Denney’s answer was a noncommittal grunt, but he refrained from further rebuke. Instead, he turned his attention fully on Pilkington. “I do notice a fair amount of spirits circulating, my lord. I would assume you are keeping close watch on your guests? Nothing good comes from inebriation.”
“Most assuredly.” Pilkington nodded. “Which is why Lady Pilkington has also provided fruit punch at the refreshment table.”
Anthony gave Lord Pilkington a head bow and excused himself from the conversation, breathing a sigh of relief as he moved away, hoping to intercept Sophia as the set finished. His reprieve was short-lived, however, as he was waylaid by four corporals dressed as a shepherdess and three sheep. He found it oddly fitting.
“Corporal Mailor.” He managed a bow for the shepherdess.
“I said you would be recognized straightaway, Mailor!” said one of the sheep as the other two guffawed.
“And Corporal Larson. What a delightful ewe you make.” Anthony smiled at the young man as his fellow flock elbowed and laughed.
Mailor, who had flushed at his friends’ laughter, now joined in. “Stowcroft and Carlton wanted to be pirates, but I convinced ’em to try something new.”
“You certainly managed that.” Anthony glanced past the four young men and caught glimpses of Sophia’s blue uniform as Dylan escorted her from the floor.
“Not as unique as he might have thought!” Corporal Carlton also watched Sophia’s movements. “Seems you weren’t the only one to try something new, Mailor. And might I add, the lady looks much better as a soldier than you do as a shepherdess.”
The three sheep and the shepherdess turned as one toward Sophia, and Anthony scowled at the lot. One of the sheep whispered something to the others, and Anthony was fairly certain the boy should have his ears boxed. He couldn’t be sure, though, and he wasn’t about to ask the lad to repeat himself, so with a brief eye roll, he left them and headed for Sophia.
Chapter 7
Sophia caught her breath as the highwayman made his way through the crowd. She would know him anywhere, in any disguise. His fluid movement was graceful and athletic, not a gesture wasted, his focus complete. It was centered completely on her, and for a moment she forgot everyone else in the room. Rachael had just entered, dressed as Joan of Arc, and Sophia had intended to join her at the refreshment table. Instead, she stood rooted to the spot.
“My dear Miss Elliot, what a dashing figure you cut.” Anthony smiled and bowed over her fingers, his eyes very green against the black of his mask.
“I must return the compliment. You must be the world’s most handsome highwayman.” Sophia heard the breathless tone of her voice and mentally chastised herself.
“Might I interest you in a turn about the room?”
“I should be delighted.” Friends, friends . . . friendship is fun.
She placed her hand in the crook of his arm, and he bent his head to comment on the ballroom’s elaborate décor, which resembled the Roman Colosseum. That voice, his very scent. She closed her eyes for the briefest of moments and felt as though she had truly come home.
“It is most creative,” she managed to respond. “Have you seen our hostess?”
“Yes, indeed, and she is a resplendent Pompeia.”
“And most assuredly above reproach.” She smiled at her sponsor, who held court among her guests as though born to it.
As they neared the refreshment table, Sophia noted a man lavishly attired as a maharaja, his clothing a blending of purple, orange, and blue silks. “Who is he?”
“That is the prince’s cousin, Taj Darzi. He is soon to ascend the throne, as his cousin, Prince Ekavir, is reportedly gravely ill. Lord Pilkington speaks highly of Darzi and says his approach to relations with the British is one of cooperation with an eye to future success.”
Sophia studied the man in question as he accepted a pastry from Lady Pilkington, who was all smiles. He was much younger than Sophia had thought at first glance. “Suddenly the chatter begins to make sense.”
“Which chatter is that?”
“The women of the Fleet have been exchanging gossip with the ladies of the Residency. It seems the prince’s cousin is quite the catch, but has yet to show preference for any one woman despite his frequent visits both here and at other British enclaves. Rumor has it he would prefer a British wife to further Anglo-Indian relations, but it could prove problematic.”
