“Why in the name of all that’s holy am I able to command an entire ship’s crew, but cannot get my own mother to grasp a simple truth?”
“I’m to assist her later this week at Madame Bonheur’s with gowns for the Season. You’ll be here for a month or so at least. Why not attend some social functions and meet other young people?”
Arnaud’s voice turned low and ominous. “Mother, you know I’m well past the age of the young set of the ton.”
“You’re only four and twenty,” she accused.
“But most of those four and twenty have been spent doing things the ‘young set’ would blanch at, if only they knew.”
“Oh, absurdité - everyone loves a military man with all those shiny buttons and ribbon things,” she said, waving her hands in the air in a very French gesture.
“And besides, what if those ruffians decide to stalk Miss Brancelli again? What if the next time they’re successful? Maybe you should guard her at some of the events – surreptitiously, of course.”
He arched an eyebrow at her suggestion.
“You could stay in the background,” she continued, “and, heaven forbid, pretend to be enjoying yourself while you guard her.”
Arnaud sighed and gritted his teeth. “Eight tomorrow?”
“Yes, my love.”
“Eight it is,” he said, and stalked away toward his mother’s glass-windowed orangerie. Honore’s spoiled tom slunk behind him in spite of the dark glare Arnaud threw his way.
Chapter Four
Arnaud leaned back onto one of his mother’s delicate, filigreed iron chairs, the banded pattern digging into his back and seat. Vagabond invaded his lap and rumbled contentment.
He settled the rogue cat back onto the floor with a thud and pulled an equally uncomfortable footstool closer.
He looked up at a sound, and Dudley, his mother’s butler, appeared at the door with a bottle of brandy and a heavy crystal glass. The servant lifted his chin in a silent question toward Arnaud and raised the tray a bit.
“Of course.” Arnaud motioned him over.
After the butler settled the bottle and glass next to Arnaud, he asked, “Is there anything else you require, Captain Bellingham?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. I crave some insight. Is my mother suffering from a particular fit of boredom, or has she always been this interfering?”
“The answer to the former is, of course, no. I’ve never known your mother to be bored over the last twenty years. As for the latter, I would not presume to comment.”
Arnaud smiled and stood, clapping Dudley on the shoulder. “I forget how much you’ve always shielded us from as much unpleasantness as possible. My mother is lucky to have you.”
“I am the lucky one to have served your mother all these years. Will you require a refill of brandy, Captain?”
“No. I have an early day tomorrow at the Admiralty. Amazing how many obstacles they put in your way to refit a prize ship.”
“Right,” Dudley said. "I'll bid you a good night," and he disappeared back into the main house, pulling shut the greenhouse door behind him with barely a sound.
Arnaud tilted the dark amber liquid in his glass and took a sip. He rolled the brandy around inside his mouth and savored the rich flavors before swallowing and letting the alcohol slide down his throat with a satisfying burn. Good brandy was a luxury he intended to enjoy as often as possible before he had to return to his patrol off the west coast of Africa.
At a tap at the door, he stared a moment before saying, “Come.” He regretted the interruption but didn’t wish to appear surly to his mother’s servants.
Dudley opened the door and intoned, “Dr. MacCloud.” Arnaud’s ship’s surgeon Cullen strode through the opening. Arnaud stood and motioned for his friend to join him. “Thought you could use some company.” Cullen winced when he sat heavily onto the metal bench Arnaud pointed to next to his own chair.
After setting another crystal tumbler onto the brandy tray, Dudley surveyed their awkward moves on the unyielding metal seats and said, “Pillows. Your mother has plenty of extra pillows in her sitting room. I’ll be right back.”
As soon as the man left, both Arnaud and Cullen broke into laughter. “Why do I never remember the appalling lack of comfort amongst my mother’s hothouse furnishings?” Arnaud reached over and gripped his friend’s hand. “What brings you out so late?”
“I was curious about the young women we helped yesterday. What happened after you followed their carriage home?”
