Page 23 of Pride of Honor
“How many are in your crew?” Sophie surprised herself. She really wanted to know.
“She’s a twenty-one-gun frigate with a maximum crew of one-hundred thirty-eight. We took her as prize from a slaver and re-named herBlack Condor. Our crew will consist of more than one-hundred sailors and thirty marines led by Captain George Neville. We already have the marines, but we’ll be spending the rest of this month recruiting additional men to complement the crew.
“Arnaud, please.” Mrs. Bellingham interrupted her son’s enthusiastic description. “We are on a shopping excursion. I’m sure the young ladies do not wish to be bored senseless by your love of ships.” She gave him a teasing smile. “He does tend to go on and on.”
The lock of hair he’d pushed back fell across his eyes again, and Sophie’s heart slipped into a different beat, like a watch newly wound.
More than anything, she yearned to reach across the divide and push away the dark fall hiding his eyes.
Arnaud was afraid to look down, but he was fairly certain the ascot his valet had tied perfectly that morning, was about to strangle him. Sophie Brancelli’s stare across the great distance of the frosty carriage seats unnerved him. Her moist lips were parted like she wanted to say something but couldn’t. Her eyes widened as if she were seeing him for the first time.
The feelings she incited were not what he hoped to take back to sea a month hence. Gad. What had his mother gotten him into this time? Just as he was praying the long coach ride to Bedford Square east of Mayfair would end quickly, they lurched to a stop and his mother’s footman pulled open the door and set the steps in place.
When Sophie leaned toward the footman’s hand, Captain Bellingham was quicker and intervened, jumping down into the snow ahead of her. The white stuff blanketing the streets was deeper and heavier than she’d anticipated, and her well-worn boots slipped in the icy slush beneath. She was grateful for his help. The warmth of his hand radiated through his heavy leather glove when he braced her against a fall.
“Have a care.” His voice vibrated against her ear when she fell back against him after losing her balance.
His voice was kind, something she hadn’t expected, considering how serious his frowns had been all morning. He’d obviously been forced into guard duty by Lord Howick. However, his peppermint and sandalwood scent combined with soothing words made her knees a bit weak and she forgot to apologize.
Her usually practical mind took a hard hit, like a wall crumbled by a cannon ball. She wondered if theproper gentlemanspecified in her grandmother’s will would make her feel this way.
The coachman helped her to the mantua maker’s door while Captain Bellingham waited to assist the other women from the carriage. The view through the mullioned windows of the small shop promised warmth and shelter from the heavy, wet snow pelting down. She pushed open the door which set off the tinkling of a bell.
A tiny woman bustled from the back room of the shop, took an assessing look, and then said, “You must be Sophie - white, of course, for your first coming out Season but something else lavender. Your complexion begs for something in deep lavender silk.” She tilted her head a bit while studying Sophie’s face. “And gold, we must put you in something gold as well.”
Before Sophie could address the dressmaker’s rapid comments, Honore followed close behind with Lydia and her maid, Jane.
Captain Bellingham was last to arrive. He stamped his feet on the small entryway carpet and gave the proprietress a long look. “I will need to see the rear entrance to your shop, Madame.”
He was back to looking dark and forbidding. Sophie must have imagined the short burst of light and warmth he’d exhibited outside the carriage just moments before.
“Madame Bonheur, I’m so sorry for my son’s rude abruptness.” Honore slipped past him and enclosed her modiste in an embrace, touching each of her cheeks with a light buss. “It has been too long, Marie.”
Honore straightened and with a stern look at her son, began introductions. When she’d finished, she said, “Now, Captain Bellingham, you can begin your inspection of the premises.”
Honore, Lydia, and Jane took seats in Madame Bonheur’s cozy sitting room before the fireplace while her assistant served tea.
“Ooh,” Lydia said, and leaned toward a neat stack of newspapers on a nearby shelf. Sophie gave an inward sigh of relief. Perusing the gossip columns would occupy her friend for hours.
Sophie followed the tiny modiste into a rear fitting room where bolts of fine fabric leaned against one corner, and a dressmaker’s form dominated the center of the room. She’d given all the women warm, wool-lined slippers to wear while their boots dried near the fireplace.
Madame Bonheur poured tea for Sophie and herself out of a silver pot on a tray on a small table. She took a few sips before smiling across the top of the steaming cup. “Tell me what you will need for the Season.”
“I would like a wardrobe with as little expense as possible for my benefactor,” Sophie said. “I had hoped you might help me find a way perhaps to mix and match trims, wraps, and bonnets so that I can make do with fewer dresses.” Sophie took in a deep breath and anticipated a look of censure.
Instead, Madame Bonheur gave her a mischievous smile. “I thought you might want some help to make the most of your funds, so I’ve gathered some fabrics and gowns customers have ordered but neglected to purchase recently. We will find something you like and work from there.” She looked around as though she feared someone might be eavesdropping and then added, “No one need ever know.”
“I so appreciate the help. If there is ever anything I can do for you…”
“As a matter of fact, there is a small way you could assist me.”
Sophie’s eyes widened. She couldn’t imagine what service she could render Madame Bonheur.
The modiste continued. “The happenings within theton, both happy, and sometimes not so happy, are what affect my business. If you ever overhear a bit of gossip which might mean someone will need a new wardrobe, I would appreciate a small note so that we can be ready, um, to take advantage, if you know what I mean.”
“I think I do.” Sophie took a sip of her tea before continuing. “If I can relate anon ditwithout causing any harm, I don’t see why I should not let you know.”
The modiste patted Sophie’s knee. “I knew I could depend on you. Together, we will create the new, the splendid Sophie. With your beauty and my skill, thetonwill be overwhelmed. The gentlemen will fall over themselves for the privilege of a dance with you.”