Alex briefly entertained the idea of pummeling his friend, but the man had just inhaled an entire plate of eggs and ham. The resulting mess wouldn’t be worth the satisfaction.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Alex snapped. He dropped his napkin on the table and stood. “Not one minute sooner.”
Whit gave him a jaunty one-fork salute and kept chewing. Alex glared, reconsidered the pummeling, then settled for a single vulgar epitaph and left.
Sophie watched the passing scenery from inside her carriage without interest. She really didn’t feel like shopping, but she had made the commitment to Kate and Mirabelle yesterday. They were delightful girls and on any other day Sophie would be eager for their company. But not today. Today she wanted nothing more than to lie in bed and indulge in a hearty wallow of self-pity and self-recrimination.
He should never have kissed her. That was all she could think about. And she should never have kissed him back. But he had, then she had, and there was no undoing it. If she were to be completely honest with herself she’d have to admit she didn’t really want to undo it. She did, however, fervently wish that the interlude had ended with something other than Alex laughing at her.
It had been a wonderful kiss, at least from her inexperienced standpoint. Sophie frowned and slumped back against the seat cushions. Apparently, Alex viewed the interlude from an entirely different perspective. Specifically, from that of a rake. Probably, he had kissed scores of women, legions, and undoubtedly most of them were a great deal more versed in the art of kissing than she, but really, it had been unforgivable of him to be so cruel as to laugh at her lack of skill.
It had been humiliating. And it hurt, even more than she would have expected. She had truly begun to like Alex, and for one glorious moment, when he had wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips against her own, she had felt beautiful, cherished, and desired.
And then he had laughed. And she had run home, feeling every bit the gullible country girl, and cried.
Sophie was saved having to relive that painful memory, yet again, by the sound of the carriage door opening. She blinked twice at the footman, before realizing they had reached the Cole town house. She allowed herself to be handed down and then took a moment on the front steps to square her shoulders and clear her thoughts.
Rockeforte was a cad, a rake, a bounder and…several other atrocities that didn’t come to her at the moment. He was not worth the effort it required to be angry and definitely not worthy of her tears. In the future she would, quite simply, have absolutely nothing to do with the man.
“Sophie! What ever are you doing standing on the steps?”
It took a moment for Sophie to realize the voice was coming from Kate, who was leaning out an upper-story window. Sophie remembered the young woman’s propensity for clumsiness and cringed.
Kate seemed not to notice the precariousness of her position. “Do come in. Mira and I are most eager to be off. Oh wait!” Kate disappeared for a moment and then returned to the window, dangling half her body over the window sill. Sophie was relieved to see a hand dart out and latch firmly on to the back of her dress. “Don’t bother, Sophie,” Kate called cheerily. “We’ll be right down.”
In good time, Mirabelle, Kate, two maids, and two footmen were arranged in, on, and around the moving carriage.
It was hard to retain a bad mood in the company of Kate and Mirabelle. Kate’s natural buoyancy and Mirabelle’s quick wit had Sophie smiling, then grinning, then laughing before they reached the fashionable shopping district of Bond Street.
And then of course, there were the shops themselves. Sophie’s previous London shopping excursion had been rushed and purposeful, really much more of a chore. Ambling from store to store without lists or agenda was a world removed from trying to obtain an entire wardrobe in under a week.
The girls were a lively pair, far more interested in having a pleasant time than searching for that perfect bonnet or the newest muslin. By Sophie’s calculation, they had visited a dozen shops in under two hours and had, among the three of them, purchased two new ribbons and a quill.
The whole morning had been really quite wonderful, marred only slightly when Kate had tripped over what Sophie could only assume was her own feet and collided with a portly gentleman coming out of a bookstore. He didn’t seem the least put out by the incident. Kate had looked adorably sheepish during her apology and in the end, the man had somehow contrived to take the blame for the incident and walked off with a rather foolish sort of smile on his face. Mirabelle had looked like she very much wanted to roll her eyes, and Sophie barely contained her laughter until the hapless victim was out of earshot.
