“You can’t ask for more than that,” Mirabelle stated with confidence. “The Coles always keep their word. It’s a point of pride for them.”
Sophie accepted that. “Thank you, Evie.”
“You may thank me properly by sharing your secret, and mind you make it a good one,” she said good-naturedly. “I’d hate to think I went through all the trouble of clearing my good name just to hear how he sent you tulips and touched your bare hand.”
Sophie grinned. “He has never sent me flowers. And he kissed me, or rather, we kissed.”
There was a three-way intake of breath and then,
“When?”
“Did you like it?”
“See, I knew I’d like her. A real kiss or just a peck?”
Sophie wasn’t sure whom to answer first, so she thought she might start with the last first. “It was a real kiss,” she said, feeling her cheeks heat. “I liked it very much, and the first time was at the Pattons’ ball.”
“The first time?” Mirabelle croaked.
“It’s happened once or twice since,” Sophie replied evasively.
“Well, which is it?” Kate asked. “One or two?”
“Four.”
“Oh, my.” That came from both Kate and Mirabelle.
“Oh, now I know I like you,” Evie declared with a satisfied smile. “But the first time is the most memorable, isn’t it?”
“Evie’s kissed one of the grooms,” Kate explained with a roll of her eyes.
“Who is rather attractive,” Mirabelle pointed out.
“He’s a veritable Adonis,” Evie said.
“Have you…that is, are you still…?” Sophie wasn’t sure how to ask whether Evie was carrying on an illicit affair with a member of the staff.
“Alas, it never went beyond a few kisses before he moved on to greener pastures. But enough about that, these two have heard all about it. Tell us about your Alex.”
“He is not my Alex. And there isn’t much else to tell. We kissed that first night and…”
“And…?” All three prompted at once.
Sophie cringed. “And then he laughed.”
“Oh, no,” Evie murmured, sounding slightly more amused than dismayed. “What ever for?”
“He said it was the situation.”
“What the devil does that mean?” Evie asked.
“I have no idea. He did apologize, though.”
“I should hope he did a great deal more than apologize,” Mirabelle declared indignantly.
“What ever he did, it should have involved flowers, candy, poetry, an enormous amount of flattery, and an even greater amount of begging,” Kate added.
Mirabelle nodded her approval before adding, “A little punishment would not have gone amiss. Self-flagellation would have been appropriate in this case.”
“And a horse hair shirt afterward,” Evie suggested.
“But not before the salt,” Mirabelle returned.
“Oh, naturally,” Sophie laughed. “But none of them were necessary. Besides,” she said sobering, “I’m not looking to Alex for a declaration, and I’ve received no indication that he’s looking to give one.”
“Are you sure?” Kate asked gingerly.
“Yes, on both accounts. I think it likely he is only playing the rake, and even if he were not, he would never allow me to return to my father.”
“And you’re certain that’s what you want most?” Evie inquired softy.
Sophie nodded, but for some reason she didn’t feel as confident as she had three weeks ago. This business with Alex was affecting her more than she realized. More than she could afford. “It’s best to leave what’s happened between me and Alex in the past. I need to concentrate on the gentlemen on the list. Speaking of which, Evie….”
Several days later, Sophie had three new names on her list and had crossed out two. The three additions were middle-aged gentlemen without sons, but with nephews and male cousins they would be happy to see as their heirs. Her list thus fortified, she’d felt safe abandoning the chase of the two men she felt were the least suited to her needs, Mr. Johnson and Mr. Fetzer. The first made her skin crawl, and the second was so ancient and frail looking she felt guilty even contemplating dragging him into a loveless marriage.
Over the next three days she threw herself into the party, participating in almost every event scheduled. Unlike other house parties she’d heard about, which provided ample daytime pleasures for the men while the women were left to find their own amusements until evening, Lady Thurston had provided diversions for the ladies. There were morning rides, archery tournaments, dancing lessons, picnics, parlor games, a trip to the nearby village, and tea every afternoon.
Sophie tried everything to distract herself from her worries, playing the role of perfect guest by day and adorable debutante by night.
By the fourth day, she was on verge of tears. Nothing had succeeded in dislodging, even for a moment, the suffocating pain in her chest. She missed Alex with every breath. And to make matters worse, she had crossed off nearly every name on the list. Lord Verant had made a comment about the questionable wisdom of letting females travel to “such uncivilized lands” and had been the first to go. Mr. Carrow had then nodded vigorously, necessitating his own removal. Lord Chester had let it slip that he was courting a young woman of considerable wealth, and Mrs. Packard had made it clear that her son, Sir Andrew, was expected to do the same. Sophie looked over the remaining names and made a decision—she would ask Sir Frederick…soon.
When it was over and done with, she could explain everything to Alex. If he still wanted to be friends, then…. Well, somehow “friends” didn’t sound appealing. She didn’t want to be friends with Alex. She wanted so much more than that. She wanted everything—which was unlikely to happen, and would be a disaster if it did.
“Ugh. There’s simply no winning…. I’ll just marry Sir Frederick and hope for the best.”
Her only other option was to marry Sir Frederick and fear for the worst.
