Courtship and Curses

by Marissa Doyle

  Mrs. Barker looked troubled. “She might have done. But I don’t like to bring it up in quite such a bald way and take all the moonlight and roses out of looking for a husband. There’ll be time enough for that if the situation arises.”

  She was far kinder than Aunt Isabel had been. Sophie took a breath, choosing her words carefully. “So if someone were to pay her marked attention, she might not understand if—if his interest was inspired purely by her or by…?”

  “Her money?” Mrs. Barker looked at her sharply. “She might, or she might not. It’s something I am keeping my eyes open on, though.”

  They both fell silent and sipped their tea. Across from them, Kitty Barker continued to talk at Parthenope, who was maintaining her countenance admirably.

  “I trust you won’t mind Kitty calling on you in turn,” Mrs. Barker said, watching them also. “There’ll be no stopping her now. She seems to have taken quite a violent liking to Lady Parthenope. Not all the ladies in Brussels have been so kind to her.”

  “We shall happily receive her—and you, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Barker smiled at her.

  They stayed a cordial half hour, and Kitty promised to return the call as soon as possible, for she quite longed to make the acquaintance of Lady Parthenope’s dear, sweet little bird, Hester.

  “You know that Hester’s going to say one of the words you’ve taught him when she calls and give her a fit of the vapors,” Sophie said as their carriage took them back around the Parc.

  “No, he won’t. He’s very well trained. Anyway, I have decided.”

  “Decided what?”

  Parthenope looked pleased with herself. “That once you and Mrs. Barker have made sure that Mr. Underwood doesn’t get his claws into Kitty Barker, I shall introduce her to one of the Duke of Richmond’s sons. They’re all young sprigs of nobility in desperate need of rich brides, and she’s a rich bride in search of a noble husband. She would suit them admirably.”

  Sophie kept her face straight. “What, all of them?”

  “No, Miss Goose-cap, just one, thank you. She’d make a properly adoring little wife.”

  “Except that the duchess wouldn’t hear of one of her sons marrying a cit’s daughter, no matter how much money she has. And besides, Mrs. Barker and I haven’t planned anything about Mr. Underwood. His name was never even mentioned between us.”

  “It didn’t have to be. Besides, I overheard a good part of your talk. Kitty’s conversation doesn’t require much attention, so long as you smile and nod frequently. Or reassure her that Napoléon is not going to march into town the day after tomorrow, which she seems to think likely.”

  “She’s not the only one. Papa says rumors like that have been flying everywhere the last few days.” Sophie couldn’t help shivering slightly.

  But Parthenope only laughed. “She needs a good dose of Wellington, then. Once we get her into society, she’ll get that well enough.”

  * * *

  Parthenope was as good as her word. Within a few days of her mentioning to two of the elder Richmond daughters, Jane and Georgiana Lennox, that Kitty Barker was an heiress, Sophie was pleased to see her firmly in the center of a group of admiring young men when they arrived at a rout at the Richmonds’ house.

  “What about the duchess and her horror of cits?” she asked Parthenope.

  “Who knows? Maybe practicality won over snobbery.” Parthenope bent to shake out her skirts, crumpled in the carriage ride over. “How is she doing?”

  Sophie studied the group. “Well, I think. She’s wearing a very pretty gown and is listening to something John Lennox is saying and gazing at him as if he’s the Delphic oracle.”

  “And no Norris Underwood in sight. Famous. If she keeps that up, she’ll have one of those boys wrapped around her finger in no time.”

  Should she hug Parthenope, or shake her? “I thought you weren’t going to do any rescuing of Kitty Barker, you softhearted fraud, you.”

  Parthenope sniffed. “I’m not. I’m giving her the means to rescue herself, of course. Oh, look who is over there!” She grabbed Sophie’s arm. “It’s the duke!”

  “Of course it’s the duke. I don’t think he’s missed a party yet.” The Duke of Wellington indeed seemed to be at every party, dinner, or ball that they attended, along with his “family” of well-born young aides-de-camp.

  “Pooh. It’s good for morale for him to be seen everywhere, so silly people will stop panicking,” Parthenope said loftily. “But he does look to be in fine form tonight.”

