Kitabı oku: «A Duke In Need Of A Wife», sayfa 4
Chapter Six
‘You will never guess what that Duke of Theakstone has in mind with regard to Sofia,’ said Uncle Ned as he lopped the head off his boiled egg at breakfast the next morning. ‘He’s taken the queerest notion into his head to consider looking her over to see if she’d make him a suitable bride.’
Sofia struggled to swallow her mouthful of tea, rather than spraying it all over the tablecloth. Suitable bride? It couldn’t be true.
‘Sofia?’ Aunt Agnes appeared as shocked as Sofia felt.
‘I know.’ Uncle Ned shook his head with a bemused air. ‘Thought he must be castaway when he said it, but see, here,’ he said, tossing a stiff cream card across the table to Aunt Agnes. ‘The invitation came first thing.’
Invitation?
Aunt Agnes let out a little shriek. ‘Theakstone Court! He’s inviting us all to spend a whole week with him at Theakstone Court.’
‘Yes, he’s inviting a whole gaggle of girls with their families for the week to see how they manage there.’
What kind of man invited a whole gaggle of girls to his house, to see how they managed, rather than courting and proposing to just one woman? Why...why...he was going about it as though he was conducting a week-long interview for paid employment.
‘Of course, you will write and send our regrets, and so forth,’ said Uncle Ned, applying himself to his egg.
‘What? Why?’ Aunt Agnes looked at him as though he’d lost his mind.
‘Well, naturally we shan’t go,’ retorted Uncle Ned.
‘Why ever not?’
Yes, why wouldn’t Uncle Ned let her go there? Typical. Whenever she...
She took her teacup in both hands and took another sip, guiltily aware that until Uncle Ned had said she couldn’t go, she hadn’t actually wanted to go to Theakstone Court. It was only when he started telling Aunt Agnes it was out of the question that she was remembering all the other things she had wanted to do and not been allowed. The entire trip to Burslem Bay had been a series of disappointments. Uncle Barty had painted a picture of the kind of seaside holiday which would have been the perfect tonic. But Aunt Agnes hadn’t let her attend any assemblies, so she hadn’t danced with any dashing men in red coats, let alone acquired a coterie of beaux.
‘Waste of time,’ said Uncle Ned, waving his butter knife in Sofia’s direction to emphasise his point. ‘Sofia’s going to marry Jack. Been settled for some time.’
Oh, no, it hadn’t. Jack hadn’t proposed. They were not officially betrothed. The two families had just always assumed that one day Jack would drop the handkerchief...
‘Yes, but nobody needs to tell the Duke of Theakstone, do they?’ said Aunt Agnes in a conspiratorial tone. ‘And it’s not as if Sofia’s going to have her head turned by the prospect of a coronet. She dotes on Jack.’
Dotes? Hah! She might have done, once, before the scales fell from her eyes. She reached for a slice of toast to stop herself from blurting out the truth—that the prospect of being leg-shackled to an oaf like Jack filled her with revulsion. And, since she’d put the piece of dry toast straight into her mouth, there was a good chance that if either of them noticed the little grimace she made, they’d put it down to lack of butter. Not that they ever did pay her much heed once they’d embarked on one of their squabbles.
‘And you need not fear that a man like the Duke of Theakstone is likely to choose our Sofia over all those other girls you say he’s invited.’
They both turned to look at her in that rather pained way that was their habit. In attempting to avoid catching anyone’s eye, she managed to brush her hand against her teacup, spilling its contents into her saucer.
‘See? A man of his rank is bound to want a truly elegant female to preside over his homes, not a...well, a...someone like Sofia. I am sure there can be no harm in accepting his invitation.’
Sofia watched the tea stain spreading along the fibres of the once snowy-white tablecloth, rendering it a muddy brown. She didn’t have a burning desire to become a duchess. But hearing her closest relatives, the aunt and uncle whose approval she’d tried so hard to gain, declare the unlikeliness of such a thing ever happening, filled her with an all-too-familiar feeling of failure, made worse by the belief that Aunt Agnes was correct. She could never become a duchess. If even a callow boy like Jack could only stomach the prospect of marrying her because he would be compensated by getting his hands on her fortune, she was never going to win what sounded like a competition, against better-bred, better-trained girls, to win the regard of a sophisticated, attractive man like the Duke of Theakstone.
