also demonstrated some ‘natural grace and elegance’ too?’

‘Indeed she did, my lord,’ Lord Endercott agreed nervously.

‘Excellent. Then we’ll part on civil terms– and I believe we’ll be adding archer extraordinaire to your list of fearless attributes very soon, Miss Fairfax!’

‘Oh I doubt that very much, sir,’ Sophie returned with a wry smile. She drew a breath, trying to gather the thoughts his proximity seemed to have scattered like more wayward arrows. ‘Though my sister, the viscountess, would be most impressed! She’d have much preferred to join our brothers in archery instruction than practise the pianoforte, but my father would never allow it. Like most, he wished us to present as accomplished young ladies who could marry well, when the time arrived.’

You are fortunate if your father acted with such foresight, Miss Fairfax,’ Lord Rotherby replied in a cooler tone. ‘Some believe the measure of their offspring lies only in their tally on the hunting field.’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Sophie replied hesitantly.

‘Archery aside,’ a steady voice interjected, ‘I suspect Miss Fairfax has a good many other accomplishments that she would be far too modest to own in company.’

Sophie glanced up in surprise as Lord Rotherby’s demeanour shifted again.

‘Weston,’ he drawled, glancing back at the group of gathered gentlemen. ‘How interesting to find you at an archery party when you cannot even abide the sport.’ His lip curled faintly. ‘And I’m sure no one is in any doubt of Miss Fairfax’s accomplishments. Now, if you’ll excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, I must take my leave. Miss Fairfax, if you could allow me a sporting head start, I’d be most appreciative! Good afternoon.’ He bowed.

‘Which brings us right back to French silk drawers,’ Aurelia sighed as they all watched Lord Rotherby stride back to the house.

‘It’s an exhibition of modern ladies’ fashion !’ Sophie glowered, nettled by Lord Rotherby’s manner, which had left her feeling wholly unsettled again.

She was no more an archer than she was a murderess, yet he seemed determined to tease her abominably.

‘Whatever you say,’ Aurelia said with a shrug, ‘though I’m sure I only have to be told once that something is unsuitable for me to want to see it– whatever is on display.’

‘But you aren’t going to see it, are you, Aurelia?’ Ursula asked in a hushed tone. ‘Particularly if gentlemen may be in attendance,’ she added, her eyes as round as the porcelain teacup she was holding.

‘Oh Ursula, do you really think a flood of gentlemen will be rushing to see pinned French drawers when they can see real ones at the Opera House?’ Aurelia exclaimed, rolling her eyes.

‘Hush, Aurelia!’ Isabella muttered. ‘Mama says only wicked girls talk like that!’

‘Well I must be quite wicked then,’ Aurelia replied with a glint, ‘for I believe we are quite safe at an exhibition of ladies’ fashion.’

‘I am in agreement for once, though I suppose it may attract gentleman of a certain character,’ Sophie observed drily.

‘True,’ Aurelia said, selecting a grape from a dish on the table and popping it into her mouth. ‘Though they are usually the most diverting– and, as they say, while a libertine is a scoundrel, there is always a chance of redemption with a rake.’

‘Aurelia!’ Isabella challenged in an aghast tone, glancing at the nearby gentlemen.

‘We aren’t supposed to talk of such things. Mama will never let us hold a garden party again.’

‘La, is that all you simpletons think about?’ Aurelia scoffed, selecting another grape, and starting to peel it in the most fastidious fashion. ‘Aren’t you in the least bit interested in knowing our potential husbands a little better?’

‘You are certainly making us sound quite villainous, Lady Aurelia,’ the steady voice interjected again, ‘and while I can’t vouch for all, some of us happen to be quite civilised.’

They all looked up at Sir Weston’s approaching figure, and Sophie couldn’t help but smile. His coat wasn’t by the most fashionable tailor, his cravat couldn’t be tied in a less dashing style and his hair, while smart, lacked the more fashionable waves of his contemporaries. But there was a dependable elegance about his person, and when he spoke, he radiated the kind of quiet authority that made everyone listen.

‘Oh, your very proper self excluded of course, Sir Weston,’ Aurelia replied. ‘I can’t imagine you being the least bit scandalous, whatever the occasion!’

Lady Aurelia then proceeded to smile archly across the Hampton’s best table linen while Sophie felt an inexplicable rise of annoyance.

