Kitabı oku: «Regency Affairs Part 2: Books 7-12 Of 12», sayfa 19

‘Kept in a vault at Hallington, awaiting the next marchioness. After we are married, the jewels can be reset to her taste. My father has always been clear on that.’

‘Admit it, Stepmother, you simply wanted to boast that I was wearing a family heirloom. Personally, I am pleased Richard has shown some restraint and taste.’ Sophie flashed a smile. ‘How perfect to be able to wear it tonight. I believe I shall keep my gloves on to start with. It will make the revelation of our engagement all that more sensational if the need arises.’

‘My thinking entirely.’ Richard’s shoulders relaxed as they shared a conspiratorial smile. Tonight was about laying the foundation of the trap for Putney and ensuring Sophie remembered whom she belonged to at the moment, rather than proclaiming the engagement to everyone. Patience was required. He could risk liking Sophie as he knew what the outcome would be. He could stop this before it went too far.

‘I’m pleased we are as one on this.’

Her level blue eyes met his. ‘We are.’

The Assembly Rooms blazed with light and sound when Sophie arrived with Richard and her stepmother.

With each turn of the carriage wheel, the ring grew heavier on Sophie’s finger. It became harder and harder to keep up a light conversation. There were so many things she wanted to say to Richard about the necessity of boundaries, but her stepmother was there. And her stepmother was sure to pick up any attempt at subterfuge. Her head pained her and she wished she’d found an excuse not to attend, rather than trying for this pretence.

‘The first dance must be mine,’ Richard murmured as he handed her down from the carriage. The simple touch of his gloved hand on her elbow did nothing to calm her nerves. If anything, it heightened her awareness of him and the way her body reacted when he was near. ‘We must begin as we mean to go on. Besotted, Sophie, not looking like a death sentence hangs over your head. You were the one to suggest this. For it to succeed, people need to believe in the romance. We met and fell instantly and irrevocably in love. Right now you appear more ready for a funeral.’

‘I thought you liked my dress,’ she said in dismay. Besotted indeed! There was no possibility of allowing her heart to rule her head. What she was feeling was attraction and desire towards a distinctly unsuitable man. She didn’t have to act on that attraction. This engagement was about saving her reputation, not destroying it for ever.

‘I do, but it is your expression I worry about and I was sure you would break your fan in the carriage. You clutched it far too tightly and you chose to sit as far away from me as possible, practically hugging the door.’

Sophie pressed her lips together, hating that he had noticed her discomfort. She could hardly confess to being wary of him. It would only mean making it easier for him to seduce her. ‘It is difficult to fit two dresses in the same carriage.’

He laughed. ‘If that is what you want to believe you may, but I prefer to trust my instincts.’

Sophie forced her features to relax. Her stomach was in more knots than the first time she had attended a dance. It amazed her that Richard had noticed anything and had thought to ask. Her stepmother had sailed on, seemingly oblivious as her earlier misgivings proved groundless.

There were so many pitfalls to this current plan. She wished she had actually thought it through thoroughly before she suggested it. But it was this or ruin. Or accepting his offer for real. She ruthlessly quashed that little voice.

‘We need to speak. Urgently,’ Sophie whispered back. ‘There is so much which is unsettled between us. Ways other people, particularly Sir Vincent, can expose us.’

‘It must be a waltz. Waltzing is more convenient for speaking than a polka.’

She refused to consider how he knew such things. If they waltzed, she’d be in his arms, Sophie realised with a gulp. ‘I thought you never asked a woman twice. I refused you last night.’

‘Last night I asked. Tonight I am telling you. I trust you know the difference.’

‘A quadrille won’t do?’ she squeaked.

‘Not for a prolonged conversation.’ A faint dimple shone in the corner of his mouth. ‘There is always bound to be a quiet card room where we will not be disturbed.’

She didn’t want to think about going to a card room with him. She could remember all too clearly what had happened when she went into that deserted card room with Sebastian. Never again would she be like that!

‘I have had enough of card rooms, thank you. In any case my stepmother will think it odd if we simply disappear at the first opportunity. She knows about the promises I gave my guardian years ago and how I have endeavoured to keep those promises.’

‘A waltz or the card room, Sophie.’

‘The first waltz, it is. I believe it will go a long way towards the besotted impression.’

His entire being stiffened and didn’t appear to hear her last teasing remark.

