Wallflower Most Wanted Page 4

  Needing to get out of the ballroom before she said something she’d regret to her two remaining hangers-on, she stopped Ellis with a hand on his arm. “I wonder if I could trouble the two of you for a favor?” she asked, showing none of the irritation she felt with the two young men on her smooth visage. “I see the Vining sisters there by the potted lemon tree looking a bit down pin. They’re quite shy, you know, and I know they would simply fly into the boughs with happiness if two handsome young fellows like yourselves would ask them for the next set.”

  When Mr. Ellis looked as if he would object, Sophia added with a speaking look, “I believe their marriage portions are quite generous, and I cannot imagine your Mama would object to your at least making an effort in that direction.”

  Since the young man’s mother had complained to Sophia earlier that she despaired of young Walter ever showing an interest in a suitable young lady, she knew that was an understatement. And Walter, perhaps realizing the truth in what she said, exchanged a look with his friend. “Perhaps one dance won’t hurt, eh Walsh?”

  Calculation in his eyes, Walsh turned from his friend back to Sophia. “One dance. But you must promise to give me a personal viewing of your paintings in the exhibition next week.”

  Not wanting to be outdone, Ellis echoed, “And me. For you must know I am interested in your painting above all things.”

  Since Sophia doubted young Mr. Ellis had ever contemplated art or its creation in all his one and twenty years, she wasn’t convinced. Even so, if she were going to get out of this ballroom and off her aching ankle, she had to concede. “I’ll give you both a tour of my studio, but you must hurry before the Vining girls abscond.”

  With promises to seek her out later, the two men hurried over to where the well-dowered Vining sisters stood whispering to one another.

  Freed from the last of her coterie, Sophia breathed a sigh of relief and rose carefully from her chair to make her escape. Like her fellow heiresses, she’d been chosen to inherit Beauchamp House because of her renowned intellect and skill. In her case, it was her talent as a painter and her knowledge of art in general. Her work had been shown all over England, and she’d gained a reputation for art that both pushed the boundaries of what ladies were expected to depict on the canvas and called attention to those issues that might better, in some opinions, be hidden from view. Now, however, she wasn’t thinking about her work, or anything but getting out of the ballroom before she was besieged again by young men looking for flirtation and a bit of scandal.

  “I don’t suppose you’d like a steady arm to help you get to wherever you’re going,” said a male voice from behind her.

  A frisson of awareness ran through her as she recognized the voice of Lord Benedick, whom she’d spent far too much time thinking about since he’d rescued her from the shore.

  Of course he’d be here at the most talked about social event to happen in Little Seaford in months. As the local vicar, he was practically required to attend. And as one of the town’s most eligible bachelors, his absence would likely have caused a revolt amongst the village’s unwed—and even some married—female population.

  Sophia herself was not immune to the clergyman’s charms. Certainly not after he’d carried her against that broad chest as if she weighed no more than a feather. And she’d had more than one improper dream about the man since his arrival. And yet, she knew all too well that a woman like her had no business with a man like him. Not only was he, as a duke’s son, far above her reach socially, but he was also a man of God. And she and God weren’t precisely on good terms.

  Still, a supporting arm, when her ankle was aching from having all the blood rush to it for the past hour, was something she couldn’t pass up. “I must confess, my lord, that I would accept the arm of the devil himself at this moment if he were kind enough to offer it.”

  Taller than her by at least a head, Benedick stepped closer and with courteous expediency, slipped an arm around her back and let her rest against his solid form for a moment. It was no more intimate than the waltz that had already been performed once that evening, but it was closer than Sophia had ever been to him and she could feel the warmth of his body through the barrier of their clothing.

  Even so, the throbbing of her ankle overrode any feelings of euphoria or attraction she felt at the contact.

  Unable to stop herself, she gave a sharp intake of breath when she accidentally put weight on it.

  “Easy there,” he said, his blue eyes shadowed with concern, “I think perhaps you might better sit down.”

  But she shook her head. “I have to get out of this room before I’m trapped again.”

  He didn’t bother to ask who would do the trapping, only said, “Where to?”

  “Somewhere less crowded,” she said through clenched teeth, her painful ankle threating to make her cry out.

  It had really been beyond foolish for her to attend tonight’s festivities.

  “Your wish is my command, my lady.”

  Giving up control of their destination to her companion, Sophia concentrated instead on maintaining her composure.

  Fortunately, they were near a door leading into a side corridor, so they were able to slip away without being waylaid. And before she knew it, Sophia found herself seated on a long settee with her offending ankle propped on a fluffy cushion.

  “We must stop meeting like this,” Benedick said as he took a seat in a low-slung chair near her. “One could almost accuse us of taking a tour of the couches of lower Sussex.”

  “I imagine the Pavilion at Brighton has much better settees than this,” Sophia said, with a look of mock disdain for the piece of furniture upon which she currently lounged. She should be mortified at being forced to accept help from the vicar again, but instead she felt a sort giddy excitement at seeing him again.

  Quite a dangerous thing, really, if she allowed herself to dwell on it.

  Which she most certainly would not.

