She opened her eyes at him. “Charles! Don’t you know that I have ruined my reputation?”
He took off his driving coat, shook it, and cast it over a chair back. “Indeed? In that event, I am quite out. I was ready to swear I should find the Marquesa with you!”
The ready laughter sprang to her eyes. “How odious you are! How came you to guess that?”
“I know you too well. Where’s my sister?”
Sophy resumed her house building. “Oh, she has driven back to London with Charlbury! I daresay their chaise may have met you on your way.”
“Very likely. I was in no case to be studying the panels of chance vehicles. Did Miss Wraxton accompany them?”
She looked up. “No, how do you know that Miss Wraxton came with Cecilia?” she asked.
“She was so obliging as to send a note round to White’s informing me of her intention,” he replied grimly. “Is she here still?”
“Well, she is, but I fancy she is very much occupied,” said Sophy. She bent to pick up one of the ducklings, which, awakening from a refreshing slumber under Cecilia’s muff, had climbed out of the box again, and was trying to establish itself in the flounces of her gown. “Take this, dear Charles, while I pour you out a glass of sherry!”
Mr. Rivenhall, automatically extending his hand, found himself in possession of a ball of yellow down. It did not seem to be worth while to inquire why he was given a duckling to hold, so he sat down on the table’s edge, stroking the creature with one finger and watching his cousin.