‘Looks can be deceptive,’ Sir Weston returned politely, ‘but I for one believe that most ladies would far rather marry a gentleman with standards, than a nobleman without.’

At this all the young ladies gushed their heartfelt agreement, while Aurelia rolled her eyes and Sophie took a large gulp of Isabella’s terrible tea.

‘Dear me,’ Aurelia said as Sophie coughed into her pretty lace kerchief, ‘anyone would think we were at one of your country bumpkin parties. Don’t they teach you anything in the wilds of Devon?’ She sighed, delicately covering the smallest of yawns. ‘And all this chitter-chatter has made me yearn for something more than archery and tea. How about a turn around your delightful maze, Isabella. I hear there is lovely folly at its centre?’

The bewildered Isabella cast a swift appeal around her select party: Lady Harriet Wakeley, the Farrington twins, Lady Aurelia, Miss Sophie Fairfax, Lord Endercott, simpering Lord Riley, Sir Weston and Ursula.

Her mother had sanctioned an archery party, not a garden jaunt in the maze, but she was also aware it was quite rude to deny her guests anything she could reasonably provide– which left her in rather a quandary.

‘Perhaps a short turn then, just to refresh ourselves?’ she ventured doubtfully.

‘Bravo! What a wonderful idea!’ Aurelia exclaimed, already rising. ‘Did everyone hear our delightful hostess? Isabella has proposed a new game: a race to the centre of the maze, and the last one to reach the folly must pay the winner’s forfeit! We are six ladies though, so you gentlemen had better be on your mettle!’ she smirked, snatching up the last ginger thin and starting towards Lord Hampton’s pride and joy.

‘But Aurelia, wait!’ Isabella called in bewilderment, jumping to her feet. ‘Ought we not to finish our tea first?’

‘Tea?’ Lord Riley simpered. ‘I’ll take a race and forfeits over tea any day.’ Then he started after Aurelia, who was already a considerable way down the rolling lawn.

Sophie shot Sir Weston a glance and wondered briefly, if he’d ever played any game in his life. Yet the tea party appeared to be at an end, Phoebe had abandoned her for the continent, Aunt Higglestone was distracted by parlour curtains, and much as she didn’t want to take part in any of Aurelia’s games, she had even less desire to be left alone.

She lowered her offensive cup of tea.

‘Well, I can’t murder anyone anyway,’ she sighed, wondering if she shouldn’t have just taken Matilda to the patisserie instead.

* * *

Sophie knew she should have taken Matilda to the patisserie instead.

Not only was she quite lost, but she’d been enduring the whoops of victorious players for some time now, while she'd seen nothing but yards of yew.

‘Which only goes to prove that spontaneous games around any maze are rarely as refreshing as they sound,’ she scowled, pushing an errant ringlet out of her face.

Briefly, she paused to look up and down the stubborn green corridor, which looked exactly like the one before. She’d already considered scaling the hedge before deciding she’d rather be lost, than risk her frilled sleeves and ivory gloves to an invasion of prickles.

Fortunately, at the same moment she heard the low yet unmistakable tone of a cheerful whistle. She exhaled in relief, certain that of all the gentlemen taking part, only sensible Sir Weston would be composed enough to whistle.

‘Do I have the pleasure of addressing the ghost of the maze?’ she called brightly, ‘and do you come to offer assistance or merely to terrorise those who pass through it?’

‘A tricky choice,’ came a muffled response, ‘though in truth, my terrorising skills are a little rusty, so I trust you will be content with the former?’

Sophie chuckled. ‘I promise you, sir, if you can guide me out of this beehive, I shall most likely be content forever,’ she replied.

‘High stakes indeed, for no female I’ve known has ever reached such an exalted state,’ he countered.

Briefly, Sophie wondered if Sir Weston was prone to philosophical turns of mood, yet she was certain he would know the quickest way out of the dratted maze, and even Aunt Higglestone couldn’t object to his anodyne company.

‘Then perhaps you are keeping the wrong company, sir,’ she replied, her lips twitching, ‘Now, how shall I find you?’

‘I believe there is a fork at the end of your corridor,’ came the muffled response. ‘Take the left, follow it round, and with a little luck we should find ourselves in the same corridor. Then I may be certain to guide– or terrorise– you in a much more civilised manner.’

