by Mary Nichols
The first thing that came to his mind was that she had an assignation. Why else creep out alone at so early an hour? Angry with himself for being such a sousecrown, he had turned to leave but, hearing hoof-beats some way off, turned in the direction of the sound and saw the rump of her horse as she galloped towards the centre of the park and disappeared into a copse. He went after her, but being on foot it was some time before he came upon her, seated on the ground with her back against a tree. So, it was an assignation!
Curious, he had stayed out of sight and watched. Fifteen minutes went by. She did not seem to be anxious or looking about her as if expecting her lover. He had been both relieved and horrified when her eyes closed and he realised she was slumbering like a child.
He came out from his hiding place and stood for a moment, watching the gentle rise and fall of her breast, wondering how to wake her without startling her. Sitting on the grass at her side, he leaned on his elbow and allowed himself the luxury of studying every inch of her face. He noted the arched brows, the straight nose, the perfectly shaped lips, slightly parted now, even the dimple in her chin and the light sprinkling of freckles on her cheeks and the soft curve of her throat as it disappeared into the frill of the blouse which peeped above the collar of her habit.
He picked a stem of grass and tickled her chin with it. She twitched like a sleeping puppy but did not wake. Slowly he bent his head and put his lips to her forehead. She did not stir. Becoming bolder, he kissed her lips very, very gently. Her eyes flew open. He leaned back as she came fully awake, sat up and stared at him as if she could not believe what she was seeing. ‘It’s you!’
He inclined his head, smiling. ‘As you see.’
She had been asleep. And dreaming. She had dreamed he was bending over her, kissing her, a look of such tenderness in his eyes, she had been in ecstasy. And then she woke to find him sitting beside her, laughing at her. And still wearing the lilac coat and the dove-grey pantaloons of the evening before. Was she awake or still asleep? ‘Where am I? What are you doing here?’
He smiled. ‘I am sitting on the ground in the middle of Hyde Park, the same as you.’
‘I know that. What I meant was, why, for what reason? I’ll take my oath you have not been home to bed. You are still wearing your evening coat and you have not shaved.’
‘If I had known I might meet Sleeping Beauty, I might have attired myself as Prince Charming.’
‘I was not asleep, I was merely resting my eyes.’
He did not bother to contradict her; they both knew the truth. ‘I was out walking. What reason can you give?’
‘I could not sleep. I decided to take a ride.’
‘All alone?’
‘Why not? I did not want to wake the rest of the household.’
‘And so you came here, to one of the loneliest parts of the park, and fell asleep like the Babes in the Wood. What do you think might have happened if someone other than me had found you? Unless you were expecting someone else. If so, you must be sadly disappointed he did not arrive.’
‘An assignation? Whatever gave you that idea?’ She was so genuinely astonished, he realised he had been mistaken. ‘Sir, I think it very uncivil of you to suggest that I would meet up with someone secretly, and at this hour. But then, I collect, you have no great opinion of me…’
‘Miss Hundon, that hit is below the belt. And unworthy of you.’
‘I told you before I know nothing of pugilism, but how clever of you to turn the tables and put me in the wrong. You would have me apologising to you next for discommoding you.’
‘That was certainly not my intention and I beg your pardon if I mistook the matter, but I was, and am, concerned for your safety. What madness possessed you to come out at this hour? Good God, you might have been robbed or your horse stolen. Worse, you might have been attacked.’
‘But I wasn’t, was I?’ She sounded a great deal more spirited than she felt.
‘It was your good fortune that I was on hand.’
‘How did you come to be on hand? Have you been following me?’
‘I saw you leave the house; it behoved me to make sure you came to no harm.’
‘And what, pray, were you doing outside our house at so early an hour?’
He laughed. ‘Now, you are turning the tables. Let us say I was on my way home after a night out.’
‘And you saw me and immediately jumped to the conclusion I was meeting a lover—not that it is any concern of yours. You are not my keeper.’
