Page 52 of Pride of Honor

Sophie shivered. Something had shifted between them, something that made her sadder than she would have thought.

Chapter Nineteen

Sir Thomas’sgroom helped Sophie up to the mounting block before she climbed onto the back of Rosslyn, a mare her host had promised was exceedingly mellow. Lancelot had raced out to greet her when she first arrived at the stables, but then was banished back into the barn because of his love of barking at the grooms while they went about their work.

She moved with confidence from practicing so many times the art of hauling herself onto the horse’s back with her left foot in the stirrup whilst boosting her weight upward with her right foot. She doubted one of Sir Thomas’s gentle mares could outwit her. That performance had to be accompanied all the while gathering the voluminous skirts of her wine-colored habit, so not a bit of ankle would show.

Added to the stress of getting her riding performance just right, she was sorely missing sleep from the adventures of the night before. She’d applied extra powder beneath her eyes to hide the shadows.

When first she’d begun her riding lessons, she’d abhorred the thought of carrying the light whip required to communicate with the horse on the right side where her leg looped high over a pommel. A few lessons with Sir Thomas’s head groom in the art of light, guiding touches had allayed her fears. The man knew horses almost as well as Sir Thomas.

She marveled at the way the denizens of his stables perked up their ears and gave out welcoming whinnies whenever he walked past their stalls. Of course, he always took pockets full of carrots and apples which he dispensed with kind words and murmurs of praise for his “beauties,” as he referred to them.

Although at first she’d been intimidated by all the details of what one had to do to present oneself as a lady, she’d soon ceased to be confounded. She’d picked up the tempo of social nonsense and was now playing the marriage game with vigor. If she could not be with the man she loved, she would get on with the intricate steps of thetonnishhusband hunt. Of course, she did not have an eager mama in the wings forwarding her best interests, but the Howicks had been more than helpful in that regard.

And now, after the previous night, Mrs. Withers had presented her with the key to her father’s old cottage. No matter how the husband hunt ended, she would at least have a roof over her head. When she tried to turn down the extravagant gift, her old friend had insisted.

Besides, Arnaud’s cousin had called often at Howick House since they were introduced at her coming out ball. She’d come to enjoy his company. If she had to choose a husband who wasn’t Arnaud, his cousin was easy to talk to and was as solid as Arnaud, but in an inverse, fair-haired way. The family resemblance was startling.

Who was she trying to convince? He wasnotArnaud. However, the sooner she could end the infernal husband hunt, the sooner she could claim her inheritance and get on with her life. And…not have to look into the face of the man she loved every day, following her around like an unhappy guard dog, knowing they could never be together, and suspecting he felt the same way.

At Lydia’s pestering she’d started work on a romance to submit to the Minerva Press. She’d also sent her collection of Venetian poems to her father’s old publisher. Maybe, by some miracle, she wouldn’t have to choose.

All the while deep in thought, Sophie had been guiding the mare around the stable yard, whispering soothing words the way she’d heard Sir Thomas calm his mounts.

“Well done, Sophie.” Sir Thomas rode his favorite gelding, Lundy, and joined her. Arnaud fussed a few minutes with tightening the girth and then swung easily into the saddle.

“For a Navy man, you ride very well, Captain Bellingham.” Sir Thomas pulled next to Sophie and waited for him to follow.

A brief frown clouded Arnaud’s face. “I spent a lot of time at my grandfather’s estate growing up, and he made sure I could ride as well as any of my cousins when we were young. However, his bullying of my mother was a bad idea. She cannot be bullied, as you well know.” Both men chuckled. “When she resisted his interference, he wrote me off as a grandson, which is fine with me.”

“Ah, yes. Whittingdon. He would be a pompous stickler. But hasn’t one of your cousins been calling on Sophie?”

She cringed at the abrupt change in the direction of Sir Thomas’s questions and was certain Arnaud seethed beneath his bland smile. He could hide his expression, but not the fire in his eyes. She knew this man well. But why deny his feelings and then resent another man who expressed interest in her?

At the last minute, Sophie interceded to forestall another one of Arnaud’s black moods. “He’s called several times, but I think he’s more interested in Cook’s ginger biscuits.” Arnaud remained silent.

Sir Thomas gave her a wry look and nudged his horse into a trot. She and Arnaud fell in behind.

An early morning wind whipped at her carefully braided hair beneath an elaborate veiled riding hat in dark wine velvet matching her habit. Conversation was impossible, which was fine with her. She’d tied a firm bow beneath her chin that morning but the poor thing’s grip on her head was a strain in the heavy breeze. She was relieved to concentrate on keeping the stupid bit of velvet and netting from blowing away while handling both the reins and the light whip. Of course she’d practically nailed the hat in place with her trusty hatpins. Her companions looked equally happy not to have to indulge in conversation.

The bridle path narrowed through the densely wooded park, forcing them to ride single file. The bright sun outside the park darkened under the canopy of thick leaves. She felt a bit chilled, but her habit had been too hot in the sun moments before. She was comfortable with the easy gait Sir Thomas set and began to feel like riding out was not the bad idea she’d suspected earlier.

A sudden jarring thud to her side nearly threw her off balance. Another rider coming from behind had just slammed into her. Her horse adjusted nimbly after the impact and returned to her gait as if nothing had happened. Sophie thanked the goddesses she hadn’t toppled off onto the ground or under Rosslyn’s thrashing hooves. Arnaud and Sir Thomas immediately circled back and put her between them while they both dismounted, drew pistols, and swept glances through the trees around the path, looking for any further danger.

“Captain, you stay here with Miss Brancelli while I run down that villain who had the gall to attack this poor woman while she’s under my protection, at my very home.” He lunged back onto his horse and took off through the trees, ignoring Arnaud’s shouts.

“He should have let me follow that foul swab.” Arnaud paced in anger, swinging his pistol at the surrounding underbrush, as if that would produce the culprit.

Sophie slid from her seat on poor Rosslyn and clenched her fists. “What if there are more men behind that one? What if Sir Thomas had stayed, you left us, and we came under attack?” Sophie still shook from the near collision.

Arnaud ceased pacing and stared down into Sophie’s wide eyes. “You’re not afraid?”

“Why would I be afraid? Someone wants to harm me, possibly ruin me, and destroy my search for this proper ‘gentleman’ of thetonI have to acquire before I can claim my inheritance. Why should I worry?”

He noticed too late the slight quivering of her lower lip, the imperceptible shaking of her shoulders. She still clung to her usual fire and defiance, but he could tell the effort weighed on her.

In that moment he knew. His world tilted like a ship flying full canvas in a big blow. He secured the two horses in the midst of a meadow of grass and took off his jacket. He He wrapped her in it before tucking her into his arms. When he pulled her down beside him on the stump of a felled tree, she turned to fit in his lap.