Relieved, Sophie picked up the skirts of her new pink muslin and ran in what Harriet would have undoubtedly called a hoydenish manner towards the end of the corridor. She was out of all patience with Aurelia’s game, and very much looking forward to putting an end to it before anyone could say ‘Prinnie wed Mrs Fitzherbert in secret’.

In fact, it was just as she was pondering whether her aunt’s favourite piece of court gossip was suitable to share with a gentleman of Sir Weston’s very proper character, that she rounded the corner and ran straight into him.

‘Oh, I do beg your pardon!’ she exclaimed during their momentary tangle, which somehow managed to attach the delicate lace of her frilled bodice to the gilt button of his expensive waistcoat.

‘Oh, I am sorry, this French lace is all very well, but it is wearisome when?—’

Yet the remainder of her sentence evaporated as she stared up into an entirely unexpected face, with cheekbones that had clearly been borrowed from a Michelangelo.

‘I defer to your superior knowledge in these matters, Miss Fairfax,’ came his amused response. ‘I’m just grateful to have progressed from target practice to dress adornment!’

‘Oh!’ Sophie flushed instantly, taking a swift pace back. ‘I beg your pardon, Lord Rotherby. I thought you’d left. I mean, I had no idea you were…’

Sophie tailed off uncomfortably, suddenly and acutely aware of the picture she must present: hot, bothered and making no sense whatsoever, in addition to which, her ringlets were behaving as though she hadn’t attempted to recreate this month’s cover style of La Belle Assemblée at all.

‘Ah yes, well that’s perfectly understandable,’ he replied, unruffled. ‘However, since my business with Lord Hampton had concluded, and the afternoon was advancing, I offered my assistance with locating your party. I have navigated this maze once or twice before, you see.’ He smiled in a way that left Sophie in no doubt that once or twice was the most conservative of estimates.

‘Well, that is reassuring,’ she swallowed, to cover her jangle of nerves, ‘for I fear these corridors are all quite identical.’

‘Nearly,’ he replied enigmatically, his eyes gleaming. ‘But there is a secret to navigating a maze, as there is with all things, and that is to look up, rather than ahead.’

She nodded, trying to connect this gentleman with the one who’d left so abruptly earlier. She couldn’t, and her agitation redoubled. He was the most changeable of gentlemen, and for some reason his proximity seemed to rob her of the ability to think clearly.

‘That is most helpful,’ she managed, knowing her cheeks were likely the colour of squashed strawberries. ‘And I do believe we might be closer to the exit than the centre, so if you would be so kind as to show me the quickest exit?’

‘I would be only too happy to oblige, of course, Miss Fairfax,’ he replied, ‘except my charge is to locate all of your group. He paused as a quizzical light crept into his dark eyes. ‘Besides which, you have previously led me to believe that a fearless Fairfax will ride bareback through a storm before conceding defeat to anything?’

Sophie bristled. It was true that her family were renowned for their stubborn determination, but she was also aware that spending time alone in Lord Rotherby’s company was less than ideal too.

She scowled, spinning one way and then the other, before gazing up at the ancient Hampton oaks in the distance. Begrudgingly, she realised Lord Rotherby’s strategy was actually a rather wise one.

‘If your intention is to distract competitors by placing them in a spin, I can confirm it is highly effective,’ he quipped with a grin.

‘ You are not my competitor. And you do not seem to be in any kind of spin,’ she retorted, gathering up her skirts and starting in the direction from which he’d come.

‘You are vexed with me, Miss Fairfax,’ he called, catching up to her in a few easy strides. ‘Please accept my apologies. I do not often keep company with debutantes, and my tongue can be a little unguarded. I’m certain we will discover the rest of your party very soon.’

She glanced up to find his dark eyes shaded with sincerity, and his expression altogether gentler. Her confusion and nerves eased a little, perhaps she’d let Phoebe’s excessive warnings addle her brain.

‘Not vexed, no, it’s just I do not wish to lose,’ she replied hesitantly. ‘You see, the loser must pay the winner’s forfeit, and if Aurelia has got there first…’ She paused, fearing she had already said more than she should.

‘I understand.’ He nodded and they set off again. ‘A forfeit, like any wager, should never be knowingly underestimated.’

Briefly, she wondered if he was teasing her again, but his eyes were shuttered against the bright sunshine, and he was behaving like a perfectly respectable gentleman. She inhaled deeply. She had to be reasonable; only fools would go their separate ways now because of propriety.

‘I believe Lady Aurelia was trying to entertain everyone,’ she offered, as they turned a new corner.

