The woman approached, as blonde and pretty as the major himself, and her face broke into a wide smile. “Dylan!”
“There she is!” Major Stuart grinned and clasped the woman, swinging her off her feet as she laughed. “Your mother mentioned your intentions to join the Fleet, but I did not know you were coming this year.” He set her down and drew Sophia into their conversation with a conspiratorial wink. “Now ladies, I realize the goal of such an expedition is true and everlasting love—preferably within the bounds of holy matrimony—”
Rachael slapped his arm.
“However,” he continued, “as you are both apt to receive multiple proposals daily, I urge you to be selective. And ask me specifically about the suitability of any potential suitor.” He gestured a thumb at Anthony. “This one hasn’t been here long enough to offer any useful help, but I know every eligible bachelor between here and Calcutta.” He smiled. “And there are many.”
Rachael laughed. “You are clearly following my mother’s instructions. She cannot help but interfere in my affairs, even a world away.”
Dylan shook his head, a wry smile still in play. “That may or may not be true, I confess nothing; however, I would be remiss in my duties as your doting protector to neglect the warning.”
By this time several of the other ladies present had gathered around them and Anthony spoke to the group at large. “Lady Pilkington will be thrilled to know you’ve all arrived. We have a veritable house party in full swing at the moment. Several of Lord and Lady Pilkington’s friends from England are guests here at the mansion for a time, and we daily enjoy the company of soldiers from the First Cavalry Light Brigade. I trust you won’t miss Society in the least.”
A general exclamation of glee went up from the crowd.
“You truly are just in time,” Dylan added. “Lady Pilkington’s biannual costume ball is to be held tonight.”
Additional squeals of delight filled the air, and the group began moving en masse toward the wide front steps of the Residency. Two additional carriages approached via the tree-lined drive and drew to a stop near the crowd. A number of ladies’ maids disembarked, and Sophia and Rachael moved to speak with them.
Anthony watched as Sophia spoke easily with a young woman and elicited a smile from her. Of course Sophia would be kind to a maid—she’d been one herself. She had balked at having one when Jack had first come into the title, but she’d finally acquiesced when Ivy convinced her she would be doing any young woman a favor by offering her generous employment and a kind mistress. Good work was not always easy to come by, and to be treated well by the family was a blessing. Sophia knew the truth of that altogether too well.
She and Rachael returned to Anthony and Dylan and climbed the front steps to the main house. Anthony was curious about Jack’s willingness to allow Sophia to travel with the Fishing Fleet, but he didn’t feel he had the right to ask her about it. The Fleet had become notorious for carrying women far below Sophia’s station who had been unable to secure a good match at home. There were also rumors of shipboard dalliances with other single gentlemen during the voyage that scandalized proper society. He was saved from giving voice to the awkward question when Dylan asked it instead.
“A little surprised my aunt approved of your travel with the Fleet, my dear cousin.” He grinned. “How did you manage it without me there to charm her?”
Miss Scarsdale rolled her eyes. “It took some doing, I must admit.” She sighed. “And Mrs. Stilton, my hired companion for the voyage, was most reluctant to allow me association with any of the other ladies, but when she realized Miss Elliot also traveled with a respectable companion and was the sister of an earl, besides, she finally relented.”
“Traveling with a respectable companion is a wise course of action,” Anthony said. “I would recommend it if any female relation of my own were traveling with the Fleet.” He managed a smile for Sophia, but then braced himself at the quick glint in her eye he knew was but the briefest of warnings before her veiled sarcasm struck.
“And how apropos! I am, after all, your surrogate sister, yes?” She dimpled at him, her lovely face the very image of a charming debutante well versed in the art of harmless flirtation. She would set the wife-hunting populace of British men on their collective ear. “And I am the most fortunate of women to have two such strapping men to look after my well-being. I simply cannot imagine making my way through life without the guiding hand of elder brothers. Or dear friends.”
Anthony searched for something to say from a well of charming platitudes that had suddenly run dry.
Sophia linked arms with Rachael, asked her something he couldn’t hear, and they entered the mansion, laughing.
Lady Pilkington, a trim woman approaching middle age, and striking in both dress and ornamentation, received the group in the front hall. She clapped her hands with a wide smile when she singled out Sophia. “My darling Miss Elliot, what a pleasure to meet you in person! The likeness your brother sent with his last letter hardly does you justice. What a beauty you are, and what fun we shall have! I’ve never been a sponsor—it shall be grand!”
Sophia smiled and accepted the woman’s quick embrace, and then introduced Rachael Scarsdale and several of the other women in the group. Lady Pilkington clucked after the bunch, showing Sophia, Rachael, and a handful of other ladies to the guest rooms. The remainder of the young women were to lodge either with other British families and dignitaries near the Residency or in one of the larger nearby British compounds. The butler, Himmat, directed those not with Lady Pilkington to the drawing room for tea before they were to leave for their own quarters.
Anthony took the opportunity to ask Dylan to join him in the library. Dylan had been in India for some time, though he had arrived at the Residency only a short time before the ladies, and Anthony was eager for a more in-depth conversation with him.
