As Luck Would Have It

by Alissa Johnson

  “Morning, miss. I hope you’re feeling better, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  “Of course not, ah…”

  “Penny, miss.”

  Penny. It suited. “Thank you, Penny, I am much recovered. If it’s not too much bother, could I have a bath made ready and some food brought up? I seem to have overslept and missed breakfast.”

  “No bother at all, but you haven’t missed breakfast. It’s only eleven, and breakfast is served at quarter to twelve.”

  “So late?”

  “We keep town hours here, miss.”

  “Oh, right, of course.” She had no idea what the girl was talking about, but she smiled anyway, and made a mental note to quiz Mrs. Summers later on the peculiar eating habits of Londoners. Mrs. Summers had spent an inordinate amount of time tutoring Sophie on the ways of the ton, but obviously she had overlooked a few things.

  “That footman of yours, he left a note for you, miss.”

  “Footman?”

  “That Chinese man, Mr. Wang.”

  “Oh, he’s not a footman, Penny. He’s more of a friend…family really.”

  Sophie opened the letter, already knowing its contents. Mr. Wang had left to visit friends in Wales after seeing Mrs. Summers and herself comfortably settled. He would see her again in a few months.

  “I really wish I could have said good-bye in person,” she sighed.

  “Nothing for it, miss. Mr. Wang wouldn’t let us wake you, said you needed to rest after your accident.”

  Sophie snorted to herself. Mr. Wang hadn’t been concerned for her health. He wouldn’t have left if there were any question of her quick recovery. What he had no doubt wanted was to avoid a scene like the one that occurred the last time he left for an extended holiday. Sophie had cried so hard she had cast up her accounts on his trunk and Mr. Wang had been obliged to postpone his visit until he could calm Sophie down. And repack.

  “I was thirteen,” Sophie grumbled. “One would think he’d have forgiven me by now.”

  “Beg your pardon, miss?”

  “Nothing, Penny.”

  Sophie gave herself one more minute to mourn the temporary loss of her friend before dressing and setting out to find Mrs. Summers and breakfast.

  She found the former already at the latter. She asked for scones, sat down across from her companion, and poured a cup of tea. “Will Lord Loudor be joining us this morning?”

  “No.” Mrs. Summers replied. “I believe his lordship had a rather late night and is not feeling quite the thing this morning.”

  “Oh, I do hope it’s nothing serious.”

  “It is not.” Mrs. Summers took a dainty sip from her cup. “As I said, he had a late night…at White’s, a gentlemen’s club, with the Duke of Rockeforte and Lord Thurston.”

  “I see.” Somehow, from their correspondence, Sophie had gotten the impression that her cousin was not the type of man to overindulge in drink, but then there was really only so much you could learn about someone from a letter. Still, it would have been nice if he had taken her arrival into consideration before becoming so foxed he could not greet her properly the next day.

  “The Duke of Rockeforte called this morning,” Mrs. Summers chimed pleasantly.

  Sophie’s mental rebuke of her cousin’s behavior was immediately forgotten. In its stead a rather heady feeling of excitement washed over her. Silly. She had spoken only a few words to the man and those in only a semiconscious state. She schooled her face into a disinterested expression.

  “Did he?”

  “Yes, he came to inquire after your health.”

  Sophie took a hurried drink of tea and blanched when she realized she hadn’t yet added milk or sugar. “Good of him,” she mumbled.

  “He left his card and mentioned he would be at the Calmaton ball this Saturday,” Mrs. Summers continued causally. “He looks forward to seeing you there.”

  Lord Calmaton, Sophie remembered, was on the list Mr. Smith had given her.

  She piled sugar into her cup hastily. “And I him. I should like to thank him properly for his assistance yesterday—and Lord Thurston’s, of course.”

  “Of course. You should be flattered, you know. I’m told Rockeforte very rarely goes into society…or good society at any rate. He usually spends the season at one of his country estates.”

  “I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

  Mrs. Summers narrowed her sharp eyes. “Don’t be deliberately obtuse, dear. It’s obvious he means to attend the ball for a chance to further his acquaintance with you.”

