“I am sorry, old boy.” Braxton did indeed look regretful. “Dreadfully sorry. If it weren’t so critical, I wouldn’t ask. You’re truly the only one who can do this—you have the knowledge, the resources, the persona already in place.”
“With any luck, I won’t need to use it for long.” Anthony stood and gestured toward the library door. “You should leave. I find I’m not much in the mood for company.”
The corner of the viscount’s mouth lifted. “You were never in the mood for my company anyway.”
“Is it any wonder? A meeting with you never did carry good news.”
“Be at my office in the morning. I’ll have more for you then.” Braxton clapped a hand on Anthony’s shoulder and took his leave.
Anthony rubbed a hand over his face and stared for a moment at the empty room. He poured himself a drink at the sidebar and wandered slowly to the mantel where the image of his late mother looked down on him benevolently. All will be well. He heard her familiar refrain echo through his thoughts and rolled his eyes. She’d lived for years with a lying, philandering husband that Anthony honestly couldn’t say he missed, an arrogant firstborn son, and a floundering second son who had made a general nuisance of himself trying to find his place in the world. All had not worked out well for her, and he marveled that she’d ever believed it would.
He braced one hand against the mantel and hung his head, frustration clawing at him until he felt he’d explode from it. With an oath, he hurled his glass into the fire and closed his eyes, steeling himself for what lay ahead. Because as much as he hoped he would find the Janus Document quickly, he had a feeling it would be some time before his world was set to rights again.
Chapter 2
Sophia—
This letter is one of farewell as I find myself yearning for the Continent. I have shared with you the stresses the earldom has thrust upon me, and I find I am simply not ready to embrace my responsibilities. Perhaps I am merely postponing the inevitable, but I am stifled here in Town. I must get away from London, from England, from all of it. I am hoping to rekindle former acquaintances and perhaps gain some much needed perspective.
I count you among my dearest friends and appreciate our association of the last several months as would a very fortunate elder brother. Indeed, if I could choose a sister for myself, it would be you. Jack is fortunate, and I envy his relationship with you. Perhaps in some small way, I have joined him in that affectionate, familial role, in seeing you launched successfully into your place in society. You glitter like the brightest of stars, and I am so glad to call you “friend.”
Ever affectionate,
Anthony
It had been almost two years since Sophia had received the letter that had crushed her heart into small pieces, and she still remembered every word. On occasion she wondered how she could have been so terribly wrong in her assessment of their relationship. Friendship, he had called it. He regarded her with all the tender affections of a brother.
Her mind circled back, unbidden, to their time together. Waltzes where he’d held her perhaps just a bit too closely, the stolen moments on London’s finest balconies and in her most beautiful gardens, silent communication with flowers both sent to the house and worn on his lapel, glances across the dinner table, picnics with Jack and Ivy, parties at the Stansworth country estates and at Wilshire, flirting over card games, and long conversations in the drawing room after dinner, quietly confiding things she’d never told anyone.
He had helped her and Ivy establish their school and had extended his compassion for the indigent women they sought to empower. She had listened with her whole heart as he unburdened himself to her about his troubled relationship with his father, his brother. She had grown to love so many things about him, not the least of which was the flutter she felt deep in her stomach whenever he entered a room, bowed over her hand for a dance, or scribbled his initials on her dance card with a wink.
Her brother most assuredly did not inspire similar feelings.
Sophia now stood on the deck of a sleek ship that sailed the Arabian Sea, approaching the west coast of India, and wondered for the millionth time how she could have so totally misread Anthony’s intentions. And more to the point, if she could ever move beyond the sting of having been firmly and definitively assigned the title of friend.
Sister!
For the love of Heaven.
The wind blew across the deck and tugged at a few curls that escaped her bonnet. The humid sea air wreaked havoc on her coiffure, and while she had appreciated the benefit of curly hair at home in London, somehow the added heat left her with an unmanageable tangle. Her maid, Briggs—how strange was life that Sophia Elliot had a maid!—did the best she could but often grumbled at Sophia for spending so much time topside in the wind and sea spray.
It would be good to arrive, finally, on solid land. The ship itself was commodious; a good majority of Fishing Fleet expeditions traveled from England to India in much poorer conditions. Jack had not been thrilled when Sophia had announced she wanted to go to Bombay with the Fleet, which had a reputation that wasn’t altogether positive, but she had to get herself out of London and every cursed drawing room and dance floor that reminded her of Anthony Blake. Her brotherly friend.
Jack had finally relented, insisting that Sophia travel with not only her lady’s maid but also an older woman who was traveling to India to visit her family. He’d also made arrangements with one of his former sea captain associates to transport this particular batch of women in comfort. Belonging to one of England’s wealthiest families had its advantages.
As a member of England’s Fishing Fleet—the contingency of single Englishwomen who, unsuccessful at securing husbands in London, traveled yearly to India to appeal to England’s military men and civil servants—she would be among people whose culture matched her own and yet could still enjoy the benefit of visiting a new country with all its wonders.