  “He’s always in fine form,” Papa commented from behind them, a little sardonically. “He’s the one all Europe’s trusting to stop Napoléon, and he’s well aware of the fact.” He coughed slightly. “I also know he’s reputed to be extremely, ah, gallant with the ladies.”

  “Yes, isn’t he?” Parthenope stared after him, starry-eyed.

  “You just haven’t gotten over his winking at you at Lady Charlotte’s dinner the other night.” Sophie tsked in mock disapproval. “I think I ought to write to James Leland and tell him his future wife has been flirting with the Duke of Wellington.”

  Parthenope was spared answering just then because Kitty Barker had caught sight of them and came hurrying over to greet them. “Lady Parthenope! Lady Sophie!” she cried happily. “I’m so pleased to see you! Lady Jane Lennox invited me—such a dear girl, isn’t she? And Lady Georgiana, too—oh, all of them, though I do find her grace, their mama, rather terrifying! I’m so glad the duke is here and will keep us safe from that horrid Bonaparte, because I should be so sad to have to leave Brussels just now when I am finding so many agreeable new friends!”

  “Of course you shouldn’t leave Brussels now, just when it’s getting exciting,” agreed Sophie. Hmm. Did she dare probe a little about whether Kitty was seeing much of Norris Underwood lately? How could she question her without being too obviously inquisitive? It was delicate—

  “So have you seen much of Mr. Underwood lately?” Parthenope asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Kitty said, unconcerned. “He called just yesterday morning to ask Aunt and me to the theater tonight, but I was already engaged here, of course, and then he wanted to take me for a carriage ride tomorrow, but Aunt had already arranged for a fitting at a new mantua maker that Lady Sarah recommended, since we shan’t be going to Paris anytime soon, more’s the pity! I was very sorry to have to tell him I was busy, as he seemed a little put out, but then he sent the loveliest flowers this morning, so I hope he isn’t too vexed with me, because he’s been so kind and attentive.… Oh, dear Jane is waving at me. We must talk more later.” She scurried back to her group.

  “There’s your answer,” Parthenope muttered to Sophie as they went to make their curtsies to the duchess. “She’ll have forgotten him inside of a week.”

  “I’m not so sure. Look over there.” Sophie gestured to a side door with a tilt of her head.

  Parthenope followed her gesture and swore under her breath. “I thought he was going to the theater?”

  Norris Underwood stood in the doorway, adjusting the set of his sleeves. Evidently he’d refused to cede the field to the Lennox brothers and had decided to crash the party.

  “He looks rumpled. Did he climb the wall holding his coat in his teeth?” Parthenope asked, not without admiration. The Richmonds’ home had once belonged to a carriage maker and was actually several buildings grouped within a walled yard.

  “He must have.” Sophie continued to watch him. He finished his sleeves and felt his cravat to assure that it had not sustained damage, then scanned the room. She saw his faint smile when he spotted Kitty, followed by a drawing down of his brows when he saw her entourage. A look of something that might have been desperation crossed his face. Taking Parthenope’s arm, Sophie turned away.

  * * *

  Sophie was awake early the following morning and left to go down to breakfast while Parthenope was still putting up her hair with the nervous help of the housemaid. She was still troubled by the thought
of Norris Underwood. Cornered dogs tended to bite, and when he found out—as he surely would from the artless Kitty—that she and Parthenope had been the ones to introduce her to the Richmonds, then there was no telling what he might do for revenge.

  What, tell the world that you’re a witch? Why should they believe him? Especially since it seems you aren’t one anymore. You’re useless, so he can’t hurt you that way.

  But what if he did something to hurt Parthenope? That was more worrisome … and without her magic, what if Sophie couldn’t help save her friend again? She halted in front of the door to the breakfast room and glared at its white-painted panels, leaning on her cane. Open, she told it. Aperī!

  It didn’t move. She slapped it open with an angry swipe of her hand.

  “Sophie!” Papa exclaimed.

  He and Amélie were sitting together at the table in a pool of early morning sunshine, drinking coffee, and with them was the Comte de Carmouche-Ponthieux.

