by Cara Elliott
“How divine,” said Sophie, trying to appear suitably enthusiastic.
“Don’t you think it sounds wildly romantic?” Georgiana dropped her voice a notch. “Apparently, some of the ladies and gentlemen come masked, so that they may sneak away into the darkened shrubbery and engage in…illicit activities.” Her pause was filled by a fluttery sigh. “Oh, how I wish Anthony were here in London, rather than galloping over the dismal hills of Dartmoor. I think it very shabby that his commanding officer did not grant him leave from the regimental maneuvers.”
Sophie gave mental thanks to the colonel. She had enough challenges without having to keep an eagle eye on two young lovebirds. “Patience is a virtue, my dear. The two of you will be together soon enough—and without having to risk scandal for a few stolen kisses.”
Georgiana opened her mouth to protest.
“And besides, I highly doubt that Anthony would find shopping romantic.” The main reason for their trip to London was to purchase Georgiana’s wedding trousseau. “Think about it. Lace, gloves, muslins, mantua makers—the poor man would likely be bored to perdition.”
“An excellent point.”
“You see, older sisters can, on rare occasions, offer a small grain of wisdom.”
“Oh, Sophie…” A fierce hug suddenly squeezed the air from her lungs. “You must think me a vain, selfish goose who cares for naught but her own pleasures. You have been so very good to me and Penelope, sacrificing your own happiness to be both sister and mother to us.”
“Unhappy? How could I be unhappy with you two rattleheaded hoydens in my life?”
“Quite easily, I imagine.” Georgiana gurgled a watery laugh through her sniffling. “We’re a sore trial, I know. But I hope you know how dearly we love you.”
“Of course I do.” Sophie dabbed her sleeve to her sister’s cheek. “Now dry your eyes and let’s have no more tears. We are visiting a very fancy modiste first thing in the morning, and we don’t want her to see you with a splotchy face.”
“Right.”
In truth, Sophie wasn’t at all interested in fashion and fripperies, but she knew Georgiana, who had a good eye and excellent taste, enjoyed choosing fabrics and accessories. “And from there, we’ll be going on to the Bond Street Bazaar, and Aunt Hermione’s favorite warehouse for silks.”
Her sister’s expression turned dreamy. “I know the exact color that I want to find for your new gown. It’s a deep sea shade, a hue somewhere between blue and green, aswirl with a hint of mystery.”
“First of all, we are not spending any money on gowns for me.” Their uncle, a prosperous banker in the City, had insisted on gifting Georgiana with a full trousseau. But despite his kind offer to provide her with some new clothes as well, Sophie did not mean to use a penny of his generosity on herself. “Because secondly, I would have no call to wear it.”
“Ha! If you would stop dressing in grain sacks and hiding your beauty among all of the elderly matrons, you would have plenty of suitors falling at your feet.”
“I don’t need new gowns to attract a suitor. I have one,” said Sophie dryly. “However I do not wish to marry Neddy the blacksmith. He is a very nice fellow, but I am quite certain that we would not make each other happy.”
“I admit, the local choices leave something to be desired.” Georgiana took a long moment to ponder the possibilities. “Perhaps you’ll meet a tall, handsome stranger at Vauxhall Gardens.”
Sophie inhaled a silent breath as the unwilling image of a rakish Pirate, gold earring gleaming against a tangle of sin-dark hair, invaded her thoughts.
“A gentleman of strength and substance,” went on her sister, warming to the task. “Naturally, he must clever and charming. And willing to slay dragons on your behalf.”
“Oh, naturally. However, I doubt that such a paragon of perfection exists outside of a fairytale—except, of course, for Anthony.”
“You can’t be sure of that. After all, you haven’t looked very hard.”
Sophie closed her eyes for a fleeting instant. “I’m delighted that you found your knight in shining armor, Georgie. But not all of us are fated to be so lucky. If there are any reptiles that need slaying, I fear I shall have to sharpen my own sword.”
Chapter Two
So, Sophie Lawrance was going to be spending tomorrow evening at Vauxhall Gardens.
