“If I attend an average of two events a week, that should be enough to find someone who is interested in my inheritance. Of course, no one will take much notice of what I wear, so it doesn’t matter if I wear each ensemble twice. That’s no more than thirty-two events. I know I could make do with ten gowns and an assortment of modifications. I’ll add in one cape, a spencer, a pelisse, and maybe two bonnets we can change out with different trims.”
“That’s the saddest, most boring thing I’ve ever heard, Sophia Brancelli. What has happened to your sense of fun? I swear you describe everything like old Mister Crockett, Papa’s solicitor. I want to dress you in exotic silks, feathers, and pearls.” Lydia stamped a foot in emphasis.
“That would be nice,” Sophie admitted, “but let’s be realistic. There will be no money for an expensive wardrobe until I have this ‘proper gentleman’ in hand, which presents a thorny dilemma.”
Her friend sat down with a sigh onto a plump, chintz-covered sofa and shook her head. “What a sad way to plan a Season of parties. I suppose all these ‘ensembles’ will be the same color so they’re interchangeable?”
“What a great idea.” Sophie giggled a bit. “I hadn’t thought of that.” She turned back to the table and continued leafing through the fashion magazine.
Lord Howick chose that moment to lean through the doorway into the room. “Good morning, Sophie, Lydia. Where is Lady Howick? Has she come down yet for breakfast?”
Even Lydia was speechless for a moment. They rarely saw Lydia’s father at that hour. He usually was up before everyone, at work in his study before setting off for meetings at Westminster.
“She’s probably resting in her room this morning, Papa.” Lydia gulped and added, “Have I done something…?”
“I don’t know. Have you?” He flashed his daughter a mysterious smile and ducked back out into the hallway.
Lady Howick took a final, long draught of cocoa and put the cup back on the breakfast tray before reaching to the side of her bed and tugging on a bell pull.
An immediate, sharp rap on the door startled her. She hadn’t expected someone to run up to her third-floor aerie that quickly.
“Come.” She gathered her shawl tightly around her shoulders and swung her feet onto the floor and into warm slippers.
She absorbed another shock when her son was the one who appeared. “Howick. Is something wrong?”
“No. Not that I know of. But with your granddaughter, one never can tell.” His quirky smile set her at ease. “Do you have time to talk?”
“Of course. Come sit by the fire.” She led the way to a small sofa at the foot of her bed piled high with soft pillows.
One of the housemaids had set a strong blaze in the fireplace before Lady Howick had awakened.
In the prolonged silence that followed, she studied her only surviving son. Her daughter stayed at their country home, never returning to town after she’d been released from captivity in Algiers. She rarely spoke to anyone, not even her mother, and above all, refused to speak of what she’d been through. They let her stay cloistered away from society by tacit agreement.
And then there was her sweet daughter-in-law, Lydia’s mother, who died in childbirth. Lady Howick sometimes wondered how much grief one family could stand and marveled at Howick’s strength in soldiering on and caring for all of them. He was still a vital young man. His only concession to the effects of age and his hard work in the House of Lords was a bit of silver in his beard. She’d hoped he would re-marry, but lately she’d given up, accepting that he was content. She suspected he kept a mistress but would never ask.
Finally, she broke the silence. “Pray, tell me what burden you’ve come to unload.”
He turned suddenly and the sunny smile of his childhood broke through. “No burden, Mother. I’m here to ask what I can do to help Sophie. We need to see her safely married, and I want to make sure she has what she needs. I just passed the sitting room and overheard Lydia trying to convince her to buy an outlandish wardrobe for the Season. Sophie is worried about spending too much of your funds. She’s trying to scrimp on what she’ll have made by Mrs. Bellingham’s modiste.”
“Howick, from whence has this sudden concern for women’s fashion come? You’ve never, in my recollect, ever taken an interest in fashion and fripperies.”
