The meeting had been a success, of sorts. Sophie’s good character had been assured. But the larger issue, namely his ridiculous fixation on the girl, still remained.
He needed to step back for a few days, regain some perspective, and more importantly, some of his common sense. He needed to remember who he was. A peer of the realm. A battle-hardened soldier. An agent of the Crown. He was a man, by God, not some lovesick swain who let every pretty thing in skirts tie his mind and body into knots. He needed to—
Alex paused at the corner of Sophie’s street. If he took the long way home, it would be simple enough to…He swore and turned away, quickening his steps as he made his retreat.
He needed to do something. This wasn’t healthy.
“Sophie dear, a note was delivered for you from Miss Browning.”
She’d had to change her clothes and run an important errand. Now Sophie handed her gloves and bonnet to a waiting maid and took the proffered note from Mrs. Summers. Her former governess had been sitting in the front parlor with the door open, obviously waiting for her return and wanting to have a few words with her charge. She’d nearly bounded out of her chair when Sophie had walked through the door.
Now it seemed she was unable to decide what, exactly, was more important to discuss; the note or that Sophie had been out without a proper escort.
Sophie sincerely hoped it would be the note. She had just been to the solicitor’s office, dropping off her own note detailing just how little she had discovered at the Pattons’ ball. It had been a depressing errand.
Mrs. Summers lifted her pointed chin to better look down her long nose. “It simply will not do for you to be traipsing about London by yourself, Sophie.”
Ah, she should have known. Good manners always came first with Mrs. Summers.
“I know,” Sophie responded, “but I thought it best to let you rest, since you haven’t been feeling well, and I did take a footman.”
“I am perfectly recovered. You should have waited for me or your cousin.”
“I might’ve died of old age waiting for that man. Have you noticed how little he’s been about? He’s supposed to meet with me today, but….”
“That is not the point.”
“Oh, please, Mrs. Summers, let’s not argue. I promise to be more conscientious in the future. Don’t you want to know what Miss Browning’s note says?”
Mrs. Summers must have realized she wasn’t going to get a better concession than the one offered, because she threw up her hands in exasperated defeat—an unladylike and therefore very un-Mrs. Summers-like gesture that surprised Sophie.
London must be good for her, Sophie thought. This new Mrs. Summers was certainly good for Sophie. The woman had been a wonderfully inattentive chaperone at the ball. She hadn’t even noticed that her charge had gone missing for over an hour.
“Are you going to open that letter or stare at me all day, which, by the by, is very rude.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry. It’s just…are you sure you’re quite well, Mrs. Summers? I mean, you haven’t been overtaxing yourself after that head cold, have you?”
“It’s very sweet of you to ask, dear, but I assure you, I am fine. Now the letter, please.”
Sophie dug a finger under the flap and tore the envelope open.
“You really should use a letter opener, Sophie.”
“Probably,” she said smiling, “but you seemed in something of a rush. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re still standing in the foyer.”
“Yes, well, as it happens, I am in a bit of a hurry. I’m on my way out. Penny has gone to fetch my cloak and—”
“Out?”
Mrs. Summers never went out. Not alone. Not ever. Now she was going out alone nearly every day.
“Yes, out. I’m going to visit some old friends for the afternoon.”
“You have an astounding number of old friends, you know. It’s a wonder you haven’t beggared yourself with postage. How did you find the time to write so many—?”
“The letter, Sophie.”
Sophie gave her companion one more baffled glance before pulling out the note and scanning its contents.
“What does it say, dear?”
“It’s a reminder that I am invited for tea.”
“Well, that was worth the wait.”
Sophie blinked. “Was that sarcasm?”
“Oh look, here’s Penny. Would you care to join me, dear? I’m sure the ladies won’t mind.”
Sophie shook her head mutely. She was feeling a little disoriented.
“Right then.” Mrs. Summers looked out the door. “You’ll have to use the second carriage since the other is already out front. You don’t mind, do you?”
“No.”
“Good. Give my regards to Lord Loudor. And bring at least two footmen if you decide to join your friends.”
“All right.”
“Excellent.” Mrs. Summers gave her a quick buss on the cheek, then swung out the door. A moment later it swung back open. “And no stopping for sightseeing, shopping, or errands. You are to go straight to the Thurstons’ and come straight back, do you understand?”
Sophie breathed a small sigh of relief. This was the Mrs. Summers she knew. “I understand.”
“Good.”
Sophie walked into the front parlor and watched from the window as the carriage pulled away. She sighed as it turned a corner and pulled out of sight. She was happy to see Mrs. Summers enjoying herself, but she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of disappointment. It was going to be a long, lonely wait for her cousin. He was sure to be late. If he showed at all.
For almost a full two hours, Sophie managed to resist the temptation to rifle through his desk. Considering that he hadn’t even bothered to send a note explaining his absence from their scheduled meeting, she felt her restraint was commendable.
She had been waiting patiently in the study since noon, eating, drinking, making mental lists of questions she meant to ask, and finally walking aimlessly about the room. Well, perhaps not entirely aimlessly, her path had taken her around the back side of the desk with a regularity that perhaps exceeded coincidence.