‘Is there a problem?’ she asked, peering at the young lady and stylishly dressed older woman who seemed to have caught Crawford’s eye. The young lady was beautiful in that dark sort of way that Sophie knew she could never be. There was a faint exoticism about her features. The older woman was clearly her mother.

He shook his head and cupped his hand under her elbow, definitely turning her away from the pair. Her body reverberated from the touch. ‘It was simply someone I thought I recognised. A mistake.’

‘Another one of your conquests?’ She laughed and tried to concentrate on the poster advertising the visit of Charles Dickens that coming August. She should have expected it, but it still hurt. Once a rake, always a rake. She had no right to expect anything from him. This entire engagement was spun-sugar pretence and artifice, rather than truly solid and secure love. ‘I don’t mind. There is no finer feeling between us. Indeed, I have no interest in you beyond securing my reputation.’

Her heart thudded that it was a lie. She was certainly aware of him. And he had been perceptive enough to realise that she was nervous. She simply didn’t want to start liking him. There had to be reasons to keep her heart safe. Soon enough, he would revert to type. She had to keep remembering that he was the worst sort of rake, the sort of man whom the gutter press loved. It was only because he wanted to conduct a private war against Sir Vincent that her reputation stood any chance of survival. He had not done this because he cared about her or her prospects.

‘Most definitely not one of my conquests. Nor ever likely to be.’ The light in his eyes flared gold. ‘And, Sophie, when we are together, I will not look at any other woman. I promise. It is not the way I was made or brought up.’

‘It can happen.’

‘And it causes tremendous heartache for other people.’ He stared down at her. ‘I have witnessed the consequences firsthand. Many times. And I have never knowingly caused a woman to break her vows, but it has always been a matter for her, rather than for me.’

Sophie swallowed hard. She could hardly confess she had asked her stepmother about the scandals he had been involved in. ‘But you do know the women.’

‘After a fashion.’ His brows knitted. ‘I had not expected them to be here tonight. It changes nothing. Until our association ends, I am yours.’

‘Once the first waltz starts, you can come and find me if you wish to speak to them now,’ Sophie said brightly, forcing her mind away from the way her heart wanted to believe his words. Underneath he would be the same as any other rake—selfish and solely concerned with his own pleasure. ‘There is no need to introduce me. There are a number of other people I need to speak to.’

Sophie silently prayed the waltz would be soon. Otherwise it was going to be torture waiting to speak to him and hoping that they had their story correct. But staying close to him was another sort of torture, undermining her resolve to keep aloof from his seductive technique.

A smile transformed his features. ‘Our luck appears to be holding. I believe I can hear the first strains now. There is no need to greet distant acquaintances.’

She allowed him to lead her into the middle of the dance floor. While some of the other rooms had gas lighting, the main ballroom still had its magnificent chandelier lighting system.

He placed his hand on her waist, holding her a bit more tightly than strictly necessary. She pointedly twisted her waist to gain a little space.

‘I have been civilised, Miss Ravel. You will come to no harm.’

‘Everyone is watching us.’ She swallowed hard and attempted to ignore the fluttering in her stomach.

‘Everyone will have read the papers. They want to see what happens. Abject devotion.’

‘From you or me?’ Sophie gave a pointed smile. She was on firmer ground here. ‘Abject devotion fails to agree with me, Lord Bingfield. Never has done and I have no plans to start. Remember, I am redoubtable.’

‘I never believe anything I read in the press.’

‘You should believe that. I have spent years ensuring I do not have pointless flirtations.’

‘What a pity.’ He clasped his hand over hers. ‘I shall take comfort in the fact that you are far from indifferent to me. Your body must remember what happened the last time I held you in my arms.’

Sophie ground her teeth. ‘A gentleman would refrain from mentioning that kiss.’

‘It was utterly delightful.’ He gave an unrepentant smile. ‘That is better. Your cheeks have colour. Far better for giving the impression of being besotted.’

Besotted indeed! The one thing this engagement was not going to become was a way for him to seduce her. She knew the boundaries. The kiss would not be repeated. She refused to slip slowly but inexorably along that path again towards an illicit room in a rundown inn.

She cleared her throat. ‘The dance has begun.’

