He grunted at them, having long since elected to treat Sophronia as he did his sister, with a lack of deference and mild splats of brotherly affection.
Sitting as far away from Pillover as possible was Felix Golborne, Viscount Mersey. There was no love lost between the two boys. Sophronia was under the impression that this was mainly because Pillover was younger, practically middle class, and not a member of the Pistons. Felix was the oldest son of a very prominent family, a full Piston in bad standing, and deliciously sinister. The Pistons were a club of sorts, members of which distinguished themselves via fancy waistcoats, black eyeliner, and Pickleman politics. Although currently Lord Mersey looked more damp and disgruntled than anything else, the kohl about his eyes having run to form sad rivulets down his cheeks. His bronze-beribboned top hat was sagging. Sophronia could feel her cheeks flush. This transport was miles beneath his dignity, and to have him sit waiting in the rain… How would she ever live it down?
Piston or not, Viscount Mersey was still a gentleman. Noting their approach, he jumped down to assist them. His expensive black boots became all over splattered.
“Miss Temminnick, Miss Plumleigh-Teignmott, delightful to see you both. It has been too long.” He tipped his hat. The hat dripped on him.
Dimity blushed becomingly. Sophronia mastered her embarrassment enough to smile apologetically. “Good morning, Lord Mersey, terrible weather, isn’t it?”
“I’ll say!” His voice had dropped since she’d last seen him, and he was taller by a good few inches. He didn’t tower over her the way Soap did, but he was exactly the right height to dance well.
Lord Mersey assisted Dimity first.
“Good morning, Pustule,” she greeted her brother affectionately.
“Hoy up, Fatty?” was his gloomy response. Pillover was certain to be even more grumpish than usual. His customary occupation when traveling was to bury his nose in a book, but it was raining too much to read in the open cart.
“Agatha not with you?” he asked.
Dimity blinked at him. It was not like Pillover to distinguish between females, let alone ask after one.
“What? I like Agatha. She’s no fuss and doesn’t chirrup on. Unlike some people I know.” Pillover huffed.
“She’s well. I’ll tender your regards, shall I, brother dear?”
“No need to fuss.”
Dimity sat next to him, bumping his shoulder with hers. Then, showing some modicum of delicacy, she dropped the subject. They began to talk softly of family and friends. This was a stratagem on Dimity’s part to allow Sophronia private time to reacquaint herself with Felix.
Roger slouched, watching the aristocrats settle into as much comfort as was afforded under the circumstances. Then, at Sophronia’s nod, he clicked the pony into a brisk walk.
Sophronia, laboring under the guilt of such incommodious transport, opened the conversation consciously at a disadvantage. Lady Linette would have been shocked. “I do beg your pardon, my lord, for this. Carts are challenging, even on the best sort of day. The family carriage, please understand, was required to ferry Ephraim’s intended from the station. Mumsy does so wish to make a good impression.”
“Advantageous match, is it?” suggested Felix, the implication being it would take quite a bit to outrank him in worthiness of a carriage. Which was true.
“Indeed it is. Did I not write on it?”
“Little of the particulars. Never you mind, it’s a novel experience, this trap thing. My father tells me that soon such transports will be entirely obsolete, and private steam locomotives the thing.”
“Oh, do you think that likely? They would have to lay tracks practically everywhere.”
“I think our reliance on mechanicals should organically lead to ever more mechanical transport outside the home, don’t you?”
It was a little shocking that a duke’s son should be versed in rural matters and goods transport. “Yes, I suppose that would be efficient. It will be sad to see the countryside so scarred.”
“So said many townships when the railroads were constructed, and now look how far they have taken us. Wouldn’t you rather we had the option, now, for example, of a fast closed conveyance to one’s home?”
