Julia London 4 Book Bundle (153 page)

That sort of remark usually sealed her lips—but Sophie was beside herself. “I am not concerned, Honorine, but I think you do not understand. These people, the society here, they are not sincere. They will come to your house to gawk.”

“Gawk? What is this
gawk
?” Honorine demanded. Fabrice quickly translated for her, and Honorine laughed. “At what do they gawk?” she asked as Lucie Cowplain entered the room carrying a vase of freshly cut flowers.

“At you! And them!” Sophie cried, motioning impatiently to Fabrice and Roland.

A collective gasp went up among them; they all gaped at her as if she had spoken blasphemy. Even Lucie Cowplain seemed taken aback. Honorine carefully placed her cards aside and stood from the table, pausing to look down at her with all superiority. “I do not care what they will think, Sofia,” she said haughtily. “I will have this ball. They do not come,
c’est la vie!
” she added, and sailed out of the morning room to discuss the ball with the winsome trio of Lucie Cowplain, Fabrice, and Roland on her heels.

Fine then, bloody-well fine.
The whole Hamilton debacle was at least absurd, not to mention calamitous. Having had enough with the lot of it, Sophie donned her bonnet in a huff, grabbed her reticule, and set out to do something more productive than mull over the latest gossip and Honorine’s insistence on disaster, or moon over Caleb for endless hours.

It seemed to her an excellent time to speak with Julian about leasing a booth at Covent Garden.

Julian and Claudia were both at Kettering House on St. James Square, in the gold drawing room with their two young daughters. Claudia was attempting to repair Beth’s tail of ringlets that had come loose. Bridget, whose long black curls already hung loosely, romped about the room, pretending to be a knight and waving a wooden sword about fiercely. At the far end of the room, Julian looked up from his paper and removed his spectacles as Sophie was shown into the room. “Pumpkin! How good to see you!” he said, smiling warmly. “My, my, how well you look, Lady Sophie. Hamilton’s courting apparently agrees with you, hmm?”

What, was the entire city of London following Trevor’s every move? And since when did a drab brown gown look anything but ill advised? Sophie could feel herself pinkening under his scrutiny, but her discomfiture was hidden by a collision with Beth. The darling, just freed from her mother’s attentions, flew across the room to her sister, Bridget, intent on retrieving her sword—Sophie winced at the impact of the child to her person and immediately reached for her smarting knee.

“Pardon, Auntie Sophie,” Beth said as she skipped around her.

“Oh dear, you haven’t gone and hurt yourself, have you?” Julian asked.

“No,” Sophie said, biting her lip, “really I am—”

“Must be those stars in your eyes,” he said, and laughed appreciatively at his own jest.

“Really, Julian, I thought you above all the gossip,” she retorted pertly.

“It’s hardly gossip!” Claudia chimed in. “Hamilton has indeed called on you a dozen times now, and that can only mean one thing—”

“It can only mean that we are neighbors. But never mind that, please?” she asked, limping to the grouping of chairs in the center of the room. “I’ve come to speak about much more important things.”

“Oh no,” said Julian with a playful moan. “I am always quite ill at ease when a woman wishes to speak of something ‘more important.’ Go on then, let me have the worst of it.”

“Oh, Julian!” Claudia clucked.

“It’s about the Upper Moreland Street House.”

“Ooh! How wonderful!” Claudia exclaimed. “Nancy Harvey told me herself how much time you have spent helping her these last few weeks. I am so very glad you’ve taken such a keen interest in the house—Lord knows I’ve not been able to give it the attention it deserves.”

“Upper Moreland Street?” asked Julian, clearly surprised.

“I really haven’t been much help a’tall, but I should very much like to do more,” Sophie said eagerly.

“More? Do you think that wise, pumpkin?” Julian asked, frowning lightly. “After all, your past association with the house—”

“Julian, whatever do you mean?” Claudia asked indignantly. “Her past association with that house makes her all the more sensitive to the needs of the women there. I, for one, am very proud—”

“I did not say I was not proud, Claudia. I am merely thinking of what is best for Sophie, and I cannot help but think the less reference made to her past, the better.”

“Oh no, Julian, you really mustn’t mind; I am quite—”

“What reference is it to her past?” Claudia demanded, interrupting Sophie.

“An obvious reference!” Julian snorted.