He began to move and she discovered that he was an expert dancer. She had danced with some very good dancers before, but Richard moved differently. It was more like floating on a cloud or having her body move as one with his. It would be easy to forget everything and simply enjoy the sensation of being in his arms.

‘We need to come up with a story,’ she said and ignored how his hand had moved to fit her waist far more snugly. ‘Something to test Sir Vincent.’

‘I doubt that will be necessary.’

‘We need to prove that he is our mutual enemy.’

‘Proving is nothing. What we need to do is ensure that he will not continue with his scheme. And he needs to learn that he should not try that sort of behaviour with anyone else.’

‘I take it you have a plan.’

‘I promised to protect you.’ His hand moved around to her back. ‘Trust me to do so and not abandon you to the winds of fate. You are far from alone, Miss Ravel. Relax and enjoy the dance. Look me in the eyes as if you never want to look anywhere else.’

‘And if someone asks how we met? I can hardly tell them the truth.’

He missed his step, but recovered. ‘I had not considered it. Have you been away from Newcastle recently?’

‘Carlisle,’ Sophie answered with a faint smile. ‘I trust you know where that is.’

He cleared his throat. ‘I meant somewhere in the south.’

‘We went to Liverpool in late March as a new design of tea clipper was being launched and I wanted to see the hull. I know everyone says that steam will replace the sail, but there is something so glorious about the way the sails fill.’

‘I shall take your word for it. I had never considered the design of a hull before. All I want to know is that a ship will get me from one port to another, safely, if I am forced to take it.’

‘Much of my fortune comes from shipbuilding, Lord Bingfield.’ Sophie breathed easier. Speaking of shipbuilding kept her mind from the way he moved or the shape of his lips. Feigning being besotted was one thing, actually being so was another problem altogether. ‘I was brought up to have a keen interest. The board of directors may run the day-to-day business, but it is the lifeblood which brings all the good things in my life. It is important not to take such things for granted, but to understand and to be able to question.’

His smile became genuine. ‘I knew you were more than a pretty face.’

‘Do you like ships?’ Sophie asked quickly.

‘I am invariably seasick. It doesn’t matter if it is a rowing boat or a tea clipper—once I am on the water, my stomach heaves. Always has done. I suspect it always will.’

‘You do get used to the sea in time. Lots of people get over it and are never troubled again. A long sea voyage would do the trick. It did with me when I was seven. We went to the West Indies and I was so sick to begin with, but then I recovered. My father told me even Admiral Lord Nelson was seasick on occasion. Somehow it made it easier to bear.’

‘I shall take your word for it since you argue so passionately. Some day maybe I will test your theory.’ His eyes crinkled at the corners. A bubbly sense of excitement filled her. ‘But for now Liverpool with its shipbuilding will have to do. The timing is reasonable and plausible. I do hope you did attend some sort of gala or a ball while you were there and your trip wasn’t entirely business.’

‘Do for what?’ Sophie frowned, trying to remember precisely what she had done. It was disappointing that Lord Bingfield wasn’t interested in ships and more than slightly disconcerting that she had hoped he would be. She shouldn’t want any connection with him, but she did. She trod down heavier than she should have and narrowly missed his foot. It was only Richard’s skill as a dancer which kept them upright. The heat in Sophie’s cheeks increased.

‘We went to the theatre. It was an amusing comedy that my stepmother was desperate to see. I cried off the launch ball because I had twisted my ankle at the shipyard. Is it important?’

‘For where we met? Yes.’ His eyes crinkled at the corners. Sophie hurriedly glanced away. ‘I’d have hardly liked to have met you in a shipyard or on a railway platform. The theatre is a splendid choice. Plenty of time to spy people from a box and arrange a meeting. I take it you are adept at fan language despite your pretensions towards formidability?’

He was going to imply she had arranged a meeting with her fan. Typically arrogant. Sophie started to pull away, but his hand tightened on her waist, holding her against his body.

‘Why is this necessary?’ she asked.

‘I must have had a reason to come to Newcastle to see you and see if the spark we both felt was something more. And your stepmother most blatantly had not met me before.’ He gave her hand a squeeze. ‘Our meeting yesterday was hardly a chance one. You were enchanted by my persistence and overcome with desire. I had completely rearranged my life to be with you and you were utterly captivated. The press always do love a romance.’