Arnaud swirled his brandy around and regarded Cullen across the rim of the glass. He rested one booted foot across his knee and leaned forward. “The young women are fine, but now that my mother has called on the Dowager Marchioness Howick and met the girl the kidnappers tried to snatch, she’s convinced I’ve developed a tendre for the chit.” He took a quick swallow and grimaced.
“Do you know her name yet?” Cullen leaned forward.
“Sophie.” Arnaud drew out the name and slanted his gaze down at his glass.
“What did you do to make your mother think you’re attracted to Sophie?”
“Nothing.” Arnaud scowled at his friend.
Cullen gave him a long look. “Now I know something’s up.”
“It’s just…I asked my mother to check on the girls, and…”
“And what?”
“She met Sophie, and now she’s convinced I must be in love with such a beautiful creature. Maman thinks I’d never have asked her to call otherwise.”
“What else did you do to send your mother into matrimonial spasms?” Cullen asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.
“She doesn’t care for my plan to wed the widow.”
“What’s wrong with the widow?” Cullen’s eyebrows shot up.
“Nothing,” Arnaud said a little too forcefully. “Maman doesn’t like the idea of my marrying for practical reasons.”
Cullen’s mouth dropped open. “She expects you to marry for love?”
“My mother is French, very French. She thinks love is the only reason for marrying. And now she’s maneuvered me into a dinner at Howick House tomorrow night.”
Cullen grinned and slapped Arnaud on the back. “I can hardly wait to see how you extricate yourself from this one. Make sure you come to the club after dinner. I don’t want to miss a moment of this farce. No matter what, though, you’re going to end up leg-shackled before our next tour of duty.”
When Cullen raised his glass in a mock salute, Arnaud gave him a sour look and tipped the rest of the brandy down his throat.
Sophie couldn’t eat. She picked at the buttery toast she usually consumed by the stack. Her tea cup sat still two-thirds full, the contents cooled. A slice of ham on a side plate remained untouched.
Lydia gave her a knowing smile. "Sophie's got a beau," she singsonged.
"I do not," Sophie said, and gave her friend a light push on the shoulder. "Stop trying to make it so."
"I don't care if you want to be an old, unmarried bluestocking. I can't wait to see Captain Bellingham's fellow officer, the surgeon, again."
"His friend?"
"Yes. Dr. Cullen MacCloud,” Lydia fairly jiggled in her seat. "When Grandmother found out he's the son of the king's Scottish surgeon, she invited him and his father to dinner as well."
"I hope you're happy. Now we'll have to face both of those men again and relive the horrors of the other day." Sophie stuck out her lower lip and glared at Lydia.
Lady Howick entered the breakfast room, and they stilled. She said nothing for a moment before chiding Sophie. "Pushing out your lower lip will encourage wrinkles no amount of cream can fix.”
When Lydia smirked at her friend for receiving the brunt of her grandmother's ire, Lady Howick added, "And you, Lydia, need to mind your table manners, or no self-respecting gentleman will have anything to do with you. No leaning on your elbows. Ever."
Sophie and Lydia snapped into proper posture and cast down their eyes until the dowager marchio
ness took her seat at the breakfast table.
After a footman filled her plate and placed it in front of her, Lady Howick gave her charges one last severe warning look before tucking into a mound of thin ham slices and a stack of buttered toast.
Arnaud sat opposite his mother in their carriage. She looked very self-satisfied and beautiful in delicate lavender silk and a long woolen cape against the crisp night air. She’d said very little on the short trip from their home in Hanover Square to Howick House on St. James Square. After an elegant stretch, much like one of her dratted cats, she turned a mischievous look his way. “Are you ready to face the guns of society?”
“I’m not amused, Maman.” He gave her a reproving look. “Matchmaking does not become you.”
“And why not? You would remain a cranky old bachelor, or worse, if I did not take an interest in your affairs.”
Arnaud had grown up under the loving ministrations of a doting mother. The woman facing him in the opposite seat represented a wholly different woman he neither understood nor appreciated.