  Benedick didn’t seem to mind. “I can assure you, Miss Hastings, that the Pavilion also has far less gilt.” He accompanied the remark with a comical wide-eyed glance around the room, which did indeed look as if it had been decorated by King Midas himself.

  After they shared a laugh, he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I had thought you would forgo tonight’s entertainment given your injury this morning. Has no one ever told you to take better care of yourself?”

  It was certainly what her sister and friends had said to her before they set out this evening, but Sophia was hardly going to admit that in the face of a gentle scold from the man who’d come to her rescue twice in the same day now. “What is the fun in staying home while everyone else is out dancing?” she said with a toss of her head. “Besides, I came at the request of a dear relation who needed me to be here for our host’s announcement tonight.”

  His brows rose. “Someone who knew that Morgan would announce his political campaign?”

  Deciding, given their shared experience that morning, that he was a safe person to share her aunt’s information with, Sophia nodded. “My aunt works with a group in Manchester where Morgan’s factories are located. She heard from her contacts there that he’d decided to run for the seat here, far from where his business dealings might sour the local people on him. She asked me to do what I could to stop him. Which meant attending the ball tonight.”

  “But surely she’d have understood if she knew you’d injured yourself,” he said not unkindly. “One must admit to human frailty from time to time, Miss Hastings.”

  “Of course she would have done,” Sophia said with a frown. “But some things are more important than personal difficulties. And besides, I wanted to hear what he had to say for myself. There will be plenty of time to rest tomorrow.”

  “One cannot help but admire your determination,” he said. His blue eyes were warm with what looked like appreciation, though Sophia suspected that was just her imagination. “What did you think of Morgan’s speech, then?”

>   Thankful to be off the subject of herself, Sophia leapt at the conversation thread. “It was remarkably short,” she said. “I suppose I’d expected something more elaborate, but he must be saving that for when he talks to the villagers. He will certainly need the support of those in attendance tonight, but it will be the more skeptical farmers who own their own smaller plots of land he’ll need to convince.”

  “Then I should think an assembly ball would have been more suited to his political needs,” Benedick said. “But that would not have allowed him to show off his magnificent palace.”

  “Precisely,” Sophia said with approval. “He must reassure everyone of his wealth and power, so that they will put their lot in with him. Aunt Dahlia mentioned in one of her letters that his speeches in Manchester before he made the decision to come south were very focused on shifting the balance of power back to the people. Unfortunately his treatment of those same people in his factories—particularly the women and children who work in them—made it impossible for him to gain any sort of support in the north. Nearly everyone had a friend, or a neighbor or a relation who had suffered thanks to cuts in wages, or injuries on the job, or worse.”

  “You don’t suppose the conversation we heard this morning might have had some bearing on the announcement tonight?” Benedick asked, his face darkening.

  It hadn’t occurred to Sophia, but thinking back to what the men had said, she nodded. “It’s possible. Political intrigue is certainly one interpretation to put on the matter.” In fact, the more she reflected on the one man’s vehemence about “eliminating a stumbling block” the more this explanation made sense. She was already composing a letter to her aunt in her mind, when Benedick’s next words penetrated her fog of concentration.

  “… so, you must agree with me now that this is not something a young lady should be involving herself in,” he said in a placating tone. “The men we heard were quite serious. I hope you will allow me to look into the matter. I have friends who work with the Home Office who may be able to…”

  “Certainly not,” Sophia interrupted him. “I do appreciate your concern for me, Lord Benedick, but I’m hardly a frail young thing to be wrapped in cotton wool. If you intend on doing any sort of investigation into the conversation we overheard, I must insist upon being a part of it.”

  “With all due respect, Miss Hastings,” said the vicar, looking as if he’d like to tug on his hair in frustration, “you are injured, and you must know that men are far more likely to divulge secrets to other men than they are to a beautiful young woman whom they are trying to impress.”

  She tucked away the fact that he’d just called her beautiful to be examined at another time. “Are men so weak that they cannot manage to speak sense in the presence of a lady?” she demanded. “If that is the case then I believe we should immediately cease spouting the fiction that women are the weaker sex. For I am quite certain any woman of sense can say what’s on her mind no matter how many men are looking on.”

  “I was merely making a general observation, Miss Hastings,” said the vicar, his color rising a little at the retort. “In my experience, men, especially powerful men such as our host, have a tendency to put their best face forward in the presence of ladies. It is human nature. And you cannot deny that such things happen when ladies are in the presence of men they wish to impress too.”

  Thinking back to the antics of Mr. Walsh and Mr. Ellis earlier, Sophia relented. “I suppose there is some truth in what you say. But I do wish there was some way to remove the silliness of vanity from such important matters. Can we not simply talk sense without constantly being concerned about how we appear to the opposite sex?”

  At that Benedick relaxed a little and grinned. “My dear Miss Hastings, what you are asking is the impossible.”

  His smile was infectious and in spite of her determination to “talk sense” Sophia found herself smiling back.

  He continued, then, his blue eyes meeting hers in amusement. “I should certainly think you’ve become accustomed to having men make cakes of themselves in an effort to win your approbation.”