‘See, even Sofia knows it, don’t you?’ Now it was Aunt Agnes’s turn to wave her butter knife in her direction. ‘There can be absolutely no danger to your plans... I mean, for Jack and Sofia’s future happiness, in accepting the invitation. And much to be gained. I mean, a week at Theakstone Court, Ned! Can you imagine what Mrs Chalfont will say? Or General Benning, when they find out?’
‘Hmm...’ Uncle Ned took a thoughtful pull at his ale. ‘I do hear that there’s some very fine country round the Court. No shooting at this time of year, but the fishing is supposed to be excellent. And I must say, this place is cursed flat.’ He glanced out of the window. ‘Nothing but a pack of invalids and elderly spinsters wanting you to play whist and wittering on about their quack medicines.’
And so it was settled. She and Uncle Ned and Aunt Agnes were to spend a week at Theakstone Court so that the Duke could decide she wasn’t good enough to become his Duchess.
How ever was she going to contain her excitement?
With modestly downbent head, she left the breakfast table and went to her room to prepare for her morning dip.
Life definitely had a way of pushing you in directions you would really rather not go, she reflected later, as the two burly women ducked her beneath the waves and held her there for several seconds, reminding her that once again she had no escape. No choice. She never had. Her very earliest memories were tinged with the helpless feeling of being uprooted whenever Papa’s marching orders had come.
* * *
Her mood had not improved by the time the Duke came to take her for the promised drive in his carriage. What was more, instead of feeling rather pleased at doing something rebellious in going out with him alone, she was inclined to add him to her list of people who pushed her around without once consulting her. Fancy speaking to her uncle about his intentions, rather than making them known to her! And handing out an invitation to his stupid Duchess decision-making party without even asking her if she actually wanted to be his Duchess.
He angled her a perplexed glance as she heaved herself, with resignation, into his curricle, and pulled Snowball on to her lap. ‘Are you not feeling the thing today, Miss Underwood? You seem rather subdued.’
‘The thing?’ She sighed. The thing that was the matter with her today was actually no worse than it had been the day before. It was just that she felt more conscious of being stuck in her personal version of limbo. The stay in Burslem Bay had actually started to revive her spirits, in spite of not dishing up the beaux Uncle Barty had predicted. Simply getting away from Nettleton Manor had been enough to break her out of the depression that had dogged her since she’d stopped assuming her whole future would revolve around Jack.
It was just that the conversation at breakfast had brought it all back with a vengeance—what was she to do with herself, until she came into her money, if she didn’t marry Jack? Not that she could share such a personal matter with a man she barely knew.
And he was still waiting for a response from her. ‘I am just a touch blue-devilled, I suppose,’ she said, taking a measure of comfort in using a phrase Aunt Agnes would consider vulgar.
‘Perhaps I have some news that might cheer you up,’ he said, without showing by so much as a flicker of his eyelid that he disapproved of her choice of vocabulary. ‘I have instructed my secretary to include you on a very exclusive guest list. You should be receiving the invitation to attend a select house party at Theakstone Court today.’
‘Oh, yes, I know all about that,’ she said morosely. ‘It came at breakfast.’
The look he directed her way was most definitely affronted this time.
‘And it has not pleased you?’
Pleased her? No, at no point today had she felt pleased about the invitation. Though how could she explain her reaction to what he clearly felt should have sent her into raptures? ‘It is just...’ She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the gleaming backs of his matched greys. ‘I mean, Uncle Ned said...’ As she recalled what Uncle Ned had said, followed by what Aunt Agnes had said, she felt something very like a brownish stain seeping across her soul.
‘I sincerely hope,’ bit out the Duke, affront flowing from him in waves, ‘that he explained that all the other families I have invited are in possession of a daughter who has attracted my notice, for one reason or another.’
‘Yes,’ she admitted glumly. And they would all outshine her so much that she couldn’t see what point there was in her going, except to provide Uncle Ned with a week’s fishing and Aunt Agnes with the chance to boast of her stay at Theakstone Court to the principal families in the region of Nettleton Manor, when they returned.
‘And you are not flattered?’ Now he looked positively annoyed.
She supposed she ought to explain...
She shook her head. ‘I... I cannot... I mean...my feelings upon the matter are...’
‘Oh, please,’ he said with heavy sarcasm, ‘do not hesitate to express your feelings. My own, I do assure you, are immune to anything you might say.’