“I’m afraid you may not sufficiently understand my situation.” He leaned forward, calloused hands on his knees. “I need a mature woman who understands how to negotiate the rocky political shoals of the ton and the Admiralty.”
“Ah, but Arnaud, she’s so beautiful, and so, so…what you need. And then there’s Lady Howick’s nephew,” She wrinkled her nose as if the thought of the man were repugnant. “I'm sure he has designs on Sophie's dowry, and I don’t like the greedy look in his eyes whenever he settles his gaze on her. You have to save that poor young woman.”
Arnaud threw up his hands and leaned back against the squabs just as the carriage jostled to a stop behind two other conveyances near Howick House. He shook his head and breathed a silent prayer for strength to get through the evening without his mother proposing on his behalf.
Standing in the Howicks’ opulent drawing room, Sophie trembled and blamed the cool fall evening. When she excused herself to return to her room to fetch a shawl, Lady Howick tutted and asked one of the footmen to retrieve the warm covering.
“You must stay here, Sophie, and help greet our guests. You don’t want to miss greeting Captain Bellingham, do you?”
Sophie’s face heated with embarrassment and she shook her head. “Of course not.”
As if summoned by the mention of his name, he and his mother were announced. Dr. MacCloud and his father followed close behind.
Lady Howick made her way toward the elderly physician and linked her arm with his. “You must share the latest court gossip,” she said, and guided him toward a settee near the fireplace. She turned her attention toward Arnaud and Honore and beckoned to Sophie and Lydia to join them.
Sophie hung back a moment to retrieve her shawl from the young footman who had fetched it from her room two floors above. She pulled the rich, woolen paisley tight about her shoulders and smiled at the memory of the day her father had surprised her with the extravagant gift.
She’d been on her hands and knees scrubbing floors in their little stone cottage. He’d pulled her to her feet and scolded her for ruining her hands with housework before swirling the precious shawl around her and dancing her around their tiny drawing room. The gift had been an extravagance they could ill afford. And, of course, she’d had to manipulate the household budget for the month to accommodate the expensive purchase.
“Sophie—” Lady Howick’s commanding voice floated across the large, opulent drawing room, bringing her back to the present and emphasizing her predicament. “Please come speak to our guests. After all, they are here to inquire after your well-being.”
She moved quickly across the room, her slippers sliding without a sound across the lush floral landscape of a light blue Aubusson carpet. She nodded to Mrs. Bellingham and then turned, waiting for Lady Howick’s lead with introductions.
“Sophie, please meet my guests, the elder and younger Doctors MacCloud and Captain Arnaud Bellingham. And, of course, you remember the captain’s mother from her visit yesterday.”
"So good to see you again, Mrs. Bellingham, and I am very pleased to make your acquaintances," she added, nodding toward Arnaud ands the MacClouds.
“Come sit by me, Sophie.” Lady Howick patted the settee cushion next to her.
The elder Dr. MacCloud inclined his head and inquired, “Do you have any lingering effects from the fright you suffered?”
Sophie flashed him a bright smile and said, “It was really nothing since your son and Captain Bellingham intervened so quickly. I barely had time to realize I was in danger.”
“Did the kidnappers put their hands on you or hurt you?” The dratted physician would not stop questioning her.
“I honestly do not remember. There was so much happening, and I was so frightened…” Sophie’s voice trailed off.
At that moment, the butler saved her from further interrogation by announcing dinner was served.
Lady Howick assigned Sophie to walk in with the young Dr. MacCloud while Captain Bellingham accompanied Lydia. They faced each other across the long dining table. Sophie smiled at the captain across the divide.
Although Sophie was no stranger to long, formal dinners at Howick House, this one had her on edge. Once the white soup course was served, most conversation paused while the guests tucked into Cook’s elegant version.
