Sissy gave him a wry smile. She knew all about irate mothers. In fact, she doubted that the mother of a late-marrying son was half as angry as the mother of a late-marrying daughter.

Braddon’s eyes brightened. “Would you like to speak with the bride and groom for a moment? They just entered the room.”

“I would be very pleased to do so, my lord,” Sissy said, relieved.

Braddon wound his way through the crowd and before she knew it Sissy had been planted in front of Patrick Foakes, a man she scarcely knew.

“Excuse us for a moment, won’t you, Patrick?” Braddon whisked Lady Sophie around to the far side of a large pillar.

Sissy felt consumed with embarrassment. What on earth was Braddon speaking to the bride about? And what would Sophie’s husband think about it?

Patrick Foakes had the trick of turning his face coldly expressionless when he wished to, but Sissy felt that she wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of this particular man. She peered up at him anxiously.

“I understand that you are taking a wedding trip? I trust you are not going to the Continent, given the inclement political situation.”

Patrick smiled at the girl before him. What was her name? Sissy, wasn’t it? Why on earth was she wearing those ridiculous plumes on her head, long after every woman in London had discarded them?

“We are merely sailing down the coast—leaving tonight,” he replied.

Sissy frowned. “Tonight? I was under the impression that boats could leave only on the turning of the tide. And surely the tide has already turned, given that The Times …”

Patrick let her voice fade out of his consciousness. Why on earth is Braddon ranting at my new wife? he wondered.

My wife, Patrick thought with a sense of giddy ferocity. It had a nice, plummy sound, wife. His eyes lazily drifted over Sophie’s slim white arm, which was all he could see around the pillar. Sissy Commonweal went on and on about tides.

Patrick felt ripe with self-congratulation. He’d done the whole rigmarole just right. Taken his wife’s virginity before the wedding night, so that they could both look forward to uninterrupted pleasure tonight. First thing, he’d draw that gown off one shoulder and then kiss her all the way down her arm, to the inside of her elbow….

But Patrick’s plans were interrupted by two things: Miss Cecilia Commonweal’s voice had droned its way into silence, and he was growing increasingly irritated by Braddon’s monopoly of Sophie. This wasn’t the way to convince the London ton that Braddon didn’t give a fig about Sophie jilting him! And what were they talking about, anyway?