are gone.” Lady Dearsley took another large sip of her sherry.
“Mrs. Langston?” he asked.
“Sophia’s paid companion. My sisters insisted we hire her. Arrogant one, that woman. I never trusted her references, not once.”
Giles ignored the slight about the paid companion. “Could she have gone to a friend’s house here in town?”
Setting her drink set aside, Lady Dearsley retrieved her handkerchief, letting the linen square flutter about nervously. “Sophia has no friends. She is far too delicate for such frivolous activities.”
Lord Dryden leaned forward in his seat. “Then where, my dear lady, do you think your niece went?”
“I can only guess she’s gone to Celia’s.”
Giles looked to Dryden for an explanation.
“The Countess of Larkhall,” the man whispered.
“My elder sister, Lord Trahern,” Lady Dearsley sniffed.
Giles couldn’t believe the kindly Countess could be in any way related to Lady Dearsley. His country house, Byrnewood, adjoined the Larkhall estates in Bath. Though he hadn’t seen the Countess in years, she held a dear place in his heart for having been kind to him when he was but a lad of six and his mother had died unexpectedly of a fever.
“If you’d taken any time to investigate our family you would have realized the connection. I have three sisters: Sophia’s dear mother, Joceline, Celia, and Mellisande.” She turned from Giles to Monty, who sat wedged in next to her on the small couch. “My sister Celia prefers Bath to London. Whatever for I’ve never been able to fathom. It is terribly dull out there, but Sophia is always pestering me to let her go visit Celia in Bath. I think it is why she is always so ill. She hasn’t learned how to live in London. And when she isn’t at Celia’s . . . she goes elsewhere.”
Lord Dryden coughed politely. “Do you think it’s possible she’s gone north?”
“It doesn’t surprise me you would think of
her
, Lord Dryden.” Lady Dearsley reached for her glass. “You’ve always had a fancy for my younger sister.” She shook her head. “Good thing Mellisande threw you off and married the old duke. Look at where it landed that poor man. Dead in a year. But Caryll’s misfortune gave that mousy Georgeanne Radcliffe enough time to marry you, well before Mellie got a chance to get her claws hooked back into you.”
“Your sister is the Duchess of Caryll?” Monty asked.
Lady Dearsley nodded curtly, a frown puckering her wrinkled mouth. It was obvious even the mention of her younger sister was distasteful. “Yes, she is. And to answer your question, Lord Dryden, yes, it is possible Sophia went north. She has quite an affection for my sister, as misplaced as it is. It’s no wonder she pulled this ruinous stunt. I can see Mellinsande’s influence all over it.”
Even Giles, without his experience in the rumors and habits of the London
ton
, knew of the Duchess of Caryll. He wondered why he hadn’t made the connection before. Mellisande Ramsey, with her odd French-tinged name and famed beauty, still left every man over fifty speaking in awed, hushed tones at the very mention of her.
To this day she was considered the reigning beauty of London, though she hadn’t left her York estates in nearly fifteen years.
Lady Dearsley rose to her feet, a little unsteadily after her four glasses of sherry. She toddled over to where Giles now stood. “I don’t see what all this talk is accomplishing. You must find Sophia.”
Giles considered his chances of catching and holding the large lady if she teetered off her high heels.
In spite of his overwhelming relief at the delay in his marriage, he felt slightly ill at ease. Not used to having his composure ruffled, especially by some slip of a girl, Giles didn’t quite know what to do for the first time in his life.
That in itself left him feeling tight-chested.
Duty dictated he go after his betrothed and drag her back to face the parson—especially since she had no male
“Mrs. Langston?” he asked.
“Sophia’s paid companion. My sisters insisted we hire her. Arrogant one, that woman. I never trusted her references, not once.”
Giles ignored the slight about the paid companion. “Could she have gone to a friend’s house here in town?”
Setting her drink set aside, Lady Dearsley retrieved her handkerchief, letting the linen square flutter about nervously. “Sophia has no friends. She is far too delicate for such frivolous activities.”
Lord Dryden leaned forward in his seat. “Then where, my dear lady, do you think your niece went?”
“I can only guess she’s gone to Celia’s.”
Giles looked to Dryden for an explanation.
“The Countess of Larkhall,” the man whispered.
“My elder sister, Lord Trahern,” Lady Dearsley sniffed.
Giles couldn’t believe the kindly Countess could be in any way related to Lady Dearsley. His country house, Byrnewood, adjoined the Larkhall estates in Bath. Though he hadn’t seen the Countess in years, she held a dear place in his heart for having been kind to him when he was but a lad of six and his mother had died unexpectedly of a fever.
“If you’d taken any time to investigate our family you would have realized the connection. I have three sisters: Sophia’s dear mother, Joceline, Celia, and Mellisande.” She turned from Giles to Monty, who sat wedged in next to her on the small couch. “My sister Celia prefers Bath to London. Whatever for I’ve never been able to fathom. It is terribly dull out there, but Sophia is always pestering me to let her go visit Celia in Bath. I think it is why she is always so ill. She hasn’t learned how to live in London. And when she isn’t at Celia’s . . . she goes elsewhere.”
Lord Dryden coughed politely. “Do you think it’s possible she’s gone north?”
“It doesn’t surprise me you would think of
her
, Lord Dryden.” Lady Dearsley reached for her glass. “You’ve always had a fancy for my younger sister.” She shook her head. “Good thing Mellisande threw you off and married the old duke. Look at where it landed that poor man. Dead in a year. But Caryll’s misfortune gave that mousy Georgeanne Radcliffe enough time to marry you, well before Mellie got a chance to get her claws hooked back into you.”
“Your sister is the Duchess of Caryll?” Monty asked.
Lady Dearsley nodded curtly, a frown puckering her wrinkled mouth. It was obvious even the mention of her younger sister was distasteful. “Yes, she is. And to answer your question, Lord Dryden, yes, it is possible Sophia went north. She has quite an affection for my sister, as misplaced as it is. It’s no wonder she pulled this ruinous stunt. I can see Mellinsande’s influence all over it.”
Even Giles, without his experience in the rumors and habits of the London
ton
, knew of the Duchess of Caryll. He wondered why he hadn’t made the connection before. Mellisande Ramsey, with her odd French-tinged name and famed beauty, still left every man over fifty speaking in awed, hushed tones at the very mention of her.
To this day she was considered the reigning beauty of London, though she hadn’t left her York estates in nearly fifteen years.
Lady Dearsley rose to her feet, a little unsteadily after her four glasses of sherry. She toddled over to where Giles now stood. “I don’t see what all this talk is accomplishing. You must find Sophia.”
Giles considered his chances of catching and holding the large lady if she teetered off her high heels.
In spite of his overwhelming relief at the delay in his marriage, he felt slightly ill at ease. Not used to having his composure ruffled, especially by some slip of a girl, Giles didn’t quite know what to do for the first time in his life.
That in itself left him feeling tight-chested.
Duty dictated he go after his betrothed and drag her back to face the parson—especially since she had no male
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