Miss Sophie's Secret

by Fran Baker

  Jonathan sobered quickly. “You miss him dreadfully, don’t you, Sophie?”

  She nodded, fighting back tears. “And I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you are here with us now, as you are the only other person to whom I have ever felt close. It will be such a comfort to have you nearby. As much as I have looked forward to this stay in town, I have suffered the most frightful nightmares, dreading the missteps I am certain to commit. But now you’ll take me in hand and guide me in the way I should go, and all will be well.”

  He clicked his tongue. “Surely Aunt Ruth has taught you all the proper moves.”

  “But somehow things always contrive to go awry,” she said.

  He performed a mock bow. “Then I shall do everything in my power to insure that they don’t.”

  She went to him quickly, slid an arm around his neck and, pulling off his shako, kissed him lightly on the lips.

  “Sophie!” he protested.

  She popped the shako back into place just as Johnnie Aysgarth entered the room.

  “Ah, here you are,” Sophie said. “Master Jonathan and I are ready to go out and meet the world head-on.”

  Chapter 3

  A knife-sharp breeze hacked the dried leaves from the plane trees and tumbled them along the gutters as Sophie and Jonathan trotted briskly into the park. Mounted on a fine young chestnut, Jonathan sat at his customary ease, his back straight, his gold-bedecked red coat and shako drawing the admiring glances of every passerby. Sophie smiled at him and he smiled back at her.

  “Am I very handsome now that I have this perpetual grin on my face?” he asked her.

  “Yes, indeed,” she told him. “You are quite dazzling. You must always wear that uniform.”

  “Unfortunately, I must discard it as soon as possible, now that I’m being mustered out,” he said. “Weston’s has already begun work on a proper wardrobe for me. It would be quite improper for me to wear a uniform any longer than is absolutely necessary.”

  “Then we must have your portrait painted in it, before you store it away. And you must be mounted on your horse. Just think how delightful it will be to hang such a picture in the gallery at Vaile Priory—much finer than those musty old paintings of relatives with pious faces, holding crosses and such.”

  A thought struck her. “Or perhaps it would be better to show you standing on the fence in front of Vaile House, as I saw you yesterday. You were heroic indeed as I looked up at you from my place on the ground.”

  Jonathan smiled but shook his head. “I’ve no desire to appear heroic. I’ll have my portrait painted in a more natural stance. I’ll be strolling along a country lane with a stick in my hand, prodding a line of milch cows.”

  She tossed her head. “I should not like that at all.”

  The park, they discovered, was remarkably busy for such an early hour. It was filled with people who were taking advantage of a bright, clear morning. Eight or ten riders walked or trotted along the tan that bordered the carriage way. Both Sophie and Jonathan found their work cut out for them as their green horses took exception to every leaf and stone in their paths. Sophie’s mare quieted first, and she was able to cast admiring glances at her companion.

  “You have not had that horse long, Jonathan?” she asked him.

  “No,” he admitted. “I should be riding old Blackie—he served me so well on the Peninsula all these years, and I had promised myself I’d bring him home to a good English pasture one day. But he was injured and I lost him only last month, poor fellow.”

  Sophie drew a sorrowful face. “How sad.”

  “It was, indeed.”

  “Were you in many battles?” she persisted.

  He nodded, then turned quickly away, as though reluctant to pursue the topic further.

  For a time they rode in silence, both deep in thought. Suddenly Jonathan let out an exclamation.

  “By all that’s holy, there’s Jeanette! Aunt Ruth was right—she takes one’s breath away. Look there, Sophie—the lady in the blue riding dress.”

  At the same moment that Sophie turned to examine the subject, Jeanette glanced in their direction. Immediately her mouth fell open and her eyes widened in surprise. Then she blushed prettily and, giving them a radiant smile, urged her horse toward them.

  “How wonderful!” Sophie cried. “She is delighted to see me again, just as I am happy to meet her so quickly.”

  Jeanette drew up between them, her gaze focusing eagerly on Jonathan’s face. “You are home again, Jonathan Gray! How marvelous!”

  Sophie waited for Jeanette to speak to her, but the girl only gave her a polite nod before turning her full attention back to the resplendent young officer. He bestowed one of his dazzling smiles upon her.

