As Luck Would Have It (25 page)

“And that, Kate, is why one does not talk with one’s mouth full,” Mirabelle stated succinctly.

“Sorry,” Sophie said yet again. “But you surprised me. Alex isn’t…that is, he doesn’t meet my requirements.”

“What requirements?” Whit inquired.

He was roundly ignored.

“True, but the way he looks at you…” Kate sighed.

“How does he look at me?”

“
What
requirements?” Whit repeated.

“As if he’d like nothing better than to drag you off into the nearest linen closet and ravage you,” Kate explained with gleeful enthusiasm.

“For God’s sake, Kate! You shouldn’t even know about such
things, let alone talk about them,” Whit admonished. “And what bloody requirements?”

“If you don’t care for the conversation, Whit, you can leave,” Kate answered haughtily.

Whit growled something about “bloody torrid novels” but otherwise kept his peace.

“He does seem fond of your company, Sophie,” Evie offered. “I realize he has something of a rake’s reputation, but it’s talk mostly. He’s a good man.”

“He’s friends with my cousin,” she groused.
And at the moment he isn’t speaking to me
, she silently added.

Whit shifted in his chair.

Mirabelle took a sip of tea and said, “It’s not uncommon for a gentleman to be friendly with the family of a young lady he’s courting. Even when he doesn’t care for them.”

Sophie wasn’t sure if what she and Alex had been doing could be considered courting, but she couldn’t very well say that with Whit in the room.

“And Kate’s right,” Mirabelle continued. “He does seem fairly eager to be in your company.”

“Eager,” Whit commented, “is too mild a word. He chases her around like some half-crazed lunatic.”

“I think, by definition, a lunatic is fully crazy,” Mirabelle stated.

Whit answered with what could only be described as a snarl.

“That’s it,” Kate announced. “I believe you’re finished with your tea, brother mine.”

“Actually, I’ve still more than half—”

“You’re done.”

Whit sighed and set down his cup. “If you weren’t my only sister, I would strangle you in your sleep and blame it on your clumsy nature,” he said fondly.

“Linen can be tricky,” Evie supplied.

Mirabelle muttered something about murderous earls. Fortunately, it was too soft for the earl to hear.

Whit dropped a kiss on his sister’s forehead and left.

The girls waited until the sound of his footsteps died out.

“Now, Sophie, about Alex…” Kate prompted.

She hesitated only a moment before deciding to share at least part of what was happening between her and Alex. “In complete confidence?”

There was a moment of silence, until Evie cried, “Why is everyone looking at me?”

Another moment of silence followed that.

Evie gave an affronted huff. “I have never betrayed a friend’s secret. It just so happens that I haven’t many friends.”

“That’s true on both accounts,” Kate explained to Sophie. “Evie would take a friend’s secret to the grave.”

“We’re not the best of friends yet, Sophie,” Evie said, choosing her words carefully. “But I’ve every confidence we will be. You strike me as an intelligent woman, and you come with the highest of recommendations,” she continued, indicating Kate and Mirabelle. “I give you the Cole word of honor that I shall keep your secrets safe.”

“You can’t ask for more than that,” Mirabelle stated with confidence. “The Coles always keep their word. It’s a point of pride for them.”

Sophie accepted that. “Thank you, Evie.”

“You may thank me properly by sharing your secret, and mind you make it a good one,” she said good-naturedly. “I’d hate to think I went through all the trouble of clearing my good name just to hear how he sent you tulips and touched your bare hand.”

Sophie grinned. “He has never sent me flowers. And he kissed me, or rather, we kissed.”

There was a three-way intake of breath and then,

“When?”

“Did you like it?”

“See, I knew I’d like her. A real kiss or just a peck?”

Sophie wasn’t sure whom to answer first, so she thought she might start with the last first. “It was a real kiss,” she said,
feeling her cheeks heat. “I liked it very much, and the first time was at the Pattons’ ball.”

“The first time?” Mirabelle croaked.

“It’s happened once or twice since,” Sophie replied evasively.

“Well, which is it?” Kate asked. “One or two?”

“Four.”

“Oh, my.” That came from both Kate and Mirabelle.

