by Mary Nichols
‘Thank you.’
He turned and looked at her. ‘But what were you doing out in the first place? You did not think to go and see Wellington yourself, did you?’
‘No, I had no idea he was arriving today and I would not have gone if I had. I see no virtue in rushing about just to get a glimpse of someone of note. I had business to contract.’
‘Business, Miss Langford? Surely the Duke looks after your business affairs?’
She smiled. ‘Not this. I went to see a publisher.’
‘About your book. I had no idea it was so near completion, but now I understand why you crept out alone. You knew his Grace would not approve.’
‘It is not for him to approve or disapprove.’
‘He would not agree. He thinks of himself as your custodian. At least until you marry, then of course that delightful duty will fall to your husband.’
‘Custodian? You make the Duke sound like a prison warder and he is certainly not that.’
‘No? But he does wish to control you.’
Whether she agreed with that or not, she felt constrained to defend him. ‘No more than any good guardian would.’
‘Good guardian. Is that what he claims to be? I think he is most remiss in his duties if he makes no provision for your safety. Anything could have happened in the crowd.’ She was wondering where this was leading when he added, ‘What did the publisher say about your work?’
‘He suggested one or two changes I might make, but otherwise he was complimentary.’
‘Then I must congratulate you. But what do you suppose Cousin Harriet will have to say when she learns you have defied her brother and gone ahead? She will see that as a betrayal. She idolises James, you know.’
‘I know, but I must do what I think best.’
‘And what will she say when she sees the state you are in?’
‘I shall have to explain what happened, shan’t I?’
‘You could try.’ He sounded as if he did not think she would be believed. ‘But I have a better idea. I have a friend whose home is nearby. I could take you there. You will be made welcome and can tidy yourself before we proceed. I must confess, we are attracting attention.’
She realised that they had come to an area of town where the houses were clean, the knockers bright, the windows shining, and most of the people coming and going were well dressed, but once again she was being stared at. She prayed no one would see her and recognise her. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
He took her arm and hurried her along the street before she could change her mind and the next minute was knocking on the door of a tall narrow house on the corner of Piccadilly and a road she recognised as Duke Street. It was not until the housekeeper conducted them up to the first floor and ushered them into a small parlour that she realised she had been duped. Count Cariotti was sitting in a chair by the window, reading a newspaper.
He rose at once and bowed to her. ‘My dear, this is an unexpected pleasure.’
Dismayed, she turned to go, but Alfred blocked her way. ‘Do not be in such haste, my dear cousin, you need to calm yourself and tidy your clothes before you can be seen out again, surely you realise that?’
‘I thought you were bringing me to a married lady. I would never have agreed if I had known.’
He shrugged. ‘It makes no difference.’
‘Indeed it does. Have you no honour?’
‘Honour does not come into it when there is so much as stake,’ the Count said. ‘But as you set so much store on a married lady, let me tell you my housekeeper, Mrs Davies, is a widow of impeccable character.’
‘What is at stake?’ she demanded, not at all interested in the status of his housekeeper.
‘Oh, everything, my dear. I need to be accepted in English society and I think you can help me with that.’
‘How?’ She knew the answer, but she asked the question as if she did not. She wanted him to put it into words so that she might know what she was dealing with.
‘Marriage, my dear. It was what your dear father wished.’
‘I do not believe my father wished anything of the kind. You cheated him and then tried to coerce him into something dishonourable when he could not pay. Did you think I did not know?’
His glittering eyes told her that she had come upon the truth and that frightened her, though he continued to smile urbanely. ‘The world of serious gaming is a harsh world, my dear. If he could not stand the pace, he should not have embarked upon it.’
‘On that point, Count, you and I agree. But it makes no difference now. I cannot pay his debts.’
‘Oh, but you can. I want you and I want that manuscript. That will be my recompense.’
‘For what purpose? There is nothing in the book you need concern yourself with. As for marriage, why wish to marry someone who is so reluctant?’