‘No, I am not, but if this morning is a yardstick, you are certainly in need of one. The sooner you find a husband to take you in hand, the better.’
‘Do you think I might not find one willing to undertake the task?’ she asked mischievously.
‘He would certainly have his hands full. A greater hoyden I have yet to meet.’
‘And I collect you dislike hoydens excessively.’ She scrambled to her feet and began dusting down her skirt. The conversation was so barbed, she could not bear to continue it. ‘I must go.’
‘Then allow me to escort you.’
‘Oh, please do not trouble yourself, my lord, I am sure you must be in some haste to be elsewhere.’ She looked about for Pewter, who was nibbling a dandelion a few yards away.
‘It would be very disobliging of me to be in a hurry when I meet a young lady who so obviously does not know how to go on and needs assistance.’
‘I need no assistance,’ she said, catching Pewter’s reins and preparing to mount by herself. The horse stepped sideways and she found herself hopping after him with one foot in the stirrup.
He strode up to her and grabbed the bridle, making the horse stand still. ‘Allow me.’ He bent to offer his cupped hands for her foot. ‘Do you ever observe the proprieties?’ he asked, noting the man’s saddle. ‘Who taught you to ride astride?’
‘Papa,’ she said without thinking.
‘Really? You surprise me. Lawyers always seem to me to be rather stuffy gentlemen.’
‘That just shows one should not jump to conclusions,’ she retorted, spreading her skirt.
He smiled a little grimly. She was the most infuriating chit imaginable. And the loveliest. ‘Yes, you would have thought I would have learned that by now, would you not? Nothing is ever what it seems.’
She was feeling tired and confused and did not know how to answer that and so she clicked her tongue at Pewter and set off at a walk, back towards the Stanhope Gate.
He took hold of the horse’s bridle to lead him. ‘Miss Hundon,’ he said, walking purposefully beside her. ‘I want you to promise me you will not go out riding alone again. If you feel like early morning exercise, will you tell me? I shall be happy to accompany you.’
‘Oh, I do not think that would be at all the thing, my lord. We shall have the tattlers talking and that would certainly not please Lady Braybrooke. And besides, this morning’s ride was not premeditated. It was a whim and unlikely to be repeated. You need not concern yourself with my eccentricities.’
She had given him a disgust of her and instead of meekly accepting his scolding and thanking him for seeing her safely home, she had snubbed him. He was angry, she could tell by the set of his jaw as he strode beside her horse, looking straight ahead.
When they reached the mews, he turned to help her dismount, putting his hands about her waist and lifting her to the ground as if she weighed no more than thistledown. They stood together looking into each other’s faces, trying to read thoughts that were hidden, desires which could not be expressed, hope where there was none. Or so it seemed.
‘Miss Hundon…’ His voice was soft and gentle, making her heart jump into her throat.
‘My lord?’
‘We have made a poor start, you and I, have we not? I should like to…’ He got no further because Luke came hurrying out of the stable towards them.
‘Miss Rosw—’ He stopped, his mouth a round O of dismay at his mistake.
Sophie, turning to face him, said the firs
t thing that came into her head. ‘What about Miss Roswell, Luke? Has she been looking for me?’
‘Yes, miss.’ His relief was obvious. ‘She couldn’t find you in the house. I didn’t know where you were, but Pewter were gone and…’
‘I went for a ride to see the sun come up,’ she said. ‘I am sorry if I worried anyone. I’ll go in and see Charlotte straight away.’ She turned to Richard. ‘Thank you, my lord, for seeing me safe.’
Dismissed, there was nothing to do but take his leave.
Lady Fitzpatrick and Charlotte were still abed and Sophie was not required to explain her absence. She hurried to her room and dressed in a striped cambric morning dress with a high neck and straight sleeves, one of those Charlotte had decried as being dowdy, and was brushing her hair before the mirror when Anne came in with her morning chocolate.
‘I thought I heard you moving about, Miss Sophie, and Hetty said you were downstairs before it was even light.’