“Indeed I should.” Sophronia was disposed not to argue with the boy right off. She was more nervous than she ought to be, at this reacquaintance. She had forgotten how blue Felix’s eyes were. He also had this adorable lock of hair that seemed compelled, in the rain, to fall down over his forehead. Unfortunately, his conversational deviation did not bode well for their relationship, such as it was. When Felix and the boys had traveled with them into London almost a year ago, he had been almost obstreperously intimate with her. His flirting had been blunt to the point of rudeness, designed to unsettle. He had stated outright he intended to court her, even with all the obstacles of family, school affiliation, and politics. This, on the other hand, was an overly proper conversation, as if they were surrounded by polite society, or being monitored by parents.
Perhaps I was right, he really isn’t interested in me anymore. Sophronia nibbled her lip in aggravation. She didn’t realize that little gesture of nervousness did more to endear her to the young man than anything Lady Linette might teach.
“Your family seems most complicated, my dear Ria.”
Well, that was reassuring; he still utilized her pet name. At first she had hated his assumption of affection, but now, uncertain of his interest, she found it comforting. She shifted a little closer to him on the bench of the cart.
“There are an awful lot of us. Eight at last count,” she said.
“Goodness, your mother must be exhausted.”
“So she says, most of the time. Often claiming we will be the death of her. But she can hardly complain. She would keep going having children and most unwisely ended with twins. Silly of her. Should have stopped with me, it would have made a world of difference.”
Felix ruminated. “But then, how much more of a bother, between six and eight?”
Sophronia nodded. “I suspect that was Father’s argument. He seems happiest under a pile of children. Pity, as he works so hard away from home most of the time.”
“He works?”
“Only for the government. He’s home during the hunting season!” Ministry was the only allowable occupation for the gentry, and Sophronia wanted it quite clear that her father was a gentleman. Felix’s family might be on the rolls and extremely toffy-nosed, but there had been Temminnicks in Wiltshire for as long as Felix’s father, the Duke of Golborne, had held his seat, possibly longer. Sophronia’s family did not rank Felix’s, but they were just as old, thank you very much!
“So Ephraim is the eldest?” Felix continued, trying to get her family straight.
“He’s the eldest boy, there’s two sisters above him, Nigella and Octavia. Then another brother after him, that’s Gresham. He’s at Oxford making something of himself. Then comes the horrible Petunia, you’ll meet her right off. She’s still at home and bound to set her cap at you. Then there’s me, I’m the final girl. And after me come the two repulsive younger brothers, Humphrey and Hudibras.”
Felix looked properly gobsmacked. “Quite the mouthful.”
“You should hear what Father named the dogs. Frankly, he goes a little overboard.”
“Gracious me.”
Sophronia giggled. “Ephraim would come home from Oxford on holiday, and Father used to yell for all of us by name, and both beagles, before he got ’round to Ephraim. I expect it’ll be the same with me now that I’ve been away. Nigella’s been married for simply ages and she’s off the recitation completely. Sometimes I think Father doesn’t remember she exists. She netted the rather well-regarded Dr. Chillingsrymple, have you heard of him?”
Felix shook his head so Sophronia prattled on. “Publishes papers on the probable medical effects of aetheric travel.”
Dimity and Pillover were arguing vociferously, as only siblings can, over something utterly inconsequential—like
the nature of applesauce. Roger was stolidly facing forward, the road having turned into a bit of river and requiring all his attention. Roger’s companion occasionally glanced back at them, but it was with the attitude of one who checks on packages to ensure they are all still inside the transport. Once or twice, Sophronia suspected him of snorting, but it was impossible to see his face.
Sophronia knew she was talking overmuch, like a real schoolgirl rather than one who was trained to flirt and should know better. But Felix’s constant banalities were making her increasingly nervous. Chattering was Dimity’s trait, but Sophronia seemed to have picked up on it, at least with Felix. He didn’t appear to mind, asking encouraging questions and learning all about her family. He must not have siblings of his own.
They continued on in the vein of polite conversation for almost an hour. Sophronia would never before have thought how unsettling it would be to find that this unsettling young man was no longer intentionally trying to unsettle her!
Then, changeable and sudden, Lord Mersey pushed his dripping hair out of his face and lowered his voice. “How are you really, Ria? Your letters are so impersonal.”