“Why should you mind so? Trevor Hamilton doesn’t seem—”

“Stop!”
Sophie exclaimed, holding up her hands to them. Startled, Julian and Claudia turned twin looks of surprise to her. “Please,” she said more calmly, lowering her hands. “Julian, no one knows I attend the house on Upper Moreland Street, and Claudia,” she said, preempting the remark of triumph Claudia was undoubtedly about to make to Julian, “I have not spent a great deal of time there. Nancy is being kind. But in the little time I
have
spent there, I could not help noticing they are without sufficient funding to maintain the house properly, much less clothe the women and children as they should.”

“What? But I sent several gowns just one month past!” Claudia exclaimed.

“Yes, so you have—but those gowns are too fine. The women there need garments that are more practical for their daily work. Yet there are two dozen ball gowns and accoutrements if there is one, all stowed away in a small room on the attic floor.”

“Oh,” murmured Claudia, deflated. “I had no idea …”

“I had a thought, however—what if we were to hire a booth in Covent Garden or a small shop on High Street and sell the gowns that have been donated?” Sophie moved to the edge of her seat, excited about her idea. “Surely there are other women in London who would appreciate the quality of clothing they might have for a fraction of what they would pay in commission to a modiste. The proceeds from the sale of the gowns could be turned over to the house, and Nancy could purchase what was necessary. You needn’t worry about a thing—Nancy and I would do everything. I have the funding necessary, but I need help in acquiring the space.”

No one said anything for a moment; Claudia and Julian both looked at her with equally dubious expressions.

“You would sell these gowns?” Claudia asked her, the disapproval evident in her voice.

“Yes,” Sophie said, trying to ignore the sinking of her gut. “It should not require a very big booth, really, just enough space where Nancy could display them.”

Julian and Claudia exchanged another look; Julian frowned. Claudia shifted her gaze to her daughters, who were now fascinated with something on the Aubusson carpet.

“Sophie, that is an admirable notion, truly,” Julian said carefully. “But you cannot think to sell the gowns women of the
ton
have donated to a worthy cause, particularly at Covent Garden or on High Street. That would be unseemly.”

“Unseemly?” she echoed, uncertain how it could possibly be unseemly to sell cast-off garments to women who would truly appreciate their value. Julian cleared his throat as he withdrew his spectacles and carefully put them on. Not a good sign, that, and well Sophie knew it. “Perhaps I did not make myself entirely clear,” she quickly said, but Julian was already shaking his head.

“Sophie, you must consider that our friends have given some very fine gowns to a worthy cause. But to take them and sell them to persons who might actually be in their
employ
would be indecorous. I cannot allow you to do this. I cannot allow you to be known for selling the clothing of the
ton
to … to—”

“Women,” she quietly finished for him.

Julian shrugged lightly and looked at Claudia.

Incredible. They would seek donations to the house on Upper Moreland Street, but now they would fret if the women were of the right class to
wear
those things? What had happened to her brother in the eight years she had been gone? He was one of the infamous Rogues of Regent Street, a group of men who had flaunted their disdain of societal convention—and now he would
protect
such arcane convention?

“I don’t understand,” she stubbornly insisted. “How could selling the gowns possibly be any different from
giving
them away?”

“It’s just that it is rather
base
to sell them, dear.” This, practically whispered from Claudia Dane, the undisputed champion of underprivileged women.

It was all too unbelievable. And she had thought her idea so sound, so perfect … “I cannot believe this,” she said low. “Both of you profess to believe in charity, do you not?”

“We’ll think of another way to help them, darling,” Julian said kindly. “Is it money you need? I shall—”

“No,” Sophie said, shaking her head. “It’s not your money they want.” That was one thing she instinctively understood, but she had no idea how to impress that on her brother. “They are proud women, all of them, and anxious to be on their feet again. They appreciate the help they receive at Upper Moreland Street, but they would prefer to make their own way.”

They wanted to make their own way as fiercely as she wanted to at that very moment.

“Oh darling, try not to look so cross. The house will be fine,” Julian said.

“Yes, of course,” Claudia anxiously agreed. “And besides, you have your Mr. Hamilton to occupy your time.”