Twice she had even stopped to finger a small cast-iron paperweight. On her fourth pass, when she realized she was inspecting the object to such extent as to move it completely off the pile of papers it was meant to anchor, and was even now letting her eyes scan those papers, she gave up all pretense at casual interest and begin digging through the desk in earnest.
Her search brought up nothing more enlightening than a rather disturbing personal correspondence that Sophie could only imagine was from his mistress, and two locked desk drawers which were, by their very nature, very interesting indeed.
Eleven
What. Is. This?”
Sophie had never been known for her consistent temperament, but she was quite sure she had never been so angry in her entire life. She was equally certain that her cousin was contemplating that possibility. He was standing in the doorway with his mouth agape, his eyes alternately darting between the papers she was holding and her furious expression.
He started to stutter, then sweat, then swear.
Sophie shot up from her seat behind the desk. “Answer me!” Her fist came down hard on the desk and a nervous footman appeared at the door.
“Er, begging your pardon. Is everything—?”
Loudor seemed to take strength from the appearance of an underling. “Quite all right, man, quite all right.” He waved dismissively, but the footman waited for a nod from Sophie before leaving.
Having regained some of his composure, Loudor turned a patronizing expression on his cousin. “Now, Sophie, dear, calm yourself. I can explain everything and you’re creating an embarrassing scene.”
Sophie resisted the urge to find the heaviest object in reach—the cast-iron paperweight looked like it might do— and toss it squarely at his head. Reminding herself that it might prove difficult to obtain answers from an unconscious man, she drew a deep breath
and sat down with rigid composure.
Loudor looked relieved. “That’s better, isn’t it? No good working yourself up, you’ll only make yourself ill.”
Of course if she aimed for his knees…
“I’m hale and hearty,” Sophie bit off, hoping conversation would distract her from her more violent inclinations. “As is my father. So explain to me why I am holding a document that claims otherwise.”
Loudor cleared his throat. “I was only doing what I felt was best—”
“For whom?” Sophie demanded. “Not for me, and certainly not for my father! You’ve stolen from us! How could you? You’re family!”
“Now, Sophie—”
“Do not patronize me. You’ve been taking bits and pieces of my father’s estate for years. Whittling away our lands and funds with these.” Sophie waved the handful of paper in the air. “There are eight of them! Eight! Eight times you’ve defiled my father’s character! ‘Unstable,’” she cried, slamming one of the papers against the desktop. “‘Infirm’!” Another piece followed. “‘Unbalanced’!” And another. “‘Unsound’!” She threw the rest in his direction with disgust and grabbed another paper from the desk. “And this! A legal marriage to a gentleman of good character by my twenty-fifth birthday or you receive the deed to Whitefield? You’re nothing but a common thief!”
Loudor’s expression turned dark. If Sophie hadn’t been so angry, she might have been frightened, but her vision was significantly skewed by fury.
“Now see here, cousin,” Loudor sneered, jabbing his finger in her general direction. “You may call me any name you please, but those transfers are legal and binding. The courts granted me full control over your father’s income.”
“Through deceit, which I intend to bring to light!”
Loudor snorted and dropped his finger. “You may try, but those documents will hold up in any court of law. They’re signed by some of the most respected men of—”
“Who have not laid eyes on my father in over a de cade, if they’ve ever met him at all! They’re false witnesses, they have no proof—”
“Ah.”
Something about the patently false smile on Loudor’s face gave Sophie pause.
“Ah what?”
“Proof, my dear girl, proof.” Loudor strode over to a brown overstuffed chair and sprawled out comfortably. “‘Fraid I have it. The letters, you see….’”
“What letters?” she ground out.
“The letters from the good viscount, your father, of course. Most incoherent, very troubling to his friends and family.”
There was thick silence before Sophie realized what Loudor was saying. “You forged letters from my father,” she whispered in horrified disbelief.
“Not personally, no. I haven’t the talent.”
Sophie shook her head. “It doesn’t signify,” she stated, mostly for her own benefit. “Once my father arrives, they’ll only serve as one more piece of evidence of your guilt.”
“Do you think so?” He asked in such a pleasant tone that Sophie found her fingers crawling toward the paperweight of their own volition. His next words, however, stopped her cold. “Awful detailed things, those letters. All kinds of interesting bits about you and your father’s daily life in any number of distant lands. Once you work through the nonsensical babble of course. Seems rather unlikely just anyone could have written them. One had to have been there. And it would seem very unlikely that one would forget having written them, unless of course one was a bit touched, don’t you think?”
The knot in Sophie’s stomach started to burn. “I told you about our lives,” she whispered, or said, or maybe shouted. She really didn’t know because the burning sensation had traveled up to her chest, then throat.
“You were a most dedicated correspondent.”
It reached her face, her ears. “You’re beyond despicable.”
