by Mary Nichols
‘Is Lord Braybrooke going to play cards?’ Lady Fitzpatrick enquired, gazing about her short-sightedly. ‘Is it not a little early in the day for that?’
‘Much too early,’ Richard said, with heavy emphasis which could have been for her ladyship’s benefit, but which seemed to Sophie to be loaded with another meaning and she felt her heart lurch uncomfortably.
‘I have been thinking of arranging a little outing to Vauxhall Gardens on Saturday,’ Lady Gosport put in before the conversation became even more fraught. ‘Would you care to join us, Miss Roswell? And Miss Hundon? I believe there are to be tableaux representing the Battle of Waterloo and fireworks afterwards. Lord Braybrooke, would you consent to be one of our escorts?’
‘Delighted, ma’am,’ he said bowing. Then, to Lady Fitzpatrick, ‘Regretfully, I must take my leave.’ He bowed over her hand, then took Charlotte’s and raised it to his lips. ‘Miss Roswell. Until Saturday.’
‘I shall look forward to it, my lord.’
‘Miss Hundon.’ He turned to Sophie. ‘I am glad to see you recovered. But I beg of you, be more careful in future.’ In spite of her efforts to hide her hands in the folds of her skirt, he managed to possess himself of one of them and raise it to his lips. The gentle pressure was enough to set her tingling with sensations she could not control; a warmth spread from the top of her head to the tips of her toes and her stomach churned itself into knots. The smile on his face told her all too clearly that he knew what he was doing to her and it angered her.
‘My lord, I am always careful and it was hardly my fault the curricle overturned. Indeed, it might very well have collided with us if it were not for my…’ She stopped, gulped and went on, ‘Luke’s quick thinking.’
‘Yes, the inestimable Luke,’ he murmured. ‘How is he? I think I shall have to ask him how he hurt himself so badly.’
‘No, my lord.’ It was out before she could stop it. She flushed, but forced herself to face him out. ‘He hates a fuss and becomes quite irritable if anyone makes a to-do over him. He will be bound to say he was only doing his duty.’
‘Then I must not embarrass him,’ he said, eyes twinkling. ‘Good-day, Miss Hundon.’
There was something havey-cavey going on, he was sure of it. Both young ladies were behaving in a most unnatural manner, answering for each other and threatening that pup, Harfield, who seemed not to know where his interests lay, either with the heiress or the country cousin. As for Sophie, she was playing the deepest game of all and he would not rest until he knew all. And if that meant allowing himself to be inveigled into escorting Miss Roswell, then he would do it. Miss Roswell, he felt, was the weak link in the chain.
He was riding down Oxford Street towards home after a canter in the park the following morning when he saw Sophie come out of the end of Holles Street. She was on foot and dressed very plainly in dove grey and wore sturdy half-boots and a small straw bonnet with no brim to speak of. Luke, walking half a pace behind her, looked decidedly uneasy.
Richard reined in and watched as she set off at a fair pace in an easterly direction. Walking his horse, he followed, though he could make a good guess at her destination. Would she never learn! Only four days ago she had been in a fair way to being run down and though she had eschewed that monstrosity of a chariot on this occasion, she was still courting danger and flying in the face of convention.
True, she was not high-bred, but she was a gentlewoman and should not be allowed to wander all over London at will. London was not Leicestershire, where perhaps things were done differently, it was a great cosmopolitan city full of strange characters, footpads, cut-throats, pickpockets and worse. Even some who appeared the height of respectability were nothing of the sort.
He had a good mind to speak to Lady Fitzpatrick about it. But the thought of the scolding Sophie would receive and his own curiosity prevented him. He would see she came to no harm, even if it meant following her everywhere she went.
Sophie, unaware of her second escort, continued on her way to Maiden Lane, where they were to open the house to their first lodgers. Determined to be there, she had told Lady Fitzpatrick that because of the accident and having to take the Latour family back to their lodgings, she had not been able to purchase the book she had set out to buy. Her ladyship, deep in discussions about food and flowers and musicians for their ball, hardly raised an eyebrow.
