The Secret of the India Orchid

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  “Mr. Gerald,” she asked during a lull in conversation as the guests enjoyed dessert, “what works of literature do you most enjoy teaching?”

  “Hmm,” the professor replied as he finished chewing. “I suppose I favor Shakespeare’s comedies, but I confess a scandalous preference for Chaucer.”

  Lady Finch gasped.

  Mr. Gerald placed a supplicating hand over his heart. “My apologies, of course.” He did not look at all apologetic. “But when one spends one’s energy in dusty tomes day after day, one must search for spots of delight, yes?” His smile eventually won the woman over, and she shook a finger at him in remonstration that was clearly all for show.

  “Only because your manners are beyond reproach, professor, do I forgive you for discussing such shocking reading preferences.”

  “Have you read Chaucer, my lady?”

  Her eyes widened. “Certainly not!”

  “But you are familiar with the content?”

  “Well,” the older woman hedged, “my late husband, Lord Finch, spoke of reading The Canterbury Tales at school, and he emphatically stated it is material unfit for a lady’s gentler sensibilities.”

  Sophia poked at her dessert and refrained from comment. Her father had died when she had been an infant and Jack had gone to sea shortly afterward. Her mother had worked as a seamstress all hours of the day and most of the night but she had taught Sophia the basics of reading before leaving her to her own devices. Without a consistent male figure in her life to dictate what she could and couldn’t read or do, Sophia read everything she could find, whether from a lending library or discard piles at local charities.

  There were times Sophia felt the need to defend a woman’s right to learn. And then there were times when she hadn’t the energy. If she weren’t feeling so emotionally drained from not acknowledging the imposing physical presence of the man seated to her right, she might have taken a small amount of delight in suggesting she would be happy to offer a summary of Chaucer’s finest. Since Lady Finch hadn’t read him, of course.

  “I detect a glimmer of something, Miss Elliot,” Professor Gerald said, and she heard the smile in his voice.

  She looked up from her dessert, realizing her mouth was turned in the ghost of a smile so something of her thoughts must have been visible on her face.

  “Perhaps you are a woman who has read extensively of fine English literature?” Mr. Gerald held up a palm. “And please, do not suppose I suggest it to cause embarrassment. My sisters who live in England read and write exhaustively. I believe current education opportunities for females are sadly lacking.”

  She heard Anthony mutter something that sounded suspiciously like, “Of course you do.”

  Sophia raised a brow and smiled at the professor. “I daresay that is the most refreshing thing I’ve heard all day. My ­sister-in-law, Lady Stansworth, and I own and operate a school for indigent females. We train them to be ladies’ maids and governesses, and we are working to expand the teaching curriculum to include more extensive mathematics and sciences.”

  Lady Finch made a sound of censure under her breath.

  “We find our ambitions opposed from certain corners, of course.” Sophia smiled.

  The professor’s lips twitched, but he remained admirably diplomatic. “And yet the fight must continue. I laud your efforts.” He tipped his head to her in salute.

  Sophia also inclined her head. The movement to her right was subtle, but she sensed Anthony leaning infinitesimally closer to her side. She felt the warmth of his arm as his sleeve brushed against her.

  “The school is indeed a godsend for many young women,” Anthony said. “I look forward to witnessing its growth upon my return to London.”

  Sophia turned to Anthony, her eyes widening slightly. “You do intend to return, my lord? Well, this is news indeed!”

  Anthony’s nostrils flared slightly, and someone who hadn’t spent such copious amounts of time studying his face might have missed the subtle expression. “Of course it was always my intention to return, my lady.”

  “Yes. To accept the duties and responsibilities of your title.”

  “Quite so.”

  “How long will you be staying in India, then?”

  One corner of his mouth quirked. “Are you hoping I’ll leave soon, or hoping I’ll remain longer?”