Anthony nodded. “Their offspring would face resistance from either culture. I suspect Professor Gerald may have felt some of the sting. Though Mr. Darzi and his potential bride may have an easier go of it than some, as Mr. Darzi will soon be royalty.”
Sophia frowned. “Rather unfair. People are often cruel.” She looked at Mr. Darzi with a woman’s discerning eye and found him very pleasing in form and aspect. Tall and handsome, with strong features and both wealth and influence to aid his cause. He would likely have his choice of brides and she said so to Anthony.
“Would you number yourself among those vying for the title of princess?”
Sophia looked at Anthony, wondering if there was something in his face that would mirror the slight edge to the tone she thought she’d heard. The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile, and she dismissed the notion that she might have heard jealousy in his voice.
“I just might. Imagine that—Sophia Elliot, former lady’s maid, becomes a princess.”
“You hardly need the formal title to put a name to what the rest of us already know, Princess Sophia. You are everything that is regal and fine.”
“Ah, yes. Spoken like the ‘elder brother’ that you are. One could accuse you of partiality.”
“One could. But one would be wrong. Come, I’ll introduce you to Mr. Darzi.”
The prince turned at Anthony’s greeting and smiled as Sophia was formally presented to him. “A pleasure, Miss Elliot! And I must add that your costume for the ball this evening is most original.” He gestured to himself and two companions. “I fear we are not nearly so. We wear the region’s traditional dress—much more intricate than our usual attire—yet I have been contemplating something more exciting for Lady Pilkington’s next costume ball.”
Sophia smiled. “And will you share your ideas, sir?”
“Ah, but I mustn’t.” He glanced conspiratorially to one side. “I should hate to be overheard and find my costume duplicated.” He paused, and then offered a sheepish grin. “Truthfully, I cannot conjure a single original idea.”
Sophia laughed. “Might I suggest Lady Pilkington’s costume collection? It is vast and exceedingly clever.”
Major Stuart quietly approached Anthony and apologized for interrupting, then pulled him aside.
The prince turned at a nudge from one of the men standing at his side. “Miss Elliot, allow me to introduce my two companions, Dhruve Sai and Eshan Verma. They shadow me endlessly, rarely allow me a moment’s peace.”
The men chuckled, and Sophia curtseyed, offering her hand to both men.
“He is the cousin of a prince and seeks constantly to distract his friends who would protect him.” Mr. Sai was both taller and heavier than Mr. Darzi by a significant amount, and he eyed Mr. Darzi with what seemed to be good humor. There was an easy familiarity about the three men that spoke of comfortable friendship, although Mr. Sai and Mr. Verma were clearly tasked with the prince’s safety.
Mr. Verma was the shortest of the three, but there was a lean stockiness to his build that suggested he knew his way around the business end of a scuffle. She spied a slight irregularity at the men’s waistbands beneath their lavish silk tunics. Guns, most likely. At least a sharp knife or two.
Sophia chatted with the trio a moment longer, fascinated at the men’s excellent English and polished skills. Given the attitudes of many British women she’d met thus far, she’d expected their behavior and manners would be lacking. The theory prevalent amon
g the Europeans seemed to suggest that Indians were rather childlike in their intellectual capabilities, and as non-Christians, certainly lacking in knowledge of a proper deity and the social mores that accompanied it. And yet Sophia realized quickly that Taj Darzi could hold his own in any ballroom or dining room or gentlemen’s club in London.
The crowded ballroom seemed to have a life of its own, breathing with the swell of people and growing stuffier by the minute. Sophia considered shocking the attendees all the more by removing the heavy jacket she wore and simply walking about in her shirtsleeves. She was prepared to make a polite escape onto the verandah when she noticed Mr. Darzi’s attention fixed on somebody else in the room. Curious, she followed his gaze but could see only throngs of people dressed as sheep, circus animals, Greek gods, and clergy. Try as she might, she was unable to discern the person or group that held his attention so steadfastly.