Charlotte was expecting Freddie to call and was all on edge, even though Sophie had assured her Freddie would not let them down, and had not wanted to accompany her. It was only Luke who raised any sort of objection and she had been obliged to order him to do as he was told in her best Mistress-of-Madderlea manner.
She saw the long line of men waiting to be admitted to the house long before she reached it. She hurried past them to join Mrs Stebbings and her helpers.
‘What are we to do?’ the good lady asked when Sophie had taken off her cloak and donned an apron. ‘We cannot look after them all.’
‘Then it will have to be first come first served and those admitted today must be barred tomorrow.’
‘There will be arguments.’
‘Then we will enlist those who helped us prepare the house to keep discipline. The men are used to obeying orders, they will not cause trouble if they see we are being fair. In the meantime we can feed as many of them as we can. I shall send Luke to the market for more supplies.’
Sophie was so busy serving the men with the food cooked by Mrs Stebbings’s helpers, she did not notice the passage of time. It was only when she heard the church clock strike noon that she remembered she had promised to be back at Holles Street for nuncheon. She hurriedly took off her apron and left, promising to return as soon as she could, though how it was to be achieved, she did not know. She could hardly use the excuse of going to the bookshop again.
Richard had walked his horse up and down the street for what seemed an age and, tiring of that, had purchased a news sheet from a vendor on the corner of the road and was sitting on a wall opposite the house, reading it. The Luddites were busy in the north again, wreaking destruction, and he wondered how long it would be before their activities manifested themselves in the south. Already there were rumblings of discontent. If there were riots in London, the unemployed soldiers were bound to join in and Sophie would be in even more danger.
He folded the paper when he saw her depart with Luke at her elbow, but instead of following immediately, he crossed the road and entered the refuge where he introduced himself to Mrs Stebbings as Major Richard Braybrooke and expressed an interest in the work she was doing.
Flustered, she apologised for not being able to offer him proper refreshment, or even a comfortable chair. ‘We have been rushed off our feet, Major,’ she said. ‘We did not expect so many.’
‘Good news travels fast, ma’am,’ he said, smiling. ‘But tell me, how have you been able to accomplish so much? You must have a very generous benefactor.’
‘Yes, indeed, though we do not know who she is. Mrs Carter is acting for her, but she dare not reveal her identity, being sworn to secrecy.’
‘Mrs Carter?’ he enquired, raising a well-defined eyebrow. ‘Who is she?’
‘A war widow, my lord. She is companion to the lady in question but that is all I know.’
‘Could it be the lady I passed on my way in? She was wearing a grey cloak and a small bonnet. Red-gold curls, I recall.’
‘Yes, that would be Mrs Carter. A lovely lady, so compassionate and not afraid of getting her hands dirty.’
‘So, I collect,’ Richard murmured under his breath, then pulling a purse from his pocket, he laid it on the table beside the dirty plates and beakers. ‘Please accept this towards your expenses. It is all I have on me, but I will arrange for a larger donation to be sent to you.’
She thanked him effusively and he left, mounted his horse and set off after Sophie.
Companion to the lady in question, he mused. That could only be Miss Roswell. So, the heiress of Madderlea was also a philan
thropist, which was to her credit, but it was Sophie who was doing all the donkey work, while she cavorted about town in her new carriage, making calls and gossiping over the teacups. It was easy to be generous when you had a great deal of blunt; Sophie gave something more precious than money, she gave her time. Oh, how he loved her for that, misguided as she was.
Did Harfield know what she was about? Yesterday she had been swearing him to secrecy, so undoubtedly he did know, but why was he not escorting her instead of going sparring with Martin? It was a dashed un-gentlemanly way of going on and he might very well find an opportunity of telling him so.