Dylan was one of very few people who had been aware of Anthony’s actual duties during the war. Dylan had even saved his life more than once. It would be a relief to finally confide in someone, to share the burden of the true reason Anthony was in India.
The library was an airy room with whitewashed walls and ceilings and plantation shutters on the windows. Shelves along the walls held a variety of leather-bound volumes on subjects ranging from history to horticulture to politics. A thick, red Turkish rug anchored a seating arrangement in the center of the room where he and Dylan sat.
Dylan leaned back in his chair. “Why are you here, then? I hear the rumors, of course, that you’re back to your carefree days, but I’m inclined to believe those rumors are more of a screen than the truth. You and I both know they weren’t true the first time, either.”
Anthony sighed. “Braxton sent me.”
Dylan nodded. “And what is it that endangers the Realm this time?”
“The War Department has lost a confidential document that contains information about His Majesty’s servants—detailed information, I am afraid.”
Dylan’s brow raised. “And Braxton has sent you to recover it.”
“Yes. He believes the document was stolen by a young man named Harold Miller. I tracked his movements from England to France, where he secured passage on his uncle’s merchant vessel. However, by the time Captain Miller put ashore at the Cape, he’d lost several of his crew—including his nephew, Harold—to illness.” Anthony lowered his voice. “The captain is here as a guest of the Residency. I assume he is in possession of the document, though I do not know where he might be keeping it.”
“One hopes the document is in code?”
Anthony nodded. “It is, although the code is not exclusive to Braxton. We can assume the information is secure, for now, at least. Our operatives in France have remained safe, though depending on what the captain does with the document, that could change in an instant.”
“Do you believe the captain could break the code?”
> “Doubtful, but he could find someone with the necessary skills. Or, he could sell it to an individual or a government who might have an interest in holding the document ransom. Either way, I have tracked the thing for two years now and am quite at the end of my rope.” It was an understatement, truly. He went to bed at night cursing the document, and he awoke in the morning cursing the document. He had begun to wonder if he would spend the rest of his life chasing the thing.
“When did the captain arrive at the Residency?”
Anthony sat back in his chair and lifted a shoulder. When he spoke, he kept his voice down. “He arrived several days ago, just before I did. I’ve tried to pin the man down, but have not been able to find the right approach. And my hands are somewhat tied by the very reputation designed to keep me safe. I am not here in an openly investigative capacity; I am here to fritter away my time and attention on inconsequential matters and to flirt with pretty girls. I cannot abandon my cover now—the world is very small where it concerns the British Empire. I’ve already encountered several people I know from home and military service.”
Dylan nodded. “Happens here more often than not.” He paused. “And now you find yourself in the company of a woman for whom you have obvious affection. What does she think of your ne’er-do-well reputation?”
Anthony leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “She is hurt.” He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “I had intended to formally court her, but then Braxton arrived at my door. I was instead obliged to downplay my devotion to her, not only to complete the task at hand, but to keep her safe.” He looked at Dylan. “The document contains privileged information not only on our operatives, but on their friends and family—anyone who could be used as leverage against us.”
Dylan whistled low.
A headache settled behind Anthony’s eyes. The woman who haunted his dreams was now under the same roof as he. Being able to court her openly was motivation enough to put the Janus Document business to rest. Perhaps if he could find the thing she might find a way to forgive him for deceiving her.
Chapter 4
Sophia came to some rather quick conclusions about Lady Pilkington. She was like many English women in that she held a definite sense of British superiority and she believed her worth lay in furthering her husband’s career and hosting the most impressive parties. She had been born to privilege and, despite marrying slightly below her station, still found herself in a position to be envied by many. Her husband was a Resident, sent to act as a liaison to one of India’s many regional princes. The mansion was grand—larger than most of the other families’ bungalows, she was quick to point out—the servants plentiful, and the environment lush and exotic.
She was now Miss Sophia Elliot’s sponsor, and she couldn’t have been more proud of the fact, as she mentioned numerous times before reaching Sophia’s room. She’d always wished for a daughter, she said, and was honored to temporarily stand in for Sophia’s dear mother for a time.
For her part, Sophia felt a sense of cautious fondness for the woman, who seemed, above all things, sincere.
The women’s guest rooms were situated adjacent each other on the far north end of the mansion’s second floor. Thatched screens—tatties—on window shutters that in the summer were continually wet to catch crosswinds and cool the rooms, were absent now, which provided an unobstructed view of the grounds. Shade trees and flowers were abundant, and the world outside the windows was a splendid wash of vibrant color.
Sophia cast an appreciative eye about her own room, which was soothing. Relaxing. The walls were white, the floors a deep cherry color; decorative accents on the walls and pillows on a window seat overlooking the back of the property provided beautiful flashes of color. Mosquito netting hung around the bed, and the white cotton bedding was offset by the same bright pillows that graced the window seat. The whole of it looked very comfortable and, though she was tired, she was determined to avoid sleeping until nightfall.