‘Too much excitement, Anne. I could not sleep.’
‘That’s just what I thought, so I’ve brought your chocolate early. Shall I do your hair?’
‘Please.’
Anne took over the brush. ‘Goodness, this is in a tangle. What shall I put out for you to wear today, miss?’
‘This will do for this morning. I am going out. As for the afternoon, I shall have to see what Lady Fitzpatrick has arranged.’
‘I doubt she will stir before noon. Nor Miss Charlotte neither.’
‘Good. Let them sleep as long as possible, Anne. I have some business to see to.’
‘I ain’t so sure you should be rushing about on your own, Miss Roswell. And pretendin’ to be Miss Hundon. What Miss Charlotte’s mama would say if she knew…’
‘But she doesn’t know, does she? And we shall all come to rights before the Season ends. If anyone asks for me this morning, I have gone to Pantheon’s Bazaar because I have been told they have some new lace come in and I need to buy some for my costume for the ball. It’s a secret, so I do not want anyone to come with me.’
‘Very well, miss.’
Putting on a light pelisse and a plain bonnet, she picked up her reticule and left the house again, ignoring the fact that less than an hour before Richard had scolded her for going out alone. She could not see that she was in any more danger on the streets of the metropolis than she had been in Upper Corbury. And as for the conventions, she had already flouted them too often to worry about conforming now.
His lordship had said it would be a good thing when she found a husband, but he had no more thought of offering for her himself than he would of offering for her maid. She was beneath his notice, except as a sparring partner, a nuisance who was forever inconveniencing him, a hoyden who sometimes amused him; it was too late to turn herself into the kind of genteel young lady he would take as a wife. Nor did she want to. If he did not like her as she was, then there was no point at all in sighing after him.
Remembering the last time she had said she was going shopping, when she had returned without the book she had expressly set out to buy, she called first at Pantheon’s Bazaar and selected several yards of lace to be put on Miss Roswell’s account and delivered to Holles Street, then went on to Maiden Lane.
The refuge was busy as always. Mrs Stebbings and her helpers were serving what could be called either a late breakfast or an early nuncheon. Sophie took off her cloak, donned an apron and stood beside the giant stewpot, ladling out food on to plates, smiling at each recipient as she did so. They passed by so quickly that all she really saw of them was a hand and an arm and perhaps a grubby coat.
‘Thank you, miss.’
She raised her head at the sound of the voice and almost fell over in surprise as she found herself looking into the laughing eyes of Richard Braybrooke. He was wearing a very dirty uniform coat with a torn sleeve. He had still not shaved and his hair was unkempt.
‘Go away!’ she hissed at him. ‘You have no right to come here, pretending to be poor. This food is for the sick and needy and you are neither.’ She reached out to take the dish from him, but he held it out of her reach.
‘No, but then this is not for me. It’s for poor Davy, over there.’ He nodded towards a legless, one-armed man who sat on the floor in a corner. ‘He can’t stand in line like everyone else.’
‘Oh.’ She was chagrined, but quickly recovered. ‘Then why dress like that?’
He smiled. ‘Do you suppose they would welcome me if I came in a coat tailored by Scott and Hoby’s tasselled hessians?’
‘No, but why come at all?’
‘You have come. And you dress the part.’
‘That’s different.’
‘Why? You are not the only one to feel compassion for those less fortunate.’
‘Compassion?’ She did not try to conceal her surprise.
‘Do you find that idea so very difficult to grasp, Miss…Mrs Carter?’
‘Hey, will you stop your jabberin’ and move on,’ the man behind him grumbled.
Richard apologised gruffly and moved away. ‘I should like to speak to you when you are free,’ he murmured to Sophie.
She went on with her task, but part of her was watching Lord Braybrooke as he knelt beside the legless man and helped him to eat. There was nothing arrogant about him now; he was considerate and caring.