“Thought I made myself clear about the name-calling. Better learn to bite your tongue now, m’dear, unless you’d like to find yourself on the street and your father with you,” Loudor said with a nasty smile. “Or he would be, if he weren’t half a world away.”
In one swift motion Sophie moved around the desk and came to stop before her cousin. Hands clenched at her sides in fists and jaw tensed so tightly she feared cracking a tooth, she managed one word.
“Out.”
Loudor’s eyebrows rose, but he made no attempt to speak or move.
Sophie raised a shaking finger and pointed clearly at the study doors. “Get. Out.”
Still no movement. Taking a step back to keep herself from using her still clenched fist to knock him into action, she took a deep breath and started talking. Slowly and clearly. “White-field still belongs to my father, and this house will always belong to me. It has never been my father’s for you to steal. And you are no longer welcome here. So stand up and get out.”
Loudor looked like he might argue, but Sophie cut him off before he could start. “If you do not remove yourself from my presence and my house this instant, I will see you thrown out in the street like the very trash you are.”
Sophie turned to move toward the bell pull to make good on her threat. Loudor was on his feet and had her wrist in a painful grasp with a speed that surprised her.
She reacted purely on instinct. Grabbing her skirts with her free hand, she pulled them up far enough to allow her right leg to strike out and connect powerfully with Loudor’s knee.
He howled and released her arm, collapsing to the floor in an undignified heap. Swiftly stepping back to the desk, Sophie snatched up a letter opener. Keeping the sharp end of her makeshift weapon directed at Loudor, she edged around the room toward the bell pull, taking care to stay out of his reach. For a moment she regretted not having strapped her knives to their usual place above her ankle, but she never imagined she might need to take such precautions in her own home.
She was more than halfway around the room when Loudor raised his eyes to hers and made a move to stand. “You little—”
Sophie tossed the letter opener up and caught it deftly by its tip. Perfect for throwing at his nasty little head. She smiled at the thought and said, “Make no mistake, cousin dear, I can and will use this. Unlike you, I am just full of hidden talents.”
Loudor paled and remained seated. She reached the bell cord and yanked. Hard. Two footmen and the butler arrived on the scene so quickly that there was no question that they had been hovering outside the door. She could have just yelled for assistance, Sophie realized, but then she would have forgone the pleasure of kicking Loudor.
“Miss?” All three servants addressed her at once. Sophie’s tension eased greatly at the arrival of the men, who, she could not help noticing, had looked to her for direction and completely ignored the felled Loudor.
“I want Lord Loudor, and whatever of his personal possessions he can pack in fifteen minutes, out of this house. He can pay to have the rest sent on. If he gives you any trouble, call a constable.”
“Very good, miss.”
Sophie gave herself exactly one hour to come up with a viable solution to her problem. The first half hour was spent pacing her bedroom floor, listening to the distant chaos of Loudor being relieved of his residence, and alternating between bouts of sheer fury and utter panic. She was going to lose Whitefield whether she accomplished her mission or not. She was going to lose everything.
Damn. Damn. Damn him.
A shout and a large thump interrupted her mental tirade. She stormed to the door, swung it open, and yelled at the top of her lungs, “He’s had twenty minutes! Call the constable!” Then she slammed it shut.
Five minutes later the house was silent. Sophie guessed the constable hadn’t been necessary after all, since no one came looking for her. Feeling better at just the thought of her cousin’s departure, Sophie threw herself into a cushioned chair and began to review her options.
She couldn’t let Whitefield go. Not only was it the beloved ancestral home of her childhood, it was the
only reliable source of income for her and her father. The work they did overseas with antiquities was a labor of love. They had never managed to turn a profit, and she rather doubted they could. Probably, they could live off the money offered by the Crown if she managed to accomplish her mission, but that was a fairly significant “if.” Particularly in light of her recent failures to acquire any useful information from the homes of Patton and Calmaton.
She might take what few funds her family had left—and any money she might earn—and invest it, but neither she nor her father knew anything about business ventures.
Maybe she should use their money to hire a solicitor to stall the transfer of own ership in the courts long enough for her father to make the trip from China.
She groaned and dropped her head to her hands. It would never work. She’d have to get a letter to him first, and then there were the usual arrangements to make—it would take months for him to arrive. She didn’t have the funds to hire a decent solicitor for that long. And if it failed, she’d lose what little money they had left.
She sat up and scowled. This was, obviously, a very unfortunate business. Surely something brilliant would turn up to balance things out. But what? And more importantly, when? She couldn’t very well sit about and wait for that something to happen. She needed to do something.
She needed…
Twenty minutes later she was traveling across town. She’d left a note to Mrs. Summers in Penny’s care briefly explaining Loudor’s new living arrangements.
She had a plan.
“Sophie, you came!”
Sophie returned Kate’s bright smile and followed her into a smaller parlor in the back of the Cole town house.
“Mirabelle and I have decided not to be at home to other visitors today,” she explained. “Rather hard to do when all the world can see you through the front windows.”
“I would imagine so,” Sophie murmured, only half listening. “I apologize for not sending a note in advance—”
As Luck Would Have It Page 11