Loath as she was to admit it, she didn’t want to miss a potential moment spent in Anthony’s company. Perhaps if she were with him, she might divine some clue as to his reason for his abrupt departure. She desperately didn’t want to believe he had left London to escape her company. Since his desertion, the fear at the back of her thoughts was that London wasn’t smothering him, she was.
She made her way to a small vanity that also doubled as a writing desk and sat down. Had she known for a certainty ahead of time that Anthony was going to be here, would she have still wanted to come? As much as she desired answers, she feared them. She also felt a flash of anger that her own get-away-from-England plan was now for naught; she had wanted to leave to distract herself from memories of Anthony, which were everywhere, only to encounter the man himself a world away.
And oh—
Sophia looked at herself in the mirror and shook her head. “You are hopeless,” she muttered to her reflection. He was so handsome it took her breath away. When she had climbed from the carriage and saw him standing there, she thought her heart might burst. The familiar sound of his voice had washed over her like warm rain, and it had taken true restraint to keep from launching herself at him. Whether her intention would have been to envelope him in an embrace or to pummel him, she wasn’t certain.
He had been affected by her appearance; she knew it without any sense of guile or conceit. There had been a flash of something in his eyes that he had quickly masked. She was forced to admit he was good at it. Apparently he had been masking the truth for a long time. Perhaps from the very beginning.
She put her chin in her hand and tried to decide whether or not to let herself sulk. Had he ever been honest? About anything? She thought back to the first time they’d met. Jack had taken a nasty fall from a horse, and Anthony had been standing at Jack’s bedside, elbow deep in blood-soaked towels and grim as anyone she’d ever seen. His fear for her brother’s life had been genuine. That much had been true. She didn’t doubt Anthony’s authentic affection for Jack, and truthfully, he had said he held her in affection as well. Why should she punish him for her own misunderstanding? He’d never claimed to be anything more than her friend, had never even kissed her. He may have occasionally pushed the bounds of propriety but had certainly never crossed them.
She tried to believe his attention had been nothing more significant than that which he paid to other women, but he had spent nearly all of his free time with either her or with the Elliots together as a family. She closed her eyes against a sudden sting as memories flooded and threatened to swamp her: humorous observations regarding certain ridiculous members of their social set, the deep timbre of his voice spreading warmth through her limbs and igniting a slow burn in her abdomen as he murmured in her ear; the way he took her elbow as they walked, placed her hand on his arm, brushed against her at the dinner table; the light touch of his hand on her back as they left the theater or made their way through the crowds on Bond Street; the touch of his hip against hers as they rode in his phaeton through Hyde Park; the lingering manner in which he bowed over her gloved hand with the slight pressure of his fingers against hers . . .
Was it all done in the name of platonic friendship? They were small things, but between men and women in the courting stage of life, they meant much. At least, she thought they had.
Sophia shook her head and straightened in the chair, focusing on the tranquility of her bedchamber through blurred eyes. Enough, already. She had cried her tears over the Earl of Wilshire. Her pride demanded she pull herself together and lift her chin. She would not beg for a man’s affections. Perhaps she might fall in love with another man someday, but she had her family, her niece, her girls’ school with Ivy, and now a holiday to an exotic location—she had much for which to be grateful.
“Sophia?” Rachael stood in the doorway, her brow creased with concern. She crossed the room. “What is it?”
Sophia shrugged and turned bac
k to the mirror on the vanity. She tried for a smile that was wobbly, at best. “Men are rather awful, are they not?”
Rachael smiled. She looked at Sophia in the mirror. “You love him still.”
Sophia nodded miserably, not bothering to prevaricate or pretend she didn’t understand what Rachael meant. She’d confided in her new friend during their ocean voyage and felt a sense of relief that she had someone to talk to now that she was thousands of miles away from Ivy. “He bid me good-bye as a friend. In the letter he gave me before he left.”
Rachael winced.
“He so firmly placed me in that category that he couldn’t have been more clear had he said straight to my face, ‘I will never have a romantic interest in you.’”
Rachael let out a breath, and gave Sophia’s shoulders a gentle squeeze. “You and I both know that is a lie. We are women, and we are not stupid. I took note of the way he behaved outside. Nary a glance for anyone but you.”
Sophia’s brows came together, and she didn’t even care that it would leave a crease. “Then why did he leave me?”
Rachael’s eyes narrowed, and she drummed her fingers absently on Sophia’s shoulders. “There is something afoot, Sophia. I shall ferret it out of my cousin. I have methods.”
Sophia’s lips twitched, and she met Rachael’s gaze in the mirror. “Blackmail, perchance? Secrets from childhood?”
Rachael grinned and winked. “Dylan may not be privy to all the details of Anthony’s life, but whatever he does know, we shall also know before long. Sad, really, that he fancies himself so invincible.”
“My lady?”
Sophia and Rachael turned at the sound of Sophia’s lady’s maid. “Yes, Briggs?”
“Lady Pilkington asks that you and Miss Scarsdale join her in the drawing room to meet some of the other ladies who have just returned from the bazaar.”
“Please tell her we shall be there straightaway.”
The Secret of the India Orchid Page 3
