“The point is,” Sophie said. “The count was easily accepted by Society.”
“He was,” Mimi said. “And I was the envy of quite a few ladies, I’ll tell you. He, with that seductive accent—”
“And it would not be strange for his son or grandson to call on you when he visited London,” Sophie said quickly, steering the conversation back on track.
“It would be perfectly natural,” Mimi said.
Sophie turned to Detective Graham. “You see, sir? It is a bit unconventional, but the plan is sound. At Lord Ruben’s engagement ball, you shall be introduced as Count Nikola Branković. Mimi has already informed the hosts that we bring a guest.”
Detective Graham looked at Sergeant Lester. “What do you think, Sergeant?”
The sergeant frowned and shrugged. “I see no fault with the plan. Lady Sophronia has considered all angles, it seems.” He grinned, lifting his teacup in a salute. “And I should very much like to see you costumed in finery and mingling with the swells.”
Constable Merryweather snorted but was silenced by a sharp glance from Detective Graham. The constable took a deep drink of his tea and turned to study the pattern in the carpet.
The detective glared at the sergeant as well, until Sergeant Lester shook off his grin and adopted a serious look. Detective Graham turned back toward Sophie. He tipped his head to the side, raising and lowering his brows once.
Sophie took the gesture as agreement—or at least resignation—and a thrill of excitement skittered down to her fingers. She moved back to sit on the sofa, bringing the bowl of peppermints with her.
Detective Graham put a sweet into his mouth and glanced at the others in the room. “And, if I may be blunt, what do these other young ladies have to do with the business?”
“Support,” Elizabeth said, turning toward him. “Isn’t that right, Sophie?” Sophie nodded, and she continued. “Between all of us, one can manage to be near you throughout the evening. We shall interrupt if a conversation seems to be near to revealing you or if someone acts suspicious.”
“You shall need more than one dance partner,” Vivian said.
“And we can help with the investigation as well,” Dahlia said.
Sophie smiled at Dahlia, knowing how difficult this particular ball would be for her, grateful her friend had put aside her own discomfort to help.
Detective Graham raised a brow at Sophie.
“I told them about the case,” she admitted, wincing as she realized she’d not yet broken that news to him. “Yesterday, when I didn’t believe you would be at the ball, I asked for their assistance.”
He pressed his lips together, and his brows drew close together.
Clearly the man wasn’t pleased. “These women can be trusted,” Sophie said. “I swear to it. And we need as many ears as possible to garner information about each of our suspects. There are simply too many for you and me to speak to all of them in merely a few hours.”
Detective Graham’s expression did not soften. “My lady, if you remember, you made a promise to me that you would not go off investigating on your own.”
A prickle of resentment ran up Sophie’s spine. “I did not intend to be alone, sir. And surely you must see that more help is to the benefit of the investigation.”
From the corner of her eye Sophie saw Elizabeth fold her arms. She certainly had opinions about the detective’s words. Thankfully she did not voice them.
“We will be discreet, sir,” Hazel said in her quiet voice.
The other women added their agreement, assuring the officers that they would use the utmost caution in their questioning, and glancing at one another with excited smiles. They were delighted to be part of the investigation. It would certainly make the ball more interesting.
Sophie did not allow the detective’s irritation to deter her. “I plan to take my notebook—it will not be unusual for me to be drawing at the event—and I will collect information. You will each report to me all that you learn as the evening proceeds.”
Detective Graham nodded, a touch of resentment still evident in his pursed lips. “I will see that you have a copy of both suspect lists.” He turned to Sergeant Lester. “Inform Mr. Smudgely at the Belcourt that you, Sergeant, are to be portrayed as an employee for the evening. You are to have access to the serving and kitchen staff.”
Sergeant Lester nodded. “’Tisn’t royalty, but I shall manage,” he muttered in his gravelly voice, a smirk pulling at his mouth.
