“Howick is in the library, but I thought Sir Thomas rode out with the two of you.”
“He’s not returned?” Arnaud frowned and turned abruptly back toward the stables.
“Why, whatever did I say to send your young man off running?”
Sophie laid a gentle hand on Lady Howick’s arm. “He’s very excitable and protective. I suspect he’s off to check on Sir Thomas. And, please, you know he’s not ‘my’ young man.”
Lady Howick merely smiled and squeezed Sophie’s hand. “Lady Fitzroy is waiting in the family sitting room and is anxious to talk to you.”
Sophie blanched. A sudden chill overtook her and spread to the very tips of her fingers. “Of course.” She followed Lady Howick down the hallway toward what felt like a pending execution.
Once they were inside the sitting room, Lady Fitzroy sat at a small corner table with the teapot service and a plate of pastel-colored biscuits. Sophie had yet to enter the out-of-the-way, cozy room and was surprised at the bright yellow sofa covers and flower-embroidered pillows scattered against the back. The contrast with the formal rooms used for entertaining was stark. One of Sir Thomas’s spaniels lounging on a floor cushion beamed Sophie a look of adoration from her expressive brown eyes.
“Out of here, Maisey,” Lady Fitzroy snapped. The dog lifted her head, and then lowered her snout back down onto her paws. Sir Thomas’s mother gave up and gave the dog a dismissive wave before tossing her a bit of a biscuit. “She’s just like my son-totally loving and devoted, but never pays a bit of attention to what I say.”
“Please sit down.” When Sophie hesitated, she added, “Both of you.” The last command was given in a tone that brooked no argument.
The formidable dowager countess of Fitzroy regarded Sophie from across the top of her quizzing glass with a piercing stare. Although the curls piled high on her head were soft silver, the blue of her eyes was still as intense, Sophie was sure, as at the time of her own coming out many years before.
After pouring tea for the three of them, the older woman came directly to the point. “Of all the gentlemen in London for the Season, what makes you think my son can be brought up to scratch?”
Sophie maintained steady eye contact with the woman, smiled warmly, and weighed her words carefully. She knew instinctively denying what the dowager countess had said would be folly.
“Your son has been very kind to explain the intricacies of London society and to introduce me to many of his friends.”
“But, my dear. You did not answer my question. What do you see in my son?”
“A man who cares deeply for his friends and family.”
“Poppycock! Why are you attracted to my son?”
“The truth?” Sophie smoothed her skirts and re-settled the un-pinned side of the heavy, embroidered hem of her riding dress to cover her boots. “He loves to laugh. He has an brilliant mind but no qualms about sharing his thoughts with a woman.”
The countess sniffed and gave her handkerchief an impatient wave. “What does he have that youwant?”
“His library.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Sophie realized at once how cold her answer must have sounded and snapped her mouth shut.
The older woman broke out in laughter. She stopped once, only to begin chortling again. Finally, she wiped the tears trickling down her cheeks and turned her direct stare back at Sophie.
“Ah, an intelligent woman. I might have known. Thomas has never been able to resist an intelligent woman. But you are so young, and from such an unsuitable background.” She shook her head and looked to Lady Howick for support.
Sophie’s gut quaked in silence, but she would rather faint and fall face-first onto the ancient Turkish carpet than show fear or shame in front of Sir Thomas’s mother.
Lady Howick’s light tinkle of a laugh broke the awkward moment. “Maddie, you of all people should know blood will out. Our Sophie is the granddaughter of a duke. Can you not see the icy fire in her eyes? She refuses to take censure to heart. She knows her worth.”
Chapter Twenty
Arnaud rolledover and punched his pillow, hard. He’d left early from Mrs. Withers’s monologues in the garden to try to get some sleep before his morning guard duty for Sophie on her ride with Sir Thomas. If he survived this night, he could do anything. Slaver ships bristling with deck cannons were nothing compared to the constant muffled whispers and noises of guests creeping through the hallways of Clifford Park, making feeble attempts at being discreet. He’d never had much time for entertainments of theton, and certainly never house parties like this one. Gad.
A light tap sounded at his door. He froze. For one dizzying moment, he hoped, illogically, the object of his guard duty, the luscious Sophie, would be outside. Another series of taps sounded, more insistent. Must be one of his men. He wrapped a banyan around him, padded to the door and swung it open. Frannie stood on the other side, smiling expectantly, in a gown that did not leave a man much to wonder about.
“Why are you here?” Arnaud’s blunt question did not seem to be what she’d expected.
“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” After her first stunned reaction to his question, her voice resumed its usual purr. “I know you want me, so I’m here.”
“I’m on duty. I cannot indulge in any, er, personal adventures.”
“Is that the only reason?”