‘Oh, I do not think you will be reluctant when the time comes. But for the moment, I am in no hurry. Alfred, take her home, there’s a good fellow.’
‘She had better tidy herself,’ Alfred said. ‘We were inviting some strange looks on the way here and I do not want my reputation to go out of the window along with the Duke’s if we are recognised.’
‘You have a point.’ He rang the little bell on the table at his elbow and the housekeeper appeared immediately. Sophie wondered how much she had heard. ‘Take the lady to the guest bedchamber and provide her with whatever she needs to make herself respectable,’ he told her.
The woman sniffed her disapproval, but conducted Sophie up a flight of stairs to a bedroom. ‘I’ll go and fetch hot water,’ she said. ‘You will find towels on the stand and combs and brushes on the dressing table.’
As soon as she had gone Sophie stepped up to the mirror to look at herself and what she saw shocked her. She looked as bad as she had after the storm; her hat was gone, her hair undone and there was a tear in the sleeve of her jacket. There was nothing she could do about the tear, but she could try to do something with her hair. And the quicker the better. The sooner she was out of this house and safely home again the happier she would be.
She was brushing her hair when Mrs Davies returned with hot water, which she poured into the basin on the stand. ‘Shall I send the girl up to help you?’
‘No, thank you, I can manage.’
The woman left and Sophie set about washing the grime from her face and pinning up her hair. She could not manage it as Rose did, but at least it was tidy. Then she opened the door softly and peered out onto the landing. There was no one about. She crept down the stairs, pausing outside the door where she could hear the two men talking in low voices. She hesitated, but decided it would be too dangerous to stop and listen. She continued down to the ground floor, relieved there was no one about, and silently let herself out of the front door.
‘Where was she going?’ James demanded of Harriet, who was pacing backwards and forwards in the drawing room, pulling at the corners of a lace handkerchief, tearing it to shreds in her agitation.
He had come back from witnessing the tumultuous reception afforded the Duke of Wellington to be told Sophie had left the house without an escort. His first thought was that she had gone riding alone again, even though he had forbidden it, but Rose, when she was summoned, assured him she was not dressed for it.
‘She was wearing a day dress and a short jacket and ordinary bonnet and shoes, your Grace. I thought she was going out in the carriage with Lady Harley, and thought nothing of it, but then I saw her ladyship coming downstairs. Even then I supposed they had come back together…’ She began to sob hysterically.
‘Oh, do stop crying,’ he snapped. ‘How long had she been gone when you realised she was missing?’
‘Over an hour and a half,’ Harriet answered him because Rose seemed incapable of it. ‘From the time she left Rose about noon until I asked where she was at half past one when nuncheon was served.’
‘Good God! Today of all days. Anything could have happened to her.’ The capital was in a fever of excitem
ent over the return of Wellington; everyone had been out on the streets or watching from overcrowded balconies. The Duke was safe, though it had been a near thing. He had been cheered all the way from Dover to London, but the expected attack had not come while he was on the road, perhaps because the would-be assassins were aware of the presence of Captain Summers and his troop of guards riding close alongside. The capital was another matter. Word had got out that the great man was approaching Westminster Bridge and the citizens had turned out en masse to greet him, so that his coach was reduced to a crawl.
And then some bright spark had thought of taking the horses from the traces and pulling the carriage themselves and, to James’s dismay, the whole equipage was brought to a halt. It was then Wellington lost all patience with them and, against James’s advice, left the carriage and demanded a horse. Lord Carstairs was mounted beside James and immediately offered his own mount. His Grace mounted up and disappeared into the crowd at a gallop, with James speeding after him. Once they had left the crowd behind, they slowed their horses to a walk, like two gentlemen out for an afternoon’s ride, and thus they had arrived safely at the Duke’s home.