Sophie concentrated on taking the next few steps, rather than considering the desire part of his statement. She hated that a tiny part of her wanted to believe in the tale which he had spun. She wanted to believe that he would rearrange his life for her. ‘It does make sense. As a personal rule, I dislike being enchanted about anything. I have learnt, Lord Bingfield, that it is best to examine faults thoroughly.’

He gave a bark of laughter. Several people turned to stare at them. ‘You might wish to pretend you are practical, but you possess the soul of a romantic, Miss Ravel. I see straight through you. You long to be swept off your feet. Otherwise why assist in an elopement?’

‘I much prefer being practical to starry-eyed. I gave up endangering my heart years ago.’

‘You are unlike any woman I have met.’

‘I hope that is a good thing. I like the idea of being an individual.’

‘Never doubt that! You, Sophie Ravel, are a one-off. You have even given me a hankering to test your theory about seasickness with a voyage to the West Indies, but only if you were with me.’

‘That won’t happen.’

‘A pity. A sea voyage with you could have been intriguing.’ A dimple played in the corner of his mouth. ‘You won’t even consider a trip across the Channel? You and I together? You could hold my hand.’

Sophie glanced down. It would be so easy to allow herself to slip a bit more under his spell. She gave her head a shake and tried to remember all the reasons why he was not a good prospect for marriage. ‘Liverpool and the theatre in late March is where we met. Stop trying to cloud the issue with talks of voyages which will never happen. I want to save my reputation, not throw it away by giving in to the determined seduction of a man like you.’

‘Relax.’ His breath caressed her ear. ‘You see, everything is sorted. You don’t have to worry about a thing. All you have to do is to enjoy the waltz. Nothing will happen on a dance floor. I gave you my promise.’

His hand firmly pressed against her back and she became more aware than ever of the way he moved.

It was only a dance, but Sophie could feel her self-control ebbing away. With each step, she seemed to be more encased in a dream bubble of romance which she wanted desperately to believe in.

It wasn’t real. She had made a mistake like this before, confusing the excitement of being noticed by someone who was older and more experienced than she was with real romance. She knew she wanted her romance real and true, like Robert and Henri shared, something which had grown over time rather than hitting her suddenly. What she felt for Richard Crawford was far too sudden to be real and substantial. It was another illusion and this time she refused to be taken in.

Sophie concentrated on taking another step, rather than looking him in the face. She had to hope that his scheme worked quickly, otherwise Sophie knew all of her resolutions would be for nothing—she’d start believing in the romance. And she knew precisely where that led—straight to her barricading herself in a room at some rundown coaching inn.

What was worse, this time, this time there would be no expectation of marriage. It would only be an affair as she had refused his proper offer of marriage and he would never ask her again. On that point, she knew he’d keep his word.

Chapter Five

The cool night air bathed Sophie’s flushed face as she stood out on one of the little balconies which fronted the Assembly Rooms’ first floor. After the waltz finished, Richard had abandoned her in search of refreshment, but Sophie knew everyone had seen their little display of being besotted with each other.

The trouble was she knew that she could not keep it up. It would be far too easy to slip into the habit of dancing with him and being held far too closely. Her body still thrummed with awareness of how he’d placed his hand on the small of her back and how his fingers had curled about hers.

Richard Crawford was precisely the sort of man she could easily lose her heart to, but he had one fatal flaw—he was unsafe in carriages and she’d be wrong to forget that. She recited the vows she had made in that inn bedroom; only they seemed to be of little substance.

Sophie pressed her hand to her forehead. When he left her, Richard whispered in her ear that they would dance a polka later. And every fibre of her being looked forward to it. It was wrong of her. This was a temporary arrangement, not something that was going to last the rest of her life.

A marriage needed to be more than physical desire. Sophie firmed her mouth. She’d been right to refuse his reluctant proposal. She wanted a steady love borne of friendship, rather than will-o’-the-wisp desire masquerading as something more.

‘Enjoying making a spectacle of yourself?’ The overly oily voice grated over her nerves and the stench of Madagascar hair oil washed over her. Sir Vincent had discovered her refuge.

Sophie counted to ten and composed her features before she turned. She wished Richard had confided his plan to expose Sir Vincent, but he hadn’t. The next few minutes were up to her. Richard would simply have to go along with whatever happened. ‘Sir Vincent. Imagine encountering you here. I had not thought to see you again so soon.’