After handing the street urchin a few coins, Cameron left Green Park and strolled thoughtfully along Piccadilly Street before turning left onto Bond Street. It had been a simple matter to track down her hired hackney and learn where she had been dropped last night. Over the years, he had woven an elaborate web of underworld informers throughout London. He used it mainly for his own business activities—he was, to put it bluntly, a thief, albeit a very discerning one who stole only the highest quality jewels and objets d’art from people who could afford to lose them. But on occasion, the network was useful for other purposes.
Indeed, he had learned a good many other details about Sophie’s stay in Town. Servants were easily encouraged to gossip, especially as she and her sister were great favorites with everyone who worked at their aunt and uncle’s residence.
A wedding. They were visiting London in order to shop for a wedding. Not Sophie’s—Cameron had experienced an inexplicable twinge of relief on learning that news. Though why that should matter was something he did not care to contemplate.
He paused to stare into one of the fancy store windows, watching the bustle of busy shoppers in the reflection of the glass. Word was, the three ladies would be stopping at a fashionable milliner located on the next corner. Curious, he loitered a little longer, pretending to adjust the folds of his cravat—which was, as usual, an exotic swath of patterned silk rather than the standard starched white length of linen.
An elderly matron with a trio of young ladies in tow frowned and gave him a wide berth. He caught the word “dangerous” as she huffed by. Turning he flashed a wink at the young ones, who had slowed to sneak a stare. Blushing furiously, they hurried to catch up with their chaperone.
Another example of my wicked, wicked ways, thought Cameron sardonically. Did the silly chits think I was going to bare my fangs…His sarcasm trailed off as a carriage pulled to a halt just ahead, and three ladies descended the steps.
He had no trouble recognizing Sophie’s aunt. Hermione Hillhouse was perhaps a little grayer, a little stouter. However, her kindly smile was unchanged. She was followed by a tall, slender young lady with silky curls of guinea-gold peeking out from beneath the poke of her bonnet.
“Do have a care, Georgie,” called Hermione. “The cobbles are uneven.”
That was Georgiana?
Cameron recalled Sophie’s younger sister as a pleasant, pudgy little child with a streak of mud always marring the tip of her nose. But then, I daresay we all have changed since those long-ago days.
Though not always for the better.
Sophie, however, was even more breathtakingly lovely than he remembered. Last night, the dark night and heavy veiling had obscured her face. Now, as she stepped down to the pavement, the afternoon sun painted every nuance of her profile with a softly gilded light.
She laughed at something her aunt said and Cameron felt his chest constrict.
Feeling a little light-headed, he picked his way through the crowd, the banal buzz of voices around him fading, fuzzing. The light seemed to blur, and suddenly the only thing in sharp focus was Sophie as she slowly turned and entered the shop.
The click of the door falling shut seemed to snap him out of the strange netherworld. Looking down, Cameron found to his disgust that he was leaning against the decorative railing of a shop displaying kidskin gloves in a staggering variety of colors.
Get hold of yourself, he warned in a silent snarl. How utterly embarrassing if anyone were see the supremely sardonic Hellhound reduced to a pathetic whimper.
He turned away from the array of soft pinks and purples, fully intending to hurry on to Jackson’s Boxing Salon.
There was no better refuge—amid the slap of leather and grunts of pain, he could pummel his emotions into submission by working up a sweat on the heavy punching bags.
But to his dismay, his feet rebelled against reason. They slowed, and then stopped in front of an ornate arched window filled with beribboned bonnets and plumed turbans.
I will just pause for a moment, he vowed, peering over an ostrich feather for a clear view of shop’s interior.
Georgiana was trying on a pert little confection of chip straw festooned with tiny red cherries. Sophie smiled and shook her head, prompting a remark from their aunt. Next came a more sedate creation, featuring shades of pale apricot and cream…
A frown flitted across Georgiana’s face as she reached up to unsnag a ribbon from around her ear. “Why is that gentleman staring at us?”
“Where?” Sophie looked up from the patternbook.
“There. Right outside the window.”