  Sophie was inordinately pleased that her food arrived just then. Grabbing a scone, she took the very largest bite she could manage without embarrassing herself, or choking. Mrs. Summers set down her teacup and waited quite pointedly for a response. And waited…and waited…

  “Eventually, Sophie, you will have to swallow.”

  Sophie made a variety of hand gestures that could have conveyed any number of things. But she knew her companion was right. The topic of Rockeforte couldn’t be avoided forever, and certainly not just because it made her unaccountably jumpy. And the scone had taken on a rather unpleasant consistency.

  She swallowed.

  Then reached for a sip of tea.

  Which was not an act of cowardice. She had, after all, taken that bite without first adding some preserves or even a little butter, and if Mrs. Summers thought differently, well—

  “Thirsty, dear?”

  Sophie realized she had just gulped her entire cup of tea without pausing for breath and was now making unattractive slurping noises. She set her cup down.

  “Very,” she offered lamely.

  “We were speaking of the Duke of Rockeforte.”

  “Were we?”

  “Yes. I had just explained that His Grace might have an interest in you.”

  Damn. Evasive tactics had never worked well on Mrs. Summers. Sophie tried reasoning with her instead. “I think you read far too much into the duke’s behavior,” she argued. “He was merely being polite.”

  “If you say so, dear.”

  Oh, Sophie did, but thought it best to change the subject all the same. “I’d like to visit a dress shop tomorrow.”

  Mrs. Summers eyebrows went up. “Do you want a new ball gown, dear?”

  “No! I mean yes.” She glared at her companion. “I would like to purchase several new dresses, for a number of different occasions.”

  “You detest fittings.”

  “I know,” Sophie groaned, “but I thought it might be best to get them over and done with. When it comes to pain, the anticipation is often worse than the deed.”

  Mrs. Summers smiled at that. “Certainly, we shall have to stop by your father’s solicitors for the funds.”

  “As to that…”

  If Sophie were any other girl, Mrs. Summers never would have believed the story that she had been saving a portion of her pin money for some time and had sent funds in advance to her own private solicitor in London. But after two decades in Sophie’s company, very little would surprise the worldly Mrs. Summers. If Sophie had told her she had found the money under a rock in the garden, Mrs. Summers wouldn’t have batted an eye.

  The next three days were spent in a whirl of fittings, shopping, and desperately trying to pin down the elusive Lord Loudor. The blasted man was never at home when he should be. The few times Sophie managed to catch him coming in or out of the house, he parried her requests for a few moments of his time with vague references to meetings, business, and appointments. When she demanded outright to know when she might see her father’s ledgers, he mumbled something about a misunderstanding with the solicitor and hurried away.

  He was avoiding her—there was nothing else for it—but he couldn’t keep it up forever. He was, after all, required to escort her to the ball Saturday night. That event required a carriage ride, which would guarantee his undivided attention for a minimum of twenty minutes.

  On Saturday afternoon, one of Sophie’s new ba
ll gowns arrived, and she spent the two hours preceding the grand event under the less-than-gentle ministrations of Penny and Mrs. Summers. She was cinched, pulled, wrapped, curled, primped, and primed. Only at the end of that ordeal was she finally given leave to view the finished product in the bedroom’s cheval mirror.

  Sophie gulped. The gown was gorgeous to be sure, layer upon layer of pale blue silk so lightweight it appeared almost translucent. The cut was simple and elegant without frills or adornments. It was cut with a high waist as fashion demanded, but the design was such that it avoided the appearance of having one’s breasts upon a shelf. It flowed as naturally and gracefully as if it were an extension of Sophie herself. She tugged awkwardly at the front of the dress.

  “I really can’t understand how I can be positively blanketed in cloth and still feel naked.”

  “It’s the dress, miss.” Penny giggled. “That silk is light as butterfly wings, and all ball gowns are cut lower in front like that.”

  Mrs. Summers slapped Sophie’s hands away impatiently. “Stop that, you look lovely. I wouldn’t let you out of the house if your attire was anything but perfectly modest.”