  She shrugged. “Oh, I haven’t a preference one way or the other. But your absence from the House of Lords has been noted. And I’m certain your steward wonders if responsibility for your estates and tenants will be his into the eternities.”

  Anthony leaned an elbow on the table and turned fully to her. “I have kept in constant contact with my steward, and he is well aware of my imminent return.”

  Lady Finch tutted from across the table. “Young lady, you presume to lecture his lordship, as though you have a right to do so? Perhaps you misunderstand your role in society.”

  “Oh, it is no impertinence on my part, I assure you! Lord Wilshire and I are the dearest of friends, you see. He is rather like my own brother. We are truly family.”

  Sophia thought she heard Anthony grinding his teeth, but she wasn’t certain.

  “Oh, is that so?” Professor Gerald looked from Sophia to Anthony and back again. “Well, what a delightful association! I know I find great joy in my friendship with my sisters. There is something special about a bond between siblings. Isn’t it interesting that such bonds are not always defined by blood?”

  “Fascinating.” Anthony regarded the man, unsmiling, and Sophia realized Lord Wilshire had dropped any pretense of charm or finesse.

  Sophia tilted her head and took in the nonverbal aggression of Anthony’s posture; his body was still turned fully toward her and their chairs were completely flush. She laid her fingers on Anthony’s arm and turned to Mr. Gerald. “I know I count myself as the most fortunate of women to have two such wonderful brothers to look after my interests. And if that relationship lends itself to familiarity on my part with Lord Wilshire, well, he appreciates my counsel on his duties as the steward of one of England’s oldest earldoms.” She patted Anthony’s arm. “Is that not right, dear friend?”

  Anthony’s eyes narrowed fractionally. She felt a thrill course through her limbs and caught her breath. He was irritated. Well, let him be. He had made this friendship bed, and now he could lie down in it.

  “I heed your counsel above all others, Miss Sophia.” He smiled but it looked grim. “And without a doubt, I have been away from London far too long.”

  Chapter 6

  Two hours after dinner, Anthony stood in the Residency ballroom wearing a black mask he desperately wished he could remove. His vision was inhibited by the thing, and he wanted to spot Sophia as soon as she made an entrance. He had no idea which persona she would don, but he had it on good authority that Lady Pilkington had an entire room dedicated to nothing but ball gowns and costumes of all shapes and sizes. Sophia and the other Fleet ladies would be well accommodated.

  Dylan Stuart had helped Anthony pull an ensemble together. His mask complemented not only the cape he wore, but his trousers, shirt, and waistcoat, all of which were black. He was a highwayman, and while it was not the most original of disguises, he was grateful for even that much. He didn’t care for costume parties, but he needed to attend to flirt with the young ladies in order to preserve his cover. He hoped, though, that he might also observe Captain Miller, should the man make an appearance. He had been frustratingly elusive, but during the after-dinner port and cigars, Lord Pilkington had confirmed the man would be in attendance at the ball.

  “You do make a convincing highwayman, what with the scowl and all.” Dylan grinned and saluted Anthony with a glass of punch from the refreshment table.

  Anthony shot him a glance and turned his attention back to the crowd, which grew in number with each passing minute. “My attention is divided,” he
muttered. “I now watch for two people as opposed to just one.”

  “I should be happy to keep watch for the prettier of those two.”

  Anthony flared his nostrils as he gave his friend the benefit of his full regard. Dylan was dressed as a handsome prince from a young girl’s storybook. “Tread wisely, my friend, or I shall be forced to describe to the young ladies the true nature of the Brothers Grimm and their fairy tales. The reality is rather grizzly.”

  Dylan blinded him with a dazzling smile. “You will do no such thing. You are too much of a gentleman to sully a party with such unpleasantries.”

  “Have you not heard?” Anthony looked again toward the ballroom’s entrance. “I am all things licentious and debauched.” A flock of brightly dressed women strolled past, and Anthony smiled at each for a moment. He was already exhausted from maintaining the façade, and the evening had just begun.