By the time they stopped for ices at a confectionary shop, Sophie was feeling remarkably better.
“Oh! Look, look it’s him,” Kate cried, nearly toppling over her chair and half the table in an effort to obtain a better view of a young man walking slowly down the far side of the street. Mirabelle steadied her friend’s chair with a practiced ease.
“Him who?” Sophie asked.
“Lord Martin,” Kate whispered reverently.
“She has a tendre for him,” Mirabelle explained.
Sophie moved an ice before Kate could knock it over as she leaned out even farther. “You don’t say,” Sophie replied dryly.
Turning her attention to the window, she eyed the young man with academic interest. She estimated Lord Martin near her own age, perhaps a year or two older. Tall and blond, with wide shoulders and narrow hips and waist, he was impeccably turned out in a green coat of fashionable cut, fawn breeches, and the requisite Hessians. He was also too far away for an accurate assessment of his facial features, but even from a distance she could tell he was handsome. Sophie could certainly understand Kate’s interest. Lord Martin seemed to embody every current standard of masculine beauty. Almost too well. She squinted. Then cocked her head.
“He pads,” Mirabelle supplied.
“What’s that?” Sophie asked.
“Mira!” Kate exclaimed at the same time.
Mirabelle turned to answer Sophie first. “The use of padding to enhance the shoulders or thighs is a fairly common practice among gentlemen these days,” she explained before turning to Kate. “So, I am not disparaging your Lord Martin. I was merely stating a fact.”
Kate gave a disbelieving snort before returning her attention to the view. “With what I wear to transform my natural shape, I would be the proverbial pot calling the kettle black to judge Lord Martin.” She watched the man until he disappeared around a corner, then settled back in her seat with a sigh and gave Mirabelle a small smile. “I don’t doubt your sincerity, Mira,” she said sweetly. “Only your accuracy.”
Mirabelle shrugged. “To be honest, his legs may very well be…well his, but his shoulders are not. I noticed it when we waltzed. They’re not squishy exactly, but—”
“You waltzed with him?” Kate demanded. “I cannot believe you didn’t tell me that you waltzed with him!”
Mirabelle’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t be silly, of course I told you. You insist upon hearing every detail of every occasion at which both his lordship and I have been in attendance. I tell you when we’ve danced together, or talked together, or even walked in the same room together.”
“Danced together, yes,” countered Kate. “Waltzed together, no.”
“Waltzing is dancing,” Mirabelle rejoined.
“A quadrille is a dance, a waltz is…is….”
“A serious of established steps set to music, therefore, a dance,” Mirabelle finished for her. “Like any other.”
“Except,” Sophie remarked, “that it’s possible to employ the word as both a noun and a verb.”
Kate and Mirabelle looked blank.
“It does seem notable that one may waltz,” Sophie continued, “as well as dance a waltz.”
Kate thought about that for a moment. “I waltz, you waltz, he, she, it waltzes…you’re quite right, Sophie.” She turned her attention back to
Mirabelle. “It’s not as if one may say ‘I was quadrilling with Mr. so-and-so,’ or ‘Thank you, Lord Whomever, I enjoyed reeling with you.’ Not without sounding foolish anyway.”
“Oh very well,” Mirabelle conceded with a chuckle. “I’m not entirely certain it’s incorrect to refer to oneself as having been quadrilling, but I will grant that it’s highly undesirable.”
“And alter your future reports accordingly?” Kate inquired.
“If you insist,” Mirabelle sighed.
“Oh, I do.”
Mirabelle turned to Sophie with a rueful smile. “Kate’s been madly in love with Lord Martin since the tender age of eight,” she explained.
“I’ll not deny it,” Kate responded pertly. “And thank you, Sophie, for your assistance, it was very cleverly done. I so rarely win these arguments with Mirabelle and find I quite enjoy the sensation.”
“It’s not for lack of trying,” Mirabelle replied. “You would argue with a brick wall.”