He stood and paced to the fireplace and back. “I understand why you might wonder at my motives, but I’ve always regretted not being there to save Lilianne and young Jamie that day at sea, not being able to stand up to the pirates and rescue them. And then when the ransom demands arrived… Thank God Admiral Pellew’s expedition was successful, and she’s now home safe. I suppose Sophie’s vulnerability with this kidnapping attempt brought those feelings back. I refuse to stand by and let her dreams be shattered by this stilted society’s opinions.
“I realize Lydia’s expenditures have to be taken in hand periodically,” Howick said with a smile, “but poor Sophie needs as much help as we can provide. I would be grateful if you could oversee their plans and make sure Sophie has what you think she’ll need. I’ll make up the difference, but, please, do not tell her where the funds come from. She would be embarrassed, not to mention the tongues that would be set wagging amongst those in the ton high in the instep.”
Lady Howick tried to ignore the aching wound in her own heart whenever she remembered the dark time when Lilianne had been taken hostage and her younger son had died trying to protect her. She sank back into the cushions and gave Howick a quizzical look. “I’m still a little confused by this much interest on your part. Are you sure there’s not more to this than just a throwback to the feeling of helplessness in your sister and brother’s situation?”
“This is different, of course, but Sophie’s future happiness depends on attracting the right sort of match.”
“Your own daughter is hopelessly deficient in the marriage market, and I’ve never heard you worry on her account…” The question on her lips remained mute. Why all the concern for Sophie?
“Don’t you remember when both of them were very young, even though Sophie and Lydia were barely a year apart, Sophie instinctively ‘mothered’ Lydia?” What Howick did not admit openly was Sophie’s capable caretaker air belied the kiss of Italian sun on her skin and the promise of warm, lazy afternoons drinking wine, remembered from his own youthful Grand Tour.
What Howick wasn’t saying was the way he’d watched Sophie grow from coltish adolescence into the breathtaking young woman she’d become while in exile with her father. Her transformation when she re-joined their household had left him a bit off balance. And then there was a certain person dear to his heart whose happiness also depended on Sophie finding her way.
Lady Howick hesitated for a time, deciding how much to reveal. “Only because of your concern, I’m going to tell you something I hope never comes out in society, something I’ve never revealed to anyone.”
“If there is that much secrecy to the tale, are you sure even I should be privy to the facts?”
Lady Howick rested her chin on the palm of her hand and stared out into the late spring snowstorm. “Yes, you should know, because the enormity of her inheritance could be a problem if she falls into the hands of the wrong man. You see, once Sophie comes into her inheritance, she can afford anything she likes.”
At her son’s quizzical look, she added, “Her grandmother earned a huge fortune from popular novels sold here and on the Continent under an assumed name, which is why she wanted the girl to be protected by a suitable gentleman. And then there was her grandmother’s fear of her father’s influence. But Sophie seems to have adopted a frugal approach to life. Her father’s sins prompted her to thrift.”
Howick tilted his head to the side and gave his mother a long look. “We shall have to make certain no opportunists discover the nature of her fortune. I have a good feeling about young Bellingham. He’s already offered to serve as a sort of bodyguard. He should be around for at least another month or two with all
the fierce storms pounding the Channel. In fact,” he added, “I’ll make sure of it. I’ll put some weight to bear at the Admiralty to keep him in England for a while longer before he returns to his squadron. He and his mother seem more than well off. We can reasonably trust he has no interest in commandeering Sophie’s fortune. And his devotion to the Royal Navy guarantees he’ll be gone by the time our Sophie finds a husband to protect her.
“And just to make sure she has a reliable, protective partner to squire her a bit through the Season, why don’t you include my friend, the barrister Sir Thomas James, on the invitation list for her coming out ball?”
“Of course.” Lady Howick smiled in agreement but still wondered what was behind her son’s concerns.
Arnaud stood outside Albany and waited for his mother’s coachman to pull through the curve of the drive at the front entrance. Honore waved through the carriage window, a jaunty veiled hat cocked to the side over her dark, silver-streaked curls and a thick woolen scarf wound around her neck.