And if she happened to find a handsome man along the way, so be it. She’d had offers in the two years since receiving Anthony’s letter, but this was a fresh start, a new beginning, a grand adventure.
The ship continued its quick clip, and each nautical mile took them closer to Bombay. Sophia’s heart skipped in anticipation, and she looked upon the coastline with a thrill she’d not felt in some time.
Just before Sophia left London, Jack had received a letter from Anthony, who was in South Africa, of all places, and on his way to Bombay and then Calcutta. France must have proven too small, she supposed, for “rekindling relationships with former acquaintances” and the like. Of course he had associates in South Africa and in Asia. Where didn’t he? The ton buzzed with rumors of “that scoundrel, Wilshire” and his latest liaison with yet another actress or opera diva. The lords chuckled and elbowed each other, the ladies sighed, the matrons and chaperones pursed their lips, and Sophia fumed.
The letter Jack received from Anthony wasn’t the first, but it was the first time Sophia realized they had been communicating. She couldn’t very well voice any sort of outrage about betrayal or her hurt feelings that Jack had sided so clearly with the enemy, because she had outwardly downplayed Anthony’s desertion to such a level as to appear negligible on the scale of Things That Mattered to Sophia. Of course she missed their dear friend, but a lord must do what a lord must do, and really, the earldom was apparently much too stressful for one such as Anthony, a man who clearly was not yet prepared to be a man.
As much as she craved the sight of him, she hoped he would have moved on to Calcutta by now. If so, she could have her adventure, make her own way, and find a clean break from an earl who was too handsome and charming for her own good. Perhaps she might actually allow herself to develop fond feelings for another man, someone else to make her heart race, wondering if that night would be the one where he finally kissed her. Scandalous, to be sure, but Sophia had never had the pleasure of a kiss she welcomed
. Those she had experienced could hardly be considered kisses; instead she had suffered from aggressive, unwanted attention from men who sought to take advantage of her servitude in their grand houses.
And then Jack had inherited their grandfather’s earldom and Sophia had been transformed from lady’s maid to lady, literally overnight. She had had six glorious months with Anthony before he left, and she worried the sting from his abandonment would never fully leave.
The ship was still more than a mile away from shore, but the sights and sounds from the exotic country began subtly wafting from land to sea, and Sophia’s eyes widened at the foreign but pleasant stimuli as the country grew larger in her vision.
Jack had been to India several times during his days as a sailor, and she wished he and Ivy were with her now. She would have loved to see the country through his eyes, and she missed Ivy and their daughter, Catherine, like mad. Jack and Ivy were still as besotted with each other as they’d been on their wedding day. They were a lovely couple, despite their differences in both temperament and background, as natural together as if God Himself had introduced them to one another. And perhaps He had. All Sophia wanted from Him at this point was to strike a certain earl dead.
There had been a time when she’d imagined children of her own playing alongside her niece, Catherine—children with black hair and green eyes who looked like their handsome father. Her smile faltered, and she turned her attention outward, focusing instead on the lush landscape that grew ever larger in her vision. She was torn; she was finally embarking on a new adventure and it was eclipsed by images of an English lord who may or may not be within a few miles of her now, and who may or may not be in the company of an actress or an opera diva.
She narrowed her eyes, her nostrils flaring slightly, much preferring anger to heartache. Perhaps it was time to petition God again about striking him dead. That thought cheered her immeasurably, and she looked forward to the coastline with a smile.
Chapter 3
The early morning sunlight was warm, but not uncomfortably so. Winter was far and away the best time to be in India, and residents and visitors alike knew they had until roughly the end of March before the heat began its oppressive and deadly descent.
A bead of sweat trickled between Anthony’s shoulder blades. He stood in the shade of a large banyan tree outside the Resident’s mansion and looked down the long tree-lined drive at the approaching carriages with his heart in his throat, wishing he could blame the heat for the reason he perspired.
Dylan Stuart, his friend and a military major with the First Cavalry Light Brigade, stood next to him. He was tall, blond, and handsome, with an unapologetic smile on his face. “I do not believe I’ve ever seen you quite so undone, old man.”
Anthony scowled. “I am most certainly not undone.”
“Who is she?”
“I do not know what you mean.”
Dylan laughed. “Come now, Blake, I am no fool. I have known you for more years than I care to count, and I have never seen you rattled.”
Anthony glanced at him askance before returning his attention to the three carriages that grew closer. “The sister of an old friend might be with this Fleet. I am simply seeing to her welfare for his sake.”
Dylan’s lips twitched. “Of course.”
The only bright spot thus far concerning his time in India had been renewing his friendship with Dylan Stuart. The First Cavalry Light Brigade was headquartered less than a mile from the British Residency compound, and the area boasted nearly as many British citizens as Indian. Anthony had spent the bulk of his time over the last few weeks trying to pin down Captain Miller—uncle of Harold Miller, the man who had stolen the Janus Document—but the captain was proving as elusive as his nephew. He was frustrated and tired, and looking forward to the next few minutes with equal parts excitement and dread. He couldn’t decide if he wanted Sophia to be in one of the carriages or not. His task was unfinished, so he was still obliged to play his role, as distasteful as it was to him.
