“Dank you,” Jonathan said, clipping the syllables like Miss Thornton had taught him. “Dis is indeed a compleement.”
“Doesn’t he look like his grandfather, my dear?” Lady Hampton spoke with a loud voice into her husband’s ear trumpet.
“Eh?” Lord Hampton leaned closer to his wife.
“Count Branković.” Lady Hampton spoke even louder and slower. “You remember, he was a friend of Lady Mather’s.”
“Oh yes, Lady Mather,” Lord Hampton said, his face lighting up. “Splendid woman. Bit peculiar, I’d say, but never dull, that one.” He tipped his head, looking closer at Jonathan. He squinted. “Had a paramour, you know. A count, I think he was. Looked a bit like this one.” He nodded at Jonathan.
“Yes, my dear.” Lady Hampton gave her husband an affectionate pat on the arm. She turned back to them. “Lady Sophronia, you were so missed at our ball. I do hope your headache is improved.”
“It is,” she said. “Thank you. I was sorry it prevented me from attending. Your ball is one of my favorite events of the year.”
“Yes, well, you must take care of yourself. I know how taxing the Season can be, every day filled with visits and concerts and assemblies, and last Tuesday was no exception. My poor husband was very disappointed to have missed the hunting lecture. So many gentlemen going on and on all evening about this elephant tusk or the height of that giraffe. He was quite put out.” She leaned closer, winking. “But, of course, he’d not have been able to hear a word of it.”
Lady Sophronia smiled. “I believe he’d have appreciated it all the same.”
“Your hasband—he is hunter?” Jonathan asked.
Lady Hampton glanced at her husband, then at Jonathan. She nodded. “He is not as active as he once was, but in his day, he was quite the outdoorsman. If he were thirty years younger, he’d have loved to accompany William Charles Baldwin on his African safari adventure.”
“Africa?” Lord Hampton leaned his ear trumpet closer to his wife. “Did you say Africa?” He shook his head and leaned forward, whispering to Jonathan in a loud voice. “You know, I had to miss William Charles Baldwin’s lecture.” He pointed toward his wife, then leaned even closer to Jonathan, cupping his hand around his mouth. “She said it wouldn’t do to be late to my own ball.”
Jonathan hoped his mustache hid his smile.
“As for myself, I think it wouldn’t do for a wife to order her husband about.” The old man frowned like a child who’d been sent early to bed. “Do you know Mr. Baldwin was attacked by a lion? Killed his horse and a hunting dog, but the man kept his wits, loaded his musket, and shot the beast.” Lord Hampton demonstrated with his cane exactly how one would dispatch a lion. He wobbled, and Jonathan caught his arm to keep him from falling.
Once the elderly man had his balance again, he continued. “I hear Mr. Baldwin began his lecture with a shocking drawing of the incident, made by an artist who read his memoir. Caught the crowd’s attention right away, I imagine.” He scowled toward his wife again. “Not that I’d know for myself.”
One of the host couples greeted the Hamptons, taking their attention.
Jonathan and Lady Sophronia shared a glance, the side of her mouth bouncing in just a hint of a smile. She’d enjoyed the interaction as well.
Jonathan would have liked to ask Lord Hampton further about the guests who arrived late to his ball, but he wasn’t entirely certain he could trust the man’s memory to be accurate. At least they could scratch Lord Hampton’s name off the list of suspects.
Jonathan was introduced to Lord and Lady Dorrington, the Marquess and Marchioness of Molyneaux, and the happy couple: Lord Ruben and Lady Lorene.
He greeted them briefly and gave nervous replies that were hopefully attributed to the language barrier. He began to relax once he realized that while people were interested and inquisitive, none appeared to know enough about the conflict in Serbia to ask anything he couldn’t answer. The ladies had been right in that.
He and Lady Sophronia entered the ballroom, and more introductions were made. Jonathan attempted to keep track of all the names and titles but found himself distracted, fascinated at watching Lady Sophronia move among high Society. She knew instinctively whom to flatter, which questions to ask about which family members, and which conversations to keep short. Jonathan was surprised at how effortlessly she moved from one topic to the next, always saying the right thing—but he realized quickly enough that she didn’t offer any opinions of her own or ask prying questions. She was nothing like the nosy journalist he knew. She kept the conversations moving smoothly, but the subject matter never strayed from polite small talk.