Detective Graham ignored him and turned to the constable. “Merryweather, you shall work in the stables. I’m certain Nick Sloan will be pleased to have your assistance, especially as it portends to clearing his name.”
“Yes, sir.” The constable gave a sharp nod, looking as if he took the duty very seriously.
Detective Graham let out a heavy breath. “Now, Lady Sophronia, I have but one day to be remade convincingly into Count Nikola Branković.”
The thrill of excitement returned, and Sophie clapped her hands. “Then, let us get to work, Detective.”
Chapter 15
Jonathan lifted his chin, moving his head side to side as he studied the false mustache in the mirror. It was dark, thick, and curled upward on the ends in a style the women had told him was very much in line with the men of the Balkans. The patch of hair glued to his top lip changed his appearance slightly, but it was nothing at all compared to the rest of his costume.
He wore a military-style coat in dark blue, with epaulets on the shoulders and golden rope adornments on the cuffs, buttons, and collar. A red-and-white sash was tied around his waist and held a curved sword in its sheath. Instead of a necktie, a large pendant hung from a thick ribbon at his throat beneath his collar. Jonathan had no idea whether the pendant was truly a symbol related to the nation of Serbia, but he wouldn’t put anything past Miss Bremerton or her grandmother. Somehow the women had managed to procure the entirety of his wardrobe, complete with medals on his chest and some sort of a fur cap, as well as shiny black boots, and have the entire thing tailored to fit him in only a day.
After giving her approval of his costume, the dowager countess had departed to prepare herself for the ball. The butler, Holloway, had left him only a few moments earlier, and Jonathan remained in the entry hall, waiting for Miss Bremerton.
He pressed between his fingers, making the stark white gloves tighter on his hands, and brushed a bit of lint from his sleeve, trying to focus on little tasks instead of the rush of nerves that nearly overcame him each time he contemplated everything that could go wrong tonight. Most scenarios involved Sergeant Lester and Constable Merryweather having a hearty laugh at Jonathan’s expense when they laid eyes on him as Count Nikola Branković, and all involved him being exposed as an imposter.
But, in spite of its absurdity, Jonathan still could not think of a better plan. He clasped his hands behind his back and paced. The past day and a half had been a whirlwind. A dance master had spent the afternoon teaching him a few basic steps, and while Miss Bremerton was running around London in search of the finishing touches for Jonathan’s costume, Miss Lancaster had volunteered—much to Jonathan’s embarrassment—to partner him as he practiced.
Miss Thornton had given him instruction on his accent—apparently her father had a Russian friend—and practiced with him until satisfied that he had the proper cadence and pronounced his sounds correctly. “When in doubt, speak loudly and with clipped vowels,” she’d instructed.
Miss Kirby and Miss Miller had quizzed him about basic facts concerning the struggles of the nation he was to claim as his homeland, and he was again embarrassed at his lack of formal education. But after a few hours studying a map and discussing the history, they declared him to know as much, if not more, than most people at the ball.
Contrary to his initial assumption, the young women had proved to be nothing like the arrogant debutantes he�
��d expected when he came into the sitting room the day before. He’d actually enjoyed the time they’d spent together planning the operation, something he’d never have believed possible when it was presented. Miss Bremerton’s friends were intelligent and thoughtful and witty, much like the young lady herself, as evidenced in her detailed planning and the bowls of his favorite peppermints he’d noticed.
Hearing footsteps above him, he turned and looked up.
Miss Bremerton was walking across the landing above the entry hall. She stopped at the rail and bent down to fix her shoe. When she straightened, her gaze met Jonathan’s, and she smiled.
Jonathan had a surprisingly strong reaction to the gesture. His breathing choked off, and a current jolted in his chest. It was, of course, not the first smile he’d seen on Miss Bremerton. He supposed he could blame the unexpected response on his nerves, but the truth was Miss Bremerton—no, she was Lady Sophronia tonight—looked utterly exquisite.
