Courtship and Curses

by Marissa Doyle

  Very well, she knew she was being silly. After all, he had no idea she’d heard him say those things and more. All she had to do was pretend she had no idea.

  Ha.

  “Your cane is very handsome,” he observed. “Is it new?”

  Sophie looked down and realized she was gripping the handle rather tightly. She forced her hands to relax and held it up: It was one of the black-lacquered ones enlivened with Egyptian decorations picked out in red, gold, and blue. “Yes. Isn’t it wonderful? Amélie made it for me.”

  “Amélie—?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Madame Carswell, I mean. Our guest.”

  “Ah, yes.” He drove in silence for a moment. “She’s French, isn’t she?”

  Sophie frowned. “Well, I suppose she is, if only by birth. Her family was French, but she has lived much of her life in India and married a dear friend of my father’s out there. She still has family in France and in Belgium whom she’d hoped to have a chance to visit, though now with the war back on … perhaps she might still be able to visit Brussels, though.”

  “But for now she is staying with you.”

  “Yes, and I’m so glad she is. She’s been such a—a friend to me.”

  “Does it … has it been awkward at all—her nationality, that is, and your father’s position in the War Office—”

  “Only when we’re forced to deal with bigoted bullies,” she interrupted. “Amélie was married to Papa’s friend for over twenty years. She is an Englishwoman now, despite her French accent.”

  “Of course. I would never suggest otherwise,” he said quickly.

  “Thank you.” Sophie fell silent. She’d been perhaps a little too vehement in Amélie’s defense, but his questions had made her uncomfortable. Why wouldn’t everyone just accept Amélie as who she was—a lovely, warm, perceptive person?

  To her relief, he broke her silence. “Oh, there’s Lady Cowper, in the barouche over there. Have you been introduced?”

  “Not yet.” Sophie regarded the approaching carriage. “We go to Almack’s next week—I presume she’ll be there, as one of the Lady Patronesses. Oh, isn’t that Lord Palmerston with her?”

  “They’re, er, very good friends,” he said, turning slightly pink.

  “Oh.” Oh! Sophie realized what he must mean and felt herself blush as well.

  Lord Woodbridge cleared his throat. “Odd he’s out driving, after the news from his office.”

  Sophie sat up straighter. “From the War Office? What news?”

  He didn’t speak for a moment, but drove in silence wearing a slight frown. “I’m sorry. That was clumsy of me,” he finally said. “I forgot that you were there—”

  “Please—what happened?”

  He sighed. “Sir Walter Benning—you remember, from the park—”

  “Yes, of course! Go on!”

  “I’m afraid he”—he looked at her from the corners of his eyes, as if to gauge what she might do—“he died this morning.”

  “Oh.” Sophie swallowed. He covered her right hand with his left for just a moment, a quick reassuring pressure. Sophie remembered the strawberry stains on her fingers and was grateful for her gloves.

  “What happened?” she asked, after a moment. Good God, please let it not be another accident.

  “He was stricken at his home this morning—his valet was helping him on with his boots, and he just collapsed. They said he’d not been quite right since his fall, so perhaps it isn’t such a surprise—is there something wrong?”

  Sophie realized that she was gripping her cane again. She made her hands relax. “Do—do you remember once when I asked you if it didn’t seem odd that three War Office ministers had been in near-fatal accidents recently?”

  “Did you?” He thought a moment. “Yes, I remember. Coming back from our ride in the park that day, after Sir Walter’s accident.”

  “What would you say if I told you that there had been another incident … and now poor Sir Walter on top of that?”

  He continued to look straight ahead, but she could sense his interest. “What was the other incident?”

  “A colleague of my father’s came to visit our box at the opera last night. As he leaned against the railing, it broke beneath his weight—and no, he is not in the least a large man. He didn’t actually fall—we were able to grab him in time and pull him back. But it was a near thing.”

  “What a fright for you. And for him too, I suppose, but I can’t see how a railing breaking at the King’s Theatre could be anything but an accident—an unfortunate one, but still an acc—”

  “It wasn’t an accident,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “None of them were. They were quite deliberately caused.”