It had nothing to do with his feelings. She just could not confide in a man who she’d only met a matter of days ago. And his arrogant assumption that he was the cause of her dilemma made her see red. ‘Very well,’ she said, flinging up her chin. ‘For one thing, I find it extremely hard to believe you can seriously be considering me as...as...well, as your wife, when we hardly know each other.’
‘That is the whole point of inviting you to Theakstone Court. So we may get to know each other better.’
Oh. That was a fair point, actually. ‘Yes, but what can you hope to discover in a week? Or I about you? I mean, in a week, you could easily conceal all sorts of vices from me.’ After all, Jack had successfully done so for years and years and years. If she hadn’t been swimming in the lower lake and if Snowball hadn’t barked a warning so that she’d just had time to duck under the jetty and hide, and Jack hadn’t chosen to dismount and water his horses at that particular spot, she might never have learned the truth about him.
‘Vices?’ His voice turned extremely chilly. ‘You suspect me of concealing vices from you?’
‘Well, that’s just it. I don’t know, do I?’
‘I should think you might be able to judge me by my actions. As I did you. We were the only people at the Peace celebrations, barring Lord Gilray, who ran to help Mrs Pagett. Everyone else fled the scene to protect themselves.’
Which was another good point. She’d even admired him for having the presence of mind to collect the ice bucket on the way.
‘Yes, that’s true. But even so...’
‘Ah, here we are,’ he said, reining the curricle to a halt. ‘Your lodgings.’
Sofia blinked up at the façade of Number Six. How on earth had they fetched up here so soon?
Because, she realised on her second blink, he hadn’t taken her all the way to the seafront. He’d turned the curricle up a side street the minute she’d started expressing reservations about his character. And brought her straight back here.
Oh, dear, she really did owe him an apology. He did seem to be a decent man, who’d done nothing to deserve her harsh remarks.
But while she was searching for the words to explain herself, without going as far as confiding in him about the way Jack had deceived her, which would have been too humiliating, he’d climbed down, reached up to seize her by the waist and deposited her on the pavement.
‘I... I...’
He turned his back, plucked Snowball from the seat, thrust the dog into her arms and climbed back into his curricle.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said miserably as he put his horses into motion. Even though he could not possibly have heard.
She trudged up the front steps, feeling even more of a failure, and even lonelier than she’d felt since the day she’d heard Jack describe her to his London friend.
She buried her face in Snowball’s soft fur as she made her way up to her room, where she draped herself along the window seat.
Oh, well, she reflected as she gazed down over the rooftops sloping down to the seafront. It wasn’t as if she’d wrecked her chances with him. He’d never have proposed marriage. For she was not the kind of girl a duke would choose. She was dull as ditch water. Tainted by birth. And the only thing that might have tempted him—her money—he could know nothing about, because as sure as eggs were eggs Uncle Ned would have kept that juicy titbit from him. Because he wanted her to marry Jack.
‘Oh, Snowball, what am I going to do?’
Snowball licked her chin in a sympathetic manner, but did not provide Sofia with any inspiration. But then, Sofia had already spent hours, and days, and weeks, trying to come up with a plan she could present to her uncles to which they would agree. So how likely was it a dog could do any better? And anyway, time after time, when she started to form a plan that she thought might content her, she would run up against the strictures imposed upon women. She couldn’t just set up house somewhere, on her own, not without causing the kind of talk that all her family would hate. But neither could she bear the thought of staying with Aunt Agnes and Uncle Ned once they’d learned she had no intention of falling in with their plans for her and Jack.
Going to live with Uncle Barty and his new wife would be acceptable in the eyes of society, but although he was always criticising Uncle Ned, it had never crossed his mind to invite her to go to him instead. Because, basically, he didn’t want her. Had never wanted her. But especially not now, when he was so keen to fill his nursery. She flushed as she recalled the times she’d caught him pinching his rosy-cheeked wife on the bottom.
No, she couldn’t go to live with Uncle Barty. She would just be swapping one awkward situation for another.
She’d briefly toyed with the idea of seeking out her mother’s family, but they weren’t likely to welcome her with open arms, either. Especially since they were all Catholic and she’d been raised Church of England. They’d want to convert her, she expected. And she’d no wish to waste any more of her life trying to turn herself into somebody her family would approve of. If she wasn’t good enough just as she was, then...then...