After he knocked the snow off his Hessians on the step the coachman had put down, he swung inside and noted her only nod to the scurvy weather was a long woolen cape swirled around her ankles in the freezing carriage. A small brazier glowed with hot coals, warming the inside of her cavernous conveyance.
They sat in companionable silence on the way down to Howick House on St. James Square to fetch Lady Lydia and Miss Brancelli for a day of shopping. Arnaud would rather face a line of ships manned by Barbary pirates, but he’d promised Lord Howick he would protect the young women until he could bring to ground the culprits who had deviled poor Sophie.
When he and Cullen had shown up at the Admiralty the afternoon before, Admiral Longthorpe had called in Arnaud to make plain the concerns Lord Howick had pressed upon him. Arnaud would stay on shore leave a bit longer to serve as bodyguard to the young women under Howick’s care. Since his ship in the yard at Portsmouth still awaited the curing and rigging of a mainmast, Arnaud was not worried.
He needed to tread lightly with the Admiralty, however. With old Bonie exiled to remote Saint Helena and the threat of war a distant fear for his countrymen, a career naval officer had to make the most of any posting. And Arnaud was determined to continue to work his way upward.
His mother leaned forward and tapped him on the knee. “Lady Howick sent me an urgent message last night about the need to keep the girls safe at all costs. I’ve put on two outriders just to be safe, several of our warehouse laborers, the toughest on the docks. Have you spoken to Lord Howick?”
Arnaud smiled at the serious look on his mother’s face. “Of course. Although he used a far stronger conduit with me.”
“Who?”
“The admiral. Howick used his influence to alter my assignment with the Admiralty. After dogging my every step for weeks, Longthorpe is not as keen now for me to get the ship back into service with the squadron. He made it clear yesterday afternoon. Howick’s daughter and Sophie are my priorities now.”
“If Lord Howick fears that much for their safety, are we safe enough with you alone?”
The stern look he sent her made his mother flinch. “I am well armed.” He pulled aside his greatcoat and revealed a pistol in an inside pocket. Arnaud had tucked its twin into the back waist of his buckskins, but his mother needn’t worry herself on any account.
In fact, Arnaud had no fear of Honore Bellingham fainting at the sight of weapons of destruction. His parents had survived an attack before his birth during the French Revolution. Her late husband, a friend of his father’s, had been killed by the mob in Nantes. His father had spirited Honore and her children out of the country on one of his ships and brought them back to England.
He studied his mother’s face and understood how his own father could have fallen hopelessly in love with the woman across from him. Which was why his grandfather, the earl, rarely had contact with them.
“Cullen will join me at your mantua-maker’s address. No one questions Cullen,” Arnaud assured her.
Honore sat back with a sigh and nodded in assent.
Sophie thanked the spirits above she currently had minimal wardrobe choices. Her decision on what to wear to the Mantua-maker had been ridiculously simple.
She’d chosen the warmest ensemble in her nearly empty armoire. After a quick look outside, she wrapped her heavy shawl around her long, woolen pelisse for extra warmth.
If she hadn’t spent a great deal of her life with Lydia, she might have worried the wild pounding at her door presaged a warning that the house was on fire. When she pulled open the door, Lydia nearly fell into the room, so excited was she at the prospect of a day of shopping.
Sophie hugged her friend and said, “Calm yourself. We have a long day ahead of us. If you sustain your current level of excitement, you’ll suffer a fit of apoplexy.”
“They’re here,” Lydia announced with a twinge of dramatic inflection. High spots of color dotted her cheeks.
“They?” Sophie wondered if she’d mistaken the day they were to accompany Mrs. Bellingham to her modiste.
“Yes.” Lydia’s excitement had increased so much that she seemed to be having difficulty breathing. She accompanied each pronouncement with a deep breath. “Captain Bellingham is with her. And, oh my, how his dark coat and jacket set off those clear, blue eyes. And he is so solemn and handsome, you just want to go up and touch those long, dark lashes of his to make sure they’re real.”
