Ever.
“Are you hurt? And Peaches, is Peaches all right?”
The familiarity of her friend brought a shimmer of tears to Sophia’s eyes. Oh, wonderful, now she would cry? She did not wish to give in to her suddenly maudlin state with all of these gentlemen and ladies looking on. Neither did she wish for the captain to see her so discomposed.
But really! What must he think of her?
Where had he gone? He’d disappeared as soon as Rhoda rushed in. If he returned, could she face him again?
“We are fine, both fine. But I wish to go home. Would you mind terribly if we canceled our meeting with Madame Chantal today?” Madame Chantal, London’s famous modiste, was stingy with her appointments and would be annoyed if they failed to attend.
Nonetheless, Sophia wished for the privacy of her bedchamber. She and Rhoda could have tea and biscuits sent up and perhaps discuss these new qualms she’d suddenly developed in regards to her betrothal.
“Of course! When we get you home, we’ll send a missive telling of the accident. Why, you were nearly killed! Even Madame cannot blame you for being overset.”
“But I don’t want my stepfather to know about this. He and Dudley already complain that Peaches causes too much trouble, and I’d rather not give them further reason to dislike her.” She’d had Peaches since she was a puppy, four years now, and had learned to try to keep her out of sight. Mr. Scofield barely tolerated Peaches and her stepbrother openly despised her.
“Of course not!” Rhoda understood.
This morning, they’d made their way on foot from the Scofield townhouse, so they had no choice but to walk back. This had seemed like nothing, earlier, but Sophia’s legs felt a little wobbly now. Fear –– and other things –– had obviously weakened them.
There was nothing for it. They must walk back. Sophia tucked her reticule under her arm and gathered Peaches close.
“Why don’t you let Peaches walk? You needn’t carry her all the way back,” Rhoda suggested.
But Sophia shook her head. “That’s what started all of this to begin with.” She then told Rhoda how Peaches had upset the horses, which had upset the driver, upsetting the horses further, which had then upset the cart, which upset the lion.
“It was a most upsetting experience,” Rhoda responded in agreement. She had a stern expression on her face, but Sophia understood her friend all too well. A wicked twinkle in her eyes belied amusement. Rhoda, being Rhoda, would find some humor in the situation.
“It was!” Sophia insisted. She eyed the cart with the lion. It seemed as though he were watching her and Peaches, memorizing their images so that he could one day exact his revenge. She shuddered at such a thought.
They would need to pass alongside him once again to walk in the direction of Mr. Scofield’s home. She could not lose control of Peaches again.
A tingling of awareness crept over her, just then. Looking away from the lion, she realized that Captain Brookes had chosen that moment to rejoin them.
He’d most likely been discussing the removal of the carts and the re-harnessing of the horse with the caravan drivers, or other such manly matters, Sophia presumed. But he had returned, and his attention was once again fully riveted upon Sophia, Rhoda, and even, it seemed, Peaches.
He bowed and spoke in deep, formal tones. His straight spine and soldierly demeanor betrayed his military training. “Ladies, My apologies for the lack of a proper introduction.”
“Captain Brookes…” Sophia spoke his name as though they were meeting in one of London’s most fashionable ballrooms. “…may I present to you my dearest friend, Miss Rhododendron Mossant.”
Brookes chuckled, most people had the good manners not to comment on Rhoda’s less-than-common name. “Rhododendron, Miss Mossant? Beautiful name for a beautiful lady.”
Was he teasing Rhoda? Orflirtingwith her?
Rhoda laughed.
In fact, if Rhoda were a cat, she’d have been lapping cream from his hand. “I consider myself the lucky one. I have two sisters, Coleus and Hollyhock. My father was French and my mother—”
“An avid horticulturist?” Brookes finished for her with a gleam in his eye.
Rhoda nodded and giggled. Was she, too, taken with the dashing captain?
Captain Brookes chuckled, garnering Sophia’s attention once again. Tiny wrinkles appeared at the corners of his black eyes when he did that. His eyes were even blacker than his hair, which gleamed a near blue in the sunlight. As Sophia studied his appearance, he turned toward her.
“I haven’t my conveyance, Miss Babineaux, but may I locate your coach and chaperone?” Despite his unscrupulous actions earlier, he addressed the ladies as though he were, in fact, a fine gentleman. “Or, if you haven’t one, may I hire a Hackney?”
“We haven’t far to walk.” Sophia noted that Rhoda had blushed an annoying shade of rose.