  “Monsieur!” Sophie exclaimed involuntarily.

  He looked tired and unshaven as he rose to bow, and she wondered if he’d just arrived in town. She came forward to take his hand. “How lovely to see you, sir! You were able to come, then.”

  He shook her hand and smiled at her. “You see me as I left London. I did not dare linger after receiving permission from my superiors, lest they change their minds. I came to leave my card, and Madame Carswell saw me and graciously invited me to breakfast before I go to my hotel.”

  “I hope you’ll be able to find a room,” Papa put in. “Brussels is bursting at the seams.”

  “Ah, but I have friends here. I am sure I shall.” He smiled again.

  “Good morning, petite. Since your tante is not yet here, may I pour you some coffee?” Amélie asked with a smile.

  “I won’t tell,” Papa said, winking at her.

  Oh, poor Aunt Molly! Should she go up and get her? It was just so sweet that the comte had come here directly on arriving in town. But Aunt Molly might get flustered. It might actually be better to surprise her.

  “Yes, thank you,” Sophie said, and sat down. Amélie handed her a filled cup and pushed the cream pitcher toward her as Papa asked the comte about the political talk in London. Sophie thought about asking if he’d seen Peregrine and how he seemed, then remembered that she wasn’t supposed to care about him any more than any other acquaintance in London. She took a sip of coffee instead and almost enjoyed the pain as it scorched her tongue.

  Parthenope breezed in a moment later and dropped a letter in the tray on the sideboard so that Madame Mabuse, the housekeeper, could post it later. She’d been doing an awful lot of letter writing lately. Sophie had teasingly asked if she was writing to James Leland, but Parthenope had only sniffed and looked superior.

  “Oh, goodness!” she said, catching sight of the comte. “Well, Aunt Molly will be happy now, won’t she?”

  The comte laughed. “Ah, I hope so.”

  The footman came in just then with the butter and jam, and Hester squawked indignantly when he passed his perch without stopping. Parthenope went to the bird and lifted him onto her shoulder. “Someone’s been slipping you treats, hasn’t he?” she crooned. “Naughty man. I’m the only one allowed to dispense treats around here.”

  Papa cleared his throat. “Perhaps not,” he said.

  Parthenope raised her eyebrows. “Would you like to feed Hester treats too, sir?”

  Papa actually smiled. Usually conversation about Hester had the opposite effect on him. “No, thank you. The treat I’d been thinking about is more for you girls. We have accepted so many invitations that I think it time we considered giving our own entertainment.”

  “Oh!” Parthenope clapped her hands, and Hester squawked again. “Yes, please! I think it’s a splendid idea! A ball? Might we manage a small one here? It would just do perfectly. There are definitely people we need to invite.”

  Papa looked slightly taken aback. “Er … well, I’d thought—”

  “Oh, Sophie and Amélie and I will take care of the whole thing, won’t we?”

  Amélie smiled. “If Monsieur le Marquis says so—”

  “He will,” Parthenope declared. “Won’t he?”

  Chapter

  17

  “We must get the musicians who played at the Grevilles’ dance, don’t you think, Amélie? And the refreshments—can Cook deal adequately with that, do you think, or will she need help brought in? I am sure Madame Mabuse will do a fine job overseeing getting the ballroom ready, but perhaps another man to help polish and wax the floor would be helpful,” Parthenope said later that day, frowning down at her scrawled list and tapping her pencil. “And footmen—I’m sure we’ll need a few extra footmen.”

  She had been as good as her word, and declared a planning and strategy meeting for the afternoon with all the concentration of a general planning a military campaign.

  “Madame Mabuse has an alarming number of nephews, who I am sure can be brought in to help,” Amélie said. “I am not sure about Cook, though. It is something that must be ascertained.”

  “Maybe Madame Mabuse has an equal number of nieces who can help in the kitchen.” Parthenope scribbled something on her paper.

  Amélie’s eyes twinkled. “I should be surprised not at all if that is so.”

