"No," Arnaud said. "Lady Howick’s granddaughter introduced her as Miss Brancelli. She was dressed quite simply. I believe she might be a companion. I'm worried about her. She seemed to be confused after we rescued her." Arnaud gave his mother one of the smiles he'd used in his adolescence to charm her to his side.
"Could you?" he asked. "Would you?"
His mother gave him the stern look she’d used to let him know she was on to him. "Of course, Arnaud. I'll call on the marchioness tomorrow."
He gave a gusty sigh and slumped back onto the chintz. "And you'll let me know how she's fared since the attack?" He steepled his hands in front of him and affected a bored look.
"I don't suppose you know this young woman's name," his mother said.
"Sophie," he said, and then caught himself. “I mean Miss Brancelli.”
"Sophie?" she echoed. "Perhaps you should reconsider this abrupt proposal tonight."
Arnaud didn’t like the direction of his mother’s innuendoes. “Maman, I merely wish for you to enquire after the young woman's health. Nothing more."
She didn't reply but continued giving him pointed stares.
"If all it takes to make you happy is for me to delay proposing to Fanny,” he finally conceded, “then so be it. I can wait until tomorrow, or the night after. But, eventually, I will take a wife who can make a home for us here in London and help me navigate the political shoals at the Admiralty."
"And children? Will there be children in this bloodless marriage to the widow?"
“Her name is Frances, Lady Fairfield. And I should think your other children have provided you with more than enough grandchildren," Arnaud said.
"But they're all on Martinique." Honore pouted. "I want a granddaughter here I can spoil."
Arnaud shook his head slowly. "My life is at sea. A loving marriage and children would be a waste. Can't you be happy for me and give your blessing?"
“You know I will,” she said, and when she rose from her chair, he met her in the middle of the room where she embraced him. "But I will look in on this Sophie and let you know how she has recovered. Maybe this blessing of mine should wait until I've met her?"
Arnaud shuttered his gaze and shook his head. "This is no time for matchmaking, Maman. I'll be leaving in a few weeks, and we'll be out at least six months this time."
"Are you staying here?" she asked.
"You know I always stay at Albany.” Arnaud gave his mother the boyish grin he’d always used to mollify her and planted a light kiss on her forehead before seeing himself out into the night.
"And then the most wonderful man in a Royal Navy uniform with lots of shiny medals rushed to our rescue. I don't know what we would have done without him. And did I tell you about his dark hair and blue eyes?" Lydia paused and sucked in a breath.
Sophie sat as still as she could muster while her friend chattered on and on about their afternoon's adventure. Her silence and lack of contribution to the conversation could no doubt be explained by the horrible fright she'd had, so she remained quiet.
She loved Lydia like a sister, but her friend could be a trial when embroidering a tale. No one could be as handsome as the officer Lydia had described over and over since they'd been bundled into the carriage and returned home. And there hadn't been that many medals on his jacket. Well, maybe a few.
Lydia's grandmother had been a close friend of Sophie's grandmother. Sophie’s years at Wolford House with her grandmother, the duchess, had been the happiest of her life. Even though she was illegitimate, the family had taken her in as their own after the death of her mother in childbirth. But two years ago, when her grandmother died, her uncle, the present duke, had sent her to live with her father.
Now her father's dissipated life had ended, and she'd moved to yet another home. This was the last stop. She had to find a husband, "a gentleman from the ton," or she wouldn't be able to claim her grandmother's inheritance when she turned twenty-one six months hence. The thought of possibly ending up on her own chilled her to the bottom of her soul. She feared Lady Howick could not shelter her indefinitely.
"Sophie, say something," Lydia insisted. "Tell Grandmama how handsome he is.”
"I don’t particularly recall what he looked like, but yes, he may have been handsome." Sophie sent Lydia a pleading look and crossed her fingers behind her at the small white lie.
Chapter Three
“Shush,” Lydia’s grandmother said, and waved a wrinkled, be-ringed hand in her direction. “Isn’t it time for your music lesson?”
“But—” Lydia frowned.