As he watched, Jonathan noticed she even carried herself differently. She spoke more softly, her smile lacked brightness, and her movements were controlled, as if she were merely a shadow of herself, hollow.
Aside from the Hamptons, Jonathan sensed no affection in her interactions with the other guests. Lady Sophronia was playing a part—one she performed with skill, but it was still disconcerting to see so much of what made her her missing.
A group of young women approached, and Jonathan recognized one of them immediately. Miss Charlotte Grey. His first instinct was to hurry away, but Lady Sophronia had already begun introductions.
“Count Branković, please allow me to introduce my sister, Lady Priscilla, and her friends, Miss Charlotte Grey and Miss Helen Rothschild.”
“How do you do, ladies?” He spoke in his stilted manner, kissing each of their hands in turn. The action elicited giggles from the women.
“I hear you are from Serbia, my lord,” Lady Priscilla said.
Jonathan appraised Lady Sophronia’s sister in a glance. She was beautiful—stunning, really—but he sensed right away there was little more to her. And the same appeared to be true of her friends.
“Dat is correct. Near to Vojvodina.”
“So exotic,” Miss Rothschild whispered to her friends.
They giggled again, apparently believing his deficiency in English affected his hearing as well.
Lady Priscilla slid closer, touching his arm. “I wonder about your coat, my lord. Do you serve in the military?”
Lady Sophronia frowned, and Jonathan was not displeased at the sign of jealousy.
“Da. I am major in the Syrmian Hussar Regiment.” He repeated the words he’d memorized.
“You must have such stories.” Miss Rothschild moved closer to his other side, nearly boxing Lady Sophronia out from the conversation.
Jonathan took a step to the side and pressed his palm against the small of Lady Sophronia’s back to maneuver her into the circle.
“I do hope you intend to dance tonight, Count Branković,” Charlotte Grey said.
Is she actually fluttering her lashes? He couldn’t believe this was the same woman who had been so dismissive in her parlor only a few days earlier.
Sophie had been right about being known only for her title, and he could feel her frustration. Although, of course, in his case, it was precisely the reaction he needed in order to maintain his disguise.
Before he had the chance to answer Miss Grey’s question, two men approached. One wore a thick beard, and the other, a younger man, had curly hair and long side-whiskers. The younger man bowed to the ladies. “Lady Sophronia, Lady Priscilla, Miss Grey, Miss Rothschild.”
“Lord Meredith,” Lady Sophronia said. “Please, meet Count Nikola Branković.”
“A pleasure, my lord. And this is William Charles Baldwin.” He introduced the ladies, then turned to Sophronia. “My lady, Mr. Baldwin has agreed to be interviewed for your article.”
“Oh, thank you, sir,” Lady Sophronia said. “Mr. Baldwin, I understand your lecture the other night was very well received.”
He offered his arm. “I’d be pleased to tell you all about it, my lady.”
Sophie hesitated, glancing at Jo
nathan, before taking the man’s arm.
Jonathan felt a stab of panic. Would she leave him alone? He scanned the room, hoping for a glance of Sergeant Lester or one of Sophie’s friends, then chastised himself for the reaction. He was a detective for the London Metropolitan Police Force. He hunted and apprehended criminals and villains on a daily basis. Speaking with some fancy gentlemen at a ball was likely the easiest job he’d ever do.
“Don’t fear for your friend, my lady,” Lord Meredith said. “I’d be pleased to introduce him around.”
Sophie’s gaze met Jonathan’s, holding a question. He gave a small nod to reassure her. After all, this was why they were here. And while it may be uncomfortable, he needed to interview as many of the suspects as possible. Besides, he thought Lord Meredith seemed sincere enough. And, as noblemen went, rather likeable.
Sophie’s eyes lit on something behind Jonathan, and her shoulders relaxed the slightest bit. “Oh, Count Branković, you remember my friend, Miss Thornton?”
