Page 31 of Pride of Honor

Lydia stuck out her lower lip and put her hands on her hips. “Apparently, you’re not your father either, if you feel the need to throw your poetry on the floor.”

“All right then,” Sophie said. “How in the name of all that’s holy am I going to devise a romantic novel?”

“That’s easy. We’ll just go to Hookham’s, I’ll ask for four of the latest romances against my subscription, and we’ll figure out how other authors do it. Simple.”

“But it’s not simple. If it were so simple, more women would be published.” Sophie stood and paced the carpet in her stocking feet. “Why does everyone assume writing is easy? I work and worry over each poem as if the verses were my children. Sometimes I stay up until the wee hours searching for just the right word to complete a child. I’m sure whoever writes the gothics of which you seem so fond grapples with the same demons.”

Lydia’s mouth dropped open as if she were thinking of a retort, but she was interrupted by the Howicks’s butler. He glided into the sitting room with a sealed letter addressed to Miss Brancelli on a silver tray. Sophie recognized the handwriting immediately and grasped the message. The letters were slanted and smudged a bit as if sender had been in a hurry.Arnaud. She ripped off the seal and read the contents.

“We’re going riding in the park with Captain Bellingham and Dr. MacCloud this afternoon.” Sophie twirled around before forcing herself to cross the room at a sedate walk to the writing table to pen an answer.

Arnaud concentrated on keeping a firm hand on the ribbons so his mother’s temperamental bays wouldn’t take a notion to do what they pleased in the crush on Rotten Row at this time of day. He didn’t really need to worry since his mother’s usual coachman sat next to him on the high box ofMaman’selegant, open barouche.

Concentration was hard-won, between the nearness of Sophie on the seat behind him and his need to keep a constant eye on the surrounding crowd. He had no idea what he was looking for, but by damn, he’d be ready this time if some lout tried to snatch her away. George and Richard were a few carriages behind them, just in case.

When his mother had suggested the outing, he’d balked at first, with the memory of the attack at the British Museum so recent. However, he knew she was right. Sophie needed to get out to see and be seen. Her first ball and debut into society was but days away, and he hoped to God he and his crew would be able to keep her safe.

Arnaud nodded and tipped his hat to his uncle, the current heir to the title of Earl of Whittingdon, who was riding with Arnaud’s cousin, John Bellingham. When they passed with a set of fine grays pulling their curricle, the younger man nodded acknowledgement to Arnaud and then gave Sophie a broad smile and tipped his hat.

Arnaud’s anger flared at what he read in his cousin’s impudent stare at Sophie and he nearly missed the open carriage following close behind. He recognized Admiral Longthorpe from his official conveyance and horses. But his mouth dropped at the sight of the woman sitting beside him. Frannie. What the devil? Her servants had been telling him all week she was away, in the country.

Arnaud could not worry for long about what his sometime mistress was up to because a stray dog chose that moment to rush between the hooves of his mother’s high-spirited team of four and it required all of his and the coachman’s strength to calm them. The coachman took the second set of reins, and between them, they managed to maneuver the conveyance to the side of the path.

“Goodness.” Sophie rose half out of her seat below. “Look at that poor little dog. He’s limping. He must have been trod on.” She looked up at Arnaud with pleading eyes.

Dash it all.“He’s going to be fine. Look. He’s making his way through the trees there.” Arnaud thought he was using his most reassuring tone.

“But he’s still favoring one paw. I’m sorry, but I can’t let him suffer. I’ll go after him. You needn’t bother.”

With that she was gone, running and weaving through the jam of traffic, Lydia close behind in pursuit.Gad, but those women were quick.Arnaud had never seen anyone, man or woman, jump from a carriage and disappear as fast as those two. By the time he and Cullen were on the ground, the young women had blended in with the trees at the side of the path, like wood sprites.

His mother’s coachman held and soothed the bays while he and Cullen raced into the woods in search of the most annoying poet and her partner it had been his great misfortune to encounter.

When he finally caught up, Sophie cradled the filthy small creature and was prodding his paw. Lydia hovered anxiously nearby.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Arnaud regretted his tone. His voice somehow had ratcheted up to shipboard command level.

Sophie treated him to an angry stare, punctuated by hurt in those deep brown eyes he seemed to keep falling into. How did she manage to make him feel like a lovesick swab and a scoundrel all at the same time? She kissed the top of the head of the grubby little dog, making Arnaud wish he were a stray mongrel.

At the sounds of large men crashing through the underbrush, he and Cullen pulled out pistols and stood in front of Sophie and Lydia. He let out the huge breath he’d been holding and tucked the pistol back into the backside of his belt when the newcomers turned out to be George and Richard.

Before Arnaud could introduce the girls to his fellow crewmen, George shouted at Lydia, “Why did you let your friend do such a dunder-headed thing?”

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” Lydia shouted right back.

Sophie interrupted the building argument between her friend and the newcomer. “Lydia, we owe these gentlemen an apology for racing off after this poor little fellow without a thought to their concerns.”

Arnaud interceded in conciliatory tones. “Ladies, these are my men who will help guard the two of you through the Season. Lady Lydia Howick and Miss Sophia Brancelli, this is Captain George Neville, able leader of the Royal Marines aboard my ship, and his silent partner is First Lieutenant Richard Bourne. Arnaud let out a grateful sigh when his fiery lieutenant simply nodded and said, “Very pleased to make your acquaintances.”

George, however, was another matter. He continued to glower at Lydia who remained strangely quiet. At a sharp jab from Arnaud, he softened his demeanor. “I beg your pardon, milady, Miss Brancelli. It is a great pleasure to make your acquaintances.

“Now, can we leave this wooded disaster waiting to happen and make our way through the mob of carriages? I cannot see what the high and mighty get out of this endless parade of folks gawking and being gawked at.” Captain Neville turned on his heel without another word and led them back down the path at a quick trot.

Sophie moved close to Arnaud with her small ward held out in front of her in a futile effort to keep her dress away from the creature’s malodorous, waving paws.

“Give me the little beggar,” Arnaud said, reaching out and gathering the animal under one arm. The gruffness in his voice softened when he added, “Wouldn’t want him to soil your fine dress.”

Sophie handed over the small creature without a sound.