“Because—” Arnaud stopped, agitated, and ticked off reasons on one hand. “One - she is very young. Two - she is an innocent, and three through at least twenty - she is totally unschooled in the ways of theton. She would be eaten alive by the social circles a wife of mine would need to navigate. Oh, and did I mention she’d be alone for up to a year and a half at a time?”
Cullen shook his head. “None of that should matter if you care for her.”
“And then there is the matter of her skills with the gypsy cards. Gypsy cards! She’d be shunned everywhere the minute even a whisper about her strange gift for divining came out.”
“What makes ye think ye can reel off the reasons for love like a farmer bartering for a cow?” Cullen stopped Arnaud with a meaty hand when he made to move around him. “Love isn’t right or wrong. It’s somethin’ so fragile in between, ye’d be an infernal fool to pass it up. Think with yer heart for once.”
“Never mind.” Arnaud brushed off his surgeon’s arguments. “Come along with me.” He pushed around Cullen and headed west back along Piccadilly. “Let’s set course for the corner of Duke and Jermyn Streets.”
“Why?” His friend trotted to keep up.
“That’s where our trickster friend, Mr. Seaton, keeps rooms. The sweeps said they followed the kidnappers to the Dog and Partridge.” Arnaud walked faster.
“And what does that have to do with the disagreeable Mr. Seaton?” Cullen stopped, forcing Arnaud to backtrack.
“The Dog is a ways down on Piccadilly, right around the corner from Seaton’s rooms.” Arnaud shook his head and kept up a brisk pace.
“Are ye daft, man? That’s a good ha-mile out of our way, hell and gone from the Admiralty.”
“What else do you have to do for the next hour?” Arnaud shouted back over his shoulder.
Cullen opened his mouth as if to object and then fell in with Arnaud’s fast trot.
Sophie and Lydia sat cross-legged on the Turkish carpet in front of the massive armoire in Sophie’s bedroom. With both doors swung open, the interior space revealed only four well-worn pieces hanging from hooks. They represented Sophie’s entire wardrobe: her threadbare green muslin day dress; one carriage dress with a warm woolen pelisse; and a second day dress of faded blue wool. The only extravagant item in the cavernous space was a rich, red wool paisley shawl hanging in lush folds from a hook.
Her single evening dress of blue satin with simple puff sleeves and a wide, silvery sash was packed in tissue in a small trunk at the foot of her bed.
And then there was the black mourning dress she’d worn to honor her father’s memory. Lydia’s grandmother had provided that item earlier in the year, when she’d come to the Howicks’ London house after her father’s death. But lately, she’d encouraged the young woman to wear brighter colors.
Lydia stood and pulled out the gown from the tissue packing in the trunk. She fingered the faded blue ribbons gathering the sleeves. “This will never do. How often did you wear this dress? It looks like it’s been to one too many balls.”
“That was my mother’s dress, one she managed to take with her when she ran away with my father.” Sophie leaned back on her elbows and stuck her legs straight out, crossing her ankles.
Lydia’s mouth dropped open. “That was more than twenty years ago.”
Sophie frowned. “My father’s friend from the theater, Mrs. Withers, helped me re-cut and fashion this dress from my mother’s old gown. No one would know if I didn’t tell them.”
Lydia moved back to the carpet where Sophie still sprawled and pulled her into her arms. “Papa and my Grand will make sure you have a new wardrobe. We can’t let you go through the Season with those.”
“I can’t,” Sophie started to explain.
“Of course you can,” Lydia interrupted, placing a finger on Sophie’s lips. “You have to make the most of your one chance to find a husband, so you can claim your inheritance and keep writing your poetry.”
“But I don’t know where to start…”
“You don’t have to, Silly. Mrs. Bellingham has offered to take you to her modiste. She’s an expert at fashion and travels in all the best circles of theton. You have to trust her.”
“I’m afraid…”
“Don’t worry,” Lydia said. “I’ll be there too. What could possibly go wrong?”
Sophie rolled her eyes.
Her friend jumped up and did a series of clumsy pirouettes, singing all the while. “We’re going shopping tomorrow, shopping, shopping, shopping. I can’t wait.”
Sophie shook her head. In her mind she ran through all the disasters she’d encountered over the years with Lydia right after her friend had uttered the words, “What can possibly go wrong?”
Arnaud frowned at Teddy’s poor landlady. “Are you sure he left without saying where he was headed or when he’ll be back?”