  “How can you know that?” He sounded politely incredulous.

  “Could you—just for the sake of discussion—accept that they were?”

  He looked at her, frowning, for a few seconds, then nodded. “Very well, for the sake of discussion. In which case, who do you think is responsible for these … intentional accidents?”

  “That’s what I want to know. Who could bear such a grudge against the War Office that he would try to murder its members—and why?”

  “The logical answer would have to be the French, of course,” he answered promptly, just as Parthenope had.

  “Yes, but—” But she certainly couldn’t repeat the conversation she’d had with Parthenope about the French using magic. “Besides the French, is there anyone else who might wish to hurt the War Office?”

  “Well, there are the Americans, though we’re theoretically at peace now. Then there are Turks and the Barbary States, who are in a constant state of semi-war with our navy in the Mediterranean. That’s it for any possible active belligerents, for now. And then there are the Allies.”

  “The Allies?”

  “Quite. Just because we joined with them to defeat Bonaparte doesn’t mean that we like or trust each other. The Russian czar is insanely jealous of our navy and resents our holdings in India—I’ve a feeling he thinks Asia should be his exclusive playground. The Prussians also envy our commercial wealth—their treasury is, for all intents and purposes, empty. And the Austrians dislike us on principle, if only because they are a Catholic nation and we are a Protestant one.”

  “Oh!” She sat back against the seat. “So it could be anyone, really.”

  They drove in silence for a moment. Then Lord Woodbridge took a deep breath. “Lady Sophie, if you know of some threat to the government—though I can’t imagine what or how—shouldn’t you speak to your father about it? Tell him what you know?”

  She had been afraid he would say that. “What if I tell him and he doesn’t believe me? What then?”

  “I’ll believe you.”

  “You can’t know that—”

  “Very well. I’ll trust that you believe it, and do what I can to help.”

  He spoke with such surety, such confidence, that it was very tempting to tell him about all of it—the magic … and her. But she couldn’t, not yet.

  Soon, perhaps?

  Chapter

  11

  Sophie knew that Almack’s Assembly Rooms were regarded as the social heart of fashionable London. It was the most exclusive venue in town, ruled by seven despotic society women who didn’t hesitate to deny admission to anyone they disapproved of, no matter how wealthy or wellborn. To be approved by them for a voucher to purchase tickets to the Wednesday evening subscription balls meant that one mattered. She knew all this—Aunt Isabel had drilled it into her—but now that she was here, she knew something else as well.

  It was numbingly dull.

  For one thing, conversation was careful and decorous. No one wanted to give offense to the Lady Patronesses and be denied a voucher in future, after all. For another, the narrow-eyed, unsmiling mamas and aunts ranged around the room in knots, gossiping about whose daughter might catch which eligible bachelor, were positively hair-raising. How had such an uncomfortable and uninteresting plac
e become so important?

  Aunt Isabel, on the other hand, was in her element. She glided majestically through the crowd on Papa’s arm, Sophie and Amélie following in her wake. While they’d waited on the pavement outside the house for Amélie to come down, Aunt Molly had suddenly claimed a sick headache, though she whispered to Sophie before they left that she had a great deal to do in the conservatory, putting down her sovereign anti-aphid mixture. Sophie wondered if the sick headache was a sham and the comte was coming to help her with the foul-smelling mixture of coffee grounds and cayenne pepper in olive oil. Then again, maybe not. It would hardly be a romantic occasion with that ghastly concoction around.

  “Ah,” Aunt Isabel said. “There’s Lady Jersey. Come along, Sophie. You must be presented.”

  “Yes, Aunt,” Sophie murmured. Where was Parthenope? She’d hoped to find her first and lay claim to a secluded corner to escape this very thing, but evidently luck was not going to be with her tonight.

  “Do not just bare your teeth, petite. Smile,” Amélie admonished her softly as they approached “Queen” Sarah, Countess of Jersey, the all-but-anointed sovereign of Almack’s.

  To her surprise, Lady Jersey was not in the least queenlike. She greeted Aunt Isabel with a certain amused glint in her eye, it was true, but received the rest of their courtesies with polite warmth. She was much younger than Sophie had expected and quite handsome.

