he attempted to excuse the Goddess. “The Fashionable World is all too apt to judge people by their clothes.” He wished he had chosen his words with more care when she glanced down ruefully at her dress. “Lady Sophia did not mean to be rude,” he hurried on. “She is gently bred and her manners are beyond reproach.”
Fanny’s snort of disbelief was as sotto voce as a snort can be. If Felix heard he had the good sense to ignore it, or she might have been tempted to give voice to her feelings. Lady Sophia was elegant and she was beautiful, but she was ill-mannered and she was utterly heartless. Even if she didn’t care for him, how could she treat him so? And how could he defend her?
They walked on for some way in silence.
Having encountered Lady Sophia, Fanny found herself suddenly curious about the woman who had travelled with Felix and his friend across France. There had been a definite note of yearning in his voice when he spoke of her, yet surely she had been nothing like the Goddess. Impossible to imagine Lady Sophia doing anything so outrageous!
“I gained the impression,” she said at last, tentatively, “that you were fond of Miriam...Jacobson, was it?”
“Cohen now. She married Isaac. ‘Fond’ is not the word. I was madly in love with her and asked her to marry me, but I suppose even then I knew it was an impossible dream. I’d have brought a hornets’ nest about my ears if I’d taken a Jewish bride, however well-dowered, home to Westwood. It’s my duty to the family to marry someone my parents can like and approve, someone of rank and wealth and good breeding. Lady Sophia is ideal in every respect.”
Fanny was thoroughly disheartened. Even Lady Sophia’s rudeness had not made him look beyond her beauty, elegance, wealth, and noble family. If he won her hand, Fanny could not believe he’d ever be happy. He deserved better.
“She’ll relent,” he said hopefully. “Her temper is too equable to continue out of humour. Why, I wager she will waltz with me tonight.”
Chapter 4
At the Marquise d’Assche’s soirée, Lady Sophia did indeed waltz with Felix. Ethereally beautiful in a gown of silver net over white satin sewn with seed pearls, she was a superb dancer, graceful and light on her feet. Felix himself was no greenhorn on the floor, and the skills learned in youth had been honed in the ballrooms of Paris and Vienna. As they circled the room together, he was aware of admiring and envious glances.
However, Lady Sophia refused absolutely to grant him a second dance.
“My card is already full,” she pointed out.
He took it and scanned it. “You cannot wish to dance with Ensign Faversham. He’s a mere boy, however impressive he looks in his Guards uniform. Give me his set.”
“It would be most improper to cry off when I have promised to stand up with him. Besides, Lord Albert Faversham is the son of one of Mama’s dearest friends.”
“What about your second dance with Garforth? He is the clumsiest fellow in the room. I wager your toes are black and blue after the first.”
“Lord Garforth is an agreeable gentleman. We shall sit out the set.”
Determined not to let the Dragoon officer best him, he demanded, “Then may I beg you to grant me a waltz and the supper dance at Lord Stuart’s ball on Saturday?”
“A waltz, certainly, sir. I am already engaged for the supper dance but if you wish, a country dance?”
Better than nothing. “Thank you. Will you ride with me tomorrow in the Allée Verte?”
“The park is more fashionable.”
But less private. “The park, then. I shall call for you at two, if that is convenient?”
“That will be delightful.” With a cool smile, she left him to take her place in the next set with his civilian rival, the Comte de St Gérard.
He watched them for a few minutes, spoke briefly to one or two friends, then departed in search of Katrina Lisle. His mistress’s uncomplicated pleasure in his company was balm to his
Learning to Kill: Stories