Her hair was fashioned in soft curls pinned around her head and falling over her shoulders. A sort of feathery arrangement held it in place. The style was so unlike the practical one she usually favored that the difference was startling. She wore a peach-colored gown with ruffles and lace and other details he did not know the names of—except for the tournure, but it was hardly appropriate to notice that. Her neck was bare, save for a simple string of pearls. Long white gloves were pulled up past her elbows, and her sleeves were gathered gracefully on her upper arms, revealing the tops of her shoulders. The dress flattered her both in shape and color, and for a moment, the romantic nature of attending a ball with a beautiful woman gave him a thrill—until he remembered that they were hunting for a murderer, not out for a night of pleasure.
She rested a hand on the rail, and her smile grew, showing the dimples that had so intrigued him the first time he’d seen them.
Jonathan realized she hadn’t before now seen him fully attired in his costume and for a moment felt a self-conscious apprehension. He gave a stiff bow. I look ridiculous.
Lady Sophronia nodded her approval, and the action eased his worry, albeit slightly. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she did, a voice sounded from the stairs above her.
“Oh, Sophronia, really? The peach dress? You know it is all wrong on you. The color does nothing for your skin tone.”
An elegantly attired woman in a burgundy gown, whom Jonathan could only assume was the countess, descended the stairs. She shook her head, making a tsking sound as she neared her daughter. “And see how the waist pulls here. Could not Sally make your corset any tighter?” The woman gave a dramatic sigh, tugging on the back of the bodice. “This is what you get for indulging so, Sophronia. How often have I told you to limit your pastries? And now, here we are, attending the most important event of the Season, and you looking so—”
“Mother, we have a guest,” she interrupted in a calm voice that was at odds with the color in her cheeks.
The countess looked down into the entry hall for the first time, her mouth forming an o.
Lady Sophronia took her mother’s arm, and the pair started down the stairs.
Heat spread up Jonathan’s neck, a combination of embarrassment at overhearing the exchange and anger that her mother would treat her so. He studied Lady Sophronia’s face for a clue as to how her mother’s words affected her. Though she held a serene expression, he could see her lips were pulled tighter than usual.
“Mother, allow me to introduce you to Count Nikola Branković.”
“Oh, of course,” the countess said as they reached the lower floor. “I have heard of you, Count Branković. What a delight to meet you at last.”
Lady Sophronia gestured to her mother. “My lord, may I present Lady Mather.”
Jonathan gave a formal bow, just as Lady Sophronia had instructed. He took Lady Mather’s hand and gave it an exaggerated kiss as Mimi had assured him was the custom in Serbia. “A pleasure, Lady Madder.” He pronounced the words as he and Miss Thornton had practiced.
“And I am so pleased you will attend the ball tonight. You know, I have two daughters, and you will no doubt wish to meet Lady Priscilla as well.”
Jonathan gave a sharp nod. “I veel hope to make her acquaintance.”
Holloway informed them the carriage was waiting, and Lady Mather hurried away to locate her husband, muttering about him losing track of time, again.
Lady Sophronia put a thin wrap over her shoulders and attached a bag to her wrist, through which he could see the outline of her notebook.
Jonathan offered her his arm as they stepped outside, and the two took their places in the carriage to wait for her parents. He glanced through the open carriage door and, seeing they were alone, took the chance to speak in his regular voice. “I did not have the opportunity to tell you how beautiful you look, Lady Sophronia.”
As she sat directly beside him in the darkened interior of the carriage, it was difficult to make out her expression. Jonathan felt her smirk and eye roll more than saw it.
“You do not need to compensate for my mother, Detective. My feelings are not delicate and do not require reassurance.”
“I do not mean to sound pandering.”
She shrugged, shifting in her seat to face him more directly. “As you said before, beauty isn’t a talent. It is not the virtue I hope to be known for. A person’s existence must be very bleak indeed if all he or she has to offer is a pleasant face.”