“Go on. Leave us.” The tone of Lady Howick’s voice brooked no argument, and Lydia rose from the chair where she’d been mangling a bit of embroidery. She tossed the much folded, reworked bit of fabric behind her and left the room.
Once the door snicked shut behind Lydia, her grandmother turned her full attention to Sophie. “Now, Sweeting, tell me everything, exactly as it happened yesterday.”
Sophie gulped and settled back into the cushions of the settee where she’d been trying to make herself small, as if she could will the rest of the world to overlook her. She had an overwhelming urge to fade into the silky red fabric. If she could remain unheard, unseen, perhaps the whole disaster from the previous day would be forgotten.
Lady Howick turned a sharp look her way. “And don’t leave anything out.”
“Yes. Of course.” Sophie smoothed her sprigged muslin morning dress and re-settled into the cushions, stalling for time. “There really is not much to tell, milady. The minute I left the milliner’s, two men grabbed me and tried to drag me away. I fought them off. I know I did, but the captain intervened when I would have been fine on my own, I think…” She trailed off.
“You fought them off? How is that possible?” Lydia’s grandmother leaned forward, her expression sympathetic, but probing.
“You remember the parasol you gave me? To keep my skin light? I hit them with that, and then there was the hatpin.”
“A hatpin?” A note of alarm crept into Lady Howick’s voice.
“Yessss.” Sophie dragged out her answer. “When I punctured the arm of one of the men, he tried to punch me.” The dowager marchioness took in a sharp breath, and Sophie hastened to add, “That was when Captain Bellingham and his friend said they intervened. I don’t remember.”
Lady Howick stared through a long, uncomfortable silence. “Yesterday’s adventure could have destroyed your chances during the Season. Thank heaven your captain and his friend were there to help.”
“But…but,” Sophie said, “you see, he’s not my captain. He’s just someone who happened to walk past and felt duty-bound to help.” Although she thought she’d given a calm explanation, heat spread a telltale flush from her face down to her bosom.
Lydia’s grandmother rose and came to Sophie’s side. She placed her hand over Sophie’s clenched fist in her lap. “None of this is your fault, dear girl. Your life has been so unconventional with the events surrounding your birth, the time you spent with your father, your uncle turning away.” Her voice trailed off. “We’ll just have to hope for the best and try to stifle any rumors.”
Sophie unclenched her hand and rose to embrace the older woman. “You cannot know how much I appreciate your belief in me,” she said, and let out a long breath.
“Of course I believe in you.” Lady Howick moved away toward a window overlooking the trees in the square and stood silent for many long minutes staring out at the scene. Before Sophie could explode in suspense, she said, "I intend to do all in my power to help, but if gossip turns against you, there is not much to be done. If you do not receive any offers, and cannot claim your inheritance, perhaps I might find a position for you as a companion, or governess.
“But for now,” she continued, “you have a visitor you should speak with. She’s waiting in the front parlor.”
“Who? I know no one here,” Sophie said.
“She is a very kind lady who is interested in the state of y
our health. I think you should speak with her.” With that, Lydia’s grandmother glided toward the door to the front parlor, motioning for Sophie to follow.
Honore sat at the edge of an ornate brocade sofa and balanced a cup of tea on a saucer so fine she imagined she could see light through the delicate china if she held it to one of the full-length windows in the Howick drawing room.
When Sophie Brancelli finally smiled and gazed her way after Lady Howick’s introduction, Honore felt a sharp tug at her heart. Now she understood why Arnaud couldn’t forget this young woman.
Except for dark smudges beneath Sophie’s eyes, perhaps from loss of sleep, there was little evidence of what she'd endured the day before. Her naturally smooth, olive-tinted skin glowed with a touch of rose burnish at her cheeks.
Honore could see at once what had attracted her son. This young woman was a breath of warm Mediterranean breezes in a stuffy English drawing room.
"Miss Brancelli,” Honore said, “I’m so happy to make your acquaintance. I’ve so enjoyed your father's books of verse over the years."
Sophie's mouth flew open in surprise. "Which is your favorite?" she asked.