  “No more than you have, Vicar,” she said with a raised brow. “Unless I’ve imagined the bevy of unmarried ladies who linger after church every Sunday in hopes of gaining a kind word from you.”

  “Touché,” he said softly. “So, we are agreed that both gentlemen and ladies are prone to making fools of themselves when it comes to impressing one another. Where does that leave us?”

  “It leaves us with the fact that I insist upon being a part of whatever you intend to do to find out what those two men were talking about this morning,” she said calmly. “And while I admit that I might need to give myself a few days to recover from my injury, I will not allow you to pat me on the head and send me on my oblivious way.”

  The vicar shook his head at her vehemence, and leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out before him. “Miss Hastings, has anyone ever told you you’re stubborn?”

  “I believe you implied it not five minutes ago, my lord,” Sophia responded with a sweet smile.

  Chapter 4

  He’d only meant to see Miss Hastings comfortably seated, but Ben found himself taking the chair across from her as soon as she’d got comfortable on the settee.

  It had been impossible not to be aware of her all evening as the crowd of men—ranging from young men just home from university to wealthy friends of their hosts, men of a certain age on the lookout for a pretty paramour—ebbed and flowed as she flirted and dismissed them. He’d discussed Mrs. Brown’s rheumatism while Sophia accepted punch from a young man with high shirt points. He’d assured Mr. Stevens, the local butcher, that he’d greatly enjoyed the side of beef the man had gifted him while she laughed at some quip from the Northmans’ steward. Then, when finally the last man had gone, he’d made his way to her side for the first time that evening.

  Only to find her mouth tight with pain as she tried to stand on the ankle that had made it impossible for her to dance.

  He could have told her it would be a bad idea to attend a ball on the injury she’d sustained that morning, but he was now more sure than ever that Miss Sophia Hastings made up her own mind about things.

  Now, he was forced to admit the fact again, since she’d just effectively backed him into a corner over allowing her to help him look into the contretemps they’d overheard that morning.

  “I suppose you’ve left me with no choice but to work with you,” he admitted with a rueful shake of his head. “You drive a hard bargain, Miss Hastings.”

  “I learned from my Aunt, my lord,” she said with a grin. “Aunt Dahlia is quite good at getting what she wants from a negotiation. And so am I.”

  Clearly.

  Just then, the clock at the end of the gallery began to chime.

  Had they really been here alone for so long? Ben should have felt panicked at the notion, but instead he felt only a protective urge for Miss Hastings’ reputation. “I’ll just go find your sister, now, shall I? You’ve stayed long enough to make an exit without comment.”

  He watched as she stared down at her slippered foot for a moment. When she looked up at him, it was with a slight frown of frustration. “Yes, all right. I disliked making the others leave before they were ready, but it’s been a few hours now.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to remind her that her sister, with whom he’d danced earlier, had been ready to leave hours ago, but he stopped himself. Instead, he stood, and glanced down at her. “Is there something I can do for you before I go look for one of your party?”

  But as he’d expected, she shook her head. “Go. The sooner we can call for the carriage, the sooner we can leave.” For a moment he saw just how much of an effort it had been to keep up the pretense that she was not in pain.

  He laid a hand on her shoulder. Nothing more than a show of support. Then headed in the direction from which they’d come.

  And almost collided with Miss Gemma Hastings as he reached the
door leading into the ballroom.

  “Lord Benedick,” said the brunette, who while she shared some resemblance to her sister, wasn’t nearly as breathtaking as Sophia. At least, not in Ben’s opinion. “Have you see Sophia? The last I saw her she was surrounded by her usual coterie, but she disappeared while I was dancing and though she insisted that her ankle was merely strained, I know it must be hurting like mad.”

  Though Sophia hadn’t asked him to, once he’d sent Gemma to where she could find her sister, Ben went in search of either the Marquess of Kerr or the Duke of Maitland. He found Kerr and his wife, unfashionably conversing with one another, at the edge of the dance floor.

  “I knew she was fibbing,” said Ivy, Marchioness of Kerr with a shake of her head. “Of course we’ll see she gets home safely. Thank you so much for looking after her, Lord Benedick. I doubt any of those cloth heads who pester her every time she sets foot out of the house would have done so.”

  Since his assessment of those men was similar, Ben didn’t argue. Instead he said, “Why don’t I see that she gets to the driveway safely, while you see that the carriage is readied. If you’re not quite ready to leave yet, I can see her home. I know her sister is with her so it would be perfectly proper.”

  But the marchioness, who was looking rather pale, demurred. And Kerr agreed. “I was ready to get Ivy home an hour ago, so this simply gives us a good excuse. But I do appreciate you getting Sophia to the carriage. Maitland and Daphne came in their own rig so there’s no need to worry about them.”

  Relieved that plans for getting Sophia away from there were in hand, Ben turned to go back to the gallery when he was waylaid by his host.

  “Lord Benedick,” said the nascent politician. “I hope you’ll give your father, the duke, my best.”

  Since to Ben’s knowledge, his father, the Duke of Pemberton, had never met Morgan, it was an odd request, but hardly the first of its kind. People were always trying to ingratiate themselves with his father. And Ben was just a means to an end.