It wasn’t a complete untruth, she reasoned, though she knew Aurelia was thinking mostly of herself. Lord Rotherby smiled politely, yet she felt the oddest impulse to keep talking and filling the air between them.

Fortunately, at that same moment, the hedge followed around a wide corner and brought them face to face with a gleaming white sculpture, set back in a small alcove.

‘Oh, how beautiful!’ she exclaimed. ‘Does it have a name?’

‘It does,’ Lord Rotherby confirmed, as they came to a standstill. ‘It’s Canova’s Cupid’s Kiss , and is supposedly the moment Psyche is awakened from a death-like sleep with a kiss from Cupid, her husband.

‘But why was she in the death-like sleep?’ Sophie quizzed. ‘What happened to her?’

‘I believe she lost a forfeit,’ he replied, pan-faced. ‘Or perhaps it was a wager?’

Sophie noticed his lips twitching and chuckled, despite herself.

‘I don’t believe she lost anything,’ she countered. ‘Look at her face. She’s sublimely happy!’

‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ he mused after a beat, ‘though I believe Psyche was supposed to have opened some kind of forbidden box. It’s the part of the story that has always fascinated me, for how many of us wouldn’t do the same?’

Sophie stared at the sculpture, pondering how sorely tempted she would be to lift the lid on any forbidden box. It was hard enough when a letter arrived addressed to one of her sisters.

‘Curiosity is a part of human nature,’ she murmured, mostly to herself.

‘Indeed, though society rarely forgives it,’ he returned.

She glanced up then, suddenly aware of his subtle cologne. It was entirely unlike her brothers’, with soft lavender and citrus notes, and for some reason it prompted a faint warmth to steal across her cheeks. He glanced back, and for just a second his eyes gleamed with something other than amusement.

‘Fortunately for us, Apuleius wrote a happy ending,’ he continued in a brighter tone, ‘and I believe we shall have the same because this corridor leads directly to the folly. Shall we?’

Sophie nodded, suddenly needing to be among more people, even if they did number Aurelia. Lord Rotherby was witty and knowledgeable, but he was also distinctly unnerving, with a talent for making her feel like a hapless ingenue.

Which is what you are, after all, she muttered to herself, as she hurried down the last length of yew, before finally emerging in the centre.

Exhaling in relief, she swept her gaze around the small, enclosed area to spy the rest of her party beneath an old cherry tree that was just beginning to bud with tiny pearls of spring.

‘Well, look who decided to grace us with her company,’ Aurelia called from the pretty gazebo beneath the tree.

‘I do believe you are the last , Miss Fairfax, which means you must pay the winner’s forfeit as a matter of honour. And since I am the winner…’

She broke off to smile triumphantly, while Sophie cursed all noblemen and their concepts of honour in a very unladylike mutter.

‘In fairness,’ a low tone interrupted, ‘and if you will accept a wild-card entry, I may actually be last?’

Conscious of a blur of gratitude and annoyance, Sophie glanced back to see an unruffled figure emerge from the maze behind her.

‘Lord Rotherby!’ Aurelia exclaimed, starting forward amid flounces of shimmering lavender.

‘Accompanying Miss Fairfax…how exceptionally diverting! Your wild-card entry is most certainly accepted, and as the very last, it looks as though you must pay a forfeit instead. Do you wish to know what it is?’

‘Wish may be a trifle strong,’ he drawled, coming to a standstill, ‘but pray do enlighten me all the same.’

‘Well,’ she paused, her eyes gleaming,’ your forfeit is to tell us who broke your heart, for that is the usual reason a bachelor becomes a rake, is it not?’

There was a moment’s shocked silence around the space, before everyone turned their gaze to Lord Rotherby, standing alone with a flint smile.

‘Oh, it’s not that terrible, is it?’ she cajoled. ‘After all, we ladies need to know if there’s any prospect of a vacancy at Rotherby House any time soon.’

There was another low murmur as Aurelia made her way forwards, before drawing to a standstill, just in front of him.

‘It is less terrible , than barely a forfeit at all,’ he shrugged, after a beat. ‘But since a gentleman always honours his debts, here is the truth: no one broke my heart, for in order for them to do so I would have had to possess one in the first place.’

There was a poignant silence, while the smile died from Aurelia’s face.

‘And now, since the game is over, I believe Lady Hampton is waiting.’