  “I like your cane,” Lady Jersey said forthrightly, nodding at the white and gold one she carried today. “I understand you’ve got them to match every outfit?”

  “Thanks to Madame Carswell, I do.” Sophie smiled at Amélie.

  “How clever! I’m sure you’ll not mind if I say this, Madame Carswell, but leave it to a Frenchwoman to come up with such an idea. Of course it’s a shame that you have to use them at all, Lady Sophie, but I do declare, it’s the perfect way to make the best of the situation. Such a pity you didn’t live fifty years ago! Canes were quite the favored accessory then, though for myself I expect the ladies carried them as weapons—the young men in those days were shockingly louche, if you know what I mean—quite dreadfully so! Not at all like dear Lord Woodbridge here—how do you do? And Lady Parnethope, too!”

  Sophie turned as Parthenope and Lord Woodbridge joined them. “ParNEthope?” she mouthed.

  “Don’t you dare laugh, you,” Parthenope muttered out of the corner of her mouth as she curtsied to Lady Jersey.

  Fortunately that lady’s attention had been momentarily attracted by the musicians in the balcony. “Oh, they’re getting ready to play. A set must be forming. It’s such a shame you can’t dance, Lady Sophie, or I should certainly recommend Lord Woodbridge here as a partner. Have you been introduced?”

  “We have, thank you,” Sophie replied demurely, looking at him. There was a faint sparkle of fun in his eyes as he bowed to her.

  For a moment, Lady Jersey got a calculating look in her eyes. “Then in that case, Woodbridge, I’ll leave you to entertain Lady Sophie during this set. Dear Lord Lansell, might you care to escort Lady Dow and Madame Carswell to the card room? Now, I promised Maria I’d find a partner for her cousin. Come along, Lady Parnethope. I should like you to make a certain young man’s acquaintance.” Looking pleased that she’d arranged them all, she took Parthenope’s arm and neatly detached her from their group.

  “Parnethope. I shall have to remember that,” Sophie said, watching them go. Parthenope cast an agonized look back at them over her shoulder.

  Amélie chuckled. “Méchante enfant! She will be very cross if you do.” She took Papa’s arm. “I think Sophie and Lord Woodbridge will entertain each other quite agréablement. Shall we?”

  “But—” Aunt Isabel looked indecisive as to whether she felt she ought to permit Sophie to remain talking unchaperoned with a young man, but Papa neatly captured her arm and led her firmly away.

  Sophie glanced up and met Lord Woodbridge’s eyes. He was looking down at her with an expression that made her feel as if it had suddenly grown warm in the room. She looked quickly away and pretended to be scanning the dancers in the center of the room with great interest. “Oh, there’s Parthenope, dancing with—with—oh, dear.” She bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

  A grim-faced Parthenope was dancing with a young man—a very plump and spotty young man, perhaps at his very first adult social event—who barely reached her shoulder.

  Lord Woodbridge flashed his cousin a brilliant smile and bowed. She ignored him. “Vanquished by Silence Jersey,” he said lightly.

  “Silence?”

  “It’s what everyone calls her, because she’s anything but. She takes it all in good part, though. Some people say she’s all sound and no substance, but I rather think there’s a great deal going on behind the chatter.”

  If there was, she hadn’t used it as far as poor Parthenope was concerned. “I wonder if we’ll ever get her to Almack’s again this season. Poor thing, she looks unhappy.”

  “Nonsense. It was about time someone managed her for a change, since she’s so fond of managing everyone else.”

  Sophie felt herself flush slightly, remembering the conversation she’d heard between him and Parthenope. She looked around the room, hoping to think of something else to talk about, and her eyes fell upon a handsome but vaguely rumpled-looking young man standing alone, watching the dance. “Oh, look! It’s him,” she exclaimed.

  “Who?”

  “Over there—the young man standing on the other side of the room, by that pillar.”

  “Where … oh, do you mean James Leland?”

  “Yes! You’re acquainted with him, I believe you said?”

  “We’re members of a few clubs together.”