Shifting her stance, Sophie caught a glimpse of a dark shape moving away with muscled quickness. She hurried to the door, but a glance through its glass pane showed only the top of a high-crown beaver hat, fast melting away in the crowd.
“How odd,” said Georgiana.
“Indeed,” said Sophie, still looking out at the street. Even odder was the tickling sensation teasing at the nape of her neck. It was foolish to allow her imagination to run wild. There must be thousands of black hats in London with broad brims and grosgrain bands.
Yes, but how many of them are worn tugged down at a rakish angle?
Dismissing the question as too fanciful to deserve an answer, she returned to her study of ribbons.
“Oh, look,” exclaimed Georgiana, lifting an elegantly simple creation from its bandbox. “Wouldn’t this look perfect with Sophie’s new indigo gown?”
“Perfect!” echoed Hermione.
“Please, I don’t need such extravagances.” Sophie made a face, feeling guilty that her relative had ordered not one, but two new gowns for her, along with a lovely selection for her sister. “There is an old adage about trying to make a silk purse from a sow’s ear. And besides, you have been far too generous as it is.”
“Nonsense. You must indulge me, my dear. It is a great pleasure to shop with my nieces. I wish you would allow me to do so more often.” Hermione was their late mother’s sister, and she and her husband tactfully did their best to augment their father’s meager earnings. They could afford it, but Sophie did not like to take advantage of their kindness.
“Thank you, but…” The bonnet was really very fetching. “But I have no need—”
“We’ll take this,” said Georgiana decisively, quickly handing it to the clerk behind the counter.
“And we will also take that darling Dutch bonnet to complement your new sprigged muslin walking dress,” added Hermione. “Now, we must look for a military-style shako with a silk tassel to top off your riding habit…”
The carriage was bursting with boxes by the time the trio had finished their rounds of the Bond Street shops.
“What fun,” said Hermione, fanning her cheeks. “Though I confess, sorting through all those fabrics and styles requires a great deal of energy. Shall we stop at Gunter’s for refreshments?”
Georgiana, who was quite fond of the famous teashop’s strawberry ice cream, quickly seconded the suggestion. “Shall we walk?” she added. “It’s just a short stroll to Berkeley Square, and that way we can look at the shop windows.”
Sophie fell in step with the others, but soon found her attention wandering from the fancy displays. Why, oh why am I plagued by this strange notion of déjà vu? she wondered, unable to keep from thinking of the Pirate, and the unsettling memories of the past. One must never look back, only forward. Ignoring yet another odd tickling at the back of her neck, she kept her eyes focused straight ahead.
Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh. Her skirts swirled around her ankles as she quickened her pace. And still, a sense of foreboding shadowed her steps.
The next window showcased a glittering array of rings and necklaces. The slanting sun deepened the jeweltone colors of the precious stones, flickers of ruby, emerald, and sapphire dancing through the clear glass.
Sophie spun around as a wink of gold cut across the reflection.
But once again, the man—the specter—darted away with maddening quickness. All she could make out was a fleeting flutter of brightly patterned silk.
“Are you feeling ill, Sophie?” Georgiana touched her sleeve in concern. “You look awfully pale.”
“I’m just fatigued, that’s all,” she answered, rubbing at her eyes.
Her sister fixed her with a long look. “You haven’t been getting enough sleep lately. It’s early to bed for you tonight. Tomorrow’s visit to Vauxhall Gardens promises to be an adventure.”
“Adventure is the last thing I need in my life,” muttered Sophie.
“Ha!” scoffed Georgiana. “Admit it—your life has been dreadfully dull for far too many years.” She eyed the earthtone shade of Sophie’s wool walking gown and crinkled her nose. “It’s time to add a little color and spice to your drab routine.”
Chapter Three
Color and spice. There was no denying that the vast Vauxhall pleasure gardens were a completely different world from the small town of Terrington. Sophie gazed at the central esplanade over the rim of her wine glass, fascinated by the parade of people filing in from the river landing. Shopgirls and tradesmen dressed in cheap calico and canvas were rubbing shoulders with aristocrats and ladybirds swathed in expensive silk and merino, the universal language of laughter and jests rising above the hodge-podge of dialects.