‘Who would have believed it?’ Mrs Stebbings said beside her. ‘It just goes to show, don’t it?’
‘Goes to show what?’
‘That a true gentleman don’t need fancy clothes and there’s more to compassion than handing out money.’
‘You know who he is?’ she asked, doling out potatoes on to the next plate.
‘Yes, he is Major Richard Braybrooke. He was an aide to Wellington, you know, and a fine officer, so I have been told, though very strict on discipline. He came here a few days ago and asked who our sponsor was.’
‘What did you tell him?’
‘Only what you yourself said we might say, that the benefactress wished to remain anonymous and you were acting for her. He seemed exceedingly interested and promised a further donation himself, though I shouldn’t tell you that. He wishes to be incognito, but there can be no harm in you knowing, I am sure, if you are known to him.’
‘He is an acquaintance of my employer.’
‘Then he will have guessed the name of our benefactress?’
‘Very possibly,’ she said, realising he would conclude that it was the heiress of Madderlea, which was all very well, but now she would have to tell Charlotte and her little secret would be out. Unless she could persuade his lordship to say nothing to her cousin.
The legless man had finished his meal and Richard was helping him on to a kind of platform on wheels which he used to propel himself about the streets, paddling it with his one hand. As soon as he had gone, Richard brought the empty plate back to Sophie, who had just served the last of the long line of men. There would be another batch of supplicants later but others would serve them. She had been absent from home long enough and she was nearly asleep on her feet.
‘When you are ready, I will take you home,’ he said. ‘I left my curricle round the corner.’
She was too tired to argue. Taking off her apron, she allowed him to help her into her pelisse and, saying goodbye to Mrs Stebbings and the other ladies, she stepped outside and took the arm he offered. Neither noticed Sergeant Dawkins ambling up the street towards the refuge.
He stopped when he saw them. ‘Well, well, well,’ he muttered. ‘If it ain’t Major Braybrooke. And with the little filly, too. Now there’s a turn up.’ He forgot all about his rumbling stomach and set off after them, keeping well to the rear. The last thing he wanted was to be seen and recognised.
When they climbed into a carriage and trotted away too fast for him to follow, he cursed under his breath. But it did not matter; the chit would return and, unless he missed his guess, so would the Major.
He had forgotten all about his threat of revenge made three yea
rs before in the heat of Lisbon where his court martial had been held, but seeing and recognising Major Braybrooke had brought it all back: the stifling heat of the prison, the humiliation of being flogged before his men, the loss of pay and the fact that he had lost the only job he had ever had. He was a good soldier and loved the life now denied to him. And, on top of that, he had been obliged to find his own way back to England. And all because of a few tawdry ornaments and a silver brooch.
His resentment rekindled, he determined to have his revenge.
Major Braybrooke, who always knew where his next meal was coming from, who could throw coins to beggars with gay abandonment, would die a slow and painful death. And he would know why he was dying too. He, George Dawkins, would make sure of it. He grinned and went back to the refuge to stand in line for a meal and try his luck for a bed for the night.
Chapter Eight
The tiger, in his yellow and black striped waistcoat, had been walking his lordship’s equipage up and down the street for the best part of two hours and was relieved to see his employer appear.
Sophie watched as Richard stripped off the ragged coat and donned a frockcoat of brown superfine which he had left on the seat and, running his hand through his hair, found his tall beaver hat and set it upon his dark curls. ‘Behold, the transformation,’ he said. ‘It would not be at all the thing for a tramp to be seen escorting a lady in the Braybrooke curricle.’ He handed her up and climbed in beside her; the tiger jumped on to the back step and they set off at a brisk trot.
She was still annoyed with him for appearing at the refuge as he had and she was determined not to soften towards him. That way lay more heartache than she thought she could bear. ‘In the absence of the husband you spoke of, have you appointed yourself my keeper?’ she asked.
He was unsmiling as he guided the carriage through the traffic. ‘Someone has to watch out for you.’
‘So you followed me again.’