The carriages rolled to a stop at the front steps, and Anthony shoved his hands deeply into his pockets to keep from fidgeting. The first carriage, and then the second, deposited their occupants onto the sprawling front yard of the British Residency. Young women of all ages gathered on the lawn with exclamations of delight at the sight of the enormous mansion, the trees dripping with moss, the vegetation awash with colorful splendor. India was a country that invariably evoked an excess of stimulation to the senses—Anthony well remembered his first impressions.
He knew he should favor the ladies with his attention, if only to keep up his appearances of being an unconnected bachelor, but his heart wasn’t in it. Not when Sophia might be the next woman to emerge from the carriage.
Sophia was not among the number of women gathering so he moved slowly to the third carriage, well aware of Dylan hovering behind him like an amused shadow. The carriage held six occupants, and he began to wonder if Sophia had changed her mind about joining this Fleet. Jack had written to ask him to see to Sophia’s welfare, if possible, though he’d warned Anthony that Sophia had been hurt by his desertion. Anthony knew Jack was also frustrated by Anthony’s sudden departure from England to France, and it chafed that he was unable to enlighten his friend fully.
It also chafed that Jack had included a postscript to his note, casually informing him that Sophia had had offers aplenty for her hand since his departure.
Only one woman remained in the final carriage, and he moved forward to nudge the footman out of the way when her head finally appeared in the opening. Anthony’s heart pounded in his ears. Sophia. More beautiful, more radiant, more everything. His memories, hoarded and jealously reviewed in the quiet of his private hours over the last years, hadn’t done her justice. Before he did something foolish, like weep, he extended his hand and wondered what she was thinking as she stared at him, unblinking.
He cleared his throat. “Miss Elliot, such a surprise and delight to see you here.” His restraint was tested to its fullest as he fought the urge to grab her from the carriage and clasp her close. There had been a time and place in their relationship when such overt affection would not have shocked those who knew the two of them well. That time had passed, though, and now all he could do was wait to see if she’d ever take his hand and step out of the conveyance. He tried to smile but fell well short of the mark. His heart thumped, and a sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead.
The color had leeched from her face, and he wondered if she would faint. It would be a first—Sophia was one of the steadiest people he knew—and he couldn’t decide if he was pleased or upset that the shock of seeing him rattled her nerves. Her face flushed as blood returned to her cheeks, and she clasped his fingers, stepping out of the carriage.
He was at a complete and total loss for words. An ache in his chest bloomed and climbed into his throat, and he felt his eyes burn. He kept hold of her hand when he should have released it, tugging her closer by small degrees, trying in vain to truly read her.
“I have missed you,” he murmured.
He was gratified to hear the slightest hitch in her breathing, and after one . . . two . . . three long heartbeats, she withdrew her fingers from his.
Who could blame her for maintaining distance? He’d left her with the impression that they were very good friends and nothing more. He’d never confessed the depth of his feelings, his intentions to court her, and she’d never learned the true reason he’d left. The devil of it was, he still wasn’t at liberty to enlighten her. Until his business was finished, nobody could safely know the full extent of his mission.
“Sophia, I . . . that is . . .” He placed a finger under his collar, cursing the humidity, the starched shirtfront, the cravat, all of it.
“Jack mentioned you might be here, but I suppose I had assumed you would have moved on to Calcutta by now.” She took a quick breath. Her expression brightened and she
smiled. “It’s been such a long while. I do hope you’ve enjoyed your adventures. I suspect we shall have time later at dinner, perhaps, and you can entertain me with your tales.”
So that was how it was to be. He’d been relegated to the status of Admirer; he’d heard that tone in her voice and seen that expression on her face more times than he could count, directed toward gentlemen whose feelings she didn’t necessarily want to bruise, but whose attentions she didn’t necessarily want to encourage. He supposed he was fortunate she hadn’t smacked him upside the head with her fan—it was no less than he deserved.
“I look forward to it.” He smiled and regained his equilibrium with practiced playacting that had kept him in good graces more than once. He turned to Dylan, who stood at his elbow and watched with unabashed curiosity. “May I introduce my good friend, Major Dylan Stuart, who is currently stationed here in Bombay with the First Cavalry Light Brigade. I’ve known him since our early days at Eton, and we spent time together in France during the war. Major Stuart, Miss Sophia Elliot, granddaughter of the deceased thirteenth Earl of Stansworth and sister to the current earl.”
Dylan took Sophia’s extended hand and bowed, placing a kiss on the back of her fingers. “A pleasure, my lady.”
Sophia smiled, at her charming best. “My, that certainly is a long association! How wonderful to renew a friendship after so many years. Lord Wilshire is nothing if not constant in his affections for dear friends.”
Anthony winced.
“I believe we share an additional connection, Major Stuart,” she continued. “Your cousin, Miss Rachael Scarsdale, is also among our number, and we became friends on the voyage over.” Sophia craned her head to look at the crowd of young women. She called out to one with a beckoning motion.
The Secret of the India Orchid Page 2