Sophie laughed. “Perhaps you’d have fewer losses if you chose your battles more carefully.”
Kate snorted. “Where’s the fun in that?”
They finished their luncheon immersed in the same light sort of conversation. Sophie enjoyed every minute. She enjoyed the laughter, the closeness, the good-natured banter that never slipped anywhere close to the boundary of cruel. She enjoyed having friends. Yesterday she had enjoyed their company, but today she was enjoying their friendship.
She had real, honest-to-God friends.
The joyful headiness that accompanied that revelation was nearly overwhelming. Sophie had never had friends before. Not since her sister had died. These were young women her own age whose company she wanted to be in and who, in return, wanted her own. They included her in their jokes and tales, their secrets and dreams without awkwardness or artifice, and she felt accepted.
“Good Heavens,” Mirabelle cried, startling Sophie out of her reverie. “Look at the time!” She reached into her reticule and drew out a few coins which she placed on the table. “I’ll see you at your home, Kate. That should cover my share.”
Kate looked at the coins and sighed. “Won’t you let me—?”
She stopped at the sight of Mirabelle’s glare.
“Very well,” Kate muttered.
Sophie reached for her own bag. “Are you not returning with us, Mirabelle?”
Mirabelle shook her head. “No, I have another errand to run, but I won’t have you two late on my account. I’ll take a hackney back. And stop looking at me like that, Kate, I’ll take one of the footmen along with one of the maids, and your mother need never know.”
“I don’t mind waiting if you’d like,” Sophie offered.
“That’s kind of you, but I insist you return to your Mrs. Summers. She sounds a veritable hawk.”
“Usually,” Sophie said. “But she’s been remarkably lax of late.”
Mirabelle pressed a kiss on Kate’s cheek and then turned and did the same to Sophie. “I’ll see you tomorrow at tea then,” she said, and left.
It hadn’t been a request, but an open invitation. Sophie only barely managed to conceal the huge smile that would have reached from ear to ear and no doubt served to make her look half mad. She had friends.
Kate and Sophie settled their bills and headed out into the street to await their carriage. It really was a lovely day, sunny but with enough chill in the air that Sophie did not feel overheated in her layers of clothing.
“Our driver should be around any minute,” Kate remarked conversationally. “One of the…I say, what ever is that girl doing?”
Attempting to figure that out for herself, Sophie didn’t immediately answer. A young girl, or perhaps a woman—she was too swathed in rags for Sophie to make a reasonable determination of age—had skirted out to the very center of the street and crouched over the cobblestones. Her back was turned to the girls but even so, Sophie could see that she was digging at a gap between two stones with her fingers.
“Do you suppose she’s lost something?” Kate asked hopefully.
“I think she has, but I sincerely doubt it’s anything tangible,” Sophie replied sadly. The woman was quite obviously mad. It was a common enough affliction, and there was precious little that could be done, or would be done, for women like the one in the street. She might be locked up in a third-rate asylum, which, considering how horrific first-rate asylums were rumored to be, would likely do more harm than good. Or perhaps she would just be run off and left to starve. Sophie wondered if she could approach the girl with the offer of assistance. At the very least, she could offer her enough money for a proper meal and a place to sleep.
She had no experience dealing with a madwoman, however, and wasn’t quite sure how to go about it. What if she were violent?
“This street is usually quite busy,” Kate murmured. “This can’t be safe.”
Kate was right. Bond Street was a favorite haunt for young unmarried ladies, and therefore, an ideal hunting ground for young gentlemen. Sophie had seen them parade up and down the street all morning, showing off their new mounts, their fancy carriages, their fast phaetons…like the one now careening around the corner.
Both the girls started and gasped at the sight.
“Look out!” Sophie yelled waving wildly at the oncoming phaeton.
“Get up, girl!” Kate cried at the crouching figure.
Neither took notice of the screeching girls on the sidewalk. The young man behind the reins was too busy craning his neck to see who might be watching his daring little drive, and the girl, well, there was simply no telling what she was doing.
