“I promise.” Her voice cracked a little in spite of her resolve to remain strong.Jupiter.
Chapter Seventeen
Sophie putdown the pencil she’d been scribbling notes with on possible plots for a romance and swept her gaze from Lady Howick to Lydia across from her in the Howick’s comfortable family carriage. Lady Howick worked on a piece of embroidery while Lydia had her nose buried in a gothic novel. She tried not to think of the man she knew rode close outside next to the carriage. Arnaud was back to guard duty, along with Lord Howick who had decided at the last minute to accompany them to the house party at Sir Thomas’s country home north of London.
He kept his famous stables there, along with an extensive library she itched to explore. As for Sir Thomas’s wish to introduce her to his beloved horses, Lord Howick had arranged for one of his grooms to give her riding lessons. She’d been terrified at first, but gradually became accustomed to the mandatory side-saddle position for women. If only she’d been born a man. Life would have been so much simpler. In so many ways. She let out a huge sigh.
Lydia put down her novel. “La, Sophie. You are at the pinnacle of the Season, a highly sought after guest, and have not one, but a veritable crowd of eligible gentlemen plying you with offers of entertainments. What could you possibly have to sigh about?”
“Nothing.”
“That deep sigh did not sound like ‘nothing’ to me.” Lady Howick looked up from her needlework and smiled. “If it’s any comfort, Captain Bellingham seems as tortured as you.”
“Why does everyone assume the world spins on its axis just to please Captain Bellingham? He means nothing to me. I mean nothing to him.”
Lydia and Lady Howick exchanged knowing looks. The older woman re-adjusted her glasses and resumed her embroidery.
“He’s miserable. It’s embarrassingly obvious. You can’t go on pretending he means nothing to you.” Lydia pointed toward the window close to Sophie where Arnaud trotted, armed with several pistols and a sword.
“Yes, I can. And I’m not pretending.”
At Lydia’s eye roll, Sophie repeated her protest with irritation. “Idon’tpretend.”
Sophie fumed quietly, considering a number of retorts for her friend, but she knew Lydia was right. She missed the easy camaraderie she’d once shared with Arnaud, but it was too late for compromise. He’d made himself clear. She was not the woman he wanted in his life.
When the Howick carriage finally wound along the long, curving drive lined with beech trees, the house at last came into view. Sophie gasped. From the way Sir Thomas had talked about his home, she’d expected a cozy-sized cottage. What she hadn’t expected was a compound of weathered brick buildings, dominated at one side by what appeared to be the stables. If she hadn’t seen horses being walked by various grooms, she would have assumed that section of the estate was the main house.
The actual human abode, she assumed, was the small jewel of a house with second-floor gables across the middle and both wings. A double-sided door surrounded by ornate stone carving stood open. All the windows, including the perfectly rounded set above the doorway, gleamed in the sun’s last rays of the day. Standing at the head of the circular drive was Sir Thomas with his arms outstretched and laughing while the coachman pulled them to a stop and footmen rushed forward with steps. This was the way she’d always think of the kind barrister. In fact, she could not remember ever seeing a single dour look from the man.
He moved forward as their coachman pulled Howick’s team of six to a stop. “At last. Sophie and her retinue arrive.Waituntil you see my library. You will never want to leave Clifford Park again.”
Arnaud and Lord Howick had handed their mounts off to groomsmen who walked them toward the stables.
Howick and Sir Thomas exchanged firm handshakes while Arnaud gave him a short bow. “Do you always use books to coax women to your country hideaway?”
Sir Thomas burst into uncontrollable laughter, leaning over with his hands on his knees. When he straightened, he pulled Arnaud into a fierce bear hug. “You might be well served to learn from my techniques, Captain.”
Sophie threw Arnaud a dark look before she, Lydia, and Lady Howick followed the Clifford Park housekeeper to a set of rooms on the second floor of the west wing. Howick and Arnaud were ushered to the east wing by a maid. Sophie understood Howick had reached a compromise with her guards. While Arnaud would stay at the house, his three men would take rooms at the nearby inn at Cliffshire. Lydia had overheard her father telling her grandmother Sir Thomas did not want his house party resembling a rout within an armed fortress.
Ever since she’d tried to explain her feelings to Lord Howick, Sophie kept wondering whether he’d really heard what she’d said, or was just humoring her. Arnaud was back as her guard, either with a scowl on his face or a blank, inscrutable look. Sometimes she wished she would get a marriage offer, any offer, just to be able to escape his constant, sour regard.
“Sophie, quit wool-gathering.” Lydia’s cross tone belied her indulgent smile. “Look at the view out those dormer windows.”
Sophie joined her friend and took in a deep breath. Emerald fields and hedgerows stretched out for miles, broken occasionally by darker masses of deep woods. Sir Thomas’s beloved horses dotted a number of fenced areas, accompanied by colts of various ages, cavorting on spindly legs around their mothers.
She eyed several elaborate carriages rumbling up the long drive, nearing the house. “Who else do you suppose he’s invited?”
Lydia launched herself back-first onto the soft counterpane, letting out an “ah” with a huge exhale. “I could get used to the comforts of country living like this.” She rolled onto her side and waggled her eyebrows at Sophie. “Do you supposeIcould bring Sir Thomas up to scratch?”
Her grandmother chose that moment to join them. “Lydia, you could bring any number of men up to scratch, if only you weren’t so flighty.”
Lydia pounced back up onto the carpet. “That’s not so. Why only a few weeks ago, just before Sophie’s coming out ball, Captain Neville said I would make a fine farmer’s wife. He wouldn’t have said that if he didn’t mean it, but of course he didn’t know who I was. He thought I was one of the downstairs maids.”
Both Sophie and Lady Howick stood open-mouthed at Lydia’s sudden declaration.
“And just what did you do to make the poor young man think you were a downstairs maid?” Her grandmother’s voice turned steely.
Lydia gave her an odd frown, a tiny wrinkle forming on her forehead. “Nothing. I did nothing. I was merely arranging flowers for the ball in an old dress and apron with my hair tied back behind a kerchief.”