A man wearing a Bengal tiger mask approached Mr. Darzi and patted his shoulder with a large paw, asking after his cousin, the prince.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Sophia murmured to Mr. Sai and Mr. Verma, who both nodded with a bow, their attention focused on the man in the tiger costume. By Sophia’s best guess, the tiger had already helped himself to a fair amount of the Pilkington’s champagne, and the prince’s two protectors shifted subtly, more aware and alert.
As the musicians started up again, she made her way to the wide double doors that led onto the verandah. The air was significantly cooler there, and while many people took advantage of the space, their numbers paled in comparison to the crush inside.
Sophia wandered to the edge of the verandah, which was in essence a balcony screened to keep out bugs and pests. She looked through the netting and took a deep breath, daring to unbutton her topmost button on the uniform jacket. The breeze was light, and cool against her neck. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling myriad scents that blended together—flowers and foliage, spices from the kitchens—and notably absent were the combined scents of overpowering perfume and body odor that invariably found their way into any public gathering within an enclosed space.
She found the breeches extremely comfortable and wished for all she was worth that women’s fashion would change overnight so that, come morning, she could don the ensemble again without raising so much as an eyebrow. The ease of movement when not encumbered by yards of material was astounding. When she had seen the outfit in Lady Pilkington’s costume room, she had grabbed it but wondered if her sponsor might take issue with her choice. On the contrary, Lady Pilkington clapped her hands in delight and helped her locate boots and a small shirtwaist.
Someone joined her at the railing, and she turned to see Rachael Scarsdale in her Joan of Arc ensemble. “Do you also require a breath of fresh air?” Sophia asked her friend with a smile.
“Do I ever! Mercy, but it grows warm in there. I just danced with Dylan and wondered if I might faint before the thing was through.”
Sophia laughed. “Your cousin is a good man. He is very kind.”
Rachael eyed her speculatively. “Do I detect a note of interest? I do not mind admitting that I would be thrilled if such were the case. While cousins do often marry, Dylan and I have ever been as siblings, nothing more.”
Sophia released a light sigh and looked through the screen netting at the dark world beyond the verandah. “I would love nothing more than to admit such is the case, but I find my heart still in a state of befuddlement.”
Rachael patted her hand. “Fret not, my friend. The befuddlement will come to an end before you realize it and your heart will be unencumbered.”
Sophia looked at her dubiously. “I should think you must be very much mistaken, but I know you are nothing if not practical and intelligent. I will believe it because you say it.”
“Do you feel sufficiently refreshed to jump back into the fray?” Rachael motioned to the ballroom behind them.
Sophia smiled. “Indeed. And if I should faint from excessive heat, perhaps someone wonderful will sweep me off my feet.”
“Literally, if you’ve fainted!” Rachael laughed, and Sophia couldn’t help but join in. Rachael did not speak in great detail about her life in England, but her sense of optimism and amusement with society made for pleasant, diverting company.
Once back in the throng, Sophia and Rachael were besieged by a horde of gentlemen who wished most ardently to quench their thirst with drinks or to secure a dance. Strains of a waltz drifted through the room, and Rachael allowed herself to be escorted to the dance floor. Just as Sophia had decided to do the same, Anthony appeared at her side.
“If I might have the honor?” He held out his hand.
Chapter 8
“Hey, now,” a gentleman interrupted. “The lady was set to dance with me!”
Anthony looked the man—who was dressed as Humpty Dumpty—up and down before turning back to Sophia with one brow raised.
“I would love to dance the next set with you, Mr. Dumpty.” Sophia smiled at him, and he nodded somewhat irritably. Anthony didn’t spare the other man a glance as he grasped Sophia’s fingers and escorted her to the edge of the dancing couples. He placed his hand high on her back as she stepped into his arms.
He swept her into the swirling mass of couples, and she suppressed a sigh of contentment. He maintained a very respectable distance between the two of them, which was in marked contrast to the last time they had danced the waltz together nearly two years ago. He had held her much more closely, then, more familiarly.
“You disappeared. I was beginning to wonder if you’d left the party for the night.”
