Pride Of Honor: Men of the Squadron Series, Book 1

by Stein, Andrea K.

  From the look on Miss Brancelli’s face, Arnaud strongly suspected she would prefer to be anywhere else than spend one minute more in his presence.

  When Lady Lydia produced a stack of old, weathered cards the effect on Miss Brancelli was immediate. Her eyes widened and anger fired the light hazel into a deep, luminous brown. She reluctantly accepted the ancient cards with Italian notations. Gypsy cards. Although reading such cards was something the haute ton probably considered “cheap” and “vulgar,” he didn’t care.

  After the initial shock left her face, Miss Brancelli stared up at him, resignation throbbing from her body. Thank Her friend, still chattering, seemed hell-bent on plying her quirky charm on Cullen.

  Thoughts of the convenient widow he planned to marry drifted to the back of his mind. The brandy Lord Howick provided after dinner probably had contributed to his warming toward Miss Brancelli.

  Sophie sat across from Lydia at a round table of dark mahogany, shuffling the old cards. She pointed toward the remaining chairs around the table. “Please sit.”

  A strange frisson coursed through Arnaud. He who had faced many a cutlass-wielding pirate and slave runner trying to board his ship. He who had survived countless storms at sea. He was unnerved by Miss Brancelli and the strange cards.

  But, in a change of heart that caught him unaware, he realized he’d do anything, risk everything, to spend a few extra moments with this woman.

  Chapter Five

  Sophie pondered the first card she turned over in the arc of cards she'd drawn after Captain Bellingham shuffled the deck. The gaudy painted Empress stared up, taunting her. When she lifted her gaze to him for a moment, she forgot what she was about to say.

  Arnaud smiled. “Is it that bad? I can take whatever the cards throw my way. Trust me." His clear blue eyes twinkled with humor that seemed second nature to the man. When heat rose from her neck to her cheeks, she swept a quick glance around the table to make sure no one else had noticed the embarrassing exchange.

  Doctor MacCloud was engaged in conversation, his head close to Lydia. Her friend stared past his shoulder, grinning and waggling her eyebrows. Sophie would make Lydia pay later. Something painful.

  Her friend had stolen into her bed chamber and snatched the cards Sophie kept hidden away in a cloth bag. They were very old, handed down in her father’s Venetian family from long ago. Somehow, the cards seemed to “speak” to Sophie whenever she handled them, or did occasional spreads for Lydia or herself. She could not believe Lydia would expose both them, Dr. MacCloud, and Captain Bellingham to most certain ridicule and censure if anyone suspected what they were up to.

  Sophie adjusted her shawl tight around her shoulders. “There’s nothing to worry about, Captain Bellingham," she said. "The cards merely pick up something from your life, and it's up to me to intuit what they might mean."

  "Then please proceed. I am in thrall. And please, my friends call me Arnaud.” When she responded with a wrinkled nose and pained look, he raised his hands in surrender. “Of course not. You don’t know me that well. You can call me anything but a senseless boor, at least not to my face.”

  His open manner was contagious, and Sophie laughed along with him, then sobered when she proceeded with the reading.

  "There is a woman," Sophie began cautiously, "a powerful, older woman in your life, who could have a great influence on your future." She bent her head to turn the next card, and the Queen of Cups appeared. "She has a great deal of money, and will add to your wealth," Sophie continued. This time when she glanced up, the captain's teasing smile was gone.

  "I'm so sorry," she said. "I've upset you." She turned an angry look on Lydia. "I never should have agreed to this silliness." Sophie moved to sweep the cards from the table, but a strong, sun-weathered hand covered hers, stopping her.

  "Please, go on. I want to know. Truly.” His smile reappeared. "Let's hear the rest."

  Until that moment, Sophie had no idea how much she craved his smile. So what if she was thwarted at every turn in her efforts at respectability? She could deny him nothing. This man could be dangerous. Dangerous did not begin to describe how caring for him could destroy all her plans and hopes.

  Her hand trembled when she tried to pluck the next card from the deck, and the ornately painted piece fluttered out of her hand to land facedown.

