Over her shoulder, she called to the butler to ask Cook to have tea sent up.
After brooding for blocks over Sophie’s sudden expression of hurt feelings, Arnaud stopped at a floral cart on his way to the Fairfield mansion on the Strand. He chose a smallish bouquet of roses, sweet peas, and lilies in the hopes the modest offering might warm Frannie’s heart a bit, assuming she would receive him.
The last time he and Frances, the dowager Viscountess Fairfield, had been together, they’d parted on the warmest of terms. But that had been nearly two years before, during his last shore leave. Had he mis-read her signals then? He’d assumed she would have welcomed a proposal of marriage. She’d even talked about her wish for her son to have a steadying male influence in his life.
And as for the rest, Frannie had been as exuberant as ever when they… He strode faster to the center of the block where the huge Fairfield House sat in the center of a massive park.
Within twenty minutes of his arrival, her butler had politely but firmly explained she was not at home and directed him to leave his card on the tray with the considerable pile already there. He re-emerged knowing less than before and made short work of racing down the endless entrance steps. Once again on Piccadilly a short time later, he shoved the bouquet at a startled young servant on a brisk round of errands.
Just as he neared the turn-off for Albany, he sighted Cullen headed for the same destination. After hailing his surgeon, they adjourned to the nearby Crooked Candle pub on Piccadilly.
Once they were settled with pints of ale, Arnaud gave his ship’s surgeon a dour look. “I just tried to get an audience with Frannie. She’s still not receiving callers.”
“Not receiving callers or not receiving you?”
“What is wrong with me? Why do women suddenly act as if I’m some sort of abomination?”
Cullen let out a derisive snort. “If you really want to know what I think, I’ll tell you. I think we’ve all had enough shore leave. It’s time to get back to sea. Even Neville seems about to lose his good sense over Lady Lydia.
“And furthermore, I don’t need to tell you what your problem is with women. Your problem has long, dark curls, a sweet, kissable mouth, and the prettiest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. She’s in love with your worthless hide, and you can’t seem to get that stick out of your back end long enough to tell her you feel the same way.” He sat back and took a long swig from the ale before reaching for a refill from the pitcher. “And as for the viscountess, that was nearly two years ago. Besides, you’re not really that interested now. Sail on.”
The sun peeped from behind the clouds that had deviled them all week. It wasn’t exactly raining, but the possibility still lurked. However, Sophie took courage from that small bit of cheerful light. She needed all the help she could get. Against her better judgment, she’d given in to Lydia’s wheedling to study the crop of current popular romances and gothic novels written by women.
The bow windows of many small glass panes showered light within Hookham’s Circulating Library on Bond Street. Even in muted daylight, there was plenty of illumination.
Her senses were on high alert. She almost felt ashamed. Almost. She and Lydia had slipped away with Lydia’s maid to browse the latest editions. Lord Howick was in meetings at the House of Lords at Westminster, and they’d chosen the hour Lady Howick napped each afternoon. After Arnaud’s harsh rejection of any hopes she’d had of a future with him, she determined never to make such a fool of herself again.
They had not notified Arnaud and his men of their outing, but she no longer felt the need to do so. She and Lydia had decided for safety’s sake they would take along an extra footman who had ridden on the seat next to the coachman.
She tightened her grip on the parasol she carried with her everywhere now and gave a light touch to the sharp pins holding in place her latest refurbished bonnet. This confection overflowed with artificial violets and a few strategically placed faux, dark blue grapes.
After a long debate with Lydia, she’d decided she would take a look at the novels and decide if perhaps she might follow the path her grandmother had chosen to literary success, albeit under an assumed name. Jupiter! No one would care what she did if she took her future into her own hands. And besides, most of the novels in this particular section carried a woman’s name as author. Although the possibility of failure followed closely by starvation was real, the thought of the freedom of being on her own was heady.
Sophie sniffed deeply of the paper-and-ink smell of shelves full of books. She pulled out a used book and rubbed a gloved finger down the spine. “The Orphan of the Rhine” by Eleanor Sleath.
