Page 48 of Pride of Honor
Sophie stiffened. How would she extricate herself fromthismess?Jupiter!
Chapter Eighteen
Arnaud loosened his neck cloth,knowing full well Artemis would shout at him later. Thank God his valet was back in the kitchen wing with the rest of the Clifford Park servants. He’d brought him along because, frankly, he had no idea how to dress himself for such formal settings as the events at Sir Thomas’s house party.
Fortunately, his mother and Admiral Thornbrough were at the opposite end of the table. He had enough problems without getting looks of censure from her while he fidgeted through the long formal dinner. When he glanced to his right, his neckcloth tightened again. His sometime lover, the dowager Viscountess Frances Fairfield, was settling into the chair next him, being assisted by a footman.
Admiral Longthorpe, the very person who’d been pressing him ever since he returned to London to settle down and offer to marry the viscountess, sat in the chair across from her.
Arnaud had called at Fairfield House several times over the last few weeks, but each time her servants had said either she was ill, or away in the country. It wasn’t as if they were strangers. They had shared a bed many times over the last five years since her husband’s death. Whenever he’d been in London on leave, they’d been together as much as possible.
None of her current behavior, or that of Longthorpe, for that matter, made any sense.
“Good evening, Captain Bellingham.” Her husky voice and heavy floral scent drifted through his senses like a discordant melody. She turned toward him. “How long has it been?”
“Two years this time,” he said. “I’ve been trying to see you for the last few weeks. Are you feeling better?”
She favored him with a dazzling smile. “I am so much better now, the best I’ve felt in years.”
“Then may I call on you when we return to London?”
“Let me think on that.” She paused a few moments, and a fleeting air of sadness flashed across her heavily powdered face. “Perhaps I’ll send for you next week. Wait for word from me.”
She turned suddenly and engaged in conversation with Howick on her other side.
Arnaud rubbed the back of his neck and tried to make sense of her words. First Admiral Longthorpe had pressed him to offer for her, then she refused to see him, and now…he had no idea what to make of her behavior.
“Quit fashing yourself, you hard-headed swab,” a voice whispered in his other ear. He turned to see Cullen slipping into place where a hand-lettered porcelain placard plainly indicated Viscountess Rumsford would be sitting.
“What are you doing here? Who’s patrolling outside?”
“Sir Thomas sent for me, said the lady was indisposed and he needed an extra guest at the table.” A footman stepped between them, neatly removing the placard and placing a heavy linen square in Cullen’s lap. “Lieutenant Bourne is out there with Artemis slogging through the underbrush.”
Any further discussion was interrupted by the arrival of the white soup course.
After the maneuvering of servants in the dining room subsided, Arnaud noted Lady Lydia Howick was seated directly across from him, and next to her was Captain Neville.
He was struck mid-breath and then resumed taking in air in double-time. What would Lord and Lady Howick think of the new seating arrangements?
“George got the same message I did. Apparently, Lady Howick had a fit of a megrim, like Rumsford’s wife. Only her megrim ain’t quite so tall as the viscountess’s.”
Arnaud too had noticed that Sir Thomas’s unusually tall footman was nowhere to be seen, but kept a bland expression on his face while he punched his shoe firmly down onto Cullen’s instep. Cullen snatched his foot away and added, “Just commenting on the play. And, speaking of plays…” With that, he looked down toward the actress, Mrs. Withers, engaged in lively conversation with Sophie.
“One more ribald comment, and that will be your last utterance on this earth,” Arnaud gave the last threat with a low growl.
When he turned away from his surgeon, he caught sight of Sophie leaning into conversation with his mother.Damn—what werethosetwo up to now? On further inspection, he realized the tops of Sophie’s creamy breasts strained over the low bodice of a soft pink dress striped like Christmas peppermints. He loved nothing more than sucking on Christmas mints.God. Where did that come from? He’d be lucky to get through this night with his wits intact. He forced himself to turn away, back toward Cullen. When he did, the look in his surgeon’s eyes told him his feelings were not as private as he’d thought.
“Captain, you’ve either got to claim that lass as your own, or get on the first ship headed away from here.”
Honore, on Sophie’s left, leaned close and patted her hand. “Are you enjoying Sir Thomas’s house party?”
“He has a wonderful home and he makes it such a happy place. Truthfully? This is the most I’ve enjoyed any of my time since the Season began.” Sophie took a careful look around to make sure no one else was listening. “This endless quest for the ‘proper’ husband has become nothing more than a tedious job one wants to get over with as quickly as possible.”
“Perhaps you search too hard for the ‘proper’ man. Sometimes the things we want most are right in front of us. If you cannot find the perfect gentleman dressed like that in one of Madame Bonheur’s confections, then something is wrong with the universe. Those soft pink stripes set off your glowing cheeks to perfection. Do not give up the quest,mon jeune amie. Love is worth everything we sacrifice, and more.”
“Were you ever hopelessly in love, Mrs. Bellingham?” Sophie leaned as close as she could for the intimate question.
“In love? Many times. Hopelessly in love? Twice. Once long ago in Martinique with my late husband, Alexandre, and once as a terrified mother with children fleeing France when a brave man risked everything to save us.”