  Arnaud reached across the table and covered her balled fist with his own. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I vow no one will speak of what we do this night. You have my word.”

  Sophie pulled her hand back as if scalded. “How can you be so sure?” Lydia turned away from her dark look.

  She snatched up the last card and turned over the Fool. “Someone is manipulating events now unfolding.” Her gaze flew to Arnaud. “Be careful. All may not be as it seems.”

  “Enough.” Arnaud put his hands on the table and culled the cards into a neat stack. He re-shuffled the deck and handed the cards back to Sophie. “No more serious talk. We’re here to play a game.” He stood suddenly and walked to a side table where numerous boxes sat in ordered piles. He returned to the table with fresh cards for whist. “Let’s play a round of something safe, no surprises.”

  Sophie tucked the offending Italian deck back into her reticule and flashed Arnaud a grateful smile.

  Arnaud shuffled the cards with a vengeance. Cullen gave him an odd look while setting up a scoring list beneath the names of the two sets of partners.

  “What are you looking at?” Arnaud demanded.

  “I’m wondering how long before you shred the cards and we have to get another box.” His ship surgeon’s smirk made Arnaud’s hands itch to swat him.

  “Yes,” Lydia said. “Please deal before we fall asleep. My grandmother outdid herself with all the courses at dinner tonight.” She made a show of rubbing her stomach and stifling a yawn. “The plum cake was so good, I had a second slice.”

  Lord Howick chose that moment to enter the game room. “Lydia, please keep your observations on food and bodily functions to yourself.”

  Both Arnaud and Cullen leapt to their feet.

  Howick nodded. “Gentlemen, please enjoy yourselves, but try not to keep Miss Brancelli and my daughter up too late. She’s had a terrible upset this week, and I would hate to see her have a relapse. She needs her rest.” He gave both girls a fond look.

  Arnaud and Cullen bowed slightly as Lydia’s father made to leave. “Thank you so much for inviting us to your home and allowing us to ascertain for ourselves the two young women are recovering from their experience,” Arnaud said.

  “It is my pleasure, Captain. My mother hosts dinners throughout the Season, and, of course, Miss Brancelli is like one of the family. We are deeply indebted to you and Dr. MacCloud for saving them from those ruffians.” At that he turned and disappeared through the doorway.

  After a short, uncomfortable silence, Arnaud tried to ignore the blazing high color in Miss Brancelli’s cheeks and looked at the other card players. “Shall we play? Dr. MacCloud, I believe you should be first dealer.”

  Dr. MacCloud slid the shuffled cards to his left to Sophie. She took a short stack of cards on top of the pile and pushed them toward Cullen. He began to deal each player the requisite thirteen cards. In the midst of a rapid slap-down of cards, he asked Arnaud, “Have you discovered anything about the kidnappers or why they accosted Miss Brancelli?”

  Captain Bellingham picked up his hand and flipped the cards into quick, expert order with long, dexterous fingers.

  Sophie flinched and looked away. The array of cards in her hand gave her the usual sense of desperation. What to do next? She hated card games.

  Captain Bellingham tipped back in his chair and gave Dr. MacCloud a look. “I found some street urchins who I’m sure saw something. I have crossed their grubby little palms with silver and a promise of more. That may yield additional details.”

  Sophie choked on a sip of water. “Captain, I appreciate your concern, but I cannot allow you to champion my safety.
”

  “Why not?” Dr. MacCloud finished sorting through his cards and pointed a thumb toward Captain Bellingham. “He sticks his nose into everyone else’s business. Why not yours?” Dr. MacCloud placed a low club trump in the center of the table.

  Captain Bellingham placed his cards face-down and leaned toward Sophie. “I want to make sure you’re safe and happy. I feel responsible since I was there and saw how determined those fellows were in their attempt to drag you off. Can you think of anyone who would wish to hurt you? Anyone at all?”

  Sophie stared a little too long before lowering and shuttering her eyes. “No, there is no one who would wish me harm. Perhaps they were confused and mistook me for another young woman.” She kept her gaze lowered and struggled to make sense of the array of cards in her hand.