“Yes. A pleasure to see you again, Miss Thornton.” He rolled the r in her name a bit longer than necessary. The skill had taken quite a bit of practice, and he was proud to show off for his teacher.
Miss Thornton gave a small smile, looking down quickly.
The other gentlemen greeted Miss Thornton as well, and she replied shyly. Sophie had told him her friend suffered from bouts of panic, and Jonathan wondered if it was truly painful for her to be out in company. If that was the case, he appreciated her willingness to assist with the case all the more.
Sophie pulled her friend away from the others and spoke quietly for a moment, giving Miss Thornton the bag with her notebook.
“I can see you are very popular with the ladies, my lord.” Lord Meredith clapped Jonathan on the shoulder. “Allow me to rescue you. Come along to the cardroom. I’m sure you’ll appreciate conversation with members of your own sex.”
Jonathan clapped Lord Meredith back. “Dat I vould, my lord. Lead de vay.”
Chapter 16
Sophie glanced toward the doorway as Sergeant Lester—in his server’s livery—passed by the small room again. She felt a swell of affection toward the man, thinking she’d never known anyone so steadfast in the performance of his duty. The sergeant kept an extremely, almost comically, close eye on her. She looked back at Mr. Baldwin, but the man hadn’t noticed her attention stray. He was settled comfortably on the small sofa and kept up a running discourse, telling in detail of his various adventures in Africa and the different species of animals he’d hunted. He stroked his thick beard as he talked, moving from story to story, and didn’t seem to be nearing a conclusion.
Sophie nodded here and there, but she was having a difficult time concentrating on the man’s words. Her foot tapped, and she tried not to fidget as she cast around her thoughts for a way out. Not only was she trapped listening to hunting tales while her friends and Detective Graham investigated the murders, but in order to speak uninterrupted, Mr. Baldwin had found an empty room—leaving open the door for propriety’s sake—which just happened to be the small parlor where Jane Duffin and George Lewis had been murdered. Sophie could not keep her gaze from wandering to the closet door or the window as her mind conjured the scene that must have occurred merely a few days earlier. She shivered and purposely avoided looking at the horse statue.
She’d tried to ask Mr. Baldwin a few times about the lecture, specifically the attendees, but the man was understandably more interested in describing the actual experiences, rather than simply his presentation.
How can I leave without causing offense? Sophie had tried to keep track of time by counting the songs the orchestra played. How many dances had passed since she’d left the ballroom? Six? It must have been nearly an hour since she’d left the detective’s side. How was he getting on? His impersonation of Serbian nobility had been well received, as far as she’d seen, but what had happened since they’d been separated? Had he made any headway on the case? Had his charade been discovered? At least she’d managed to tell Hazel about the lion drawing before Mr. Baldwin had taken her away. It could prove an interesting way for the ladies to begin a conversation about the lecture as well as determine who was present for the beginning of the lecture.
Mr. Baldwin took a breath, and Sophie took the opportunity to interject. “This is all wonderful information, sir. Thank you so much for—”
“I have neglected to tell you of the bull elephant that charged us in Zulu country,” Mr. Baldwin said. He pointed, as if the animal were even now running toward them. “Enormous animal he was. One swipe of his trunk snapped White’s gun clean in half.” He lifted his arms, holding an imaginary weapon, and tilted his head to the side, sighting down the barrel. “I got off a good shot, hitting the beast in the shoulder—”
“I beg pardon, my lady.” Detective Graham’s voice interrupted in stilted English.
The unfamiliar sight of him in his thick mustache and uniform jacket startled her for just an instant.
He bowed from the doorway, and she saw the familiar tease in his eyes. “But I vould ask you for to dance. Dey are soon to play valtz.”
“Oh, I would love to, Count Branković.” Sophie rose and extended a hand to her bearded and long-winded companion. “Thank you so very much for granting me an interview, Mr. Baldwin. If you will please excuse me now . . .”
The hunter stood as well and accepted her hand. “Of course, my lady. If you’d like, I will call on you sometime this week, and we can finish—”
“De valtz begins.” Detective Graham took her other hand, giving it a tug and pulling her away from Mr. Baldwin mid-sentence.