  Sophie gave him a measuring look as an idea came to her. “How would you like to try your hand at a little managing of your cousin?”

  “With James Leland?” He thought about it for a moment. “You think that she has an interest in him?”

  “Don’t you remember that she asked about him when we were riding together in Hyde Park?”

  “Did she?”

  “Yes.”

  He grinned. “It would give me great pleasure to manage Parthenope a little, but are you sure? I can’t see that asking about someone in the park means very much. Don’t you think she would have already done something about meeting him, if she were as interested as all that?”

  “Of course not,” she replied promptly. “That wouldn’t do at all. Not in the least romantic.”

  “Romantic? Her?” He snorted. “I’ve met Cockney coal merchants who are more romantic than my cousin.”

  “On the contrary. I would say she’s extremely romantic,” she said.

  He raised one eyebrow, but didn’t disagree. “Very well. What do you suggest?”

  “Let’s go over and engage Mr. Leland in conversation, and make sure Parthenope sees us. When the dance is over, she’ll make her partner bring her to us, and then we shall undertake to make Mr. Leland dance with her. It shouldn’t be too hard, I hope.”

  “Have you been taking managing lessons from her?” he asked, offering her his arm.

  To Sophie’s delight, it worked just as she’d planned. Lord Woodbridge introduced her to Mr. Leland, whom she liked immediately for his gentle manners and kind eyes. She did her best to chat vivaciously with him, keeping an eye on Parthenope, and discovered that they were, in fact, distant cousins on her mother’s side.

  Parthenope indeed saw them. As soon as the dance was over, she practically dragged her partner over to them, then neatly dismissed him … and stood silent and, Sophie was pleased to note, faintly pink-cheeked.

  “Parthenope, only fancy! I have found a new cousin! May I make Mr. Leland known to you?” she said.

  “A cousin—how … how interesting,” Parthenope murmured, curtsying. The pink in her cheeks surged into rose.

  “Parthenope, you look a little overheated. Perhaps a glass of lemonade is in order,” Lord Woodbridge suggested. There was a note in his voi
ce that could only be described as teasing.

  Mr. Leland brightened. “I should be happy to escort you to the supper room,” he said, holding his arm out to her. “I’m sure we can find you something refreshing there.”

  Parthenope gulped—actually gulped—and took his arm. “That would be most … most … I thank you, sir.” She paused only long enough to send Sophie a darkling look over her shoulder and mutter, “We’ll discuss this tomorrow morning, you. Expect me at half past ten.”

  Sophie watched them go, managing to keep her face sober until they were at least ten paces away. Lord Woodbridge bent and murmured, “You terrify me, Lady Sophie. I don’t think Parthenope herself could have handled that better.”

  “You are too kind,” she replied, matching his tone. “I must say that I begin to see why she enjoys it so much.”

  “That’s even more terrifying.”

  “Oh, pooh,” she said, imitating Parthenope’s characteristic expression. He laughed, and she joined him. There was a warm, intimate feeling in the shared laughter that she rather liked.

  “There you are!” Lady Jersey materialized in front of them. “Your aunt was wondering where you were, Lady Sophie. I told her I should find you for her.”

  Thank you so much, Aunt. “I’m very sorry you were put to such trouble, Lady Jersey.”

  “Nonsense. I’m the one who said that Woodbridge should entertain you for the nonce.” She looked at them keenly and asked, “Or should I have pretended not to have been able to find you a little longer?”

  Sophie felt herself blush. Lord Woodbridge held his arm out to her. “I’ll take you right to her, Lady Sophie. Excuse us, madam.” He bowed to Lady Jersey slightly and led Sophie away.

  “But we don’t know where my aunt is,” Sophie said, pausing to turn back.

  He gently urged her on, weaving through the milling crowd. “I know we don’t. Why do you think I hurried away from Silence so quickly? We shall be obliged to wander about for at least another quarter hour, looking for her.”

  Sophie laughed, but underneath it, she felt a little jump of happiness. Things were changing between them, weren’t they? Maybe she was getting over her distrust of him after all. “In that case, I am quite sure she can’t be in the card room,” she said.