“Pssst - over here,” Lydia whispered loud enough to summon the dead. She carried a towering stack of books and staggered toward a corner oak table. Sophie hastened to catch up and take some of the volumes off her friend’s hands. She leaned her parasol against one of the chairs.
“How will we ever manage a look at all of these?” Sophie transferred five books from Lydia’s stack and placed them on the table.
“Simple. We’ll skim through as many as we can in an hour and then I’ll check out the rest.” Lydia had transferred her load of books with a thump and spread her hands wide in explanation.
“But you don’t have a subscription for that many books at a time.”
“Yes, but Papa does.” Lydia gave her an evil grin and stroked an imaginary beard.
“Oh, Lydia.” Sophie moaned. “Why do we have to do something that will make your father’s work harder? You know he checks out lots of books.”
Lydia waved a dismissive hand. “He’ll never know. I’m sure he doesn’t keep track of how many books he’s signed up for. He’ll just sign up for more.”
“Your father has a special ledger for notations on how many candles are used at Howick House. That is not the sort of man who doesn’t know how many books he checks out each month.” Sophie sank her chin onto her hands. “We’ll look through as many of these as we can before we have to get back.” She sighed and picked up the first volume off the stack.
An hour later, Sophie stood and stretched, rubbing at the small of her back. “I think I’ll stretch my legs and walk around the shop a bit.”
Lydia still had her nose buried in one of the gothic novels. Her only reply was “Mmm,” accompanied by a wave of her hand.
Sophie moved toward the rear of the store’s shelves of hundreds of books. She decided to give herself a break by browsing some other categories before returning to their tedious task.
A young man moved from the shadows of a far corner and approached her with fast, purposeful steps. “There you are, Fanny. It’s time you came home with me.” He clamped his work-calloused hand over her arm and yanked her toward the rear store exit.
Although the sudden move took Sophie by surprise, she was not frightened. She was tired of complete strangers acting as if they had the right to whisk her away in plain sight of others. She did not hesitate. Grasping both hatpins from her silly bonnet, she drove both of them into his arm. When he howled in pain and loosened his grip, she grabbed her bonnet from the floor and sped toward where she’d left Lydia with the stacks of novels.
She mouthed “We must leave - now,” and snatched her parasol from where she’d left it leaning against the chair.
When they raced out into the street, she realized Lydia had become strangely quiet and was following her lead without question. Both footmen who had waited outside Hookham’s fell into step with them, not asking any questions. They found the carriage at the corner and scrambled aboard. One of the footmen joined them inside while the other climbed up on the box with the coachman.
Once they were under way, Sophie turned to Lydia. “What have you done with my chatterbox friend? You joined my mad dash without a word.”
“I’ve been taking lessons from Captain Neville.” Lydia gave her a mysterious smile and then made the sign of locking her mouth shut with a key. “What happened?”
“I had to punc
ture yet another horrid person trying to drag me off. At this rate, I shall have to start buying hatpins by the dozen.”
Arnaud lifted his mother’s cat, Vagabond, from his lap for the second time and deposited him with care on the creature’s small cushioned couch next to her. “Why he makes it his mission to get as close to me as possible is a confounded mystery.”
Honore Bellingham stared back at her son from above her reading glasses again. “You boys are two of a kind, and he knows it. The only difference in your wanderings is yours last a year or two, while he does manage to drag himself home after a week or so.”
“You’re comparing me to an incorrigible tomcat?”
This time she didn’t answer but raised her eyebrows above her glasses. “Why are you prowling my townhouse this morning? Why aren’t you looking after Sophie and Lydia? And for heaven’s sakes, where is that stubborn Scotsman who’s always underfoot? His ginger biscuits will get stale.”
Arnaud hung his head. After all his years of raging sea battles, he lacked the courage to tell his mother how he’d hurt Sophie and made her despise his very presence. How he’d pushed her into the arms of the smooth, perfect, tonnish candidate, Sir Thomas James.