‘Lord Bingfield won’t marry you. You are simply making my job easier. I wonder where your recklessness will next take you. It is amazing that you have enjoyed such a spotless reputation until now.’

Sophie deliberately widened her eyes and adopted her best naïve débutante voice. ‘Why wouldn’t Lord Bingfield marry me? He has offered to protect me.’

‘He is not the marrying sort.’ Sir Vincent shook his ponderous head. ‘Other ladies have deluded themselves in the past and been terribly disappointed. Can you risk being more exposed in the press? They are already highly intrigued by you. I do hope you have no secrets in your past.’

‘Did you supply today’s item of tittle-tattle?’

He gave a slight cough and adopted a pious expression. ‘People will speculate and I was unable to resist confirming what I knew. Unlike some, the press trust me.’

Sophie rolled her eyes heavenwards and struggled to keep her temper. ‘Will the press speculate? That does surprise me no end. Gossip is endemic in Newcastle and always has been, Sir Vincent. It is such a shame when it proves to be false or people spread malicious rumours. It is amazing how quickly the gutter press can turn on one of their trusted sources.’

‘Your friend’s parents inform me that their daughter was caught on the road to Edinburgh and they hope hourly for her safe return.’ He blew on his nails. ‘But I have gone against the idea. Who wants an unwilling bride? Perhaps one of their other daughters will suit.’

Sophie gulped hard. ‘You mean to have one of Cynthia’s sisters?’

‘Yes, one of them might be suitable as Lady Putney. There again, they all might bear the taint of their eldest sister’s conduct. What a pity you assisted in ruining another person’s life. Possibly several young persons’ lives. You must seriously reflect on your behaviour, Miss Ravel. Someone must stop you before you ruin anyone else’s life.’

Sophie’s stomach clenched. It was a deliberate lie. She had received Cynthia’s postcard in the second post. The couple had made it to Carlisle without mishap. She would not put it past Mr Johnson to offer one of his other daughters, but she doubted that he would enforce it, not after Cynthia had made her dramatic bid for freedom. Mr and Mrs Johnson did love their children.

‘Do you enjoy theatricals, Sir Vincent?’ Sophie asked, making sure her voice flowed like honey. Her insides churned, but she refused to give way to panic. Somewhere in that crowded ballroom was Richard Crawford and he had behaved perfectly correctly. He refused to be used by this man. The thought gave her confidence. ‘Plays and the like?’

‘Not overly.’ He gave a smug smile. ‘Sometimes the actresses are worth watching, but I only go to the theatre to be seen. The true spectacle happens in the stalls.’

‘A pity. You would have made the exact prototype of a pantomime villain.’ Sophie clenched her fan tighter and sought to control her temper. This time she would walk away and not lose her head or panic. She would find Richard and demand they carry their engagement a step further—only an announcement in the papers would end the speculation.

Even Sir Vincent in his arrogance must know where that particular line of polite society was drawn. Sophie’s head spun. That was it. She had to find a way of getting him to cross that line in full view of everyone. Expose him and his pathetic attempts at blackmail. And she had to do it now.

Behind Sir Vincent, she could see the crowds of people standing on the edge of the ballroom. A few steps into the room and this conversation would be overheard. Sophie’s stomach clenched. She didn’t have time to wait for Richard to appear. Long ago, she’d given up on any errant knights coming to her rescue. She would have to execute the entire operation herself.

Sophie judged the distance. Too much in the open and he’d never react. Too far into the balcony and no one would hear or react. It had to be just right. Without giving herself time to think, she edged towards the ballroom.

‘You dare to insult me!’ Sir Vincent took a step towards her, blocking her exit and obviously intent on forcing her more fully on to the balcony.

‘Why would I do that?’ Sophie’s mind raced and she attempted to remember the way he had lost his temper last night. She ducked under his arm. ‘Could it be because you are a pompous fool? Why would anyone in their right mind wish to be married to someone like you? I know Cynthia’s younger sisters and they feel exactly the same way about you. They think you a pompous braying fool.’

She was out from behind the curtain now. The ballroom teemed with people and music. Everyone had their back to her and her personal duel with Sir Vincent.

Richard was nowhere to be seen. She was truly on her own. Silently she prayed that she had done enough. Her heart thudded in her ears.

‘No one calls me that!’ Sir Vincent parted the curtain and emerged red-faced and spitting with anger.

