Page 37

“All the time,” Tressie confirmed.

“But only because the cartoons of him sell well, it would seem.” Judith slipped a finger beneath her visor, scratching delicately. “There’s great interest in all his doings, perhaps because he disappears from town for months on end, and no one knows what he is about when he is abroad. Or perhaps because he draws the interest of so many women, particularly those of the…” She paused, tilting her head slightly. “Demimonde.”

“I know what that means, Jude,” Selene said.

“Well, don’t become one,” Tressie said. “You won’t marry well if you do.”

“Why suppose my only aim in life is to marry?” Selene challenged her. “Is it yours?”

“Because you only have a few years until our Phoebe makes her debut, and then either all the young men will be in love with her, or she will do something to sink our family into the worst disgrace,” Starria said.

Sophronia chewed strawberries to hide the smart of a sudden longing as she watched this exchange. She had never imagined what it might be like to have sisters, since she’d had Rowden as her accomplice. The easy affection and frank exchange of thoughts among the Falstead sisters made her wonder what it might be like if she did marry again, to a man with family this time. Or if she had a daughter.

These thoughts scraped the inside of her chest like a spoon in a bowl. She cleared her throat before stupid tears collected. She would not cry over what would never be.

“Do not become tedious, children,” Lady Judith rebuked them, “or Mrs. Hinton will not wish to call on us.” She turned her sweet face in Sophronia’s direction. “We are in Great Russell Street, near the British Museum.”

“My friends and I have been thinking of visiting the Museum,” Sophronia said. “There is also talk of Maillardet’s Automatical Exhibition, and we have not yet seen Astley’s Circus.”

“It would be lovely should our paths cross again.” Lady Judith smiled. “Girls, shall we fetch your mother, or do you suppose she will want more time at the tables?”

“No, for here she comes now.” Starria began tugging on her gloves. “I wonder if she has spent her limit, or if she has won again? She has the most unseemly luck.”

“Recompense for the adventures of her life before she came to London.” Tressie looked around the room, and her face broke into a smile as she caught sight of a tall, elegant woman emerging from a set of doors. “That is the satisfied expression of a woman with a heavy purse.”

“Splendid. Perhaps she will finally buy me that opera fan I want,” said Selene.

“You have too many fans already. I could use another set of evening gloves,” Starria said as the women rose.

“Jem gives us more than enough pin money. You might buy those things yourselves, you know.” Tressie took Judith’s arm and pushed in her chair, then handed her the slender ivory walking stick leaning on the table nearby.

“Wait a moment for introductions,” Judith said and turned toward the new woman as she approached. “Portia, we have made a new friend, Mrs. Hinton, widow of the banker. Mrs. Hinton, this is Portia, Lady Payne, my father’s second wife.”

Sophronia bent her knees in a small curtsy, battling a touch of awe. She, a banker’s wife, meeting the widow of an earl! In all her years in London, she had never had acquaintances so high. She had expected to find her return to Society awkward and full of obstacles, and here she was being welcomed by the grand.

Lady Payne was a beautiful woman with deep, soft eyes. The dark brown of her skin was set off by the imperial blue of her silk gown and gold fringe of her satin turban, and she bestowed a soft smile on the group.

“I had thought to try my luck at the tables,” Sophronia said. “Can you recommend a game?”

“I cannot keep straight all the rules, but I like hazard,” Lady Payne replied. “The luck was with my dice tonight.”

“Your chit, madam.” A footman appeared to place a small scrap of paper beside Sophronia’s plate. “Though we are happy to open a tab for the lady.”

“I’ll pay now.” A tab would leave a record of her attendance, and Rowden might see it and know she had come to inspect the premises. Sophronia worked the string that closed her reticule.

“Put her chit on Arendale’s tab, and send it round to the house at the end of the month, as usual. No, Portia,” Judith said with a smile, as if she knew the other woman had opened her mouth, “we won’t take it out of your winnings. Spend it on the girls.”

“Do not, I beg you, tell Han I was lucky tonight,” Portia said to her daughters. “He’ll think to return and try again. Mrs. Hinton, I hope my girls behaved themselves?”

“Beautifully,” Sophronia answered. “I was glad of their company.”

She pushed away the tendril of guilt that arose as her mind fell to calculations. Selene was of marriageable age, and if she introduced a few new young women to Giles, Rowden could not accuse her of obstructing him in the matter of courtship. It was not her fault if young Selene were not interested in marriage and Giles therefore were to fall back on Lily.

And since Sophronia would be winning their bet and thus obliged to produce marital prospects for Rowden, she could do much worse than to introduce him to Starria and Tressie Falstead, sisters of the Marquess of Arendale. They were well-bred, beautiful, fashionable young ladies of wit and charm.

The thought of Rowden taking an interest in, and falling for, one of the beautiful daughters of Lady Payne made the vinegar that had dressed her salad bite at Sophronia’s insides.

The Falstead women took their leave, and Sophronia ascended the stairs to the gaming parlor as if she faced the gates of Dante’s Inferno. The thought of entering was as intimidating as facing the entrance to Hell.