James had declined refreshment and turned back to the rendezvous he had arranged with Richard if things should not go according to plan. Carstairs, left without a mount, had climbed into Wellington’s carriage and completed the journey, only to be fired on as it approached Piccadilly. The gunman, an unemployed ex-soldier, had been arrested and was being held for questioning, though, according to Richard, he was refusing to talk.
‘Is Carstairs hurt?’
‘No, thank God.’ Richard grinned suddenly. ‘We never thought of using a decoy, did we? And yet it worked.’
‘Yes, this time, but I do not think that will be the end of it. There is still the Regent’s reception and the guest list is long and includes some strange people. We need to have the ringleader behind bars as soon as possible. See what you can get out of the prisoner. I must go home. I have an evening engagement.’
He had come home, feeling cheerful at having delivered the Duke safely to his wife, and was looking forward to taking Sophie to Almack’s ball. It promised to be a grand affair and James was hoping that he might renew his courtship of Sophie, so violently interrupted by the storm. But this time he meant to speak to her before they left and not rely on finding an opportunity during the dancing.
He knew it was going to be a tricky interview because she had not yet given him an explanation for that emphatic ‘No!’ Nor had she explained why she was in the garden in the first place. And why had they not found that fan? He hoped and prayed his earlier suspicion—that she had arranged to meet someone—was unfounded. To come home and learn that she had ventured out alone had sapped his euphoria until he was both extremely anxious and very angry.
‘Has no one any idea where she might have gone?’ he asked Harriet after Rose was sent weeping from the room. ‘Did she ask anyone to accompany her? Collins? Sadler? Tom, even?’
‘It appears not. I sent Collins out to look for her.’
‘I’ll go and look for her myself; when I find her, by God, I’ll ring the loudest peal over her you ever heard. I will have to find some way of curbing her, even if it means packing her off to Dersingham Park for the rest of the summer.’
‘I am sure she would not have meant to go far,’ Harriet said, trying to defend her cousin, though very worried herself. Sophie had been behaving very strangely lately, keeping to her room even after she had recovered from her chill, not wanting to join her on outings. She had been so open before, so ready to confide, now she hardly spoke more than politeness demanded. Harriet wondered what she could have done to upset her. Surely it was not bad enough to drive her away?
‘Whatever she meant to do, she has been gone over two hours. Anything could have happened.’ He did not want to dwell on the possibilities, but he could not help himself. He imagined her lying injured in the road, no one knowing who she was, robbed, abducted, raped even. It was more than he could stomach and he turned on his heel. ‘I must find her and, by God, if anyone has harmed her, they shall pay with their lives.’
He had not quite reached the door when it was opened and Sophie entered. She appeared to be cheerful and unharmed. His relief exploded into anger. ‘Where in damnation do you think you have been?’
She stood and stared at him. His face was white, his blue eyes icy. This was not the mild man who had given her the fan and kissed her so tenderly. This was a frighteningly furious autocrat not used to being thwarted. If she had been ready to apologise for being gone so long, to explain that she had not realised the crowds would be so dense, the words stopped in her throat. If he could be angry, so could she.
‘I have been out,’ she said. ‘And when you calm down sufficiently to listen, I shall tell you where I have been.’ She paused when she saw that she had startled him; he was unused to anyone answering him back. It gave her a tiny amount of satisfaction, but not much.
‘Oh, Sophie!’ Harriet, half-laughing, half-crying with relief, ran to embrace her. ‘We have been so worried…’
‘I am sorry for that, Harriet, but I had thought to be back long before now. The crowds were so thick—’
‘You mean you were caught up in that mad crush to get at the Duke of Wellington?’ James demanded. ‘It is a wonder you were not trampled to death.’
‘Well, I was not,’ she retorted, as Harriet tried to lead her to a sofa to sit down, a gesture she resisted. She could better defend herself standing.
‘But I perceive your jacket is torn,’ he said. ‘And your hair is a mess. And where is your hat?’