Twenty
The first ball had had no theme beyond a color scheme of gold and white, but the second ball was a masquerade.
Lady Thurston confided to Sophie that the mid-party ball was her favorite because the guests provided the most elaborate decorations. And she was right—some of the masqueraders had costumes that went past elaborate and straight into bizarre. The woman in the feather gown was certainly an odd sight. Most guests, however, chose costumes that were considerably tamer. Many, like Sophie, opted for an ordinary ball gown, but all of them wore masks.
The secretive atmosphere suited Sophie’s plans perfectly. She needed to return to Lord Forent’s study, since she had been unable to get into it on the night of his ball, and she needed to pay a visit to Sir Frederick. She would do both to night.
London was less than two hours away. And who would miss one more partygoer in a pale rose dress with a demimask? Mirabelle and Evie might, but she intended to ask for her friends’ assistance anyway.
Alex certainly wouldn’t notice her absence. She’d been all but invisible to him for the entire week, receiving only formal greetings and polite inquiries when they met in the hall or were thrown together for a game of whist. And God help her, she’d been sorely tempted to find ways to be in a position for even those small scraps of interaction. But she couldn’t do it. He had made his wishes known, and she would respect them.
She would engage herself to Sir Frederick to night, sneak into Forent’s office, return before morning, and then tell Alex everything first thing tomorrow.
First, however, she needed to find Mirabelle. Lady Thurston had mentioned that Mirabelle had returned to her room to fix a torn hem, and Sophie had immediately offered to seek her out and offer assistance. She couldn’t sew two stitches in a straight line, but the opportunity to speak with Mirabelle about the best way to go about sneaking out of Haldon Hall was too good to pass up.
She made it to the stairwell landing in the west hall when she heard
the first muffled cry for help, and she was halfway down the hall before she could hear the sounds of a struggle and pinpoint which room they were coming from. Sophie picked the lock in record time and barreled into the room.
Mr. Jarles had Mirabelle pinned against a bed, one hand covering her mouth and the other grabbing at her skirts. Mirabelle was clearly fighting him, but the man was a good three times her size.
“Let her up!”
Surprised by the intrusion, Mr. Jarles loosened his grip on Mirabelle long enough for her to give him one mighty, disgusted shove and scramble off the bed. Sophie pushed Mirabelle behind her, then reached down to her ankle and retrieved one of her knives.
Mr. Jarles climbed off the bed in the nonchalant manner of a man who had never been held accountable for his sins and had no intention of being subjected to that practice now.
Sophie watched him warily as he brushed off his coat and went through the motions of straightening his cravat.
Behind her, Mirabelle’s breath came in ragged gasps. “I didn’t want that,” she whispered. “I didn’t invite—”
“I know.”
“We should go,” Mirabelle urged.
Sophie didn’t answer. She held her knife by the tip and brought it up for Mr. Jarles to see. “You will remove yourself from this house party before morning. You will give whatever excuse your little mind can manage in the next hour, and then you will take yourself off to some other estate where you can spend your time devising a way to never come within a hundred yards of Miss Browning again. Do I make myself quite clear?”
Mr. Jarles looked unconcerned. Completing the affectation of righting his appearance, he walked to a dresser and picked up a glass half filled with a dark liquid.
“I’ll do nothing of the sort. The chit’s undowered and unprotected. She’ll only end up a mistress.” He leaned against the wall carelessly and added, “Might as well be mine.”
“And,” Sophie continued, as if he had not spoken at all. “You will apologize to her.”
Mr. Jarles made an ugly snort. “Apologize? To a whore?”
Sophie threw the knife at his head. It embedded itself in the wall two inches from his ear with a solid thump.
Mr. Jarles paled and dropped the glass.
Mirabelle let out a little squeak.
Sophie retrieved her other knife and held it up for him to see. “Apologize.”
It took him a moment, but eventually he rasped out a terrified little, “Sorry.”
Sophie wiggled the fingers on her free hand at him. “Nimble fingers,” she reminded him. “Remember that while you’re packing.”
He didn’t seem inclined to argue, so Sophie took Mirabelle by the hand and led her out of the room.
“Are you all right?” she asked, as they walked briskly down the hall toward the guest rooms in the east wing.
Mirabelle nodded shakily and smoothed the front of her skirt in a nervous gesture. “I’ll be fine.”
“We should find Lady Thurston.”
“No.”
Sophie was surprised by the vehemence in Mirabelle’s voice. “But she needs to—”
“No,” Mirabelle repeated firmly. Then she sighed and stopped to face Sophie. “Please understand, Sophie. Lady Thurston is like a mother to me. She has done more for me…she means more to me than I could hope to express. I won’t say or do anything to upset her.”
Sophie considered that for a moment. “Whit then—”
Mirabelle gave a humorless little laugh and resumed walking. “Whit wouldn’t trouble himself over my concerns, except maybe to offer to buy the man dinner.”
Sophie refused to believe that, but now wasn’t the time to argue the matter. Mirabelle was understandably on edge, and a discussion of Whit’s sense of honor, or lack thereof, would only upset her further.
“Someone needs to make sure he leaves,” Sophie said instead.
“He’ll leave,” Mirabelle replied flatly.