  Dylan snorted. “That anyone who knows you might actually believe such a thing is something I cannot quite make sense of. Never could.”

  Anthony lifted a shoulder. “People see what they expect to see. Most are easily led by rumors.” He scanned the crowd from left to right, hoping to locate the burly sea captain. His nerves were taut. “Provided the captain does make a showing here,” he said quietly to Dylan, “it may be our one opportunity to search his cabin. Do you know how many will guard the ship tonight?”

  “No fewer than four, according to my sources.” Dylan shook his head. “I do not see a way around discovery. When was the last time you snuck aboard a guarded ship and broke into a captain’s cabin undetected?”

  He was correct, of course, and it did Anthony no good at all. Sooner rather than later, he would be forced to admit the true nature of his mission to the captain and demand answers regarding the late Harold Miller’s belongings. The ship was scheduled to leave port in three days. The window for discovering whatever the captain may know about the Janus Document was quickly closing.

  A series of feminine gasps and laughter drew his attention to the entrance and he blinked. Sophia stood there looking trim and petite in a blue soldier’s uniform, down to the last button and meticulously shined boots. And breeches. She could have passed for one of Major Stuart’s men if . . . well . . . she were a man.

  Her honey-colored hair hung in a long braid over one shoulder, tied at the end with a frothy blue bow that stood in direct contrast to the masculine attire. When Anthony finally drew a breath, it escaped again on a laugh.

  Dylan whistled. “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a woman in military garb. Leave it to your unconventional friend to imagine the impossible.”

  And unconventional it was. The uniform fit her body like a glove, accentuating rather than hiding her feminine form. Whispers spread around the room, accompanied by exclamations of surprise and laughter, and finally a smattering of applause. Sophia curtseyed as beautifully as any well-bred lady, which brought another round of laughter and hoots of approval.

  Anthony’s gaze swept the room again, noting the fact that nearly every male eye was glued appreciatively to Miss Elliot. “It isn’t as though a woman has never worn a man’s attire to a costume party before,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Ah, but how many of them looked like that, old boy?” Dylan placed his empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter and grinned at Anthony. “I can honestly say that before this evening, I have never wanted to dance with a fellow soldier. I haven’t seen Cousin Rachael yet, so I shall I offer my services to keep the young lady occupied while you search for the other object of our interest.”

  Anthony narrowed his eyes. “You were supposed to help me with that, too.”

  “Oh, I shall. There is much to be observed from the dance floor.”

  Anthony had to admit a grudging respect for his friend’s abilities, which had always proven effective. Dylan would be able to dance with the most beautiful woman in the room and still gather intelligence necessary to the investigation. That he looked every inch the handsome prince rather than the second son of a baron who had volunteered for the military merely spread the icing on the proverbial cake.

  Anthony watched as Dylan worked through the crowd, subtly, neatly, almost invisibly reaching Sophia’s side and effectively nudging all others out of his way without seeming to have done a thing. He grinned and bowed to Sophia, saluted her, and made a comment that caused her to laugh. He offered his hand, which she took, and walked with her to the middle of the floor.

  Anthony noted that the couple claimed the attention of most of the guests, which gave him better access to make his way around the room and search closely for the sea captain, who could be disguised as just about anyone. He glanced at Sophia and Dylan, trying and failing to muscle his jealousy into submission as they made their way through the steps of the quadrille. At least it wasn’t a waltz.

  Lord Pilkington nodded as Anthony approached. He was dressed as Caesar, which made sense, as Lady Pilkington was attired as Pompeia. Anthony could only assume theirs was a salute to the happy couple’s beginnings, before Caesar had decided his wife must be above reproach.

  “Lord Wilshire! A highwayman, I see?” Pilkington waved a staff in Anthony’s general direction, only to entangle it in the folds of his white toga.

  Anthony’s lips twitched. “Indeed. And a fine Roman you are, Pilkington.”