Now the indignation was beginning to choke her. Not that she was surprised, particularly—it was the way of the
ton
, the values they cherished. They would dismiss her request and suggest that she occupy her thoughts with something more appropriate for a spinster like herself—the prospect of a match. Even in that, they valued someone who was possibly the most tedious creature on the face of God’s green earth merely because of his credentials. It was all about appearances, and her family was just like everyone else in that regard. Of course they were! The ordeal over her escape and divorce from Sir William had all been about appearances, had it not?

“Yes, you are right,” she said slowly, and came to her feet. “The house will be fine.” She forced a smile to her face. “Well then, if you will excuse me—”

“Sophie, wait—where are you going?” Julian asked as he took the spectacles from his face. “Sit down, please. We were just about to ring for tea.”

“Thank you, no, I wouldn’t impose. I really must be on my way,” she said, backing away from her brother and sister-in-law. “Besides, I promised Honorine to help her with some, ah … painting.”

An atrocious lie, and she could tell from their expressions that Claudia and Julian recognized it as such.

“You won’t stay for just a moment?” Claudia asked, coming to her feet.

“No, really, I—” Sophie jumped when she backed into a round table, jerking halfway around to catch a vase before it toppled to the floor. From across the room, Beth and Bridget giggled.

“At least let me have a carriage brought ’round,” said Julian, who was standing now, too.

“Its such a glorious day, I prefer to walk.”

“Sophie, come now,” he coaxed her, arms open. “Please don’t be cross.”

“Oh no, you misunderstand me!” she said cheerfully. “I am not in the least cross. I am …”—
lost!
—“It was a silly idea, truly. I must be going—I should not keep Honorine waiting overlong.”

And before anyone could say likewise, she called a cheerful
ta-ta
to her nieces, waved at Julian and Claudia, and quickly retreated from their pained expressions, stepping out of the salon and rushing down the corridor before spilling out of Kettering House onto St. James Square.

She walked quickly across the square in the direction of St. James Park, her head down, lost in thought.
How was it possible her family had become so like the
ton? There was a time she believed the Danes were far too compassionate about the plight of the less privileged to care what society thought. What else had she believed of her family that was not true? They said they wanted her happiness—perhaps they wanted respectability more. Why else would they push the idea of Trevor without so much as asking her wishes?

Because they had never asked her wishes. They had made her decisions for her from the time she was a little girl—she was always the one to be guarded, to be looked after, as if she were infirm, incapable of making the right decision. Worse, they had made her believe it, too. Wasn’t that precisely the reason she had not dared breathe a word of Caleb to anyone? He was not the right decision.

Sophie ran quickly across the crowded thoroughfare of Pall Mall and into St. James Park, slowing her step until she was wandering idly, her disappointment growing with each step. So lost in thought was she that she almost collided with the pair walking toward her. Startled, she stepped abruptly to one side without really looking at them.

“Sophie!”

The voice washed over her like silk; Sophie’s heart immediately leapt to her throat, and she glanced up at Caleb with a broad, irrepressible smile. “Caleb! What a pleasure to meet you!”

He flashed her an impossibly white grin as he tipped his hat.

“Lady Sophie Dane—a surprise, if I do say so myself. Why, I haven’t seen you smile so brightly since the Season of your debut,” a woman said.

Sophie’s heart sank to her feet as she forced herself to look to Caleb’s right.

With a smirk that seemed permanently twisted, Melinda Birdwell stood on his arm.

Chapter Eleven

T
HROUGH SOME HERETOFORE
undetected and miraculous will, Sophie managed to keep smiling in spite of her shock and great sense of betrayal. In fact, she
beamed
at Melinda as if they were long-lost sisters united at last. “Miss Birdwell!” she exclaimed cheerfully. “An even greater surprise to see
you
taking a turn about the park!”

Melinda’s smirk dimmed a bit; she glanced sidelong at Caleb, but he was still smiling at Sophie.

Ha.

“I am a great proponent of daily walks,” Caleb said cheerfully. “I believe it keeps one feeling rather youthful, wouldn’t you agree?”

“You must know my thoughts on the subject, sir,” Sophie said pointedly, and stepped around the pair. “And certainly I would not want to keep you from it. Good day,” she said pertly. With a passing look at Caleb, she continued briskly on, moving so quickly that within moments, she was beginning to labor a bit in her breathing. She hardly cared—an apoplectic fit wouldn’t stop her now. She would flee that park at once because she was quite certain she had never been so humiliated in her life.