She sighed again and buried her face in Snowball’s side. Even when she came of age, Uncle Barty and Uncle Ned would still try to oversee her business affairs.
Which meant they would oppose every single thing she ever wanted to do with her inheritance, no doubt.
‘Do you know,’ she informed Snowball, ‘I’m beginning to think I would be better off if I didn’t have any money. At least then people would accept it if I went off to seek employment as a governess, or a companion, or something like that. At least then I might acquire some self-respect.’
Snowball let out a yip. As if to remind her that things hadn’t come to such a pass, quite yet.
‘Quite right, Snowball,’ Sofia agreed. ‘I have plenty to be thankful for. I have a roof over my head,’ she observed, remembering the time between her papa’s death and Aunt Agnes taking her in, when it had started to look as if she’d never have anywhere to call home. ‘And food to eat all the time.’ Another thing that had, occasionally, been in short supply before she’d come to live in England. ‘And no business feeling sorry for myself. Something will turn up.’ That was what Papa had always used to say. And if it didn’t turn up, he’d go out and make something happen.
Could she be as brave? As resourceful?
Only time would tell.
Chapter Seven
Unfortunately, the dreary daily round she had to follow did little to provide inspiration. After breakfast, she was taken to the shore for her dunking, then hauled out of the water and into the changing hut to dry. Aunt Agnes then escorted her to the tea room next to the library for a hot drink. After which they would go into the circulating library to see if any new books had come in. If it wasn’t raining, they walked back to their lodgings, for the exercise, avoiding the promenade along which officers from the militia took their own daily stroll. If it was raining, Aunt Agnes hired a hack. Sofia spent afternoons sitting in the parlour pretending to do embroidery, occasionally glancing up at the window to watch either the rain trickling down the panes, or the dust motes dancing in the beams of sunlight stealing in.
After dinner, Uncle Ned and Aunt Agnes would get ready to go out to whatever assembly, card party, or supper to which they had been invited. While she got ready for bed.
‘We made a mistake taking you to that supper and fireworks display,’ Aunt Agnes explained, the first time they went out and left her. ‘It was too much for you in your fragile state of health.’
What she really meant, Sofia suspected, was that they did not want to risk her meeting anyone who might tempt her away from Jack. The Duke turning up to take her out for a drive had been enough of a shock, though they’d quickly been able to explain him away. For why would a man like that look twice at someone like Sofia? And then the way he’d deposited her on the front step after that last outing had reassured them that he posed no threat. Particularly since he’d been conspicuous by his absence ever since.
She was gazing out of the window one fine, sunny afternoon, wishing she had been more tactful, wishing she’d done things differently, wishing he would give her a chance to apologise for her behaviour; but most of all, wishing she could just go out for another drive with him along the seafront, with the wind whipping her curls across her face and his large, solid body at her side.
But the curricle which drew up, just as though she’d summoned it by wishing, did not belong to the Duke. Though the driver was far more familiar.
And far less skilful with the ribbons.
Jack.
She drew back from the window, her stomach churning. Thank goodness she’d seen him arrive. By the time he strode into the drawing room she would have managed to school her features to show nothing more than polite interest in his arrival, rather than glaring at him like a harpy who was barely holding back the urge to rake her claws across his self-satisfied face.
It helped that he greeted Aunt Agnes first. While he was shaking hands with her, Sofia had leisure to study him, now that her eyes were fully open to his faults.
He didn’t look any less handsome. She could actually see why she’d been so absurdly grateful whenever this good-looking, elegant youth had deigned to grant her a few moments of his time. However, now that she’d spent some time with the Duke, she could see that Jack wasn’t as elegant as he thought. The Duke would never wear a waistcoat that gaudy. Nor would he wear his shirt points so ridiculously high.
‘Oh, look who is here, Sofia,’ gushed Aunt Agnes, finally deigning to include her in the proceedings. ‘Is this not a lovely surprise?’
‘Is it?’ Jack blinked. ‘Oh. Ah. Yes. Had a few days’ leisure and thought I’d pop over and see how poor Sofia was faring,’ he said to Aunt Agnes in the manner of a rather poor actor reciting his lines. ‘And—Good God!’ he exclaimed, flinching the moment he turned and looked at her face, properly.