She was seated across the table from Captain Bellingham, with Lydia at her side. Teddy, unfortunately, was the lone bachelor out and somehow had contrived to be seated on her other side. When he leaned close to her ear, ostensibly to share an on dit, instead he asked, “Do you think the duke might relent and sponsor your coming out after all?” She snapped her head toward Teddy and his outrageous question and then returned to staring straight ahead, knowing she had to control her reaction. She knew his game. He sought to bait her so that she’d break down in front of Lady Howick’s guests. The taste of bile rose in her throat, destroying the finish of the luscious soup.
Just as Sophie was wondering how to avoid the blush spreading down her neck toward the daring neckline of the dress she’d borrowed from Lydia, Captain Bellingham intervened. Teddy had leaned toward her again and seemed about to spew forth more nastiness.
“I say, Mr. Seaton. Can you recommend a decent tailor?”
Teddy’s head whipped around at the unexpected interruption. “What an interesting question, Captain Bellingham. I haven’t considered ordering a new coat in a while.”
Lydia appeared to be turning purple from trying to stifle a laugh. Sophie feared to breathe, feeling trapped between the two men. She had no idea where the strange conversation would progress from there, but there was a definite feeling of animosity crackling between them.
“My surgeon and I went to our former tailor this week to order new shirts and discovered he’s no longer in business.” Captain Bellingham refused to break the steady stare with which he gripped Teddy’s attention.
Teddy seemed at a loss for words when Lord Howick interrupted from his end of the table opposite the dowager marchioness. “My tailor on Savile Street is the man you need to see. He’ll meet you at your accommodations at Albany. My valet, Sergeant Randall, will arrange everything and send you a message.”
Sophie clenched her teeth and gripped the edges of her chair, wishing she could sink to the floor and disappear. She longed to thank the captain for interrupting Lydia’s annoying cousin, but feared any further mention would agitate the tensions between the two men.
She took several deep, calming breaths before risking a glance at the captain. When she finally had the courage to face him again, he gave her a slow wink probably calculated to escape the attentions of the other guests. After several pointed looks down toward his hands, she leaned forward and accepted a crisp vellum envelope he extended toward her beneath the table.
After covert looks to each side, she hazarded a peek inside. Her lost poem on crumpled, dirty vellum, slipped out, complete with the missing lines. A bit tattered and muddy
from lying in the street in front of the milliner’s shop, but still intact. She wanted to cry but instead managed a shaky smile in his direction.
A quick fluttering in the vicinity of her heart stopped like a cog dropping into place. Captain Bellingham was a man who would take care of her without considering whether she wanted to be taken care of or not. She couldn’t decide how she felt about his attentions. Uncomfortable, definitely. Dangerous to get too used to unwarranted comfort.
When the final pyramid of rainbow-colored ices arrived, Sophie could not believe she’d survived the evening, and then Lydia leaned toward Captain Bellingham and in a loud whisper, shared, “Sophie is most wonderful at cards. Perhaps the four of us could share a game of whist.” She sat back with the smile of a cream-sated cat until her grandmother shot her a look of censure. “Of course, not until you and the other men have enjoyed your cigars and brandy,” she added in haste.
“We appreciate the offer,” Arnaud said, “but we wouldn’t want to stay overlong and impose on Lady Howick’s hospitality.”
“Nonsense,” Dr. MacCloud interjected. “I love a good game of whist.” He gave Captain Bellingham a hearty clap on the back. “We should not deny ourselves the pleasure of Lady Lydia and Miss Brancelli’s talents.”
If not for insulting Lady Howick, Sophie would have laid her head on the table and sobbed. The humiliating ordeal was not over.
Many cups of tea later, Sophie and Lydia gave their excuses and walked down the first floor’s long hall to the small game room.
Arnaud and Cullen made their way to the game room, accompanied by a footman. The floor was covered entirely with marble blocks, inlaid to resemble a chessboard. All the furnishings in the snug room were of red or black polished woods, mirroring the look of a chess board.
Pride Of Honor: Men of the Squadron Series, Book 1 Page 4