How dare he?
How dare he consort with Melinda Birdwell, of
all
people? Oh God, oh God, how could she have been so bloody stupid? She had practically
thrown
herself at him.

An ancient feeling of betrayal twisted in her gut before a thought suddenly occurred to her, and groaning, she paused, closed her eyes. She could well imagine the scene behind her now—Melinda would inquire as to how Caleb knew her, then pounce delightedly on the opportunity to tell him the whole sordid story of her past, leaving nothing unsaid. Around the park the two of them would go, whispering feverishly—

Sophie’s eyes suddenly flew open.

Just one blasted moment—what was Melinda doing on Caleb’s arm? She would hardly associate herself with someone rumored to be a swindler. Furthermore, even if she
did
believe him to be the unfortunate but illegitimate son of Lord Hamilton, she would never align herself with someone with tainted credentials. That much, Sophie knew very well—Melinda Birdwell was precisely that sort of woman. But then again, Melinda was very close to being put on the shelf permanently. It could be that she was desperate for a match …

That thought enraged Sophie. She would rather die than see a man as fine as Caleb Hamilton shackled to that fat cow all his days. Yet it would serve him right, the bloody blackguard! Sophie stomped across a footbridge and onto the main walkway bordering Pall Mall, uncertain exactly who made her more livid—Melinda or Caleb.

How could she have fallen in love with a known philanderer?
Really, as annoyed as she was at the moment, she was hardly certain if it was love or merely infatuation. Perhaps this was why her family never allowed her to do as she wished—perhaps she could not trust herself to know the difference and had succumbed to the first man to show her affection in eight years.
Oh, that rotten bounder!

She could scarcely wait to get to Upper Moreland Street.

But wait, apparently, she would, as there were no hacks in sight, not a single solitary one. Sophie stood impatiently, her general frustration growing with every passing moment. Suddenly everything in her life was topsy-turvy. From the moment she had set foot on English soil, it seemed as if everything she had come to know was called into question. She had no idea who she was anymore—to some, like Melinda Birdwell, she would never be able to discard the mantle of her scandal. To others, like Trevor Hamilton, she was the unlikely candidate for a second wife, a notion she found repugnant. To her very own family, she was a still a little girl.

And to Caleb Hamilton, apparently, she was nothing more than an amusement.
Bastard!

Her life had been far too simple the last eight years to bear all of this. Really, she had not realized
how
simple. During her years of travel with Honorine, she had been free of entanglements such as family and society, free to be herself. And the longer she was forced to stand on Pall Mall and think of it all, the closer she came to exploding into confused little pieces of herself. If a conveyance did not come along soon, they might very well find the pieces of her scattered all over London.

The tap on her shoulder very nearly did it.

She jerked around; Caleb quickly threw up his hands in supplication. “I beg your pardon, I did not intend to startle you,” he said, and watching her carefully, slowly lowered his hands.

Feeling suddenly awkward and ungainly, Sophie fidgeted with the ribbon at her waist. “I beg your pardon, you did not
startle
me,” she said stiffly, and unconsciously glanced around him to see where Melinda Birdwell had hidden herself.

Caleb followed her gaze, glancing around, too. After a moment, he looked at her from the corner of his eye. “I handed the battle-ax over to her cousin moments after you left.”

Shocked and embarrassed that he had read her thoughts, Sophie shrugged and looked up the thoroughfare again for a hack.

He sighed loudly. “I suppose I shall be commended to Hades for saying so, but she’s a rather difficult woman all in all, and frankly—” he paused, looked around to see that no one could overhear—“one can’t be entirely sure that isn’t a galleon hidden beneath those hoops.”

A thought that had occurred to Sophie, too, even if it was beside the point.

“Ah, come now, where is that lovely smile of yours? I have determined it is the most winsome smile to ever grace a woman. I hope you don’t mind me saying so.”

Well. Perhaps she didn’t mind too terribly—she was many things, but insane was not one of them. Nonetheless, she was not a fool who would allow compliments to turn her head. “Quite a circle of acquaintances you keep,” she muttered low.

“I don’t keep acquaintances. I have none really, except you.”

“Oh really? Then you must enjoy walks in the park more than I understood.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Sophie shot him a look of exasperation.