Sophronia was relieved, honest interest at last! So relieved, in fact, she was a tad unguarded in her response. “As are yours! I searched between the lines for some indication of significance, and yet there was nothing.”
“I’m no great letter writer. Besides which, you gave me no encouragement!” Felix’s eyes flashed in indignation.
Sophronia bit her lip, both delighted and terrified that she still had his affection. “We have not yet learned how to write letters with purpose.”
The boy calmed and his voice became a purr. “Have you learned how to do other things with purpose?” Felix often reminded Sophronia of a cat, always stalking something, seeming bored with life, and then the pounce, a flash of claw, and the thrill of a hunt.
Sophronia felt on safer ground now that he was flirting. “Lady Linette has been teaching us seduction techniques.” She lowered her eyes and then looked off across the gray moor, presenting him with her profile, which was rather a nice one, or so Mademoiselle Geraldine told her.
That statement successfully shocked Felix. He swallowed a few times before saying, his voice almost as high as it had been a year ago, “Really?”
“Oh, yes indeed. Would you like me to show you? I could use the practice on a real man.”
This time he actually squeaked. “That might be nice.”
Sophronia demurred, still gazing over the nonexistent view, then said, “We are to start with longing looks.”
“Oh, are we?”
With which Sophronia turned toward him and raised her lashes. She stared into his eyes, trying to convey alluring desire. She thought of the time they had last danced together, how Felix’s hand had felt at the small of her back, the sweetness of his breath on her neck. She allowed a small smile to play over her lips.
Felix seemed physically paralyzed by her eyes. His own pale-blue ones lost focus. Sophronia noted the remaining kohl about the outside. Daring. One of his endearing foibles. Evil geniuses in training were encouraged to develop eccentricities.
Sophronia let her eyelashes flutter, not too much, only a little.
Felix’s breath hitched.
Now, that was an interesting reaction.
Sophronia tilted back her head, showing neck. This was a gesture of innocence and vulnerability. It also let the rain trickle right down her décolletage and under her stays, but she mentally gritted her teeth against the discomfort, allowing none of it to show on her face.
Lady Linette would have been proud.
Felix Mersey was well and truly hooked. He leaned in toward her, shifting closer on the bench as though drawn by a magnet.
His voice was so low as to be almost a whisper. “My goodness… Ria.”
And then he was bending down, looking as if he might actually kiss her—in the back of an open cart! With Dimity and Pillover right there! Not to mention the stable lads.
Frightened of her own power and of what might happen next, Sophronia broke the look. She lowered her lashes completely and pulled away, offering up her wrist in recompense.
He grabbed her fingers, perhaps too roughly, and pressed his lips into the palm of her hand, kissing up to the small bit of exposed flesh between glove and hurlie strap. Sophronia never went anywhere without her hurlie.
She let him continue to kiss her for a short while, fascinated. It seemed to be some means of coping with an excess of physically manifesting emotion. It was all quite wonderful.
The experiment was spoiled by a scuffle at the front. Everyone’s attention was drawn to where Roger’s friend seemed to have almost fallen off the driver’s box. He righted himself, and Sophronia wondered if the lads had been at the drink, or if he’d simply dozed off.
Before turning back to her escort, Sophronia exchanged a sharp look with Dimity.
Dimity’s expression clearly said, Do you need me to intervene?
While Sophronia’s response was, Not just yet, thank you. I believe I have it in hand.
Pillover’s said nothing. Dimity took up scolding her brother for some supposed transgression to do with shoe habits. Pillover sneezed, unexcited.
Sophronia returned her attention to Felix, careful not to look into his eyes any longer than etiquette demanded.
The distraction had provided enough time for Felix to recover control.
“God’s bones, Ria,” he hissed, unacceptable language in front of ladies. Dimity heard and gasped, but Sophronia let it slide on the grounds of extenuating circumstances.
Felix said, “I should have known better than to allow you to practice those wicked lessons on me. You are a sorceress.”
Sophronia liked that description very much. “Oh, good. It worked, then?”
