Courting Miss Vallois. Gail Whitiker

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      ‘Faith, Silver, when did you acquire such pretty manners? I remember a time when you would have wagered a month’s allowance on something as inconsequential as in which direction a flock of pigeons took off.’

      ‘That was before my father shot himself over gambling debts he couldn’t afford to repay,’ Robert said quietly. ‘I swore then I wouldn’t follow in his footsteps. And I won’t have Jane ending up the same way as our poor mother.’

      ‘But she wouldn’t, old man. Unlike your father, you never lose!’

      ‘A man’s luck can change. Fortune is a fickle mistress.’

      ‘For others, perhaps, but not you. Your prowess at the tables is legendary.’

      ‘Count me out,’ Robert said. ‘I want nothing to do with it.’

      Oberon sat back, rapping his fingers on the table and looking thoroughly peeved. ‘Really, Silver, if I didn’t like you so well, I’d pass you over for Welton. Unfortunately even he’s begun to bore me of late. Twice now he’s stood me up for lunch, and the last time I called round, he wouldn’t even see me.’

      Robert frowned. That didn’t sound like Lawrence. When they had all been at Oxford together, it was most often Lawrence Welton to whom Oberon had gravitated. Likely because the affable Lawrence was the only one who had not been openly critical of Oberon’s debauched lifestyle. ‘Are you sure he’s well?’

      ‘Well enough to attend a social engagement the same afternoon he stood me up,’ Oberon said. ‘No, I’ve washed my hands of him. He used to be such good fun. Now he’s become as staid and as boring … as you.’

      Robert was unmoved by the criticism. So what if Oberon thought him boring? He knew what was important and it certainly wasn’t deceiving innocent young women for the sake of someone else’s pleasure or gain. ‘Play the game if you must, but I’ll have nothing to do with it. However, I will offer a toast. To your future wife,’ Robert said, raising his glass. ‘May she be as beautiful as Aphrodite, as gentle as Hestia—’

      ‘And as lusty as an Irish farmer’s daughter,’ Oberon said. ‘A toast to the dear lady’s health … wherever she may be!’

      * * *

      It was late the following afternoon when Sophie finally stepped down from the carriage into the quiet of the respectable English street, and as far as she was concerned it wasn’t a moment too soon. Her serviceable brown jacket and skirt were hopelessly creased, her halfboots were covered in dust, and there was a stain on the palm of her left glove from having touched something black and oily. Added to that, the unsettling events of the previous evening had made it impossible to sleep, leaving her feeling overly tired and decidedly on edge. If it weren’t for Antoine, she would have climbed back into the carriage and turned the horses in the direction of home.

      A long row of tall, white houses stretched before her, each with four stone steps leading to a shiny black door. From the centre of each door, a brass lion roared a warning to those who came near, and to either side and above, rows of windows glinted in the last rays of sunlight. A square ran the length of the street, bordered by trees newly covered in green, and in front of each house, black wrought-iron posts stood waiting to receive horses and carriages.

      It was a far cry from the crowded Rue de Piêtre and the three small rooms she and Antoine called home.

      ‘Buy some sweet violets, miss?’ asked a young girl passing by with a tray. She was petite and dark haired, and the sweet smell rising from the flowers brought back bittersweet memories of home. Mama had always loved violets …

      ‘Non, merci, ’ Sophie murmured, forgetting the girl wouldn’t be able to speak French. Forgetting they weren’t in France. They were in England, and suddenly it all seemed like a huge mistake. What in the world had made her think this was the right thing to do? Too much time had passed. They should never have come—’

      Upon my word, Sophie, is it really you?’

      And then it was too late. The past caught up with the present and the moment of reckoning was at hand. Sophie looked up to see the door standing open and a swarm of black-coated servants emerge, like bees flying out of a hive. A couple stood on the top step, and while the beautiful woman in the exquisite silk gown was not known to her, the man … oh, yes, she knew the man. There might be lines around his mouth that hadn’t been there before, and traces of grey peppering the dark, wavy hair, but his eyes were still the clear bright blue of a summer sky and his smile was still as warm as an August day in Provence. She would have recognised him anywhere. ‘Lord Longworth,’ Sophie said, breathing an audible sigh of relief. ‘It has been … a long time.’

      ‘A very long time.’ Nicholas Grey started down the stairs. ‘So long I scarcely recognise the beautiful young woman you’ve become. And I’m not sure exactly what to say except … welcome to England, dear Sophie. And may I say how very, very happy I am to see you again.’

      It was almost like coming home. Sophie stepped into his embrace, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. ‘No happier than I, for you look much better than when last we parted.’

      ‘I dare say it would have been difficult to look worse. But even the deepest of cuts and bruises heal and I am pleased to say I had exceptionally good care.’ Nicholas glanced at the young man standing quietly on the street behind her, and slowly extended his hand. ‘Antoine. I was afraid you would not remember who I was. Or choose not to come if you did.’

      ‘Under the circumstances, you would be a hard man to forget,’ Antoine said, his greeting more reserved than his sister’s, but his tone cordial as he shook the viscount’s hand. ‘I take it your memory is fully restored?’

      ‘It is, though it was several months after the accident before I could claim a complete recovery.’

      ‘I have learned that injuries like yours often induce temporary memory loss.’

      ‘So it would seem.’ Nicholas smiled. ‘I understand you are apprenticed to a surgeon in Paris.’

      Sophie glanced at him in surprise. ‘To Monsieur Larocque, yes, but … how could you know that?’

      ‘I suspect there is very little Lord Longworth doesn’t know about us,’ Antoine said. ‘No doubt he has had us thoroughly investigated.’

      ‘Antoine!’

      ‘No, it’s all right, Sophie,’ Nicholas said quietly. ‘I regret that such duplicity was necessary, but it would serve no purpose to lie and I will not insult your intelligence by doing so. Yes, I hired someone to find you and they did what was necessary in order to uncover your whereabouts. But the investigation was discreet and nothing of its undertaking made public. So unless you told anyone of your reasons for coming to England, I can assure you that no one here knows.’

      It was a moment before Antoine said, ‘I told the gentleman to whom I am apprenticed that I was coming to visit an old friend, and that time was of the essence given the precarious state of his health. However.’ he looked at Nicholas and began to smile ‘.you appear uncommon well for a man on his deathbed, my lord.’

      In full understanding of the situation, Nicholas chuckled. ‘I’m glad I was able to hang on until your arrival.’ He reached up to scratch his ear. ‘Am I in imminent danger of expiring?’

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