  “Now, about the wines—is there a merchant here that we trust? I suppose we ought to draw up a guest list before deciding how much we must order.…”

  Sophie half wondered if they shouldn’t have asked Aunt Molly to take part in their planning. But she was out driving with the comte and would probably be gone all afternoon. The expression that had spread across her face that morning when she finally came down for breakfast and caught sight of him had been one of utter happiness; Sophie couldn’t help wondering if, had they been alone, Aunt Molly wouldn’t have thrown her arms (well, arm—one remained in a sling) about his neck and kissed him. Instead she’d contented herself with a heartfelt “Auguste!”

  It was beginning to look more and more likely that they’d return from Brussels with Aunt Molly betrothed or even married. Surely the comte would not have come here to Brussels unless he truly loved her. Maybe someday, twenty years from now, she and Peregrine might—

  “—invitations, Sophie,” Parthenope said.

  “What?” Sophie blinked at her.

  Parthenope poked her in the arm with her pencil. “Sophie, if we’re to get anything accomplished, you’ll have to stop woolgathering and pay attention. I said we ought to draw up a list of people who will be sent an invitation. Apart from the obvious, like Sir Charles Stuart and the Richmonds and Capels and so on, whom do you think?”

  “Oh. Er…” Inspiration struck her. “Why, the Duke of Wellington and his staff officers, of course. What party would be complete without them?”

  “The duke…” Parthenope’s eyes went dreamy. “Of course. He’ll have to dance with us if he comes, since we’re hostesses—well, sort of, anyway. I’ll be able to tell my daughters about it someday. I suppose we ought to invite Kitty Barker and her aunt,” she said, then smiled evilly. “And maybe Norris Underwood, too, to make a point? Do you think he’d come?”

  “I’m not sure we want him,” Sophie replied, with a small shiver.

  “Nonsense,” Parthenope said briskly. “I’m sure he’ll liven things up, and an extra man is always a good thing to have at a ball. Now, who else ought to come, Amélie?”

  Amélie suddenly seemed very interested in the toes of her slippers. “I know someone I should like to invite,” she said slowly. “But he is not in Brussels just now.”

  Parthenope opened her mouth, then closed it and began to nod. “Definitely. I’ll put him on the list and write directly,” she said.

  “Who?” Sophie asked.

  “Never you mind. Go back to daydreaming.” Parthenope scribbled something on her paper and smiled at it in satisfaction.

  * * *

  The next few weeks flew past, preparations for the ball and the conti
nued round of parties and balls that they attended speeding the time. Parthenope was cast into transports when the duke “accepted with pleasure” their invitation, along with a great many of his staff officers. He even offered to send over a few stout soldiers if they could use some extra hands.

  Acceptances came in a steady stream. Sophie rather hoped that Norris Underwood would decline, but he did not; the Richmonds would be there in force, as would the Capel sisters and Lady Caroline, who was just a few months away from bringing yet another little Capel into the world and would probably refrain from dancing and restrict herself to cards.

  Kitty Barker came in person to accept, bringing her aunt with her and turning it into a call. While Amélie and Aunt Molly entertained Aunt Barker, Kitty pounced on Sophie and Parthenope.

  “Are you excited? I declare, I know I am. I’ve not yet been to a ball in Brussels, though dear Lady Jane promises she’ll make sure I am invited to her mama’s next one. Will you have the waltz? I know it’s still not entirely the thing back at home, though Lady Jane assures me that everyone here does it, and without the least breath of—well, not scandal, but—oh, you know what I mean!” she said to them. Sophie resolved to watch closely next time to try to detect when Kitty managed to breathe in the midst of one of her speeches.

  “Yes, we’ll waltz,” Parthenope said. “The Duke of Wellington and his staff officers will all be here, and they’re supposed to be the best waltzers anywhere.”

  “Oh! Well, if the duke waltzes, then it must be all right. I must be sure to let Aunt know—she still doesn’t quite approve of the waltz, but if the duke does…” Kitty trailed off, hesitated, then said, “I wonder … if I might ask…”

  “Yes?” Sophie prompted when she fell silent again.

  “Well, it’s just that…” She took a deep breath and said, “It’s my dress. Aunt made me choose it and says it’s in the pink of fashion and exactly right for a girl my age, but … but when someone says a dress is just right for someone your age, don’t you get suspicious?”