He dropped her wrist and rubbed at his face. “You shouldn’t do that to a man, not after almost a year of separation and an hour and a half of impersonal conversation at close quarters.”
“I shouldn’t? Why, was it terrible?”
“No, quite the opposite, too much good all at once. You must be careful with those green sparkles of yours. You know Calypso’s green eyes trapped Odysseus on her island for seven years? I could live in those eyes of yours.”
“I think we’d both find that rather uncomfortable.”
“Oh, you know what I mean. Let’s talk about something else, shall we? How about telling me more of your lessons at that school of yours, outside of seduction class.”
When Sophronia smiled quite wickedly at that, Felix changed his mind. “Maybe that is unsafe, too?”
“Why don’t you tell me a little of life at Bunson’s? How are the Pistons? How is your father?”
“Oh, now, my father is definitely not a safe topic.”
Sophronia edged in, testing the waters. “Pickleman problems? They do seem overly demanding.”
Felix didn’t take the bait. “Aren’t all worthy causes? You know he still grumbles about your tricks at the Westminster Hive.”
“Indeed? How on earth did you get his leave to come to my brother’s engagement party?”
“Fortunately for me, he doesn’t know your name, so he did not make the connection. He still thinks Lord Akeldama was involved.”
“And you didn’t tell him the truth?” Hope sprang so hard in Sophronia’s chest, she swore she tingled with it. If he covered for me against the Picklemen, perhaps I can change his mind about them.
“I claimed one of your other brothers was a friend from my early days at Eton. You know I was at Eton before Bunson’s?”
Sophronia nodded.
“I suspected you probably had some brother who was about the correct age. You seem to be lousy with brothers. We might have been at school at the same time.”
“You’re right. Gresham would have been older than you, but you could have crossed paths.”
“Father won’t look into it thoroughly. He’s been distracted recently. He’d check t
he name Temminnick and not a whole lot else. Whatever your father does for the government, it obviously does not impede Pickleman policies. So I’m allowed to attend.”
Felix’s father, Duke Golborne, was something terribly high up in the Picklemen as well as a peer. The Picklemen were, so far as Sophronia could tell, evil. Not that there was anything especially wrong with being evil. But this evil seemed particularly centered on monopolizing political control and undermining everyone else’s power but their own, and that Sophronia didn’t like. She was finding, as she grew older, that she was rather fond of balance… in all things. “Oh, indeed. And what has been distracting the duke of late?”
“Now, now, Ria, you think I don’t remember that look of yours?”
“What look?”
“Not unlike a hound on a scent. A very pretty hound, of course.”
Sophronia sighed. “I know, it’s my worst giveaway. I’m mostly good at schooling my features for anger and love and suchlike emotions, but curiosity gets the better of me.”
Felix, clearly thinking of Sophronia and Sidheag’s spectacular rescue infiltration of the Westminster Hive, added sarcastically, “I should say that it does so in more ways than one.”
“Now, now, my lord, you know it’s part of my charm.”
Felix looked as if he doubted it. “You do wear breeches well.”
“They are comfortable and mobile. Why should you boys have all the fun?”
“Next thing you’ll have me in stays.”
Sophronia was surprised to find she rather liked that idea. She thought Felix would look well in a corset, perhaps a black-and-blue one to match his eyes and hair. “Would you like to try? You might fit one of Sidheag’s.”
Felix actually blushed. “Oh, now, I say!”
“It was only an offer.”
Their conversation remained a great deal livelier after that, ranging on topics of interest both evil genius and finishing related. Sophronia even successfully teased him about Pickleman politics, and he looked as if he might have been second-guessing the Picklemen’s interests. Or at least actually thinking about the implications. Eventually, they moved toward the front of the cart to include Dimity and even Pillover in their conversation. The boys managed to put any animosity aside for the duration of the trip. It helped that tea and sandwiches plus hard-boiled eggs and winter apples were consumed. It was hard to be antagonistic over the comfort of food on a rainy day.
Waistcoats & Weaponry Page 7