“She appears to prefer the protection of Sir Thomas now.” Arnaud walked toward one of the front windows in his mother’s sitting room and pretended to be absorbed in the passing parade of carriages and tradesmen through Hanover Square. “I gave Cullen and the other lads the day off. It appears we’re not wanted.”
“What does Lord Howick think about this latest development?”
“I, I’m not sure.” Arnaud fiddled with the cravat he knew Artemis had adjusted perfectly not an hour before.
“What are you not telling me?” His mother had inserted a ribbon to keep her place and put her book on a side table. She laid her reading glasses on top of the abandoned book. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll badger your crew until one of them gives me an explanation.”
“All right,” he finally said. “I may have said something to Sophie I shouldn’t have.”
“Like what?” His mother scooted to edge of her seat, her tone sharp.
“It wasn’t necessarily something I said…maybe more in the way of how I said it?” He began an agitated walk around the sitting room. “You see, I actually don’t know, because…”
“Because what?” Honore’s tone became sharper and higher.
“I don’t understand women. They’re too sensitive. You never know how they’ll take something you say.”
Honore surged to her feet. “Tell me now, tell me everything. Do not make me regret the day you were born.”
Sophie ignored the uncertainties flashing through her mind and gave a light tap at Lord Howick’s library door. When he answered the knock with a firm “Come,” she lost her nerve for a moment, but then plunged in.
“Lord Howick, I have a huge favor to ask.”
“Sophie.” He looked up from the book on his desk and placed a sheet of paper inside, marking his place before closing the volume. “This sounds like a serious discussion.” He removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Why don’t you have a seat by the fireplace, and I’ll ring for some cocoa. It’s been a long day. You and Lydia spent hours this afternoon at Hookham’s. I’ve never known my daughter to spend that much time shopping for anything not related to her wardrobe.”
“I’m sorry.” Sophie brushed an escaped curl away from her face. “It was because of me.”
“I can’t imagine how going along with one of Lydia’s schemes could be your fault.” Lord Howick broke the tense atmosphere with a warm smile. “Why don’t you let me decide?”
Sophie straightened her shoulders and willed the tense knot at the center of her back to soften. “I’ve come to a decision. While I deeply appreciate all your family has done for me, I can no longer maintain this ridiculous search for some ‘gentleman’ to propose marriage.” She snapped her mouth shut, nerve abandoning her, dreading Lord Howick’s censure.
“The Season has been going on for less than two months. What could possibly have happened in such a short period of time to cause you to give up?”
“I’m tired of trying to guard against unknown dangers swirling around me. Dangers I’m afraid may harm Lydia, or someone else in your household.” Sophie’s lower lip trembled, but she forged on. “I’ve decided to try to support myself with my writing. I’ve received several encouraging letters from publishers…”
“And this is what came of several hours at Hookham’s this afternoon?”
“Well, Lydia, that is I… Actually, we both thought perhaps I could try my hand at a different sort of writing.” She stopped, feeling a red, hot blush creeping from her face to her neck.
“As for the dangers, Captain Bellingham and his men would never let any harm befall either you or Lydia.” Frowning, Howick left his chair behind the desk and joined her by the fireplace.
“And then there is Captain Bellingham. He and his mother have been so kind, but…”
“But?” He leaned forward, an expectant look on his face.
“I’m afraid I find myself in a peculiar situation.” She lifted her head as if searching the library’s ornate ceiling medallion for inspiration. “I must apologize to everyone, but I’d begun to believe Captain Bellingham might be something more than a guard.” She settled her gaze back toward Lord Howick, her stomach quaking at what he must think of her.
“Something more?” Anger sparked in her benefactor’s eyes.
