A Holiday by Gaslight(16)

Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea after all. His parents would be uncomfortable. Hell, he was going to be uncomfortable himself. It was unavoidable when people of their sort mingled with the upper classes. “It’s too late to turn back now. Mr. Murray will have already arrived. If we don’t appear, he’s likely to send out a search party for us.”

His mother gave a low cluck of disapproval. “I still can’t credit his being invited. Doesn’t your young lady know what a scapegrace he is?”

“She’s not his young lady,” his father said. “If she were, we’d have met her afore now.”

Ned felt a faint flicker of guilt. He hadn’t introduced Sophie to his parents yet, it was true. He’d been waiting until things were formalized between them. Until she consented to be his wife. In the meanwhile, there’d been no point in getting his parents’ hopes up, nor in subjecting them to the poisonous barbs of the beau monde. He’d been determined to navigate these deep waters alone. To sink or swim on his own.

A wise decision, as it turned out, given that she’d broken things off with him.

And now, there was every chance she’d do so again.

He’d be a fool to ignore the facts. The fate of their relationship hinged on this Christmas house party. Or, more precisely, on whether or not, in the next ten days, he could make Sophie Appersett like him a little. A grim reality, but there it was.

When her letter arrived, inviting both his parents and Walter Murray to Derbyshire, he’d been inclined to write back immediately and tell her it wouldn’t do. His parents weren’t poor, not by any means, but they were of humble origins. And they were in trade. He knew firsthand how the gentry behaved toward such people. He had no wish to expose his mother and father to their derision.

His parents were of the same mind, albeit for different reasons. They were adamant that their presence would harm his chances. It would be much better, his father had said, if Sir William and his lady wife never met them at all. Much better if Ned were evaluated on his own merits than if he were viewed as no better than a Cheapside draper’s son.

It troubled Ned how readily they assumed they’d have no place in his life once he married. As if he would sacrifice his own mother and father on the altar of social acceptance. He never would. And he damn well wouldn’t permit them to sacrifice themselves.

“Not his young lady?” his mother echoed in disbelief.

“No, mother, she’s not,” Ned said firmly. “Not now. Possibly not ever.”

His mother snorted. “She’d be a fool to refuse you.” There was a thread of scorn in her voice, as if Sophie had already rejected him out of hand. “Haven’t all the girls in Cheapside been chasing after you these many years and more? Girls from good families—prosperous families—with a sight more to their name than aristocratic airs and graces. You could have your pick of them.”

Ned removed his hat, running a restless hand over his hair. “It’s a Christmas party. That’s all. Let’s not make more if it than it is.”

“A Christmas party at the country home of a baronet,” his father remarked to his mother. “Hard to make more of that.”

“And Walter Murray’s to be there as well? I trust he’s not angling after the younger sister.”

Good God. Ned certainly hoped not. “He’s helping make up the numbers. I understand the village vicar will be there as well, along with his wife and sister. It won’t all be the gentry. And even if it were, you’re every bit as respectable as—”

“Oh, my heavens,” his mother breathed. “Is that Appersett House?”

Ned was in the backward-facing seat and had to twist round to see properly. His mouth went dry at the sight of the coldly elegant Palladian mansion looming up before them. He’d expected something spectacular. Appersett House had a much-vaunted reputation for its beauty. But he wasn’t prepared for the awe-inspiring dignity of all that curving honey-colored stone.

“I assume it is,” he said. “Unless we’ve taken a wrong a turn somewhere.”

Ned’s father had gone a little pale. So had his mother. She scanned the gravel drive. “Which one is she, Ned?”

Ned looked out the window as the carriage came to a halt. “I don’t see Miss Appersett, or her parents.”

Not that much was visible amongst the flurry of liveried servants unloading trunks and stablemen unhitching horses. The guests he did see were all bundled up in dark wool topcoats and voluminous cloaks, their heads covered in tall beaver hats and fussy feather-trimmed bonnets. He supposed he and his parents looked little different as they climbed out of their hired coach.

A footman appeared at the door to assist them down. “Welcome to Appersett House.”

It was a sentiment echoed by the elderly butler who ushered them into the marble entry hall. Sir William and Lady Appersett were poised to receive their guests there, along with Miss Appersett’s sister, Emily. But it was Sophie herself who crossed the hall to greet them, looking warm and radiant in a dress of russet-colored velvet, her dark hair swept up in a glass-beaded net. She sparkled in the light cast from a magnificent crystal gasolier suspended low from the ceiling.

Ned’s pulse quickened. How well she looked. How perfectly at ease amidst so much splendor. “Miss Appersett.”

“Mr. Sharpe.” She turned to his parents and smiled. “And you must be Mr. and Mrs. Sharpe?”