‘I just have! Now I must bid you adieu, Sir Vincent.’ She made a curtsy which bordered on the insulting. ‘Pray remember I am not some snivelling scullery maid or a naïve débutante. I do have friends, so stay out of my way. Do not attempt to blacken my name again!’

He reached out and grabbed her arm. ‘We are finished when I say we are.’

‘Unhand me!’

‘Not until we have finished our discussion.’ He started to drag her back towards the balcony.

‘Someone help me. Please.’

A fist connected with Sir Vincent’s jaw and he staggered backwards against the heavy curtain and fell down. The curtain tumbled with a loud thud and rip which resounded through the room.

‘You have insulted Miss Ravel for the last time, Putney.’ Richard’s voice held none of its usual warmth.

He had arrived! Precisely at the right moment. Sophie’s heart did a little flip.

Richard towered over Sir Vincent. ‘When a lady asks you to let go, you do so. I demand an apology!’

‘What right do you have to intervene?’ Sir Vincent rose to his feet and adopted a pugilist’s stance. ‘Hit me again and see if I am slow to respond. Fight like a gentleman, Bingfield.’

Richard’s voice held a note of barely controlled fury. ‘I claim the right of any gentleman to act when a lady is accosted.’

‘We were merely conversing. I demand satisfaction. You have impugned my character for the last time, Bingfield.’

‘I can see the marks of your hand on her elbow, Putney. I heard Miss Ravel beg for help. I suspect the vast majority of the gathering heard her plea. What man among you would fail to assist a woman in need? Are you a molester of women, Putney? Is that the reputation you seek to defend?’

Sir Vincent went a violent colour of puce and foam speckled his mouth.

Sophie saw a crowd had gathered around them and the orchestra had stopped playing. In the silence, she made sure her voice could carry. ‘Sir Vincent threatened me and grabbed hold of my arm. He refused to let go. I feared for my person and my reputation. Lord Bingfield rescued me.’

‘I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation,’ an elderly lady piped up. ‘That gentleman grabbed hold of the lady in a most unbecoming manner.’

‘That’s precisely right,’ said a well-upholstered man. ‘This gentleman acted bravely in rescuing the lady.’

Various other people in the crowd murmured their agreement. Sir Vincent stood there with an increasingly panic-stricken look on his face.

Sophie pointed towards the large double doors on the other side of the ballroom. ‘Depart, Sir Vincent, and reflect on your behaviour. It falls far short of what civilised society requires.’

A small round of applause rippled throughout the room.

Sir Vincent glanced over his shoulder and slowly lowered his fists. ‘I will remember this, Bingfield.’

Sophie held out her hand to Richard. She started towards the dance floor. ‘Shall we go, Lord Bingfield? I fear the incident has quite spoilt my evening and here I was having such an enchanting time. Perhaps another dance with you will restore my mood.’

‘Putney’s behaviour was not what I would have wished for, not tonight of all nights, but I could hardly allow your plea for help to go unanswered.’ A faint smile touched his lips. ‘Another waltz will suit admirably, Miss Ravel.’

‘He won’t marry you, Miss Ravel. You will have only yourself to blame when it ends in tears,’ Sir Vincent called out, halting their progress. ‘You should look to your own reputation before you start smearing others. Do you know how many women he has cozened and fooled? How many women he has ruined?’

Richard’s entire being stiffened as his hand became a clenched fist. Sophie knew what she had to do to prevent a brawl breaking out. Richard might want to beat him into the ground, but she had a better means of destroying him once and for all.

The moment had come. Silently she thanked his foresight of getting her a ring. Her stomach clenched slightly. Finally the time had come to triumph. She peeled off her glove and raised her hand so the two sapphires twinkled in the candlelight.

‘If he has no intention of marrying me, why did Lord Bingfield give me this ring?’ Sophie asked, twisting her hand to and fro so everyone could see it. ‘And my behaviour this very evening? You must forgive the extravagant display earlier, but how often does a woman accept a proposal from the man of her dreams?’

Sir Vincent spluttered, but no sound came from his throat. The gathered crowd, however, gave a long collective sigh.

She put her hand on Richard’s arm and forced her feet to move away from the scene where Sir Vincent was now surrounded by various people intent on getting their penny’s worth in before he was hustled out of the ballroom. It would appear he was not as well liked or thought of as he’d boasted.