  Lydia wrinkled her nose and out-trumped Dr. MacCloud. “La, I wish you would play cards with us more often.” She took the trick and jerked away from a jab from Sophie’s foot beneath the table.

  “Sir.” Lydia leaned away from Sophie and apologized. “I wish only for your scholarly company. We would much more enjoy your charming, civilized conversation rather than trouncing you at cards.”

  “Is there no one you can name? Think,” Captain Bellingham said, undeterred from his probing questions. “A rejected suitor? Someone your father might have known?”

  “No one,” Sophie said. “Not a soul.” Her heart hammered until she thought the fickle thing would spring free from her tight corset. Even she had rummaged through her memories for an inkling of something, anything to explain who would waste such hatred on an illegitimate orphan with little to commend her in society.

  She had no idea what dowry her grandmother might have left her, but she doubted such a small sum would make her the target of kidnappers.

  “Then it’s settled,” Captain Bellingham finally said.

  “What is settled?” Sophie asked.

  “My mother and I will accompany you to all the Season’s events. That is the only way to ensure your safety.”

  “But,” Sophie said.

  “No, it’s settled.” He nodded toward Lydia at his side. “I will discuss this with your father, Lord Howick. I know he will agree.”

  Sophie dropped her cards to the table and buried her head in her hands for a moment before continuing.

  The rest of the game passed in a blur. Sophie barely registered what cards she played unless Lydia jabbed her under the table. Of course, Lydia, ever knacky with cards, ended the game taking the most tricks along with Dr. MacCloud.

  Arnaud flagged the first footman he saw pass through the long corridor outside the game room. The young man carried a tray with a used tea service on its way back down to the kitchen. Arnaud leaned his head close and asked, "Where is Lord Howick?"

  The young man gestured with a slight incline of his head, toward the library at the end of the hallway.

  "Thank you," Arnaud said, and the servant hurried on toward the downward staircase.

  Cullen walked beside Arnaud on his steady progress down the hallway. "Are you mad? You do not know Lord Howick well enough to impose upon his good graces and disturb him this late at night."

  "He is of the same mind as I am, I'm sure."

  "And that would be…?"

  “Miss Brancelli must be protected at all costs. Otherwise, she'll never find the right husband if these ruffians are allowed to roam free and threaten her again."

  "And you'll know when she's found the 'right husband'?"

  When they were outside the library door, Arnaud whirled toward his friend. "Are you questioning the wisdom of guarding this poor young woman?"

  "No, but I think you should take her wishes into consideration before thrusting yourself into Lord Howick's presence." Cullen raised his index finger. "Imagine this. She makes her debut at her very first ball in a magnificent gown. She's studied all the best advice on etiquette and learned all the latest dances. There she is, trying to be a normal, young husband hunter…with a scowling, old salt trailing behind."

  Arnaud poked his finger into Cullen's chest and demanded, "Are you saying we should stand by and let her ruin her life on her own, falling into God knows what kind of trouble?"

  The library door swung open, and Lord Howick stood there, glaring. "Do come in, or would you rather disturb the rest of the household with your rousing debate in the hallway?"

  Arnaud had time to give Cullen one last sullen look before Lord Howick pulled both of them inside and shut the door. He walked to a corner and pulled on the bell rope.

  "Gentlemen," he said, after returning, "please sit," and pointed toward the chairs surrounding the fireplace.

  The older man sat quietly for several minutes, making Arnaud wish he had never had such a numbskulled idea as to disturb the man in his own home. Lord Howick had powerful friends in Parliament, friends who held the purse strings, and power, over the Admiralty.

  After a few minutes, a servant came in, stealthy as a wraith, and deposited a brandy decanter and glasses on the low leather-covered table before the fireplace.

  Once the servant had shut the door behind him, Lord Howick leaned forward, giving both Arnaud and Cullen a slow, assessing look. "I've heard much about the two of you," he finally said.

  Arnaud was afraid to turn his head to see the expression on Cullen's face, but he hoped whatever Lord Howick had 'heard' was good.

  "Admiral Pellew speaks highly of both of you and your comrades in arms."