“Oh, now I know I like you,” Evie declared with a satisfied smile. “But the first time is the most memorable, isn’t it?”

“Evie’s kissed one of the grooms,” Kate explained with a roll of her eyes.

“Who
is
rather attractive,” Mirabelle pointed out.

“He’s a veritable Adonis,” Evie said.

“Have you…that is, are you still…?” Sophie wasn’t sure how to ask whether Evie was carrying on an illicit affair with a member of the staff.

“Alas, it never went beyond a few kisses before he moved on to greener pastures. But enough about that, these two have heard all about it. Tell us about your Alex.”

“He is not
my
Alex. And there isn’t much else to tell. We kissed that first night and…”

“And…?” All three prompted at once.

Sophie cringed. “And then he laughed.”

“Oh, no,” Evie murmured, sounding slightly more amused than dismayed. “What ever for?”

“He said it was the situation.”

“What the devil does that mean?” Evie asked.

“I have no idea. He did apologize, though.”

“I should hope he did a great deal more than apologize,” Mirabelle declared indignantly.

“What ever he did, it should have involved flowers, candy, poetry, an enormous amount of flattery, and an even greater amount of begging,” Kate added.

Mirabelle nodded her approval before adding, “A little punishment would not have gone amiss. Self-flagellation would have been appropriate in this case.”

“And a horse hair shirt afterward,” Evie suggested.

“But not before the salt,” Mirabelle returned.

“Oh, naturally,” Sophie laughed. “But none of them were necessary. Besides,” she said sobering, “I’m not looking to Alex for a declaration, and I’ve received no indication that he’s looking to give one.”

“Are you sure?” Kate asked gingerly.

“Yes, on both accounts. I think it likely he is only playing the rake, and even if he were not, he would never allow me to return to my father.”

“And you’re certain that’s what you want most?” Evie inquired softy.

Sophie nodded, but for some reason she didn’t feel as confident as she had three weeks ago. This business with Alex was affecting her more than she realized. More than she could afford. “It’s best to leave what’s happened between me and Alex in the past. I need to concentrate on the gentlemen on the list. Speaking of which, Evie….”

Several days later, Sophie had three new names on her list and had crossed out two. The three additions were middle-aged gentlemen without sons, but with nephews and male cousins they would be happy to see as their heirs. Her list thus fortified, she’d felt safe abandoning the chase of the two men she felt were the least suited to her needs, Mr. Johnson and Mr. Fetzer. The first made her skin crawl, and the second was so ancient and frail looking she felt guilty even contemplating dragging him into a loveless marriage.

Over the next three days she threw herself into the party, participating in almost every event scheduled. Unlike other house parties she’d heard about, which provided ample daytime pleasures for the men while the women were left to find their own amusements until evening, Lady Thurston had provided diversions for the ladies. There were morning rides, archery tournaments, dancing lessons, picnics, parlor games, a trip to the nearby village, and tea every afternoon.

Sophie tried everything to distract herself from her worries, playing the role of perfect guest by day and adorable debutante by night.

By the fourth day, she was on verge of tears. Nothing had succeeded in dislodging, even for a moment, the suffocating pain in her chest. She missed Alex with every breath. And to make matters worse, she had crossed off nearly every name on the list. Lord Verant had made a comment about the questionable wisdom of letting females travel to “such uncivilized lands” and had been the first to go. Mr. Carrow had then nodded vigorously, necessitating his own removal. Lord Chester had let it slip that he was courting a young woman of considerable wealth, and Mrs. Packard had made it clear that her son, Sir Andrew, was expected to do the same. Sophie looked over the remaining names and made a decision—she would ask Sir Frederick…soon.

When it was over and done with, she could explain everything to Alex. If he still wanted to be friends, then…. Well, somehow “friends” didn’t sound appealing. She didn’t want to be friends with Alex. She wanted so much more than that. She wanted everything—which was unlikely to happen, and would be a disaster if it did.

“Ugh. There’s simply no winning…. I’ll just marry Sir Frederick and hope for the best.”

Her only other option was to marry Sir Frederick and fear for the worst.

Twenty

T
he first ball had had no theme beyond a color scheme of gold and white, but the second ball was a masquerade.

