“Sophie.” Arnaud drew out the name and slanted his gaze down at his glass.
“What did you do to make your mother think you’re attracted to Sophie?”
“Nothing.” Arnaud scowled at his friend.
Cullen gave him a long look. “Now I know something’s up.”
“It’s just…I asked my mother to check on the girls, and…”
“And what?”
“She met Sophie, and now she’s convinced I must be in love with such a beautiful creature.Mamanthinks I’d never have asked her to call otherwise.”
“What else did you do to send your mother into matrimonial spasms?” Cullen asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.
“She doesn’t care for my plan to wed the widow.”
“What’s wrong with the widow?” Cullen’s eyebrows shot up.
“Nothing,” Arnaud said a little too forcefully. “Mamandoesn’t like the idea of my marrying for practical reasons.”
Cullen’s mouth dropped open. “She expects you to marry for love?”
“My mother is French, very French. She thinks love is the only reason for marrying. And now she’s maneuvered me into a dinner at Howick House tomorrow night.”
Cullen grinned and slapped Arnaud on the back. “I can hardly wait to see how you extricate yourself from this one. Make sure you come to the club after dinner. I don’t want to miss a moment of this farce. No matter what, though, you’re going to end up leg-shackled before our next tour of duty.”
When Cullen raised his glass in a mock salute, Arnaud gave him a sour look and tipped the rest of the brandy down his throat.
Sophie couldn’t eat. She picked at the buttery toast she usually consumed by the stack. Her tea cup sat still two-thirds full, the contents cooled. A slice of ham on a side plate remained untouched.
Lydia gave her a knowing smile. "Sophie's got a beau," she singsonged.
"I do not," Sophie said, and gave her friend a light push on the shoulder. "Stop trying to make it so."
"I don't care if you want to be an old, unmarried bluestocking. I can't wait to see Captain Bellingham's fellow officer, the surgeon, again."
"His friend?"
"Yes. Dr. Cullen MacCloud,” Lydia fairly jiggled in her seat. "When Grandmother found out he's the son of the king's Scottish surgeon, she invited him and his father to dinner as well."
"I hope you're happy. Now we'll have to face both of those men again and relive the horrors of the other day." Sophie stuck out her lower lip and glared at Lydia.
Lady Howick entered the breakfast room, and they stilled. She said nothing for a moment before chiding Sophie. "Pushing out your lower lip will encourage wrinkles no amount of cream can fix.”
When Lydia smirked at her friend for receiving the brunt of her grandmother's ire, Lady Howick added, "And you, Lydia, need to mind your table manners, or no self-respecting gentleman will have anything to do with you. No leaning on your elbows. Ever."
Sophie and Lydia snapped into proper posture and cast down their eyes until the dowager marchioness took her seat at the breakfast table.
After a footman filled her plate and placed it in front of her, Lady Howick gave her charges one last severe warning look before tucking into a mound of thin ham slices and a stack of buttered toast.
Arnaud sat opposite his mother in their carriage. She looked very self-satisfied and beautiful in delicate lavender silk and a long woolen cape against the crisp night air. She’d said very little on the short trip from their home in Hanover Square to Howick House on St. James Square. After an elegant stretch, much like one of her dratted cats, she turned a mischievous look his way. “Are you ready to face the guns of society?”
“I’m not amused,Maman.” He gave her a reproving look. “Matchmaking does not become you.”
“And why not? You would remain a cranky old bachelor, or worse, if I did not take an interest in your affairs.”
Arnaud had grown up under the loving ministrations of a doting mother. The woman facing him in the opposite seat represented a wholly different woman he neither understood nor appreciated.