  Sophie sighed in resignation. She knew Mrs. Summers was right. Still…

  “I said stop that! You will not be pulling at your gown tonight. It is most indecent.”

  “Couldn’t we just—”

  “No.”

  “What if I—”

  “No.”

  “May I at least—”

  “No!”

  “I was only going to ask for my cloak.”

  “Oh. Well, I believe it’s in the front hall, along with your gloves, your fan, and undoubtedly your cousin who is very likely annoyed at your tardiness, so move along.”

  “I do wish you were attending to night,” Sophie said wistfully.

  “As do I, but if I don’t take care of this head cold now, I shall become too sick to be of any use to you for the remainder of our trip.”

  “I know. I’d just feel better knowing you were there.”

  Mrs. Summers bent down and kissed Sophie’s cheek. “That’s very sweet of you, dear, but you needn’t worry. Your cousin and Lady Margaret are perfectly acceptable chaperones.”

  Sophie nodded but in truth, she had certain misgivings about her cousin’s chaperoning skills. He had managed to leave her waiting at the docks, after all. As for Lady Margaret, she was an old friend of Mrs. Summers who had agreed by note to attend to Sophie in Mrs. Summers’s absence. Sophie had never met her, nor even heard of her until this afternoon.

  “You’re woolgathering, Sophie. Run along and fetch your things.”

  The cloak was indeed in the front hall, but Lord Loudor was not. In his stead was a note explaining that he was unable to ride with her to the ball, but he would meet her carriage on the drive of Lord Calmaton’s home.

  Damn.

  She couldn’t very well bring up the ledgers at the ball.

  Sophie headed for the door with a decidedly grim expression.

  Blast.

  She couldn’t very well travel to the ball alone, either. Resigned, she sent the footman for Penny with a request that the maid be quick, and if at all possible, quiet. No point in giving Mrs. Summers a chance to insist on taking a carriage ride on a damp night.

  Penny managed to accomplish both speed and stealth, and the girls were comfortably ensconced in the carriage in less than ten minutes.

  “Sorry to have inconvenienced you, Penny,” Sophie said, pulling on her bodice.

  “You really shouldn’t fuss with that, miss, and I’m happy to be here. Not every day I get to take a night ride in such a fancy carriage as this.”

  Sophie believed her, the bit about the happiness at least. Penny’s face was positively glowing with excitement. She held her head almost completely out the window and was watching the passing scenery with obvious delight. Sophie supposed there were few occurrences that would allow for a servant, even a lady’s maid, to view London after nightfall from the security of a nobleman’s carriage. “It’s like a whole other world,” Penny whispered reverently. “Brighter than I would have guessed.”

  Sophie glanced out the window. “It is, isn’t it?”

  Thank God.

  Sophie was very much of the opinion that there was little more inherently frightening than the unknown, and nothing altered the familiar into the unfamiliar quite so effectively as a pitch-black night. In shorter and less flattering terms, Sophie was afraid of the dark.

  Very little was needed to keep that fear at bay—a single candle left burning, the light of a bright moon, or, as in this case, the well-kept streetlamps found in the neighborhoods inhabited by people of means. Any and all would suffice in making Sophie, if not comfortable, at least functional. Without them…she would be lost.

  Five

  Miss Everton, I am pleased to see you so well recovered.” Recovered, Alex thought, didn’t nearly do her justice. Miss Everton looked nothing short of delectable in her frothy pale blue gown, her thick sable hair pulled up into an intricate mass of curls that had him itching to slowly pull out the pins so he could watch each glossy lock unwind. His blood had heated the moment he caught sight of her standing off to the side of the ballroom with Mirabelle Browning. Apparently, Loudor had escorted his cousin inside and promptly abandoned her to attend to his cards, the cad.

  Alex had intended to approach both women, but the sound of Mirabelle’s delighted laughter had given him a better idea. Skirting along the edge of the room, he had stepped unseen into a small alcove and shamelessly eavesdropped on their conversation. Within minutes Alex had realized that his original, and begrudging, resolution to charm Miss Everton in the usual manner of pretty flowers and flowery words would have been useless. She would have been bored to tears.