Sophie, late back for nuncheon and still unable to produce the book she went out to buy, told Lady Fitzpatrick that it was out of print and she must needs give up on it, to which the good lady replied, ‘Well, your papa cannot say you did not do your best for him. Now, perhaps you will settle down with Charlotte to discuss the arrangements for the ball and your costumes. Rattling around town on your own is not the thing, you know, not the thing at all. Why did Mr Harfield not accompany you this morning?’
‘I believe he was otherwise engaged, my lady,’ Sophie said demurely. ‘His father has given him endless commissions.’
‘He does have to find a rich wife too,’ Charlotte put in with a giggle.
‘And so does Braybrooke,’ her ladyship retorted. ‘You would do better, miss, to make a push to engage his attention instead of worrying about what don’t concern you. I shall be very disappointed if you have not brought him to an offer by the time your ball is over. And so will Mr Hundon.’
‘I cannot make him want me, if he has set his sights elsewhere.’
‘Of course you can. You know, my dear, you are too modest for an heiress and the future mistress of Madderlea. You must assert yourself more or you will be despised.’
‘If modesty is to be despised, then I scorn those who despise it,’ Charlotte said with some heat. ‘I am who I am and cannot change.’
At this point Sophie could stand no more and was obliged to excuse herself on the pretext of having to change for their carriage ride in the park. Once in her room, she burst into laughter.
Charlotte, following her, did not share her amusement. ‘Sophie, it is all very well for you to laugh, but you have not been looking for a book for Papa, that I know. It is all a hum. And you are not making the smallest effort to find a husband.’
‘I have not met anyone I would even consider.’
‘And that’s a whisker. You are wearing the willow for Lord Braybrooke, I know that.’
‘And Lord Braybrooke is looking for a rich, complacent wife who will allow him to continue his bachelor existence unhampered by considerations of faithfulness,’ Sophie snapped.
‘Wherever did you come by that idea?’
‘Mr Gosport said so. He seemed to think that being a duchess would be enough to compensate for any shortcomings in his lordship.’
‘And that has sunk you in the suds and why you have been going out all alone to brood. Oh, Sophie, I am so sorry. Perhaps if he knew you were really a considerable heiress…’
‘Do you think I would want him on those terms? He is the very opposite of the man I want for a husband. He is arrogant and vain and unfeeling and…’ She stopped, remembering that kiss and how she had melted into his arms and enjoyed every delicious second, and how her whole body tingled with excitement when he so much as took her hand or looked at her with those liquid brown eyes.
‘And what?’ Sophie asked, curious.
‘He thinks he has only to snap his fingers and every young lady in town will prostrate herself before him. Did you ever hear such a conceited recital as that list of requirements he wants in a wife? Beauty. Wealth. Deportment. And what is he prepared to offer in return? The dubious pleasure of one day becoming a duchess.’
‘And Lady Fitz exhorts me to set my cap at him,’ Charlotte put in. ‘I am no more likely to acquiesce to such Turkish treatment than you are and so I shall tell him if he deigns to make an offer. Not that I would accept him, even if he behaved like an angel, because I am already engaged.’
Sophie, diverted, stared at her cousin. ‘Engaged?’
‘Yes. Freddie called while you were out and we contrived to have a few moments alone when Lady Fitz left the room to speak to Cook about something she had forgot about the ball—something to do with poached salmon, I think.’
‘Never mind about the fish, tell me what happened.’
‘Nothing happened. Freddie said he was not going to make any sort of push to make the acquaintance of this year’s debutantes and unless I agreed to marry him then and there, he would reveal all to Lady Fitzpatrick the minute she came back into the room.’
‘And you agreed.’
‘Of course I agreed, it is what I have always wanted, though it will have to remain a secret until he has been home and confronted his father. He has already spoken to Papa.’ She giggled suddenly. ‘He even promised to pretend to pay particular attention to you.’
‘Me?’
‘Well, he has been dangling after Miss Hundon ever since he came down from Cambridge, everyone knows that. What more natural that he should be seen often in her presence?’
‘Oh, I see. I thought you were tired of our masquerade?’
