Page 34 of Pride of Honor
She’d given George a particularly enigmatic smile when she’d apologized effusively about her granddaughter Lydia’s flighty ways, which she said she hoped he could overlook. They’d all stared at George for an explanation, but he shrugged and raised his eyebrows. It was as much a mystery to him as his shipmates as to why she would assume he alone would be perturbed by Lydia’s behavior.
Arnaud said little during his men’s discussion of possible problems with entryway access to the ballroom, and outside entrances to the kitchen and service areas. Lady Howick had also supplied them with a list of the names of all the servants in the household and how long they’d been in the Howick’s employ.
Richard had given the list to a Bow Street runner of his acquaintance to make sure none of the servants had been involved in any suspicious activities. Considering Lord Howick’s thoroughness and political connections, they doubted they would find any problems. But Arnaud had insisted they leave no possibilities unexplored.
“I know I shouldn’t, but I have to ask, Captain,” Cullen finally said. “What exactly took place the other day in Hanover Square before we caught up to you and Miss Brancelli?”
“What? What are you talking about?” Arnaud’s tone turned defensive.
Both of his other officers turned toward them. George abandoned the house plans, and Richard stubbed out his cigar in a pot of sand next to the settee before joining them.
Cullen leaned back into the comfortably stuffed chair and stretched out his long legs. “Miss Brancelli had naught to say, her lips were a wee bit red, and from what I know of the lasses, the blush on those cheeks came from more than just the wind.”
“It was that damnable dog.” Arnaud spread out his hands as if Sophie’s reddened lips had nothing to do with him.
“The dog?” George asked, puzzlement in his voice. “The one she rescued off Rotten Row?”
“Yes.”
His three shipmates exchanged knowing looks and broke into laughter.
“The Cap’n definitely has a woman.” Richard slapped his knee and laughed harder.
“Stop,” Arnaud said, his tone this time brooking no argument or laughter. “It was a mistake of the moment. I didn’t know any other way to stop her from climbing the tree to save my mother’s damned cat from the damned dog. So, I kissed her,” he ended a little apologetically. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
His men exchanged knowing looks and followed George back to the sketches scattered across Arnaud’s table.
“Lady Howick provided me with a final guest list,” Arnaud said, and laid the sheaf of papers down over the sketches. “Teddy is on the list, but he hasn’t been heard from in a while. His landlady’s son hasn’t sent word, so I assume he’s still at a country house party wenching with his friends.”
“Anyone else on the list for whom we should be especially alert?” Cullen tipped back the rest of the wine in his glass and poured himself another half-glass.
“There is one man I’m not familiar with.” Arnaud tapped the list on the table. “Barrister Sir Thomas James. Anyone know anything about him?”
“Very high flyer, and purveyor of the finest horse flesh in England.” Richard’s eyes widened when the rest of his companions turned his way. “What? Just because you sailors have no idea what goes on upon dry land, doesn’t mean I should remain ignorant.
Sophie twisted around to get a better view of the handmade pink tulle roses twining down the train of her dress. A yawn escaped before she had a chance to cover her mouth.
She’d been standing still for over an hour while Madame Bonheur and her assistants worked on finishing the final details of the white and pink confection she would wear to her first ball the following night. The butterflies churning through her stomach refused to give her any peace. For the first time in her twenty years, she doubted she could do something. She did not see how she could navigate the potential tonnish traps of the Howicks’ ball with her sanity intact.
Lydia burst into the room and twirled around a few times in the now altered blue silk dress she’d found at Madame Bonheur’s. “La, Papa will never believe the bill from your dress shop for this find.”
“I knew that shade of blue would bring out the color of your eyes. You look wonderful, especially with all those tiny silver stars on the fine tulle,” Madame Bonheur said.
Sophie suspected the high color in her friend’s cheeks had something to do with the way she’d been complaining, repeatedly, about Captain Neville.
Sophie sucked in a sharp breath when a seamstress accidentally stuck her with a pin through the bodice. They were frantically re-fitting the dress to accommodate the changes in Sophie’s curves. She’d been unaware the tensions of husband-hunting while not knowing who wished her harm had taken their toll. She’d lost a bit of weight. Sophie gave her side a surreptitious rub with an elbow where the pin had pricked her skin through the fabric.
“Oh.” Madame Bonheur quickly pulled down the bodice to check for blood from the tiny scratch. “It would never do to stain this fragile white silk. There is no way we could make such a blemish vanish.Mon dieu.”
The tiny Frenchwoman’s words were a harsh reminder. Like a stain, her parents’ reputation for loose morals always hung over her head. She knew there was no escape from theton’sperception of her being brushed by the taint of their eccentric ways.
A fluttering surge of stubborn hope built within Sophie, in the vicinity her breastbone. She realized with a sudden clarity her mother and father’s sins had nothing to do with her. No matter what members of thetonthought, she would rise above the criticism and make the best of the ball her grandmother’s old friend had been so kind to provide for her.
Somewhere, there had to be a gentleman who would care enough to make her his wife. He would not be Arnaud, but in time she could come to love another. She had no other choice.
Lydia skipped back out of the room, without a worry. She would dance the night away, flirting with her many admirers without a care for how the outcome might affect the rest of her life.
Chapter Thirteen