  “Your most obedient, Cousin Jeanette,” he said. “I see that you have indeed turned out to be the ‘fairest in the land,’ just as we all predicted. And here is Sophie Althorpe beside me. Certainly you remember her.”

  Jeanette turned to stare at her in surprise. “Sophie? Why, it is! How silly of me not to recognize you, but I had expected you still to be as you were before, a child of eleven years.” She laughed softly. “How beautiful you are!” She gave Jonathan a shy smile from under thick dark lashes then turned back to Sophie. “Are you in town for the little season? Shall we be bosom bows again?”

  “It is my fondest hope,” Sophie assured her.

  A tall slender man with a narrow face rode quietly up beside them. Jeanette smiled gently in his direction.

  “Lord Roger Thornhill, you’ll allow me to present my cousin, Sophie Althorpe, and another cousin, Jonathan Gray. Lord Fairmont.”

  Fairmont inclined his head toward Sophie. “Your most obedient, Miss Althorpe.” He nodded toward Jonathan. “Gray and I are old friends.”

  “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Roger,” Jonathan replied.

  “Yes, indeed,” Fairmont agreed. “I’m confident you’re finding London a more comfortable place than Portugal.”

  “Well, not entirely.” Jonathan allowed his horse to drop behind the two ladies. Fairmont joined him and they were soon conversing in low, conspiratorial voices.

  Jeanette drew her horse close to Sophie’s. “I’ve so many things to say to you. We must catch up on our friendship while Jonathan and Fairmont are doing the same. How long have you been in town without seeking me out? I feel quite injured by your neglect.”

  “We only arrived yesterday afternoon,” Sophie told her.

  “Ah, then, I am satisfied,” Jeanette said, smiling. “Now I must know your plans. Are you attending the theater tonight? Kean has a new play which promises to be quite terrifying. Everyone will be there. Afterward we may go to the Star Hotel for supper. Nicky will be delighted to see how pretty you’ve become. But where is he, the scamp? He was trotting past those laurel trees not five minutes ago. Ah, there he is! Come along.”

  They urged their horses forward. “Nicky!” she called. “See who I have with me. It is Sophie Althorpe from Vaile Priory. Certainly you remember her?”

  Nicky, a remarkably handsome young man who was clad in modish attire, was putting a fine bay gelding through a series of exercises—twenty-four walking steps then twenty-four trots. He drew up beside them and doffed his hat.

  “Delighted, I assure you,” he said. He was about to turn and proceed with his drill, when his eyes focused on Sophie’s face. He opened his mouth in surprise.

  “Well, damme if it ain’t little Sophie! Is it possible? You’ve grown into a dashed pretty gel. Thought you’d be a perfect fright. Plain as a little mud hen in those days, I remember, poor little creature.”

  “No, no,” Jeanette protested. “Your memory is at fault, Nicky. She was a beautiful child.” She glanced toward Jonathan, but he was conversing earnestly with Fairmont and had not taken note of the new arrival.

  “No, m’dear,” Nicky insisted. “I remember her perfectly well. Taught her to shoot—ain’t that right, Sophie? Hit the target first crack, the little imp. I thought she h
ad a real flare for the sport, but she never managed to come close again.” He gave her a paternal nod. “Well, it’s nice to have you in town. But don’t expect me to take you shooting again. Now that you’re older, it’s not at all the thing.”

  “Yes, of course,” Sophie agreed.

  At that moment Jonathan and Fairmont drew up beside them.

  “Ah,” Jeanette said, beaming at Jonathan,” here is Jonathan Gray, Nicky. Isn’t it gratifying to have him home from the war?”

  Nicky’s lower jaw fell open. “Damme!” he exclaimed. “Never thought to see you looking so grand, old man. Do you wear that devilish fine costume in battle?”

  Jonathan laughed. “No, it’s only for parades and such.”

  “You must never take it off,” Nicky told him. “You’ll sweep the ladies off their feet if you continue on as you are.”

  “But I shan’t, you see,” Jonathan told him. “I’m being mustered out and will undoubtedly have some new civilian togs by this afternoon.”

