“We all know that’s not true,” Lydia insisted. “What about that day your bad dog ran his mother’s cat up the tree?”
Sophie’s chest contracted as if struck by an arrow. If Lydia let loose with gossip about what had happened that day, her first ball could be her last.
Just as she grabbed Lydia’s hand to pull her away from the group around them, Lord Howick arrived with a very tall, distinguished gentleman in tow.
“Miss Brancelli, may I introduce Barrister Sir Thomas James, one of my colleagues? Sir Thomas, this is Miss Brancelli, granddaughter of the late Duchess of Wolford, a great friend of our family. Miss Brancelli is a very accomplished poet who has been Lydia’s closest friend since they were in the nursery.”
“I am beyond charmed to make your acquaintance, Miss Brancelli. I had no idea Howick’s nursery harbored such loveliness all these years. And now I’m the last to know.”
He threw a mock accusing look at Lord Howick.
Sophie stopped breathing for a moment. This man was not what she’d expected. He obviously inhabited an exalted position in theton. What should she do? Say?
He did not wait for her to collect her thoughts but instead bent low and brushed the back of her hand with his lips. “Miss Brancelli, would you grant me the honor of a dance?” Sophie curtsied in acknowledgment before he swept her into the next dance set.
On the way to join the other dancers, he whispered, “Now you are all mine for this dance and the next until we go in to supper.”
Sophie’s heart beat a double-time tattoo before racing even faster when she glanced up to where Arnaud stood by the ballroom entrance. His face betrayed raw feelings.You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me either,Sophie thought bitterly.
Boiling anger replaced uncertainty as Sophie held her head high and took her place across from the barrister to begin the set. She’d been avoiding the older man’s gaze until now. When he finally caught her attention, he gave her a conspiratorial smile. Warmth spread from her inflamed face to the tender space below her collar bone. Had he caught her glance at Arnaud? Did he suspect her true feelings?
Formal ballroom dances were nothing like the wild whirling around the kitchen in her father’s tiny cottage. The impromptu gatherings of his friends and fellow writers always ended there after the impoverished group imbibed however many bottles of inexpensive wine they could afford.
Thank heavens she’d learned the steps well after many hours with Lydia’s dance master. She didn’t have to think of the forms and steps. She merely let herself go with the flow of music. The few times she faltered, Mr. James would gently touch her shoulder to re-direct her on her way. He somehow knew when she was confused and kept both of them moving through the set. When at last they were at the top of the line again, he gave her a soft clap and mouthed, “Bravo.”
Chapter Fourteen
Arnaud’s gutchurned like a cauldron of uncertainty. Although he would still keep his watchful instincts on high alert, from where he stood, it looked as though Sophie might soon find her happy ending. Lord Howick’s friend, the barrister James, had an impeccable standing within theton. And based on the gazes and smiles the man had shared with Sophie out on the ballroom floor, Arnaud suspected his guard duty might soon come to an abrupt end.
In addition to James being the third son of an earl, he also was a well-known breeder of fine horse flesh. In fact, he’d been named a fellow of the Royal Society for his advances in animal husbandry at his estate north of London. Arnaud probably shouldn’t have investigated the barrister so thoroughly when he saw his name on the list of guests, but he couldn’t help himself. He knew for a certainty what he hated to admit. This man could care for Sophia Brancelli the way she deserved to be cared for.
He would consult with his mother to be sure, but as far as he knew, there was never a whisper of scandal about the man, despite the wide swath he cut in society. This was the best thing that could have happened. She deserved the best in life, and by damn, James had better provide the same.
If he felt so good about Sophie’s future, he should be dusting off his hands and moving on with his life. But why did his heart grind to a halt every time he saw her smile at the tall man moving her through the sets? The minute she accepted a proposal, Arnaud would have to get as far away from London as possible.
How about as far as the west coast of Africa? Long, hot nights of swatting mosquitoes and longer days of taking the tender up slaver-infested estuaries were certainly preferable to this slow death of watching Sophie dance away from him in the arms of another man.
“Captain Bellingham.”
Someone leaned toward his ear and spoke low in an urgent voice.Lord Howick.“Do not show any alarm,” he said, “but someone just tried to set my mews on fire.”
Arnaud immediately snapped to attention and followed Howick toward the rear of the house. When they passed Lieutenant Bourne racing from the lower level kitchen area, Arnaud snapped, “Front entrance—now!”
Bourne trotted toward Arnaud’s former post while Arnaud and Lord Howick continued to rush outside to the mews.
Damn. They’d thought of every eventuality within Howick House, but not the mews. He hoped the fire was not deliberately set, but his wary captain’s instincts told him an accidental fire was unlikely on the very night of Sophie’s coming-out ball. Only fools trusted coincidence.
Since Sir Thomas James was Sophie’s partner for the dance before supper, they walked into the Howicks’ sumptuous formal dining room together. A long line of guests chose from the many dishes lining a huge horseshoe arrangement of tables covered with white linen, blazing candelabras, and lilies atop mirrored trays. Lydia must have emptied someone’s hothouse. The trays beneath her friend’s floral creations echoed the flickering arrangements endlessly in the mirrors inlaid on the high ceiling above the table and on the surrounding walls where candles in sconces magnified the glow.
Sophie carefully balanced a plate of an assortment of delicacies Sir Thomas chose for her: small pieces of ham; cold roast chicken, and veal; lobster salad; cauliflower florets and tiny, perfect potatoes in béchamel sauce; pineapple jelly; and an apricot tart.
Standing to supper was much preferable to wrestling the intricately embellished hem of her skirt so she could comfortably sit at a table. Footmen circled the room with additional trays of food. After they settled near a free corner of the ballroom, Sir Thomas leaned close and asked, “Are you truly having a good time?”
Sophie raised her head and confronted his warm brown gaze. The small lines at the edges of his eyes spoke of a man used to living well and laughing. A lot.
“What an odd question,” Sophie answered. “Of course, I’m having a wonderful time.” She lifted a water goblet, nodding to the footman behind her. He expertly filled the glass and stepped back to await further orders. “Two months ago I was the frugal housekeeper for my poor father’s household, and now here I am enjoying the Howicks’ beautiful home. And,” she added, “your charming company. What else could a woman want?”
Sir Thomas threw back his head and gave out a full-throated laugh, crinkling the skin at the edges of his eyes, the way she knew he would. If she could not spend the rest of her life with the man she loved, then why not with a man who loved to laugh?