“Lydia! Stop your prattling at once.” Lady Howick joined them and placed a firm hand on her granddaughter’s arm. “You are making a cake of yourself.”
Lydia quieted but walked across to Sophie’s bed and flopped down on top of the counterpane, her gaze darting between Sophie and Lady Howick. Only the nervous tapping of her foot betrayed her level of excitement.
When Lady Howick turned her attention to Sophie, she explained Lord Howick wanted the mantua-maker to forward all bills to his attention.
“No,” Sophie said. “I cannot…”
“He handles all my investments, my dear. He will take care of the transfer of funds. Do not worry for one minute. Some day when you are settled in your own home, perhaps you can keep me company from time to time. I would so like to remain friends. I require nothing more.” She patted Sophie’s hand.
“Mrs. Bellingham and her son await the two of you in the drawing room.” She gave Sophie a reassuring smile. To Lydia she gave a stern warning. “Please do not make them wait, and under no circumstances embarrass Captain Bellingham.”
Her last warning floated down the hallway as she headed for the staircase. “And, Lydia, for heavens’ sakes, please consider your poor father’s sensibilities. He does not have bottomless pockets with which to indulge your every whim.”
Chapter Eight
Arnaud sat patiently in the Howicks’ opulent sitting room, barely moving an eyelid. Now that he was back in London, waiting had become a fine art: waiting for orders from the Admiralty; waiting for the wind or weather to change; waiting for his turn to come, his time to move up the chain of command.
Waiting for a pack of women to embark on a day of shopping was little more than a minor obstacle. His mother’s tenacity in planning and negotiating meant this entire day and quite possibly the rest of the week would be forfeit to Lord Howick’s directive - protect Sophie and Lydia at all costs.
It was difficult to miss the flurry and chatter proceeding down the marble-floored hallway outside the sitting room. A steady drip from the snow packed onto the bottoms of his boots, distracting before, now was drowned out by the excitement headed his way. Beside him, his mother smiled and put a light, restraining hand on his arm, her way of begging his indulgence a while longer.
When the door opened and the young women rushed in with Lady Lydia’s maid, he forgot precisely where his mind had been in the few preceding moments. The look of pleasure on Miss Brancelli’s face was worth all the annoyance and wait. He feared the memory of that look would follow him all the way to the coast
of Africa and beyond. He thanked the wind gods he’d decided Miss Brancelli was totally unsuited to his way of life. He did not know if he could go back to sea for months or years at a time and leave behind such a magical creature.
Her dark eyes sparkled in anticipation of the day ahead and he wondered if the light blush on her cheeks might possibly be a reaction to him as more than just their bodyguard for the day.
He realized with a start he’d been woolgathering when his mother gave him a not-so-subtle poke in the side. He stood immediately and bowed toward the two young women.
“It is a great pleasure to see the two of you again. I hope my presence will not interfere with your enjoyment of the day, but Lord Howick was firm on the subject. He does not want you traveling about the city without protection.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Arnaud wished he could take them back. Miss Brancelli cast her eyes toward the floor, blocking his view of her face. She gripped her friend’s hand as if in apology and looked toward Lady Howick.
“Now, Lydia and Sophia.” Lady Howick stumped toward them, bracing herself with her cane. “You know you had a near thing the other day, and we’re all worried about your safety. However, there’s no reason you cannot enjoy the day as if Captain Bellingham were not along.” She gave him a pointed look. “I’m sure he will be suitably occupied, looking for suspicious fellows. You’ll barely know he’s there.”
“Exactement,” his mother interjected. “Waiting patiently is my son’s special gift.”
When Lady Howick glanced out the tall windows overlooking the square, Honore added, “As you can see, I’ve added two outriders-guards from our warehouse-to the carriage today as well. We will be a moving fortress between here and my modiste’s shop.”
“Which means nothing should stand between us and our mission,” Arnaud said, and moved to retrieve his mother’s cape and his overcoat from the footman waiting at the doorway.
Pride Of Honor: Men of the Squadron Series, Book 1 Page 7