  When Arnaud and Cullen remained wide-eyed and silent, he continued. "Your exploits at the Battle of Algiers in ’16 should be appreciated by everyone in England. The families of the Christian slaves freed that day can never repay the debt owed all of you. I understand many of your fellow officers did not survive the battle."

  He took his glass of brandy and walked to the fireplace, where he paused for a long moment and stared into the flames. When he turned back to Arnaud and Cullen, the lines on his face seemed deeper, illumined by the fire. "My sister was one of the captives. She has her freedom now, but will never be able to reclaim the life she once had.

  "So, Captain Bellingham and Dr. MacCloud, I too fear for Miss Brancelli's future if she is exposed without defense to whatever forces are at work to manipulate her, and her grandmother's inheritance. She's spent a great deal of time with our family. She is Lydia's best, and probably only, true friend. My mother and Miss Brancelli's grandmother were the greatest of friends as well."

  His voice turned harsh. "I would warn both of you, however, that your own behaviors while protecting her, and Lydia, must be above reproach. You do not want to contemplate a future in the Royal Navy without my good regard. Is that clear?"

  "Perfectly," Arnaud and Cullen said in unison.

  "Then you should bid me farewell so that we can all seek our beds this night." He crossed to the bell once more, and soon a footman arrived to escort them out.

  Arnaud and Cullen scuffed along Piccadilly back to Arnaud's rooms at Albany after leaving Arnaud's mother, Honore, at her townhouse on Hanover Square. She’d offered her carriage, but they refused, saying they had "things to talk over."

  After many minutes of companionable silence, Cullen spoke first. "Do you think our encounter with Lord Howick went well, or are we worse off than before?"

  "We are certainly not worse off than before. I'm pretty sure he gave his consent to guard Sophie and Lydia during the Season, but I'm also dead certain he will have our hides if we make a mull of it." Arnaud kicked the carcass of a dead rat from the pavement into the refuse-littered street. "Does that answer your question?"

  "Close enough. That's what I thought I heard.” Cullen tipped his hat to the night watchman when they passed. "Do you have any absinthe left?”

  "A little, I think. Why?" Arnaud gave him an odd look through the mist sifting between them.

  "We need to fortify ourselves when we get to your rooms, so we can compose a list of any and all outcomes under which Lord Howick might consider we’ve bollocks’ed up p
rotection of those young women.”

  Chapter Six

  Sophie paced several times through the Howick townhouse ground floor foyer, peering at the empty silver tray on the round, polished mahogany table in the center. Though she took on a bored look of nonchalance, on her third trip through, the butler, Joseph, stopped her.

  "Miss Brancelli, is there something I can help you find?"

  "No. Not really. That is…"

  "Were you perhaps looking for this?" He drew a cream-colored envelope from a tray he carried. A calling card fell from beneath the envelope, and he stooped to retrieve the card from the floor, dusting off the small rectangle with his pristine, white cotton gloves before presenting it to her as well.

  She stashed the card inside her sash, but ripped open the envelope before remembering where she was. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she said, and stuffed the letter into a pocket of her green muslin morning dress. "Thank you for bringing the letter."

  “Is there anything else?"

  “Er, no, of course not,” Sophie said, and swept up the staircase to the second floor. Although Joseph, and all the others in the unseen Howick army of servants, were cool, professional, and distant, she felt as much of a kinship with them as she did with Lord Howick, Lady Howick, and Lydia. Lydia, who had led her down the shameful path of reading the cards the night before. Another secret she had to keep. If anyone in the ton suspected she practiced the gypsy art, that would be the end of her prospects for an alliance with a respectable gentleman.

  Lydia. Sophie loved her friend dearly, but she’d grown up in a household where no one could deny her anything. Her saucer-blue eyes had always flashed at the sounds of “shouldn’t” or “cannot.”

  Good Lord, Grandmama. Why did you leave me with such a difficult, perhaps impossible task?

  She continued to work her way down a long, marble-floored hallway and stopped at the first alcove, sinking to a low bench. She pulled the letter from her pocket, taking her time and holding her breath.