At her son’s quizzical look, she added, “Her grandmother earned a huge fortune from popular novels sold here and on the Continent under an assumed name, which is why she wanted the girl to be protected by asuitable gentleman. And then there was her grandmother’s fear of her father’s influence. But Sophie seems to have adopted a frugal approach to life. Her father’s sins prompted her to thrift.”
Howick tilted his head to the side and gave his mother a long look. “We shall have to make certain no opportunists discover the nature of her fortune. I have a good feeling about young Bellingham. He’s already offered to serve as a sort of bodyguard. He should be around for at least another month or two with all the fierce storms pounding the Channel. In fact,” he added, “I’ll make sure of it. I’ll put some weight to bear at the Admiralty to keep him in England for a while longer before he returns to his squadron. He and his mother seem more than well off. We can reasonably trust he has no interest in commandeering Sophie’s fortune. And his devotion to the Royal Navy guarantees he’ll be gone by the time our Sophie finds a husband to protect her.
“And just to make sure she has a reliable, protective partner to squire her a bit through the Season, why don’t you include my friend, the barrister Sir Thomas James, on the invitation list for her coming out ball?”
“Of course.” Lady Howick smiled in agreement but still wondered what was behind her son’s concerns.
Arnaud stood outside Albany and waited for his mother’s coachman to pull through the curve of the drive at the front entrance. Honore waved through the carriage window, a jaunty veiled hat cocked to the side over her dark, silver-streaked curls and a thick woolen scarf wound around her neck.
After he knocked the snow off his Hessians on the step the coachman had put down, he swung inside and noted her only nod to the scurvy weather was a long woolen cape swirled around her ankles in the freezing carriage. A small brazier glowed with hot coals, warming the inside of her cavernous conveyance.
They sat in companionable silence on the way down to Howick House on St. James Square to fetch Lady Lydia and Miss Brancelli for a day of shopping. Arnaud would rather face a line of ships manned by Barbary pirates, but he’d promised Lord Howick he would protect the young women until he could bring to ground the culprits who had deviled poor Sophie.
When he and Cullen had shown up at the Admiralty the afternoon before, Admiral Longthorpe had called in Arnaud to make plain the concerns Lord Howick had pressed upon him. Arnaud would stay on shore leave a bit longer to serve as bodyguard to the young women under Howick’s care. Since his ship in the yard at Portsmouth still awaited the curing and rigging of a mainmast, Arnaud was not worried.
He needed to tread lightly with the Admiralty, however. With old Bonie exiled to remote Saint Helena and the threat of war a distant fear for his countrymen, a career naval officer had to make the most of any posting. And Arnaud was determined to continue to work his way upward.
His mother leaned forward and tapped him on the knee. “Lady Howick sent me an urgent message last night about the need to keep the girls safe at all costs. I’ve put on two outriders just to be safe, several of our warehouse laborers, the toughest on the docks. Have you spoken to Lord Howick?”
Arnaud smiled at the serious look on his mother’s face. “Of course. Although he used a far stronger conduit with me.”
“Who?”
“The admiral. Howick used his influence to alter my assignment with the Admiralty. After dogging my every step for weeks, Longthorpe is not as keen now for me to get the ship back into service with the squadron. He made it clear yesterday afternoon. Howick’s daughter and Sophie are my priorities now.”
“If Lord Howick fears that much for their safety, are we safe enough with you alone?”
The stern look he sent her made his mother flinch. “I am well armed.” He pulled aside his greatcoat and revealed a pistol in an inside pocket. Arnaud had tucked its twin into the back waist of his buckskins, but his mother needn’t worry herself on any account.
In fact, Arnaud had no fear of Honore Bellingham fainting at the sight of weapons of destruction. His parents had survived an attack before his birth during the French Revolution. Her late husband, a friend of his father’s, had been killed by the mob in Nantes. His father had spirited Honore and her children out of the country on one of his ships and brought them back to England.
He studied his mother’s face and understood how his own father could have fallen hopelessly in love with the woman across from him. Which was why his grandfather, the earl, rarely had contact with them.
“Cullen will join me at your mantua-maker’s address. No one questions Cullen,” Arnaud assured her.
Honore sat back with a sigh and nodded in assent.
Sophie thanked the spirits above she currently had minimal wardrobe choices. Her decision on what to wear to the Mantua-maker had been ridiculously simple.
She’d chosen the warmest ensemble in her nearly empty armoire. After a quick look outside, she wrapped her heavy shawl around her long, woolen pelisse for extra warmth.
If she hadn’t spent a great deal of her life with Lydia, she might have worried the wild pounding at her door presaged a warning that the house was on fire. When she pulled open the door, Lydia nearly fell into the room, so excited was she at the prospect of a day of shopping.
Sophie hugged her friend and said, “Calm yourself. We have a long day ahead of us. If you sustain your current level of excitement, you’ll suffer a fit of apoplexy.”
“They’re here,” Lydia announced with a twinge of dramatic inflection. High spots of color dotted her cheeks.
“They?” Sophie wondered if she’d mistaken the day they were to accompany Mrs. Bellingham to her modiste.
“Yes.” Lydia’s excitement had increased so much that she seemed to be having difficulty breathing. She accompanied each pronouncement with a deep breath. “Captain Bellingham is with her. And, oh my, how his dark coat and jacket set off those clear, blue eyes. And he is so solemn and handsome, you just want to go up and touch those long, dark lashes of his to make sure they’re real.”
“Lydia! Stop your prattling at once.” Lady Howick joined them and placed a firm hand on her granddaughter’s arm. “You are making a cake of yourself.”
Lydia quieted but walked across to Sophie’s bed and flopped down on top of the counterpane, her gaze darting between Sophie and Lady Howick. Only the nervous tapping of her foot betrayed her level of excitement.
When Lady Howick turned her attention to Sophie, she explained Lord Howick wanted the mantua-maker to forward all bills to his attention.
“No,” Sophie said. “I cannot…”