“Yes. You are much more than that. And yet, I speak the truth when I say you are beautiful.”
She looked down, and he wondered if she believed him.
Jonathan opened his mouth to reiterate his point but was interrupted by the carriage driver informing them Lord and Lady Mather would join them at the ball.
Lady Sophronia nodded, looking unsurprised by the news. “Father must be absorbed in his ledgers.” She moved her skirts, scooted around to sit on the bench facing Jonathan, and gave the order to depart.
Jonathan was disappointed that they were no longer sitting close. He sat back in the seat as the carriage started away, shifting the sword so it didn’t pull on his sash. His hand strayed to his chest out of habit, but his pocket watch fob wasn’t there. Instead he fidgeted with the buttons on his sleeve as his thoughts moved over the plan. The young ladies were reliable, of that he had no doubt. Between all of them, they should manage to speak with most—if not all—of the suspects who had been guests at the lecture. Sergeant Lester and Constable Merryweather would be able to move and speak much more freely in their realms. After tonight Jonathan hoped to have the identity of the killer. But so much could go wrong—and nearly all of the risk of error lay with his ability to carry out his charade.
“You’re nervous.”
Jonathan smiled at the hint of teasing in her voice, the reminder that he’d said the same thing in their first carriage ride together.
“Anxious,” he said.
“We’ll find the killer.”
He touched his fingers to the mustache, pressing down to make certain it was firmly affixed. “I worry I’ll make a mistake—botch the entire operation with a misplaced word or gesture.”
“Set yourself at ease, Detective. People will see what they wish. Once they hear your title, nothing you do will matter.” A touch of bitterness had entered her voice.
“And that is why you do not use yours,” Jonathan said.
“Yes. I wish to be known for more than just to whom I was born,” Lady Sophronia said. “To be seen.” She looked down, folding her hands together. “You will understand after tonight.”
To be seen. Her words had been almost pleading, and Jonathan felt the pain behind them.
The carriage drew to a stop, and the door opened. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, eyes closed. “You and I both wear masks tonight,” she said, leaning forward to move past him and leaving a flowery scent. She t
ook the carriage driver’s hand to descend.
Jonathan let out a breath as well. He stepped down from the carriage, offered his arm to Lady Sophronia, and joined the crowd ascending the assembly hall stairs. He couldn’t help feeling like a soldier stepping into battle.
Za
The Belcourt Assembly Hall was completely the reverse of the empty building Jonathan had visited three days earlier. The globe chandelier shone unbelievably brightly, music spilled from the ballroom, delicious aromas filled the air, and all around were the sounds of voices and laughter. The large entry was crowded with opulently attired guests. Men in dark jackets mixed with women in colorful gowns and glittering jewelry, top hats and feathered headdresses bobbing among them.
Lady Sophronia led him to the coat closet they’d inspected a few days earlier, and they left behind his furry hat and her wrap. He’d have liked to leave the sword since the thing banging into his leg was quite bothersome, but apparently presentation was more important than comfort.
Three couples stood near the ballroom’s entrance, welcoming the guests: two older and one younger. The engaged couple and their parents, he assumed.
As they waited in line to be greeted, Lady Sophronia introduced him to the couple in front of them, Lord and Lady Hampton.
The elderly pair appeared to be nearing their eightieth year. Perhaps Lord Hampton was even older. The man was slender with a shock of white hair and thick white eyebrows. He wore thick spectacles and held an ear trumpet up with one hand and leaned on a cane with the other. Lady Hampton’s hair was silver, and she was rounder than her husband. She wore a gown of deep purple and a necklace with so many diamonds it resembled a chandelier. Even with her wrinkles, she was a striking woman.
“Count Branković.” Lady Hampton touched her fingertips to her breastbone as Jonathan bowed and kissed her hand. “How wonderful to meet you. You are quite like your grandfather.”
Solving Sophronia (The Blue Orchid Society, #1) Page 16