“I needed some fresh air.” She paused. “Are you looking for someone?”
Anthony’s eyes were scanning the ballroom just beyond her head, but at her question, he snapped his attention to her face. “No. Well, yes.”
“Oh?”
“There is a sea captain who frequents the Residency when he is in town, and I must extend felicitations from a former colleague. Major Stuart told me he saw the seaman not twenty minutes ago, though I cannot seem to locate him.”
Sophia wrinkled her brow. “These must be crucial felicitations indeed, if you are so determined to find him.”
“Yes, I . . . yes.”
Sophia cocked her head as he turned them smartly away from another spinning couple. Something in his demeanor was off. “You’re flustered.”
He glanced at her in surprise. “I am not.”
“Why must you find this man? Truthfully, this time.”
“Too perceptive by half,” he muttered.
“Perhaps you seek to avoid him? Does he have a sister who is an opera singer or actress, by chance?”
His eyelids lowered, and he shot her a flat look. “You should not believe everything you hear, Miss Elliot, and no, I am not avoiding him. I am not at liberty to explain, but it is important I locate him.”
“Secrets, hmm? Very well, tell me what costume he wears, and I will help you look.”
“Stuart tells me Captain Miller is dressed as a court jester. And the man is not small in stature. He ought to be spotted easily enough.”
“A court jester . . .” Sophia looked at the groups of people standing against the walls and in the corners as Anthony continued to guide them smoothly around the room, but she couldn’t find much interest in locating a court jester when she was finally dancing with Anthony Blake again. She was aware of everything about him and could focus on little else. That he was distracted and searching for a random stranger began to grate on her nerves.
Movement at the ballroom’s double doors caught Sophia’s eye, and she nodded toward Major Stuart, who clearly sought Anthony’s attention. “I believe your friend needs you.”
Anthony turned her so he faced the doors. She felt him tense and miss his footing ever so slightly, and that small error, while not noticeable to most, told Sophia all sh
e needed to know. Anthony was extremely invested in finding the sea-captain-turned-court-jester, and she wondered if he would be so gauche as to leave her in the middle of the waltz. Surely not. It would be a stain upon her character, rather like delivering her the cut direct.
To his credit and her relief, he finished the last two minutes of the dance, and while he tried to redirect the conversation, he was clearly distracted. Once the music came to an end, he led her from the floor, bowed, begged her to excuse him, and left the room with Dylan Stuart.
Sophia stared at the doors, baffled beyond words and too curious by that point to be insulted. Mr. Humpty Dumpty approached her for the next dance, but she claimed a sudden headache, managed to make an apology, and beat a hasty path to the door before she could be besieged by any other well-meaning gentlemen. The hallway outside the ballroom was frustratingly full of people. If nothing else came from the evening, Lady Pilkington had solidified her role as the Most Successful Hostess in the Entire British Empire.
Sophia moved further down the hallway, peering through open doors into rooms that were available for guests to mingle. Anthony was not in the library, the billiard room, or the lounge where gentlemen enjoyed a glass of spirits and conversation about their impressive selves.
She made her way to the front foyer and large atrium that boasted a high domed ceiling, a multitude of plant life, and several benches for conversation. Where on earth could he have gone? She knew by now that he sought to reclaim her good opinion of him, though dancing with her in such an abrupt and distracted manner would not further his cause. Something about the mysterious sea captain must be of greater importance to Anthony than he’d admitted.
She frowned and put her hands on her hips, deep in thought as she wandered from the atrium to the front hall. She crossed the hall to the wing of rooms on the other side of the ballroom. A few doors were open, but most were closed, and she didn’t see a highwayman or a handsome prince anywhere.
She traveled the length of a darkened hallway—the sconces had been extinguished—her attention drawn to a pool of light that spilled from a room several doors down. As she neared the room, she heard agitated exclamations that were quickly shushed. She reached the room but hid just outside and peeked around the doorframe, hoping the occupants wouldn’t notice her.
The Secret of the India Orchid Page 6