‘So, I was, but now Freddie is part of it, it might be fun. And besides, I have not yet brought Lord Braybrooke to an understanding.’
‘You can’t have them both!’
‘I don’t want them both. I mean to make him understand the error of his ways and realise what a treasure he will have in Miss Sophie Hundon and when I speak of treasure, I do not mean anything so vulgar as money. Nor will it hurt him to become just a little jealous of Freddie.’
‘Charlotte, I beg you to do no such thing. He will be so angry.’
‘Then you must contrive to turn it to your advantage. He is to escort me to Vauxhall Gardens on Saturday and Freddie is to escort you. We shall see what transpires. And please, Sophie, do not dress in the unbecoming fashion you have adopted since we came to London. It is enough to put Freddie off, not to mention Lord Braybrooke.’
Sophie sighed, knowing she had lost control of the situation. She had been almost ready to agree with Charlotte that they must reveal their true identities and take the consequences when Charlotte changed from being an unwilling accomplice to an enthusiastic accessory. And what she was planning was even more hazardous. Well, she would go down fighting.
She dressed for the visit to Vauxhall Gardens with particular care in a gown of amber crepe over a cream satin slip. The short bodice had a round neck and tiny puff sleeves and was caught under the bust with a posy of silk flowers from which floated long satin ribbons in amber. Her hair was dressed a` la Grecque and threaded with more ribbon. Her accessories were a single strand of pearls around her neck, long white gloves, white satin slippers, a small satin drawstring bag and a fan which had once been her mother’s.
‘Beautiful,’ Charlotte said when Sophie came to her room to see if she was ready.
‘You too. That rose pink is exactly right for your complexion. Freddie will fall in love with you all over again.’
‘I hope he may, but it would be fatal to show it. I do believe I heard the front-door knocker. Are you ready?’ Sophie took a deep breath and together they descended to the hall where Lady Fitzpatrick was greeting their escorts.
Richard, who had himself risen to the occasion and clad himself in a lilac evening coat of impeccable tailoring and dove grey pantaloons, looked up when he heard the rustle of their gowns and his breath caught in his throat as he beheld Sophie.
Here was no dowdy country cousin, here was a young lady with the face and figure of a goddess, who came down the stairs as if she were floating. If he had had any doubts about his choice of a wife, they fled at the sight of her.
What he most wanted to do was take her away somewhere private and declare his intentions before taking her in his arms once more and kissing her. He needed to feel her soft lips
on his, her pliable body close to his so that he could enjoy her heart beating against his as he had done once before. But would she have him? Apart from her response to that kiss she had never given any indication she would welcome an offer from him.
It was neither the time nor the place and Freddie was hurrying forward to take her hand and claim her, showering her with compliments which were a little too effusive to be sincere. There was nothing for it but to make his bow to Charlotte and offer his arm to escort her to the waiting carriage.
Chapter Seven
The tableaux of Waterloo were impressive for the uniforms of the protagonists, for the simulated noise of the wooden guns and the smoke which threatened to obscure the whole thing. The actor who played Wellington sat impassively upon his horse doing nothing at all except look superior and Napoleon, short and stout and wearing his cockaded hat sideways, strutted about waving his arms ineffectually, while the armies rushed about pretending to fire muskets and stabbing each other with their bayonets. The English died stoically, while the French screamed and flung themselves about. The audience, standing in the darkness beyond the flambeaux-lit stage, were convulsed with laughter.
‘Such realism! Such heroics!’ Richard laughed, as the whole thing came to an end with Napoleon fleeing in his coach and the English soldiers cheering. ‘If that is how the general populace see our hard-won victories, it is no wonder they have so little sympathy for our returning soldiers.’
‘You would have everyone frightened to death by the truth?’ Sophie asked him. ‘The blood and the stench and the screaming of wounded horses, men torn limb from limb and dying in agony? It is supposed to be an entertainment, not a history lesson and it does no harm to remind people how brave our soldiers were. They might be a little more generous towards them.’