Sophie hid her laugh as she allowed herself to be pulled from the room. His action was brilliant. Mr. Baldwin could never accuse a count of rudeness.
“Have you been talking to him this entire time?” The detective kept his voice low so as not to be overheard by anyone they might pass as they walked.
She nodded, giving an exaggerated sigh. “I fear if you hadn’t rescued me, I’d be listening to his stories until morning.”
He moved her hand underneath his elbow, resting it on his arm, and led her back through the entry toward the ballroom at a more sedate pace. “You had the sergeant quite worried,” he said. “He didn’t consider it all the thing for Miss Propriety to remain in a private room, alone, with a man for such a long time.” He winked. “I’m afraid he is extremely concerned for your reputation.”
Sophie smiled. “He is very thoughtful. So tell me, what have you learned? And has the sergeant discovered anything? What about the others?” She stopped abruptly outside the large doors, away from the crowd.
He turned, one foot still raised, momentarily off-balance, as if he’d not intended to stop. But he stopped fully then, facing her, and glanced over his shoulder to the ballroom, then back with a quizzical bend in his brow. “You want to discuss this now? The waltz . . .”
“Oh.” Sophie blinked. “You really wish to dance with me? I thought it was merely an excuse to draw me away from Mr. Baldwin.”
He shrugged. “Why can it not be both?”
“Detective, it isn’t necessary. I don’t expect . . . You don’t have to . . .”
“I wish to waltz with you.” He leaned close, holding her gaze, and spoke the words slowly. Each syllable sent a shiver over her skin.
Sophie felt heat explode in her face.
Detective Graham’s mustache twitched, and though she couldn’t see it beneath the glued-on whiskers, she knew he was smirking.
Though Sophie had been led onto a dance floor hundreds of times, she’d never felt the fluttering in her chest that she felt now. All around, the eyes of the ton watched her walk with the mysterious count to take their places on the dance floor. He faced her, taking her hand and slipping his other around her waist. She gathered her skirts, feeling as though the usual dance position was much more intimate in
this situation and much less routine. Was it because the two were embroiled in a pretense? Sharing a secret certainly contributed to the confusing emotions. But that couldn’t account for the entirety.
The waltz began, and Detective Graham drew her to the side, sweeping her along with the beat of the music. He moved confidently, his shoulders square and head held high. Nobody would believe he’d learned to dance only yesterday.
Sophie’s breath felt strained, and the heat from her blush had increased. She followed along, her feet remembering the motions that her mind could not. Her head felt rather light. When had she last eaten? The lightheaded feeling threatened to make her dizzy. She looked up to tell her partner that she needed to stop. But when her gaze met Detective Graham’s, the troubling feelings stilled. His eyes held a smile. His face was familiar, warm—the face of her friend.
Her concerns eased, and her stiffness melted away.
As if by reflex, his arm tightened, bringing her closer until their bodies were nearly touching. The air between them was hot and electric, and more than anything, Sophie wanted to lean in to him and rest her head on his shoulder as he held her in his embrace.
She jerked back, mortified at the turn her thoughts had taken. Her feet stumbled, and the detective slowed, then stopped, a look of concern creasing the corners of his eyes. “My lady?”
“I beg your pardon.” She gave a sheepish smile and pressed her hands to her heated cheeks. “How very clumsy of me.”
The other dancers moved around them, but she knew she was drawing attention. Would her blush ever leave?
Detective Graham put a hand on her arm. “Are you unwell?”
“I am well. I apologize. Just a bit warm.”
“Do you wish to stop? Or shall we continue?” He tipped his head to the side.
Sophie could feel him studying her, and the idea that he might see her thoughts was humiliating. She retook his hand, gathered her skirts again, and pasted on a smile.
He waited for the correct beat of the music, and they started again, but this time Sophie was determined not to allow her emotions to be clouded by their proximity. “Tell me—what did you learn from the gentlemen?” She kept her voice low enough that the conversation remained private beneath the sound of the orchestra.
Solving Sophronia (The Blue Orchid Society, #1) Page 17