“Ooooo, this is so exciting.” Georgiana leaned out over the railing of their supper box, determined not to miss a single detail of the surroundings. “I must describe everything to Anthony in my next letter.”
Hermione smiled fondly. “I am sure that the two of you will come here together when you are married.”
Her sister let out a fluttery sigh.
“Yes, and you will not have plot on how to steal a kiss in the bushes,” said their uncle, a twinkle lighting his eyes. “A married couple is allowed to indulge in a peck or two.”
“But doing something just a little naughty adds an extra edge of excitement.”
Sophie raised a brow.
“Not that I have any experience in such things,” added Georgiana hastily. “I—I have simply heard it said.”
“Don’t believe all you hear,” murmured Sophie, as she held back a smile.
Her sister turned in her chair to hide the flush of color rising to her cheeks. After watching the ornate lanterns bordering the square blaze to life, she asked, “Might we take a walk through the gardens before the fireworks begin?”
“Come, Edward, the girls must not miss seeing the Oriental Pavilion,” said Hermione, pushing aside her empty plate. “And of course, they are eager to explore the pathways.”
“Very well.” He rose and straightened his waistcoat. “We’ll have a look at the buildings first, and then…” A wink “…move on to the shadowed walkways, where young ladies must guard against the temptation to stray down the path to Perdition.”
Georgiana stifled a giggle.
“Oh, do stop your teasing and lead on, Edward,” said their aunt. “I daresay our level-headed nieces are safe enough from Sin.”
Sin.
Sophie tested the word on her tongue as she dutifully fell in step behind her uncle and Georgiana. It had a rather seductive sound, the soft hiss mimicking the ruffling of a summer breeze through meadow grasses. Sin. The whisper stirred a memory from somewhere deep inside her head—the fragrance of fresh mown hay, the texture of fescue against bare skin, the taste of sun-warmed kisses—
“Sophie?” Hermione cleared her throat. “Are you coming down with the sniffles?”
“No, no, I am quite well. I was simply woolgathering,” she apologized. “There is so much to stimulate the senses.”
“Uncle Edward is suggest
ing that we pass by the Pillared Saloon and then make our way to the statue of Handel in the Great South Walk,” volunteered Georgiana. “From there we can turn into the gardens.”
“That would be lovely.” In truth, the sights were barely more than an amorphous blur. Her mind was elsewhere.
Sailing over an azure-blue sea with a laughing pirate at the helm of ship made of spun gold.
“Has the wine gone to your head?” asked her sister in an undertone, linking arms and leading her around one of the exotic columns.
She shook her head.
“It isn’t like you to be so distracted. I wish you would tell me what’s wrong.”
Oh, where to begin? Dudley and Morton’s threats, their father’s retreat from reality, the dark specter haunting her peace of mind—despite all her hurried stitches, it felt as if her life were unraveling at the seams.
“Come along, girls, and stay close,” called Hermione. “All jesting aside, we don’t want to lose you. The gardens attract all sorts of unsavory characters who prowl the grounds after dark, looking for trouble.”
Grateful for the interruption, Sophie quickly rejoined her aunt. For the few remaining hours of the evening, she would try to put aside her troubles and enjoy the devil-may-care spirit of Vauxhall.
“After all, she sighed under her breath. “My troubles will still be here come morning.”
Cameron adjusted his silk mask and slipped out from the niche between the colonnading. His soft-soled leather boots skimmed noiselessly over the dew-dampened grass as he glided through the dense shrubbery. Laughter drifted up from the hidden benches, its rumble turning softly smoky in the flickering lantern light.
Sophie and her family were walking leisurely down the main path, their faces well illuminated by the blazing torchieres lining the way. She appeared amused, and yet her smile did not quite reach her eyes. Beneath the fire-tipped lashes hung a shading of delicate shadows.
Sadness? Perhaps pensive was a better choice of words, decided Cameron. Sophie had a tendency to let her head overrule her heart.