It took a moment for Sophie to realize the full implications of that statement.
“This has happened before, hasn’t it?”
Mirabelle nodded without looking at her.
Sophie cleared her throat. “Last time…did he…how did you…?”
“I kneed him in the groin.”
“Oh,” Sophie replied, duly impressed. “Good thinking.”
A whisper of a smile passed over Mirabelle’s face. “Evie taught me. She learned it from one of the maids. Unfortunately, it’s hard to use that trick on the same man twice.”
Sophie had seen the effects of that particular maneuver once. It did seem the sort of thing a man would learn from quickly.
They stopped outside Mirabelle’s door. Sophie waited while Mirabelle retrieved her key and turned it in the lock. She paused in the motion. “Thank you for what you did tonight, Sophie.”
Sophie felt herself blush. She was uncomfortable in the face of such earnest gratitude. “It was nothing,” she replied in a falsely bright voice. “You would have done the same for me.”
Mirabelle gave a small laugh at that and finished opening the door. She waited until they were both inside, then turned back and relocked it. “I certainly would have tried,” she said, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “But I’m afraid I haven’t your talent with cutlery.”
“You could learn,” Sophie offered, sitting down.
“I hesitate to ask after everything you’ve already done for me, but do you think you could teach me?”
Sophie grinned. “Absolutely. And if you’re so terribly concerned over being in my debt—which is patently untrue, mind you—I have just the solution….”
Mirabelle showed her a rarely used passageway out the back of the house. She agreed to spread the word that Sophie had the headache and should not be disturbed, then enlisted Evie’s help in bribing the stable hands to hitch Sophie’s team in secrecy, while Kate went in search of extra carriage lanterns. Sophie knew it would look silly, but she intended to have the carriage as brightly lit as safety allowed.
She was on her way to London within the hour.
Alex noticed Sophie’s absence almost immediately. When he first entered the ballroom, he had caught sight of her, dancing with Mr. Johnson and looking decidedly unhappy about it. Of course, in his opinion she never looked overly pleased with the attentions of her admirers—despite her show of smiles and laughter—but this time her discontent was evident for everyone to see.
Interesting. Perhaps she had finally come to her senses. He meant to ask her that very question tonight—have you come to your senses? She damn well better have. He’d spent the entire week watching her every move from a distance, hanging on every word she spoke in conversations with other people, analyzing every expression, every wave of her hand, and every inflection in her voice. He’d even sent Whit on a scouting expedition. Clearly, he needed either to resolve matters with her soon or check himself into Bedlam.
He’d watched her dance next with Mr. Holcomb, looking only slightly less perturbed by the notion.
An excellent sign, he decided. He’d give her another hour or two to come to him, and failing that, he would devise a way to throw the two of them together, accidentally of course. He saw no reason for her to know the full extent of his mental decline.
He’d lost track of her for a while after that. The Earl of Efford had engaged him in conversation, then insisted he dance with his niece, Miss Mary Jane Willory—a stunning young woman whose attractiveness was greatly diminished by her malicious nature. Following the dance, the girl had insisted on introducing him to her dear friend, Miss Heins, a slightly pudgy girl who, even under a demimask, was clearly plain and clearly not a dear friend. But Miss Willory had cooed over the poor dear girl who hadn’t danced all night, and if His Grace could only see his way to rectifying the matter, Miss Willory would take it as a personal favor.
Alex had done his best to aid the mortified Miss Heins, claiming that the favor would be hers to him, that he would settle for nothing less than a w
altz, and that he could think of nothing better than to pass the time until then in her company. Miss Willory had been suitably abashed and taken herself off, leaving Alex to make stunted conversation with the nice but painfully shy Miss Heins.
Fortunately, a waltz was struck up almost immediately. His gentlemanly duty of dancing at least once a night with a wallflower thusly dispatched, Alex had taken a turn about the room looking for Sophie. And came to the unsettling conclusion that she had disappeared. He’d searched the entire ballroom, the terrace, the garden, and finally sought Evie for the purpose of checking the ladies’ retiring room.
Which is when Evie told him, “Sophie’s headache returned, she’s gone upstairs to her room.”
Alex’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Evie had never been particularly good at dissembling. She always tensed one corner of her mouth slightly at the fib, causing her scar to pucker a bit at the edge. And now that he thought of it, he hadn’t noticed her or Mirabelle in his search either. She must have just returned to the room.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Evie returned his searching look with an assessing one of her own, cocking her head slightly to one side and furrowed her brow. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” she finally asked.
Alex actually jerked in astonishment. Love? Love? He hadn’t even thought about love. Was he in love with Sophie? He was fond of her of course, cared for her, admired and esteemed her. Certainly he desired her more than any woman he had ever met. But was he in love with her?
“I can see that you are,” Evie murmured, and it took Alex a second to realize she was answering her own question, not his. “You’ll want to check on her of course, and I think, in the end, she might like that as well. But don’t bother requesting additional assistance in the matter. I’ve given my word.”
Alex didn’t bother asking for an explanation to that somewhat cryptic statement. Evie’s pointed tone told him enough.
As Luck Would Have It Page 20