‘I lost it.’
‘Good God! Is there no end to your folly? I had not thought you so caught up in the madness as to join in that ridiculous hero worship.’
‘Of course I did not. I had no idea it would happen.’
‘What would happen?’ Harriet asked.
James answered his sister. ‘The mob went wild. They tried to take the horses from the Duke’s carriage and pull it themselves. It was pandemonium for a while, but he escaped on horseback. It was fortunate he did, because someone took a shot at the carriage from the crowd…’
‘Oh, Sophie!’ Harriet remonstrated. ‘You could have been killed.’
‘I came to no harm,’ Sophie said.
‘But why did you go out without saying a word to me of your intentions? I would have accompanied you.’
‘I preferred to go alone.’
‘Where?’ James demanded.
‘To see Mr Murray, the publisher.’ How she kept her voice calm Sophie did not know, but she managed it, even injecting a hint of sweetness. ‘You will be pleased to know he was complimentary about my work.’
‘You mean he is going to publish?’ James’s anxiety over her safety switched to the book. That damned book was the barrier to any kind of relationship with her. Major Bowers had advised him to find it and read it himself, advice he had been reluctant to follow. It would be an invasion of her privacy, like reading someone’s private letters. But if he had handled her more gently, talked to her about it, perhaps she would have volunteered the information he wanted. Now he feared it was too late.
‘He suggested a few changes, which I intend to work on. I am to see him in two weeks’ time and put them before him and then he will give me an advance and I will be able to find somewhere else to live.’ She was not at all sure about the advance, or even how much it would be, but she was not going to admit it. If she was ever to have any peace of mind, she must stop this erratic beating of her heart and be practical. But, oh, how difficult it was.
‘Somewhere else? Why would you wish to live anywhere else?’
‘I should have thought that was self-evident. I have said all along, I mean to be independent.’
‘Gammon! You wish to be a thorn in my side, that is what you wish.’
‘No, but if I am such a burden to you, then the sooner I leave the better, then you may go on in your own untroubled w
ay.’
‘And where do you propose to go? Into some dismal lodgings on your own, for I am sure no one else will put up with you.’
‘James!’ Harriet protested when Sophie stepped back with the shock of his words. She knew he was angry, but how could he say something so hurtful when only a week before he had been kissing her as if she meant something to him, had rescued her from the rain and, according to Harriet, had paced up and down outside her door when he thought she was ill? But now he had shown his true colours; he no more wanted her than her uncle, Lord Langford, did.
‘I am not without friends,’ she said. ‘Though why you should care, I do not know, unless you are worried for your reputation.’
‘My reputation! You foolish girl, it is yours I am concerned about. There is already talk about that book, everyone expecting scandal, and then boasting you had turned down an offer from Count Cariotti—’
‘It was not a boast. I did turn him down. But what has that to do with anything?’
On the point of forbidding her to speak to the man again, he stopped suddenly. ‘Did you have an assignation to meet him this afternoon?’
‘No!’ The words were shouted, though she felt terribly guilty. It wasn’t her fault she had been inveigled into visiting his house, but if the Duke ever found out about it, he would undoubtedly believe the worst.
‘James,’ Harriet protested again. ‘Do calm down. Being angry with each other will not help. And I am quite sure Sophie would never be so foolish as to meet a man alone.’ She rose and put her arm about Sophie, who had suddenly lost all her self-control and was quietly sobbing. ‘It is only worry for your safety that makes him seem unkind, my dear. Come, we will go up to your room and you shall rest. If you like, I will have a tray sent up and you do not need to come down for dinner.’
She led Sophie from the room, leaving the Duke frustrated and still fuming. He was taken aback when a few minutes later Sophie stormed back into the room and flung a sooty paper parcel into his lap. ‘Here, seeing you set so much store by it, you had better read it.’ And before he could make any sort of reply, she had gone again, slamming the door after her.