  Nicky shook his head. “Wouldn’t advise it. You’ll be just another drab civilian in your buckskins and superfine. Always were a plain chap.”

  “Nicky!” Jeanette protested. “You go too far!”

  “I do?” he said. “Sorry.”

  “Besides, it is quite untrue,” she continued. “Jonathan Gray has always been the handsomest man of my acquaintance.”

  Sophie had turned at that moment to glance at Fairmont, and to her surprise she saw a look of pain pass over his carefully controlled features.

  * * * *

  “And you will require several new walking dresses—we shall start with five,” Lady Biskup told her. “Plus a new riding habit and at least two ball gowns. Of course, it will be necessary to order a presentation dress for court. And how many more will you need for receiving callers at home, I wonder?”

  Sophie’s eyes were bulging. “Really, Aunt Ruth? Shall I be able to have so many?”

  “Yes, and you must have boots and slippers and fans and shawls . . . We shall have the most delightful time buying all these pretty things.”

  Sophie was hard put to prevent herself from hopping up and down with glee. Instead, she clasped her hands together and exclaimed, “This is the happiest day of my life!” She quickly sobered, however, as she looked into her clothes press and was obliged to admit that she had not even one moderately fashionable dress to wear shopping.

  “We shall immediately be proclaimed dowds if we step out of the house in these awful old clothes,” she observed. “My riding dress was so shabby that it made me feel quite wretched this morning in the park. What could Jeanette have thought of me—and Nicky and Fairmont? They all looked so grand. Is there no way we can summon a seamstress and have her produce one acceptable gown for each of us before we put our noses out of the house again?”

  “No, my dearest,” her aunt said. “We are not so poor spirited as to shrink and simper and rely on our clothing as the measure of our worth. Our prestige will carry us until we are fashionably decked out. Keep reminding yourself that if we wear these dresses, they are the thing.”

  Sophie cocked a dubious eye at her, but was obliged to accept her aunt’s premise or remain at home. No sooner had the two ladies departed their own doorstep and climbed into Lord Reginald’s ancient and recently cleaned landau, however, than a multitude of other interests swept Sophie’s thoughts away from clothing.

  “How beautiful all these conveyances are, Aunt Ruth,” she noted. “Ours is dreadfully shabby by comparison. Will we be obliged to drive about town in this ruin, or shall we be able to have a new one?”

  Lady Biskup sighed. “We must have a new one, to be sure. So many unpleasant tasks . . . I shall ask Jonathan to take charge of this for us. He’ll know precisely what will make us the most comfortable.”

  “Indeed,” Sophie said in a small voice. “I wish we were riding in it at this moment. See how oddly everyone is staring at us. I suppose that, since we are riding in this shabby old wreck, it is now the thing, and all the ton will scramble to obtain such transportation.”

  “I protest your mocking me, Sophie,” Lady Biskup said.

  She leaned over and kissed her aunt on the cheek. “I’m sorry. I did not intend to be impudent.”

  “Certainly not.” The older woman patted her hand then gestured toward a stylish barouche that was passing nearby. An extremely haughty lady was gazing imperiously about, her head piled high with ostrich feathers and her shoulders swathed in purple merino.

  Lady Biskup snorted. “There is Olivia Steck, now Mrs. Philip Shayne. I have been told that she has given herself all manner of airs in the past few years and now considers herself a judge of everyone’s worth. I shall give her the very slightest hint of a bow, to remind her that my station has always been far above hers.”

  Putting action to her words, Lady Biskup inclined her head so slightly that her bow was hardly perceptible, and then turned away. Mrs. Shayne’s eyebrows rose. Her gaze quickly shifted to the side of the carriage and she read the Vaile coat of arms. Immediately her expression softened. She gave Sophie a cordial nod.

  “Well,” Sophie said, surprised. “What you have been saying is true. We are being treated with deference despite our shabby carriage and unfashionable clothes.”

  “Of course,” her aunt said, and settled herself comfortably back against the squabs.

  Their first stop was at Madame Young’s fashionable shop. To Sophie’s delight she had no sooner stepped down onto the curb to wait for her aunt to alight than Jeanette’s mother, Lady Englewood, came mincing out the front door, her face carefully arranged in a rather stiff smile.