Sofia had forgotten, until that very moment, that the bruises round her eye socket were starting to show streaks of green among the purple and black. Everyone else had grown so used to them that they didn’t react at all. But Jack managed to make her feel as though she was disfigured.
‘Was going to ask if you’d like to take the air with me. Come out for a drive. But obviously, you won’t want to go anywhere with your face...’ He trailed off, making a vague gesture in the direction of her injured eye.
Sofia couldn’t help comparing his attitude with that of the Duke, when he’d come to call. When he’d first seen her face, he hadn’t winced and drawn back in horror. On the contrary, he’d reached out, as though wishing to soothe what he perceived was a grievous hurt.
And he hadn’t cared what gossip might arise from taking a girl with a black eye out for a drive, either.
‘No, no,’ put in Aunt Agnes hastily. ‘Sofia would love to go out with you. Some fresh air would do her the world of good. Nobody remarks upon her bruises, you know, Jack. Indeed, there are so many odd-looking people about the place that a girl with a blackened eye causes no gossip at all.’
Jack did not look convinced. In fact, he looked as though the very last thing he wanted to do was take her out, in case people saw him with a girl who was the very furthest thing from being ornamental.
‘Don’t suppose it is the done thing to take an unmarried girl out in my curricle, anyway,’ he said, with what looked like a slight edge of desperation. ‘Wouldn’t want to damage your reputation.’
‘Nonsense!’ Aunt Agnes was beginning to look as though she was losing all patience with him. ‘She is family, after all. Nobody can possibly wonder at two family members going for a drive together. Besides, this is Burslem Bay, not London. The rules are very much more relaxed here. Why, Sofia went out for a drive with no less a person than the Duke of Theakstone,’ she said meaningfully, ‘in a vehicle very much like the one I see you have hired and nobody batted an eyelid.’
Sofia watched Jack brace himself before turning to her once more.
‘Well, of course, if you wish to go out, I should be delighted to tool you through the town and along the seafront.’
Oh, how tempting it was to tell him not to bother. She had no wish to spend another minute in his company, let alone the twenty or thirty such an expedition would take.
But she had a feeling that would be a bit cowardly. She’d been avoiding him long enough. Ever since she’d overheard him mocking her, to his friend, she’d been dreading seeing him face to face. She’d hidden in her room, skipped meals, refused to attend local assemblies or even go to church if she’d known he was in the neighbourhood.
Besides, the first few moments were over. She’d seen him. And survived.
And she had been wishing she could go out for a drive. So what if he wasn’t the driver she would have preferred to be taking her out? She was fed up with sitting indoors on such a fine day.
‘Why, thank you, Jack,’ she therefore said. ‘I shall just go and fetch my coat and bonnet.’ And she tripped out of the room, her face flushing with...well, she wasn’t sure what it was. In the past, it would have been a girlish self-awareness. Being in Jack’s presence, having his attention fully on her before the incident at the jetty, would have reduced her to a quivering mass of fluttery pleasure. This was not what she was feeling now, though to observers it probably looked remarkably similar.
Snowball, naturally, began spinning the moment she reached for her coat, and trotted down the steps at her heels when Jack preceded her to his curricle.
‘Can’t have that mutt coming with us,’ said Jack, when she reached up to put Snowball on the bench seat. ‘Bad enough you looking as though you’ve been in a prize fight.’
‘Oh,’ she said, as he deposited Snowball on the pavement very firmly. And then, for the first time since coming to England, chose honesty over trying to please the person she was with. ‘Well, never mind. I can see you don’t really wish to take me for a drive. I shall just take Snowball for a quick walk along the street and then...’
‘What?’ Jack’s look of astonishment was priceless. He clearly couldn’t believe she was attempting to give him the slip.
He glared at Snowball. Glared at her. Clenched his gloved hand on his whip as though wrestling his temper back under control.
‘No, of course I want to take you for a drive. Don’t be a goose, Sofia. Take the damn cur along if you must. Only don’t blame me if people stare, that’s all.’
‘They didn’t stare when the Duke of Theakstone took Snowball up in his curricle last week,’ she couldn’t resist telling him, even though it wasn’t strictly true. Because it had the effect of making Jack grind his teeth. She could actually see his jaw working. And it took him right to the end of the street to master his temper sufficiently to be able to speak to her with any degree of calm.