“Get up!” Sophie yelled again and amazingly enough, the girl did. She turned to face the phaeton, and made absolutely no move to get out of its path.
“Dear God,” Kate whispered in horror.
Sophie didn’t hear her. She was already moving forward.
Ten
It would have been a spectacular display of heroics.
It would have been hailed as bravery personified.
It would have been, had not the girl decided to jump to safety of her own accord at the last possible second, leaving Sophie running full tilt and off balance.
She had thrown herself forward in an attempt to grab the girl and hurl them both to safety by means of brute force. Now she was hurtling quite alone with her feet moving too fast to stop and too slow to catch up with the top half of her body. She felt a burst of air as the phaeton raced past, missing her by inches. She should really just fall. She knew she should. Eventually, she would have to. There was no pulling out of it now, and if she didn’t fall, the only other way she could possibly stop would be to—
Sophie caught a glimpse of the carriage door before she hit it. Then everything went black. Her legs gave out from under her. She anticipated the hard impact of the cobblestone on her knees and had a brief hope it would distract her from the blinding pain of her forehead. It never came. Instead she landed on something soft, warm and…
Oh no. Please no, please no, please!
When the smell hit, Sophie realized no amount of begging was going to save her.
She felt Kate tug her arm. “Get up, Sophie, you’re kneeling in horse—”
“I know!”
Sophie ignored the snickers and outright laughs of the crowd beginning to circle, and allowed Kate to help her to her feet and assist her to the sidewalk. She forced her eyes open.
“Are you hurt?” Kate asked with quite the most sympathetic expression Sophie had ever seen.
“No,” Sophie replied miserably. And why the devil not? Surely, if one were going to throw oneself headfirst into the side of a carriage, one should expect to be rendered unconscious.
Preferably for several days.
“Are you sure?” Kate continued staring at her forehead. “You took a rather nasty blow to the head and were babbling something awful there for a moment.”
“I was swearing.”
“Really? In what language?”
/>
“Mandarin, I think.”
“Oh.”
“Do stop staring at my forehead, Kate, I’m quite all right. I just want to leave.”
“Oh, I believe you, that you’re all right that is. It’s…it’s just that you seem to have struck the earl’s coat of arms on the carriage door and you now have the most astonishing imprint of a fleur-delis”—Kate pointed to Sophie’s forehead, slightly left of center—“right there.”
Sophie touched the offending spot gingerly and groaned. Really, could things get any worse?
Kate titled her head objectively. “I wonder if it will bruise like—oh, look, here comes Alex.”
Oh. Dear. God.
Sophie felt her fingers fall from her forehead. She didn’t suppose there was any real chance he had failed to witness her humiliating episode. He was coming from a shop on the corner that, naturally, had two large windows facing both streets.
“Let’s just wave and go,” Sophie whispered in a panic.
“We’ll do no such thing,” Kate sniffed. “It’s cowardly.”
Sophie looked down at her manure-smeared gown and made a decision.
“I can reconcile myself to that.”
“Pfft, you’d only regret it later,” Kate stated firmly. “Besides, at least a dozen members of the ton are here, several of them notorious gossips, and all of them will now witness the Duke of Rockeforte coming to see to your welfare. It will go a long way to repair any damage done to your reputation by your little mishap. Now chin up and smile.” Kate’s speech had come out low and rushed in an attempt to finish before Alex arrived.
“Are you hurt, Sophie?” Alex looked concerned rather than amused. Sophie wasn’t sure if that fact made her more embarrassed or less.
“No, I’m quite well,” she mumbled.
“What is your full name?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your full name,” Alex repeated. “What is it?”
“You can’t be serious,” she scoffed.
He took her face in both his hands and leaned down closely, too closely. Really, they were in a crowd of people. Most of them were beginning to disperse, but all the same what could he be thinking? She saw his eyes catch on her forehead for a moment before his gaze met her own.
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