Her senses were on high alert. She almost felt ashamed. Almost. She and Lydia had slipped away with Lydia’s maid to browse the latest editions. Lord Howick was in meetings at the House of Lords at Westminster, and they’d chosen the hour Lady Howick napped each afternoon. After Arnaud’s harsh rejection of any hopes she’d had of a future with him, she determined never to make such a fool of herself again.
They had not notified Arnaud and his men of their outing, but she no longer felt the need to do so. She and Lydia had decided for safety’s sake they would take along an extra footman who had ridden on the seat next to the coachman.
She tightened her grip on the parasol she carried with her everywhere now and gave a light touch to the sharp pins holding in place her latest refurbished bonnet. This confection overflowed with artificial violets and a few strategically placed faux, dark blue grapes.
After a long debate with Lydia, she’d decided she would take a look at the novels and decide if perhaps she might follow the path her grandmother had chosen to literary success, albeit under an assumed name.Jupiter!No one would care what she did if she took her future into her own hands. And besides, most of the novels in this particular section carried a woman’s name as author. Although the possibility of failure followed closely by starvation was real, the thought of the freedom of being on her own was heady.
Sophie sniffed deeply of the paper-and-ink smell of shelves full of books. She pulled out a used book and rubbed a gloved finger down the spine. “The Orphan of the Rhine” by Eleanor Sleath.
“Pssst - over here,” Lydia whispered loud enough to summon the dead. She carried a towering stack of books and staggered toward a corner oak table. Sophie hastened to catch up and take some of the volumes off her friend’s hands. She leaned her parasol against one of the chairs.
“How will we ever manage a look at all of these?” Sophie transferred five books from Lydia’s stack and placed them on the table.
“Simple. We’ll skim through as many as we can in an hour and then I’ll check out the rest.” Lydia had transferred her load of books with a thump and spread her hands wide in explanation.
“But you don’t have a subscription for that many books at a time.”
“Yes, but Papa does.” Lydia gave her an evil grin and stroked an imaginary beard.
“Oh, Lydia.” Sophie moaned. “Why do we have to do something that will make your father’s work harder? You know he checks out lots of books.”
Lydia waved a dismissive hand. “He’ll never know. I’m sure he doesn’t keep track of how many books he’s signed up for. He’ll just sign up for more.”
“Your father has a special ledger for notations on how many candles are used at Howick House. That is not the sort of man who doesn’t know how many books he checks out each month.” Sophie sank her chin onto her hands. “We’ll look through as many of these as we can before we have to get back.” She sighed and picked up the first volume off the stack.
An hour later, Sophie stood and stretched, rubbing at the small of her back. “I think I’ll stretch my legs and walk around the shop a bit.”
Lydia still had her nose buried in one of the gothic novels. Her only reply was “Mmm,” accompanied by a wave of her hand.
Sophie moved toward the rear of the store’s shelves of hundreds of books. She decided to give herself a break by browsing some other categories before returning to their tedious task.
A young man moved from the shadows of a far corner and approached her with fast, purposeful steps. “There you are, Fanny. It’s time you came home with me.” He clamped his work-calloused hand over her arm and yanked her toward the rear store exit.
Although the sudden move took Sophie by surprise, she was not frightened. She was tired of complete strangers acting as if they had the right to whisk her away in plain sight of others. She did not hesitate. Grasping both hatpins from her silly bonnet, she drove both of them into his arm. When he howled in pain and loosened his grip, she grabbed her bonnet from the floor and sped toward where she’d left Lydia with the stacks of novels.
She mouthed “We must leave - now,” and snatched her parasol from where she’d left it leaning against the chair.
When they raced out into the street, she realized Lydia had become strangely quiet and was following her lead without question. Both footmen who had waited outside Hookham’s fell into step with them, not asking any questions. They found the carriage at the corner and scrambled aboard. One of the footmen joined them inside while the other climbed up on the box with the coachman.
Once they were under way, Sophie turned to Lydia. “What have you done with my chatterbox friend? You joined my mad dash without a word.”
“I’ve been taking lessons from Captain Neville.” Lydia gave her a mysterious smile and then made the sign of locking her mouth shut with a key. “What happened?”
“I had to puncture yet another horrid person trying to drag me off. At this rate, I shall have to start buying hatpins by the dozen.”
Arnaud lifted his mother’s cat, Vagabond, from his lap for the second time and deposited him with care on the creature’s small cushioned couch next to her. “Why he makes it his mission to get as close to me as possible is a confounded mystery.”
Honore Bellingham stared back at her son from above her reading glasses again. “You boys are two of a kind, and he knows it. The only difference in your wanderings is yours last a year or two, while he does manage to drag himself home after a week or so.”
“You’re comparing me to an incorrigible tomcat?”
This time she didn’t answer but raised her eyebrows above her glasses. “Why are you prowling my townhouse this morning? Why aren’t you looking after Sophie and Lydia? And for heaven’s sakes, where is that stubborn Scotsman who’s always underfoot? His ginger biscuits will get stale.”
Arnaud hung his head. After all his years of raging sea battles, he lacked the courage to tell his mother how he’d hurt Sophie and made her despise his very presence. How he’d pushed her into the arms of the smooth, perfect,tonnishcandidate, Sir Thomas James.
“She appears to prefer the protection of Sir Thomas now.” Arnaud walked toward one of the front windows in his mother’s sitting room and pretended to be absorbed in the passing parade of carriages and tradesmen through Hanover Square. “I gave Cullen and the other lads the day off. It appears we’re not wanted.”
“What does Lord Howick think about this latest development?”