  Pilkington moved closer and spoke in an aside, “Must please the wife, you know. I never question her directives at these things. She does host quite the most popular parties.”

  “Of course.” Anthony paused. “You did say you expect Captain Miller to make an appearance this evening? I’ve promised to pass along felicitations from one of his former sailors.”

  Pilkington’s brow creased. “He committed to attend, but I’ve yet to see him. I do hope he hasn’t left the Residency so soon. He quite entertains the children with stories of his adventures, and I do not believe he has done so, yet. My own son looks forward to Miller’s visits with much anticipation. I often sit in on his storytelling, as well. Must keep a finger on the pulse of the happenings in my home, of course.”

  “Most assuredly.” Anthony struggled to keep the smile from his face as he pictured Pilkington sitting on the floor next to his son and the other British children, paying rapt attention to the merchant captain’s tales of piracy and ­derring-do on the high seas.

  Pilkington’s features brightened. “Ah, but he cannot have already left—not two days ago he asked if he might store a packet of papers in the safe in my study and he has yet to retrieve it.”

  Anthony’s heart skipped a beat. “Must have been something quite valuable to not simply have left it locked aboard ship.”

  Pilkington shrugged. “I suppose so.” He accepted a glass of champagne from a footman. “Lady Pilkington quite likes this stuff. I’d much prefer a stiff whiskey myself, eh, Wilshire?” Pilkington nudged Anthony, who managed a murmured assent as he cast an eye about the perimeter of the room.

  “Oh, drat, not that one.” Pilkington edged slowly backward and tossed the champagne down his throat in one long swallow. “Clergyman Denney. I presume we shall hear quite a fiery lecture this Sunday on the evils of drink.”

  Anthony looked in the direction of Pilkington’s nod and saw Mr. and Mrs. Denney, dressed as a cardinal and a nun. Anthony tipped his head in question. “They are not Catholic, are they?”

  Pilkington shook his head and looked for a place to set his empty champagne glass. “No, however this marks the third costume ball they’ve arrived thusly attired.” Pilkington finally tucked his empty glass in the pot of a large plant nearby. “But what is a costume party if not to be splendid for the evening?”

  Or perhaps the man fancied himself a religious icon. Anthony turned his attention from the clergyman to the couples on the floor. A number of young women attempted to catch his eye, and for once he was grateful for the mask he wore. It allowed him t
o focus on Sophia without anyone taking note of his interest. Sophia—in pants—was making her way through the last of the set with Dylan. It was all his layers of clothing, Anthony supposed, that accounted for his sudden rise in temperature. The highwayman cape was heavier than it looked and trapped in his body heat.

  Pilkington muttered something under his breath as the clergyman and his wife approached, but managed a smile and a bow when the cardinal and nun joined them.

  “Splendid gathering, as always, Pilkington.” Mr. Denney gestured to the crowd as though offering benediction.

  “My thanks, Your Eminence, and I shall pass your compliments on to my wife. And might I also remark upon your costumes! Mrs. Denney, again you make a very lovely nun.”

  Mrs. Denney smiled and managed a “Thank you” before glancing at her husband and falling silent.

  “And your daughters, Mrs. Denney?” Anthony asked. “Surely they are also here?”

  She nodded, genuine happiness crossing her features. “They’ve spoken of nothing else for days, now. Beatrice is dressed as the Mona Lisa, and Charity is a princess.”

  “Is she now? Well, it so happens I know of a handsome prince in attendance. I shall introduce them.” He smiled at the woman.

  “Needn’t bother.” Mr. Denney frowned. “They’re going home to London to find husbands next Season.”

  The light expression fell from his wife’s face, and she was silent. Anthony glanced at the clergyman and forced his expression into neutrality. Mr. Denney was much in spirit like Anthony’s father had been.

  Pilkington cleared his throat. “Of course, Denney, of course. But certainly it can’t hurt the girls to enjoy some association with other youngsters until they leave.”