She didn't reply but continued giving him pointed stares.
"If all it takes to make you happy is for me to delay proposing to Fanny,” he finally conceded, “then so be it. I can wait until tomorrow, or the night after. But, eventually, I will take a wife who can make a home for us here in London and help me navigate the political shoals at the Admiralty."
"And children? Will there be children in this bloodless marriage to the widow?"
“Her name is Frances, Lady Fairfield. And I should think your other children have provided you with more than enough grandchildren," Arnaud said.
"But they're all on Martinique." Honore pouted. "I want a granddaughter here I can spoil."
Arnaud shook his head slowly. "My life is at sea. A loving marriage and children would be a waste. Can't you be happy for me and give your blessing?"
“You know I will,” she said, and when she rose from her chair, he met her in the middle of the room where she embraced him. "But I will look in on this Sophie and let you know how she has recovered. Maybe this blessing of mine should wait until I've met her?"
Arnaud shuttered his gaze and shook his head. "This is no time for matchmaking,Maman. I'll be leaving in a few weeks, and we'll be out at least six months this time."
"Are you staying here?" she asked.
"You know I always stay at Albany.” Arnaud gave his mother the boyish grin he’d always used to mollify her and planted a light kiss on her forehead before seeing himself out into the night.
"And then the most wonderful man in a Royal Navy uniform with lots of shiny medals rushed to our rescue. I don't know what we would have done without him. And did I tell you about his dark hair and blue eyes?" Lydia paused and sucked in a breath.
Sophie sat as still as she could muster while her friend chattered on and on about their afternoon's adventure. Her silence and lack of contribution to the conversation could no doubt be explained by the horrible fright she'd had, so she remained quiet.
She loved Lydia like a sister, but her friend could be a trial when embroidering a tale. No one could be as handsome as the officer Lydia had described over and over since they'd been bundled into the carriage and returned home. And there hadn't been that many medals on his jacket. Well, maybe a few.
Lydia's grandmother had been a close friend of Sophie's grandmother. Sophie’s years at Wolford House with her grandmother, the duchess, had been the happiest of her life. Even though she was illegitimate, the family had taken her in as their own after the death of her mother in childbirth. But two years ago, when her grandmother died, her uncle, the present duke, had sent her to live with her father.
Now her father's dissipated life had ended, and she'd moved to yet another home. This was the last stop. She had to find a husband, "a gentleman from theton," or she wouldn't be able to claim her grandmother's inheritance when she turned twenty-one six months hence. The thought of possibly ending up on her own chilled her to the bottom of her soul. She feared Lady Howick could not shelter her indefinitely.
"Sophie, say something," Lydia insisted. "Tell Grandmama how handsome he is.”
"I don’t particularly recall what he looked like, but yes, he may have been handsome." Sophie sent Lydia a pleading look and crossed her fingers behind her at the small white lie.
Chapter Three
“Shush,”Lydia’s grandmother said, and waved a wrinkled, be-ringed hand in her direction. “Isn’t it time for your music lesson?”
“But—” Lydia frowned.
“Go on. Leave us.” The tone of Lady Howick’s voice brooked no argument, and Lydia rose from the chair where she’d been mangling a bit of embroidery. She tossed the much folded, reworked bit of fabric behind her and left the room.
Once the door snicked shut behind Lydia, her grandmother turned her full attention to Sophie. “Now, Sweeting, tell me everything, exactly as it happened yesterday.”
Sophie gulped and settled back into the cushions of the settee where she’d been trying to make herself small, as if she could will the rest of the world to overlook her. She had an overwhelming urge to fade into the silky red fabric. If she could remain unheard, unseen, perhaps the whole disaster from the previous day would be forgotten.
Lady Howick turned a sharp look her way. “And don’t leave anything out.”
“Yes. Of course.” Sophie smoothed her sprigged muslin morning dress and re-settled into the cushions, stalling for time. “There really is not much to tell, milady. The minute I left the milliner’s, two men grabbed me and tried to drag me away. I fought them off. I know I did, but the captain intervened when I would have been fine on my own, I think…” She trailed off.
“You fought them off? How is that possible?” Lydia’s grandmother leaned forward, her expression sympathetic, but probing.
“You remember the parasol you gave me? To keep my skin light? I hit them with that, and then there was the hatpin.”
“A hatpin?” A note of alarm crept into Lady Howick’s voice.
“Yessss.” Sophie dragged out her answer. “When I punctured the arm of one of the men, he tried to punch me.” The dowager marchioness took in a sharp breath, and Sophie hastened to add, “That was when Captain Bellingham and his friend said they intervened. I don’t remember.”
Lady Howick stared through a long, uncomfortable silence. “Yesterday’s adventure could have destroyed your chances during the Season. Thank heaven your captain and his friend were there to help.”
