Married to a Stranger (Danger and Desire 3)

‘I forgot to tell you, I had callers yesterday when I was out,’ she had said at breakfast. ‘Five cards—and none of them people I have heard of.’ She patted the oblongs of stiff pasteboard with their gilt edges and black printing into a pile and passed them to Callum as he pushed back his breakfast plate.

‘Mrs Sommerson, Lady Archbold, Lady Randolph,

Mrs Hickson and the Dowager Countess of Milverley,’ Callum read. ‘An impressive haul, and all in person too.’ He indicated the turned-down corners. ‘You had best pay some return visits speedily—and let it be known on which days you will be at home for morning calls yourself. Sommerson, Archbold and Randolph are Directors of the Company, Mrs Hickson is a distant cousin of mine and Lady Milverley was a friend of my mother. I let it be known at the office that we were receiving and doubtless the family have been writing to all their acquaintances in town and mentioning that we were coming up.’

‘You will come with me this afternoon?’ It was a plea, not a question, and she felt ashamed of her cowardice. ‘I did not think we would receive calls, not at this time of year. Why are they all in London? It is almost October.’

‘Not everyone flees to the country during the summer and, in any case, people are drifting back now. We will receive some invitations, too. It is good,’ Callum added encouragingly. ‘There won’t be too many people—no great crushes. You will be up to snuff by the time the Season starts.

‘The ladies called on you by themselves.’ Callum turned over the little pile of cards. ‘It will be expected that you return the call without me. I’ll have a carriage sent round from the stables this afternoon, you won’t want to use a hackney.’

‘No,’ Sophia agreed. ‘Thank you.’ She managed a brave smile. ‘What a good thing my new afternoon gown has been delivered.’

The knowledge that her gown was in the mode was a help now. At least she did not feel dowdy. And even if the ladies were at home, it would only be half an hour at most with each of them. It would be just as it had been in the country, only this time she was not with Mama and the ladies would be total strangers. Callum had said nothing about the need to make a good impression, but he had not needed to; she was acutely aware that four of them would be reporting back to men who held great sway in the Company. If they told their husbands that Callum Chatterton had made a mistake and married a gauche, socially inept young woman, it would damage his career.

‘Lady Randolph’s house, ma’am.’ Andrew, who had been riding with the coachman, opened the door, took the card she handed him and went up the steps to give an impressive ‘London knock’ on the dark green door. It opened, Sophia crossed her fingers in the hope that no one was in, but Andrew was coming back and the door stayed open. In she must go.

‘Mrs Chatterton, my lady.’

‘My dear Mrs Chatterton.’ A willowy lady rose and came forwards. ‘How kind of you to call.’

‘Lady Randolph.’ Sophia managed the slight curtsy that was required. There were three other women, all middle aged, all regarding her from the circle of chairs around the tea tray. ‘I am so sorry I was away from home yesterday.’

‘Not at all. You young things are all so busy these days,’ she said languidly. ‘Let me introduce you. Mrs Sommerson.’ Plump with a tight, mean mouth that seemed reluctant to smile. ‘Lady Archbold.’ Grey hair, grey eyes, large teeth. ‘Mrs Hickson.’ Snapping black eyes, a small terrier of a woman.

Sophia shook hands, slightly overwhelmed, but also grateful that this was the first house she had come to. It had cut the calls she needed to make to two. ‘Ladies, I had intended to call upon all of you. Thank you for calling yesterday.’

‘Not at all.’ Lady Archbold fixed her with a beady stare while her hostess poured tea. ‘We naturally wanted to make sure that Mr Chatterton’s new bride had every attention. Such a promising young man.’ It sounded like a threat or a warning of what she must live up to.

Sophia cast around for a neutral topic of conversation, then saw the picture that hung over the fireplace, a portrait of two young girls sitting on a bench in a flowery garden, a basket of puppies at their feet. The paint looked fresh and glistening and very new.

‘What a delightful double portrait, Lady Randolph.’

It was obviously the right thing to say. Her hostess beamed. ‘My granddaughters by Joshua Robertson.’

‘He must be very talented. He has caught their personalities, it seems. There are so many artists to select from, it must have been hard to choose.’

‘Well, we picked a coming man,’ Lady Randolph said. ‘I wished not to simply follow the fashion. These celebrity artists get above themselves, one feels.’

And charge so much more, too, Sophia thought wickedly. ‘And they are all men, I suppose?’ she said. ‘There are no Angelica Kauffmanns to be found in London these days?’

‘Certainly not! One could not patronise such a female even if there was.’

‘But she was very good—a fine artist?’

‘That has nothing to do with it,’ Mrs Hickson said with a sniff. ‘These famous men might pretend otherwise, but it is a trade, after all. A woman might as well take up cabinet making! And, of course, the environment is hardly decent—all those unclad models and hours spent in studios. One knows what goes on! Wild parties, louche behaviour—no female artist could be anything but one step from being a common harlot.’

‘She might as well go on the stage,’ Sophia said with a smile and gritted teeth. She had suspected that would be the attitude, but she had hoped that in the sophisticated climate of the capital the conservative attitudes of a country town would not prevail. She had been wrong.

Two hours later Sophia emerged from Lady Milverley’s Mayfair house, feeling she had spent the afternoon being pummelled and rung out in a box mangle. She had done her duty, she thought she had made a good impression and not let Callum down, but this collection of new acquaintances made her feel lonelier than ever. Certainly none of them was of an age to become a friend and all of them seemed to have been inspecting and assessing her. She only hoped she had passed muster.

As soon as she reached home she ran up to her sitting room and found her sketch book.

*

By the time Callum came home the five ladies had been consigned to paper along with the host of other portraits she scribbled down, almost compulsively. But it only partly soothed the knowledge that her work must remain unseen outside her circle of acquaintances, a mere genteel pastime.

There on the page were all the servants, the guests at the dinner party when Masterton had kissed her, people seen on their journey to London, shoppers and shop assistants. The likenesses seemed to flow from her pencil, taking with them all the little jabs at her nerves, her irritation over the curiosity, her fears about making the right impression, even her loneliness.