Arnaud sighed. “I just don’t understand women.’
“No, you don’t, you scurvy bastard.”
Chapter Sixteen
On the rideback to Howick House in Sir Thomas’s curricle, Sophie was considerably less terrified than during the first one. This time, she didn’t care. She didn’t care if she fell off the high seat. She didn’t care if she hit the pavement and rolled under the wheels of another carriage. She’d never felt so lost and empty to the bottom of her soul.
Sir Thomas abruptly pulled up on the reins and guided them over to a small pocket park along Little Brook Street. His tiger jumped down and took charge of the horses.
“Why so sad, Sophie?” His gloved finger moved beneath her jaw and coaxed her face toward his. “Mmmm, and angry. Very angry. Does this have anything to do with the storm cloud excuse for a naval officer sitting across the street glaring at us?”
Sophie whipped her head away from Sir Thomas toward Lord Howick’s carriage where Arnaud sat.
“Both of you are angry. In my experience, the only emotion that can elicit such anger is usually love.”
“You are mistaken, sir.Iam merely angry. When one lets down one’s defenses and declares one’s feelings to an unfeeling oaf, one should expect to get what one deserves.” She rubbed hard at an eyelid beneath her faux cherry-laden bonnet. “I beg your pardon. A piece of dirt must have blown into my eye.”
“I see… Would you like some assistance to get it out?”
“No.” Sophie’s sharp reply echoed along the street like a shot. Arnaud half-opened his carriage door and made as if to join them. Sir Thomas threw him a dark look and waved him away.
Sophie gave a deep sniff and pleaded with Sir Thomas. “Please. Please take me home.”
After a quick nod to his tiger to scramble back aboard, Sir Thomas guided the horses onward toward Howick House.
Sophie’s spirits lifted once she was safely back home. Lydia met her at the front door with an ecstatic hug and a stream of excited pronouncements about her guard for the day, Captain Neville.
“He was such a dear.” Her friend gushed in praise. “He never complained, just stood quietly by the door wherever I went. We ran into the Jarvis sisters at the milliner’s on Bond Street, and they were over the moon with envy when I explained his presence.”
“I daresay you filled them in on what horrific dangers we’ve been facing and how he and his shipmates have performed all sorts of acts of derring-do.” Sophie straightened her elaborate bonnet before changing her mind and removing two lethal-looking hatpins holding the tippy concoction in place. The poor thing sank into a sad heap on a marble table in the entryway.
“Ooh,” Lydia cooed “What happened? Who hurt your feelings? You never whine the way I do. Here I’ve been going on and on about my wonderful day when yours…well, yours must have been something less than that.” Lydia gathered her into her arms and held her for a minute before leading her toward the stairway leading to the family sitting room.
Over her shoulder, she called to the butler to ask Cook to have tea sent up.
After brooding for blocks over Sophie’s sudden expression of hurt feelings, Arnaud stopped at a floral cart on his way to the Fairfield mansion on the Strand. He chose a smallish bouquet of roses, sweet peas, and lilies in the hopes the modest offering might warm Frannie’s heart a bit, assuming she would receive him.
The last time he and Frances, the dowager Viscountess Fairfield, had been together, they’d parted on the warmest of terms. But that had been nearly two years before, during his last shore leave. Had he mis-read her signals then? He’d assumed she would have welcomed a proposal of marriage. She’d even talked about her wish for her son to have a steadying male influence in his life.
And as for the rest, Frannie had been as exuberant as ever when they… He strode faster to the center of the block where the huge Fairfield House sat in the center of a massive park.
Within twenty minutes of his arrival, her butler had politely but firmly explained she was not at home and directed him to leave his card on the tray with the considerable pile already there. He re-emerged knowing less than before and made short work of racing down the endless entrance steps. Once again on Piccadilly a short time later, he shoved the bouquet at a startled young servant on a brisk round of errands.
Just as he neared the turn-off for Albany, he sighted Cullen headed for the same destination. After hailing his surgeon, they adjourned to the nearby Crooked Candle pub on Piccadilly.
Once they were settled with pints of ale, Arnaud gave his ship’s surgeon a dour look. “I just tried to get an audience with Frannie. She’s still not receiving callers.”
“Not receiving callers or not receivingyou?”
“What is wrong with me? Why do women suddenly act as if I’m some sort of abomination?”
Cullen let out a derisive snort. “If you really want to know what I think, I’ll tell you. I think we’ve all had enough shore leave. It’s time to get back to sea. Even Neville seems about to lose his good sense over Lady Lydia.
“And furthermore, I don’t need to tellyouwhat your problem is with women. Your problem has long, dark curls, a sweet, kissable mouth, and the prettiest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. She’s in love with your worthless hide, and you can’t seem to get that stick out of your back end long enough to tell her you feel the same way.” He sat back and took a long swig from the ale before reaching for a refill from the pitcher. “And as for the viscountess, that was nearly two years ago. Besides, you’re not really that interested now. Sail on.”
The sun peeped from behind the clouds that had deviled them all week. It wasn’t exactly raining, but the possibility still lurked. However, Sophie took courage from that small bit of cheerful light. She needed all the help she could get. Against her better judgment, she’d given in to Lydia’s wheedling to study the crop of current popular romances and gothic novels written by women.
The bow windows of many small glass panes showered light within Hookham’s Circulating Library on Bond Street. Even in muted daylight, there was plenty of illumination.
