Page 39 of A Stranger’s Gamble

Chapter Thirteen

Sophie reached the second floor with her aunt’s maid close behind. Sophie would have halted and eavesdropped on Lord Monthemer and her aunt in the foyer below, but that wouldn’t do with the maid at her side.

Back home, Sophie and the maids often eavesdropped on her father, but she could trust them not to repeat anything they heard. She didn’t know her aunt’s staff, and understood too well the importance of not directly involving the staff in the family’s affairs.

They reached Sophie’s room, and Sophie bade the girl goodnight, then slipped inside. Beatrice bolted upright in bed and looked in Sophie’s direction. Her nightcap sat askew on her head.

“Miss, you decided not to go.” Beatrice threw back the covers and jumped to her feet. “Very wise of you.”

Sophie shook her head impatiently as she unclasped her cloak then tossed it onto a nearby chair. “I was caught, Bea. My father is here.”

Beatrice’s eyes widened. “God save us. He will send me away this night.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Oh, do cease the dramatics. He knows nothing of your involvement. He caught me trying to sneak out the kitchen. We have a bigger problem.”

“What could be bigger than your father catching you?”

“Lord Monthemer is here.”

“Here?” Beatrice frowned. “Was he supposed to visit your father tonight?”

“Indeed, not. The man was rude enough to show up unannounced.”

“How strange,” Beatrice murmured.

“I want to get a look at him.” Sophie hurried to the couch that sat against the window overlooking the street. She knelt on the couch and pulled back the curtain. Sophie scanned the street, but found no carriage waiting out front. She looked at Beatrice. “Where is his carriage?”

Beatrice came to the window and looked out. “Did he have a carriage?”

“How could he not have a carriage?” Sophie asked. “Do you think he decided to walk here from his home?”

“Where is his home?”

Sophie scowled. “How should I know?”

“He may live very close.”

Sophie looked back out the window. “I have never heard of a marquess walking anywhere.”

“He has no money,” Beatrice said. “That is why he’s marrying you. Perhaps he has no carriage.”

Sophie shook her head. “He is not marrying me. He only thinks he is. But you do have a point. He probably doesn’t own a carriage.” She let the drapes fall back into place and plopped down onto the couch. “Can you imagine a man thinking he can walk to a lady’s house? Has he no pride?”

“I suppose, if he doesn’t have a carriage, it can’t be help,” Beatrice said.

Sophie flushed with embarrassment. “He could have taken a hackney.”

Beatrice sat beside her. “He might have.”

“Then where is it?”

“If he has no money, he can’t very well ask the driver to stay.”

Sophie’s cheeks heated even hotter. “Please fix your cap, Bea. You look like a madwoman.”

Beatrice felt on top of her head. “Oh,” she said, clearly embarrassed before she straightened the cap.

“Oh, Bea, I’m sorry.” Sophie grasped her friend’s hands. “I’m angry with my father for spoiling my plans tonight and with the marquess for—well, for existing—and I am taking my frustrations out on you. It’s not your fault.”