Not that he’d felt obligated in any way. If he’d wanted to put an end to his relationship with Miss Appersett, he’d have done so without hesitation. But he hadn’t wanted to end things. He’d been besotted with Sophia Appersett since almost the first moment he laid eyes on her.
It had been mid-June at the opening of the new Horticultural Gardens at South Kensington. Prince Albert himself had been presiding over the occasion. Ned saw Miss Appersett standing with another lady on the terrace at the top of the arcade. He passed behind them along the rock asphalt promenade.
“Mr. Sharpe! Is that you?”
He stopped to respond, recognizing the lady as the wife of Vincent Carstairs, heir to the Carstairs shipping fortune. Vincent was a casual acquaintance of his. A man who, like Ned, was not strictly a gentleman, but had earned a measure of acceptance in polite society by virtue of his good looks, good manners, and sizeable bank balance. And, of course, it didn’t hurt that Vincent had managed to marry the daughter of a viscount.
Ned greeted her with civility, if not warmth. “Mrs. Carstairs.”
She motioned to her companion. “Allow me to introduce my friend, Miss Sophia Appersett.”
Miss Appersett turned, looking at him with a slight smile.
And Ned was struck dumb. There was no other way to describe it. The sight of Miss Appersett, with her creamy porcelain skin, lustrous sable hair, and wide, melting brown eyes, rendered him speechless. Quickened his pulse and temporarily fogged his brain.
She was a beautiful girl, possessed of an elegant bearing and a sweet expression. A classic English rose. Indeed, her perfect oval face might well have been set on a cameo. But the spark of sharp intelligence in the soft velvet of her gaze and the stubborn set to her dimpled chin spoke of a female who was much more than the sum of her face and her figure.
“Mr. Sharpe,” she said, extending her hand.
He scarcely had the presence of mind to take it. He just stood there and stared at her like a great, uncultured lummox. As if he’d never before encountered a lady.
“Miss Appersett is the daughter of Sir William of Appersett House in Derbyshire,” Mrs. Carstairs said. “Surely you’ve heard of Appersett House?”
Indeed Ned had. A fact that made his course of action all the clearer.
Sophia Appersett was a baronet’s daughter. A member of polite society whose family boasted a bloodline that could be traced back to the court of Henry VIII. What better lady with whom to align his fortunes?
He was all of one and thirty and had been contemplating marriage for the past year at least. But he’d never actually wanted to marry until he laid eyes on Miss Appersett. Within ten minutes of meeting her, he’d pictured her on his arm as he attended the entertainments of the season. Within a month, he’d envisioned her presiding over his house and warming his bed. His wife. Mrs. Sophia Sharpe, daughter of Sir William of Appersett House.
Setting his plan in motion had taken no effort at all. Sir William was practically a bankrupt. His only asset, besides his famous estate in Derbyshire, was the vast beauty possessed by his two daughters. He and his wife had brought Miss Appersett and her younger sister, Emily, to London with the hopes of finding them rich husbands.
And Ned was rich, for all the good it had done him.
He sat down behind his desk and resumed reading his reports. He might as well have attempted to read a document written in ancient Greek. He couldn’t focus. Couldn’t rid his mind of the sound of Miss Appersett’s quiet voice uttering those five fateful words.
We simply do not suit.
A sharp rap at the door wrenched Ned from his melancholy thoughts. He looked up to see his business partner, Walter Murray, strolling into his office.
“Well?” Walter asked.
Ned cast aside his papers and met his friend’s inquiring eyes. “I’ve been jilted.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Walter sat in the chair across from him as Ned apprised him of his meeting with Miss Appersett. When he finished, Walter gave an eloquent grimace. “You have my sympathies. But…she’s not entirely wrong about the two of you being ill-suited.”
Ned scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re as different as chalk and cheese.”
“How the devil would you know?”
“I’ve seen you together. That afternoon at Cremorne Gardens when we watched the high-wire act. And then again at Mrs. Ashburnham’s dinner party. I had more in common with Miss Appersett’s little sister than you had with Miss Appersett herself.”