"Il Mio Cuore Semplice, the one based on his time in the Pyrenees." The young woman flashed another smile that filled the room like a basket overflowing with pink roses.
Honore couldn't help smiling along. "Your father was such a romantic. I'm so sorry for your loss. He must have been a bright light."
"My father could be difficult when he was in one of his moods and couldn't write, but when he was charming, he was a joy to live with." Sophie blushed as if realizing she'd said too much. She gave her patroness an apologetic look and changed the subject.
"Your son was very heroic yesterday. I am so grateful he wasn’t hurt,” Sophie said.
Honore laughed. "My son has faced far worse battles at sea. I'm sure he did not hesitate one moment to come to your aid.”
Lady Howick leaned toward Sophie. "Captain Bellingham distinguished himself as a midshipman at the Battle of Algiers in 1816. He helped Admiral Pellew rescue the Christian slaves. He’s also the grandson of the Earl of Middleton,” she added, and patted Sophie’s hand.
Honore’s stomach hardened, the tea and cake she’d just swallowed slicing like a knife. “We live quite simply, on Hanover Square,” she said. “Arnaud’s father was captured by pirates in a raid many years ago against one of our ships.” Her voice cracked, and she had to fight back tears.
She took courage and rallied. “My husband was the third son, and Arnaud has two older cousins in line to inherit. He loves the sea but visits me when he’s not on station with his squadron.”
“Where does he serve?” Sophie asked.
“He spends four months of the year off the west coast of Africa,” Honore said, “and then two months returning by way of additional service in the West Indies.”
“What does the Royal Navy do off Africa?” Sophie scooted to the edge of the sofa, her eyes wide.
“Slavers,” Honore explained. “They chase slave ships leaving Africa and those coming in for another cargo.”
Lady Howick interrupted. “Such dark talk over tea, Sophie. I’m sure Mrs. Bellingham would rather talk of something lighter. Suggestions for your gowns for the upcoming Season, perhaps.” The older woman turned toward Honore, her hand on her silver-capped cane. “I would love to know the name of your modiste. Since you and my ward have similar skin tones, I’m sure she could design something appropriate for our Sophie.”
Honore blessed the trick she’d learned long ago which had served her well in the many skirmishes she’d survived amongst the ladies of the ton. She sipped at her tea and remained silent just long enough for Lady Howick to squirm a bit. When Honore finally answered, her voice was smooth and unhurried. “I would be happy to assist with Sophie’s gowns for the Season, but I would beg your indulgence for a favor in return.”
“And that would be?” Lady Howick quirked an eyebrow.
“My son would like an introduction to Miss Brancelli so he may ascertain for himself she was unharmed during yesterday’s incident.”
Lady Howick mimicked Honore’s long pause before finally giving her a knowing smile. “I will send invitations for a small dinner party my son, Lord Howick, and I are having tomorrow night. I would be honored if you and your son would join us.” She gestured toward Honore’s empty tea cup and lifted the silver pot. She refilled the cup Honore extended and returned the steaming liquid to her guest.
“We would be delighted,” Honore said, and brought the cup to her lips. She stole a surreptitious glance at Sophie. The young woman looked as if she wanted to sink into the cushions and disappear. There was more to the situation in this household than met the eye, and Honore intended to find out as much as she could before the dinner party. The quiet, nervous young ward seemed as out of place in an English drawing room as an exotic orchid. Honore’s heart warmed. She could already imagine bouncing a dark-haired little girl on her knee.
There was a sharp tapping on the door, and a servant entered with an apologetic look on his face. “Mr. Seaton,” he said, and then withdrew.
A slight frown of annoyance flitted across Lady Howick’s face. The young man who strode into the drawing room had sallow skin and the eyes of a hawk in search of a small victim. He settled an intense gaze on Sophie.
“Here you are. I’ve been looking all over for Sophie, Auntie,” he said, a slight accusatory tone in his voice.
Sophie’s expression was anything but welcoming. Honore wanted to give her a comforting squeeze.