  Sophie recognized her at once, as she had changed little since her visit to Vaile Priory six years before. Her figure was still slender, her dress the latest kick of fashion. Her narrow face with its perpetual pout and fringe of drab blonde curls peered out from under a singularly youthful bonnet.

  Behind her trooped four young ladies: Jeanette, aglow with her customary beauty and good nature; a pretty brunette with a beautiful smile; and two others, both quite plain. The latter two appeared to form a pair as their arms were linked together—one perfectly round and smiling, the other tall, forbidding, and equine.

  At the sight of Sophie, Jeanette exclaimed with pleasure. But Lady Englewood frowned, her eyes quickly scanning Sophie’s plain walking dress and redingote. She tilted her head and appraised the carriage, then turned to consider a gaggle of fashionable ladies who were clucking and giggling together nearby. With a decisive toss of her head, she began to shepherd her party away. Jeanette protested, half raising a hand to Sophie, but her mother hissed at her furiously, and while the other three young ladies peered around curiously to discover from what manner of peril they were being rescued, she shooed them over the cobbles.

  “Lady Englewood!” Sophie called. “It is I, Sophie Althorpe.”

  This produced a little flurry of activity from the lady. She bounced a bit in her stride and fluttered her hands at her charges, urging them quickly around a corner and out of sight.

  “What on earth can this mean?” Sophie asked her aunt. “Certainly Lady Englewood has not forgotten us.”

  “No, of course not.” Lady Biskup chuckled. “She does not like the cut of our clothes. But as soon as she discovers that we have ordered an expensive new wardrobe and are domiciled at Vaile House, she will come running back quickly enough. If she weren’t my sister-in-law—“her aunt sighed—“well, she was always the silliest goose alive, and unfortunately does not appear to have grown wiser with the years. We shall treat her with the indifference that is due her.”

  Sophie followed her aunt rather glumly into Madame Young’s. But the moment they were inside, her spirits lifted. They were greeted by the proprietress herself, a short woman impeccably adorned, who bounded toward them, her round face wreathed in smiles.

  “Ah, Lady Biskup,” she exclaimed. “Such a pleasure! So many years have passed . . . his Lordship’s man of business, Mr. Sand
ers, has been in touch with us. And this is his lordship’s charming ward? How delightful! She will be a pleasure to dress—such an enchanting figure . . . delightful coloring. She shall be most beautiful. She must have a ball gown of cherry silk—I have the very thing for her—and one of white gauze with silver butterflies. How many walking dresses will be required?”

  “Let us begin with five,” Lady Biskup said. “And a new riding dress, and five simple gowns. I shall require the same.”

  Madame Young’s cheeks grew pink with excitement. “Yes, yes, it has always been a pleasure to dress your ladyship.”

  When Lady Biskup and Sophie were settled into comfortable chairs and plied with tea, Madame Young’s wares were paraded before them. After her long exile at Vaile Priory, Sophie was unprepared for the beauty of the lush fabrics and vivid hues that were presented to her. China silks in the richest colors, sprigged muslins of a delicacy that she had not dreamed possible. By the time the order was totaled, Lady Biskup had indulged her niece in the purchase of seven simple dresses, six ball gowns, and nine walking dresses. She had been denied only one of the ensembles that she could “not live without,” and that was a peach and green afternoon dress that both Lady Biskup and Madame Young had agreed was designed for a much more mature lady from a different walk of life.

  “And now I am utterly exhausted,” Lady Biskup announced. “We shall be obliged to leave the selection of boots and bonnets until tomorrow.”

  They were ushered out of the shop by Madame, still bobbing and weaving and exclaiming with pleasure. As they passed a small side room, they could see two fashionable ladies at a table, selecting gloves. Both turned to stare pointedly, and Lady Biskup gave them a stiff nod of her head.

  Outside on the pavement she whispered to Sophie, “That was Barbara Harris and Virginia Cherrill. I hope you observed their features and will take care not to allow them to catch you in the slightest indiscretion, as they are the most devout busybodies in England. You may rest assured that before evening the entire ton will be cognizant of the fact that we have visited Madame Young’s and made a great many expensive purchases.”