“This is not because of something he did,” she added quickly. “He had no idea…”
“Ah.” He rose and paced back behind his desk, re-opening the volume he’d just closed and straightening the paper marking his place. He returned to the fireplace and looked down at her. “And what did Captain Bellingham think of your latest plan when he accompanied you this afternoon?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to explain. I can’t in all conscience keep him by my side as a guard when I’ve made such a cake of myself with the poor man.” Just when she thought she had her feelings under control, another flush of embarrassment overtook her.
“Do not tell me you two young women went to Hookham’s today without any protection.”
“No. Of course not. We took Lydia’s maid and two footmen. The footmen stayed outside with the carriage, just in case.” She crossed her fingers behind her back and hoped not telling him the whole truth would not qualify exactly as a lie. She and Lydia had bribed the two footmen not to reveal what had happened. All that had taken was a special cake from Cook.
Sophie scarcely breathed while Lord Howick’s face underwent a series of expressions, ranging from enraged to finally settling on his usual calm demeanor. He moved to the bell rope and as soon as a footman appeared at the door, he motioned for him to await a message.
“Sophie, I appreciate your sharing your concerns with such candor. However, I cannot allow you to give up on your grandmother’s inheritance. I believe there are a number of suitable gentlemen you’ve met who might soon make their intentions clear. In the meantime, let me worry about seeing to guards to ensure your safety. You must promise me you will never leave this house again on your own without suitable protection.” He gave her a long, hard stare.
“I promise.” Her voice cracked a little in spite of her resolve to remain strong. Jupiter.
Chapter Seventeen
Sophie put down the pencil she’d been scribbling notes with on possible plots for a romance and swept her gaze from Lady Howick to Lydia across from her in the Howick’s comfortable family carriage. Lady Howick worked on a piece of embroidery while Lydia had her nose buried in a gothic novel. She tried not to think of the man she knew rode close outside next to the carriage. Arnaud was back to guard duty, along with Lord Howick who had decided at the last minute to accompany them to the house party at Sir Thomas’s country home north of London.
He kept his famous stables there, along with an extensive library she itched to explor
e. As for Sir Thomas’s wish to introduce her to his beloved horses, Lord Howick had arranged for one of his grooms to give her riding lessons. She’d been terrified at first, but gradually became accustomed to the mandatory side-saddle position for women. If only she’d been born a man. Life would have been so much simpler. In so many ways. She let out a huge sigh.
Lydia put down her novel. “La, Sophie. You are at the pinnacle of the Season, a highly sought after guest, and have not one, but a veritable crowd of eligible gentlemen plying you with offers of entertainments. What could you possibly have to sigh about?”
“Nothing.”
“That deep sigh did not sound like ‘nothing’ to me.” Lady Howick looked up from her needlework and smiled. “If it’s any comfort, Captain Bellingham seems as tortured as you.”
“Why does everyone assume the world spins on its axis just to please Captain Bellingham? He means nothing to me. I mean nothing to him.”
Lydia and Lady Howick exchanged knowing looks. The older woman re-adjusted her glasses and resumed her embroidery.
“He’s miserable. It’s embarrassingly obvious. You can’t go on pretending he means nothing to you.” Lydia pointed toward the window close to Sophie where Arnaud trotted, armed with several pistols and a sword.
“Yes, I can. And I’m not pretending.”
At Lydia’s eye roll, Sophie repeated her protest with irritation. “I don’t pretend.”
Sophie fumed quietly, considering a number of retorts for her friend, but she knew Lydia was right. She missed the easy camaraderie she’d once shared with Arnaud, but it was too late for compromise. He’d made himself clear. She was not the woman he wanted in his life.
When the Howick carriage finally wound along the long, curving drive lined with beech trees, the house at last came into view. Sophie gasped. From the way Sir Thomas had talked about his home, she’d expected a cozy-sized cottage. What she hadn’t expected was a compound of weathered brick buildings, dominated at one side by what appeared to be the stables. If she hadn’t seen horses being walked by various grooms, she would have assumed that section of the estate was the main house.
Pride Of Honor: Men of the Squadron Series, Book 1 Page 15