“Have you forgotten your manners?” Lady Howick snapped. “Mrs. John Bellingham, this is my nephew, Mr. Theodore Seaton. Teddy, this is Mrs. Bellingham. Her son, Captain Arnaud Bellingham, rescued Sophie and Lydia from a pair of street bullies yesterday on Pall Mall. She and her son are joining us for dinner tomorrow night.”
He pulled out a quizzing glass and gave Honore a long, assessing look before saying, “What a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Bellingham.” His wry frown directed at her eyes only gave Honore pause.
“Do you reside here with your aunt?” she asked, knowing her question would be perceived as rude, but not caring. She had taken an immediate dislike to Mr. Seaton.
“No,” Lady Howick said emphatically, not allowing him to answer. I’ve provided Teddy with rooms in a boarding house on Duke Street. I know my late sister would want him to be on his own by this point in his life.”
The words she speared him with were sharp enough to cut through ice.
After Mrs. Bellingham took her leave, Sophie stood and said, “I have some sewing to finish. If you do not require anything else, I’ll return to my room.”
Lady Howick cut a dark glance at her nephew, and he stood as well. “Dear Aunt, Miss Brancelli,” he said, “I’m devastated to have to depart your company, but I will see you at dinner tomorrow night.”
After he left, Sophie moved to exit behind him, but Lady Howick stopped her with an outstretched hand. “Come, sit close to me, dear. We have more to discuss.”
Sophie’s blood chilled, as if her heart had been plunged into a bucket of ice water.
“You know how much I loved your grandmother, and I would do anything to see you safely into a situation of your own, but…”
“But?” Sophie asked, too anxious to form more words because she was terrified of what Lady Howick would say next.
“This business with the kidnappers could be a serious hindrance. If you can’t make a good match, I fear for your future. Your inheritance could disappear.”
“I wonder,” Sophie asked, a bit hesitant, “what would become of the funds?”
“Knowing your uncle, he would claim your funds without a thought to your welfare. He’d leave you without a feather to fly and never miss a moment’s sleep.” Lady Howick paused, with a distant look in her eyes. “I hadn’t considered that eventuality until now.”
Sophie’s cake and tea settled like a rock in the pit of her sto
mach. Her mind flew to her hopes of supporting herself with poetry. She’d had a few nibbles from publishers when she’d submitted her work under a man’s name. All of them had commented on how close her work was to sufficient quality for publication, but none had offered a contract. She was doomed. And in that moment, she realized with a jolt of memory she’d lost the most important lines from the last poem in the new collection she’d hoped to sell.
The older woman sat in thought for a few long minutes until Sophie wanted to scream. Finally, she spoke.
“I know how much your writing means to you…” When Sophie looked up, surprised, she shushed her. “Your grandmother was very proud that you inherited her love and talent for literature. She told me many times how proud she was of your work.” After another long look down the drawing room, Lady Howick spoke again. “We will proceed with your Season, but I fear once news of your adventures reaches the ears of the ton, there may be few suitable men who will offer for you. Your best hope may be the young man who came to your rescue yesterday. And his mother seemed concerned for your welfare.”
“I barely know him. He was merely being kind, and besides…” Lady Howick smiled, and Sophie quit protesting, inclining her head toward the older woman. “Tell me what I should do.”
“His family is in business, merchant shipping, but he’s also the grandson of an earl. And of course, as a naval captain, he is gone for months at a time…which would leave you plenty of time on your own to do as you wish.”
“You did what?” Arnaud seethed at his mother’s assumption of his attraction to the poor young woman he’d snatched from the arms of a potential kidnapper.
“We’re invited to dinner tomorrow night at eight,” she added. “Sophie wants to thank you herself for your heroic efforts on her behalf.”
“What if I have other plans for tomorrow night?”
“Change them,” she said, and continued arranging from the basket of fresh blooms her footman had carried in from the orangerie at the rear of her townhouse. Vagabond purred loudly from his cushioned bed and sent a look of challenge toward the footman.
Pride Of Honor: Men of the Squadron Series, Book 1 Page 3