Lady Thurston confided to Sophie that the mid-party ball was her favorite because the guests provided the most elaborate decorations. And she was right—some of the masqueraders had costumes that went past elaborate and straight into bizarre. The woman in the feather gown was certainly an odd sight. Most guests, however, chose costumes that were considerably tamer. Many, like Sophie, opted for an ordinary ball gown, but all of them wore masks.

The secretive atmosphere suited Sophie’s plans perfectly. She needed to return to Lord Forent’s study, since she had been unable to get into it on the night of his ball, and she needed to pay a visit to Sir Frederick. She would do both to night.

London was less than two hours away. And who would miss one more partygoer in a pale rose dress with a demimask? Mirabelle and Evie might, but she intended to ask for her friends’ assistance anyway.

Alex certainly wouldn’t notice her absence. She’d been all but invisible to him for the entire week, receiving only formal greetings and polite inquiries when they met in the hall or were thrown together for a game of whist. And God help her, she’d been sorely tempted to find ways to be in a position for even those small scraps of interaction. But she couldn’t do it. He had made his wishes known, and she would respect them.

She would engage herself to Sir Frederick to night, sneak into Forent’s office, return before morning, and then tell Alex everything first thing tomorrow.

First, however, she needed to find Mirabelle. Lady Thurston had mentioned that Mirabelle had returned to her room to fix a torn hem, and Sophie had immediately offered to seek her out and offer assistance. She couldn’t sew two stitches in a straight line, but the opportunity to speak with Mirabelle about the best way to go about sneaking out of Haldon Hall was too good to pass up.

She made it to the stairwell landing in the west hall when she heard the first muffled cry for help, and she was halfway down the hall before she could hear the sounds of a struggle and pinpoint which room they were coming from. Sophie picked the lock in record time and barreled into the room.

Mr. Jarles had Mirabelle pinned against a bed, one hand covering her mouth and the other grabbing at her skirts. Mirabelle was clearly fighting him, but the man was a good three times her size.

“Let her up!”

Surprised by the intrusion, Mr. Jarles loosened his grip on Mirabelle long enough for her to give him one mighty, disgusted shove and scramble off the bed. Sophie pushed Mirabelle behind her, then reached down to her ankle and retrieved one of her knives.

Mr. Jarles climbed off the bed in the nonchalant manner of a man who had never been held accountable for his sins and had no intention of being subjected to that practice now.

Sophie watched him warily as he brushed off his coat and went through the motions of straightening his cravat.

Behind her, Mirabelle’s breath came in ragged gasps. “I didn’t want that,” she whispered. “I didn’t invite—”

“I know.”

“We should go,” Mirabelle urged.

Sophie didn’t answer. She held her knife by the tip and brought it up for Mr. Jarles to see. “You will remove yourself
from this house party before morning. You will give whatever excuse your little mind can manage in the next hour, and then you will take yourself off to some other estate where you can spend your time devising a way to never come within a hundred yards of Miss Browning again. Do I make myself quite clear?”

Mr. Jarles looked unconcerned. Completing the affectation of righting his appearance, he walked to a dresser and picked up a glass half filled with a dark liquid.

“I’ll do nothing of the sort. The chit’s undowered and unprotected. She’ll only end up a mistress.” He leaned against the wall carelessly and added, “Might as well be mine.”

“And,” Sophie continued, as if he had not spoken at all. “You will apologize to her.”

Mr. Jarles made an ugly snort. “Apologize? To a whore?”

Sophie threw the knife at his head. It embedded itself in the wall two inches from his ear with a solid thump.

Mr. Jarles paled and dropped the glass.

Mirabelle let out a little squeak.

Sophie retrieved her other knife and held it up for him to see. “Apologize.”

It took him a moment, but eventually he rasped out a terrified little, “Sorry.”

Sophie wiggled the fingers on her free hand at him. “Nimble fingers,” she reminded him. “Remember that while you’re packing.”

He didn’t seem inclined to argue, so Sophie took Mirabelle by the hand and led her out of the room.

“Are you all right?” she asked, as they walked briskly down the hall toward the guest rooms in the east wing.

Mirabelle nodded shakily and smoothed the front of her skirt in a nervous gesture. “I’ll be fine.”