And even then it wasn’t exactly what she’d call a conversation. He simply launched into a series of anecdotes about what he’d been doing over the past few weeks.
‘And of course I could have told him how it would end,’ he was saying about some idiot with whom he’d been engaged in a lark. ‘Up to his knees in horse dung. Ha-ha-ha.’
In the past, she’d have laughed, too, even if she hadn’t thought the anecdote funny. Out of simple pleasure that he was deigning to notice her at all, even if he did only talk about himself.
Why hadn’t she ever noticed how utterly self-centred he was?
‘I say,’ he said, when she continued in stony silence through a series of similar tales. ‘You don’t seem in your usual spirits, Sofia.’
No, she was not. She hadn’t been since he’d ripped the veil from her eyes without even knowing.
She took a deep, resentful breath. He hadn’t particularly liked what he’d thought were her usual spirits, anyway.
‘I have always been quiet,’ she pointed out. So quiet, in fact, that he’d thought her dull as ditch water. He’d told his friend that only the prospect of getting his hands on her inheritance would make him able to stomach taking her as a wife. That, and the prospect of enjoying other women, real women, on the side. ‘You used to say,’ she reminded him resentfully, ‘that it was peaceful, being with a female who didn’t prattle constantly about dresses and balls, the way your sisters do.’
‘Ah, yes, that I did. And it is. Yes. Lord, how my sisters drive me to distraction with all that feminine prattle! Only, don’t know how it is, but you don’t seem to be quiet in the same way,’ he said, glancing at her uneasily, before clearing his throat.
‘Look here, Sofia. Thing is, my mother is very concerned about you. I thought it was all moonshine, but now I’ve seen you...well, perhaps she’s right after all. Perhaps you do need someone to take care of you a bit more...’ He lifted his chin and adopted a long-suffering expression. ‘I don’t say your aunt and uncle haven’t done their best...’
Oh, no. He was going to make her an offer. She could feel it gathering like an impending thunderstorm. It sounded as though the entire family had been warning him it was high time he came up to scratch. That was why he’d come to Burslem Bay. Why Aunt Agnes had pushed him into taking her out for a drive. Why he’d even put up with Snowball.
‘But what I mean to say is, we’ve known each other a long time now...’
Oh, good grief. What kind of man attempted a marriage proposal while driving a curricle, anyway? She couldn’t imagine the Duke doing anything so crass. Nor any man who was in earnest. A man who actually liked the woman he was asking to be his wife would give a proposal his complete attention.
Could she tell her aunt that was why she had turned him down? No. It would not do. Aunt Agnes would not believe Sofia could possibly have any valid reason for turning down her beloved nephew. Too much was riding on it. Uncle Ned’s sister had married a man with hardly any money to his name and given him not only an heir but a spare as well as a brace of sisters, both of whom had a paltry dowry. And while, theoretically, she could feel sympathy for any female with little allure and no money, she didn’t feel sorry enough for them to sacrifice her whole future on their behalf.
Especially since she didn’t even like them. And they certainly didn’t like her. Jack might have mocked her behind her back, but they’d done it to her face. The first time she’d met them, they’d mimicked her accent with shrieks of laughter and then told her she needn’t think they’d let a dirty little foreigner touch any of their dolls. And after that visit, Betty and Celia, the cousins with whom she lived, had followed suit. Before Jack’s sisters had been so spiteful, they’d merely been a touch aloof. After that...
She shuddered. They’d left her alone again once she’d learned to creep about quietly, like a little brown mouse, and only weep where nobody could see her.
She glanced at Jack’s handsome profile and straightened her drooping posture. She’d done enough cowering and putting up with things so as not to cause trouble. It did not matter how disappointed Aunt Agnes was going to be, she was not going to marry Jack and that was that.
Just as she’d reached that momentous decision, Snowball caught sight of a cat sitting on a branch of a tree, insolently twitching its tail at passers-by. And took exception.
‘God dammit,’ snapped Jack, when Snowball started barking. ‘Can’t you get that mutt to be quiet? She’s startling the horses!’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Sofia insincerely, while Jack hauled at the reins to prevent the horses from bolting the last few feet of the road, straight across the promenade and on to the very beach. And far from giving Snowball the signal to be silent, she merely told her to be quiet. Snowball, sensing that Sofia didn’t mean it, threw herself wholeheartedly into the role of protector of innocent curricle passengers from dangerous cats.
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