  He had only partially overheard the tale she related to Mirabelle, but Alex was fairly certain it involved wine, a suitor, and an angry herd of elephants.

  Miss Everton, it seemed, liked danger.

  He had waited for Mirabelle to leave before approaching Miss Everton with something akin to actual anticipation.

  Dangerous was something he could do.

  “Your Grace, thank you. I’ve quite mended, as you can see.”

  Sophie was surprised and relieved when she managed to squeak out an entire sentence. The man had literally appeared out of nowhere. One moment she’d been watching her new acquaintance, Miss Browning, be escorted onto the dance floor and the next thing she knew, the duke was standing at her side looking remarkably like an oversized panther.

  His dress black was a bit more severe than some of the other gentlemen present, but it suited him. It suited him very well. The color contrasted sharply with his eyes, which, she noticed quickly, were definitely green and brought out the faintest hint of auburn in his hair. The fabric fit perfectly across his broad shoulders, around his lean waist, and the breeches outlined his muscled thighs…almost indecently so, and…

  Good Lord, had she just looked at his thighs?

  Had he seen her look at his thighs?

  Sophie felt her stomach do an agonizingly slow descent to her toes while all the blood in her body crept steadily toward her cheeks. How mortifying. To hide her embarrassment, she curtsied. To save her pride, she forced herself to meet his gaze when she straightened.

  “I am very pleased to see you again, of course,” she managed with a credibly even voice. “I’ve been anxious to thank you properly for your assistance earlier this week, and Lord Thurston’s as well. I fear I made a mess of it the first time.”

  “It was a pleasure,” Alex replied. Good Lord, she’d just looked him over. Miss Everton had just given him a visual appraisal with all the brashness of an houri, and all the finesse of a schoolroom chit. Fascinating.

  “You’re very kind, I’m sure,” she mumbled.

  Alex leaned against a nearby pillar and crossed his legs casually at the ankles. “Bored already, Miss Everton?” he asked, looking pointedly at her waist where her f
ingers were busily working at the folds of her skirt.

  She looked down and winced before quickly fisting her hands behind her back. “Sorry, it’s a bad habit, I’m afraid. I didn’t—”

  “Please, don’t trouble yourself,” he insisted. “And call me Alex.”

  Sophie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I couldn’t. I can’t. We’ve only just met.”

  “Nonsense, we’ve known each other for almost a week.”

  Her stance relaxed notably at his teasing tone. “We’ve known of each other for a total of four days,” she said dryly. “That hardly qualifies as a long-term affiliation.”

  Alex shrugged. “People have wed with less.”

  “I don’t doubt the truth of that, just the advisability.”

  “I don’t know,” Alex replied thoughtfully. “I rather like knowing I could haul you off to the altar should I so desire. There’s a certain power in having had you in a compromising position.”

  She gaped at him for a moment before finding her voice. “There was nothing compromising about it!”

  “You were in my arms,” he replied with a wicked grin.

  “I was injured!” she hissed. “Rather seriously!”

  He grinned broader and leaned closer. “You were also in my lap.”

  “What? I…you…this conversation is absurd. I was unconscious.”

  He was having far too much fun. Miss Everton was quite a sight when wound up, with flashing eyes and quickened breath that caused her bust to move up and down in a slightly indecent, and therefore very alluring manner. But it wouldn’t do to push things too far too quickly. Straightening, he gave her a playful wink.

  “You are altogether too charming when in a temper, Miss Everton. I shall have to remember that.”

  “So you can bait me?” she asked incredulously.

  “So I’ll know what to expect when I do.”

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “Have me figured out then?”

  “I’m not so presumptuous as to assume I have grasped the whole of your character from a single conversation,” he returned, stubbornly ignoring the fact that he had done just that several days ago in William’s office—only without the benefit of actually conversing with her first. “Merely one small facet of which I am sure there are many. For example, I have no idea how well you dance. Would you do me the honor of enlightening me?”