A frown creased his brow; he looked at her strangely for a moment, until something dawned in his green eyes. “Ah … You are upset about Miss Birdwell. That is why you are treating me so coldly,” he observed matter-of-factly.

What, did he think it perfectly acceptable to consort with the shallowest woman of the
ton
? “Not coldly, Mr. Hamilton. Indifferently. You must think me quite stupid, or quite inexperienced—”

“I do not think so.”

“—but I am well aware of a man’s proclivities!”

“I know.”

He said it so quietly, so gently, that it stopped Sophie cold. Something fluttered in her belly; she brushed the back of her hand across her cheek. She had shown too much, exposed too many of the jagged edges of her life to him.

“There is your hack.”

“Pardon?”

“Your hack. You were waiting for a hack, were you not?”

Her disappointment was swift; she glanced over her shoulder as the old carriage slowed to pull alongside the curb. Naturally, she’d be forced to wait an eternity just so the bloody thing could appear
now
, of all moments. “Yes. Yes, I was waiting for a hack.” She roughly adjusted her gloves.

“A rather thrifty mode of transportation,” he said as the hack coasted to a halt alongside the curb.

Righto. He probably didn’t know that an heiress who had lost a good part of her inheritance had to be thrifty. She dug in her reticule for a crown.

“But not quite as thrifty as my cabriolet.”

Sophie glanced up at him. “Oh.” She said it stupidly, but looking at him just then, at his green eyes, she felt a kick in her gut, the deep regret that it
was
love she felt for him, not infatuation. It could only be love, because the loss of trust hurt her deeply, as did the sense that she had lost the magic. “I, ah … I am really going too far to impose.”

“I rather doubt that.”

“Where to then, mu’um?” the hack driver called down to her.

“Essex,” she called back up to him, and dug deeper into her reticule for a coin.

“Drive on, sir! We’ve a more economical mode to Essex!”

Sophie gasped, waved her hand at the driver to gain his attention. “No, no, just a moment, please!”

“Keep your coin, Sophie,” Caleb said firmly, and grasped her elbow tightly as he waved the driver on. “Drive on!”

The driver shrugged, cracked his whip at the team of four. As the hack eased away from the curb, Caleb pulled Sophie into his side. “Firstly, my dear Sophie, I am mortally wounded that you would refuse my offer. Secondly, I very much enjoy your company and am loath to surrender it just yet. And thirdly, I did not intend to hurt your tender feelings with Miss Birdwell’s presence, but I should think it painfully obvious how I feel about you,” he said, guiding her away from the curb.

Well, yes, it
should
be obvious how he felt—that’s why she was so confused at the moment, and perhaps a little delirious. “I know what you feel—”

“No, apparently you do not,” he said, his tone betraying his frustration. “Apparently you do not know that I live for the few moments I might steal with you in Regent’s Park. Nor do you seem to understand that you are the
one
bright spot in my otherwise dreadfully dull days,” he said as he led her toward a neat, one-horse coach tethered on the edge of St. James Park.

“I
am
?” she asked, wincing at how breathless she sounded as he helped her up.

“Please, Sophie. I am just shy of worshiping the very ground upon which you walk. I have shared the most extraordinary lovemaking with you; I feel another piece of myself disappear each time we must part, packed tightly away in your basket. I dream about you, I think of you constantly, I see you in my house and I think, dear God, is this woman really here? With me? And you would believe I have some affection for Miss Birdwell? Frankly, I’m of a mind to be a bit petulant myself,” he grumbled as he tossed the reins up to the bench and gracefully pulled himself up.

“I am not petulant,” she muttered.

“Yes you are, my love. If you must know, Miss Birdwell’s cousin foisted her on me, I rid myself of her annoying presence the very moment I could, and frankly, madam, you have your nerve thinking the worst of me when you receive my brother on a regular basis.”

That caught her off guard. “I harbor no affection for Trevor Hamilton, you may rest assured!” she exclaimed.

He looked at her then, his green eyes shining with exasperation. “
Precisely
, Sophie.”

Speechless, she blinked.

“Well then? Might I have your destination?”

This was ludicrous. She should escape while she could and put an end to this secret affair before it destroyed her. But the small smile playing at the corner of his lips was enough to turn her to butter. And as quickly as that she thought that perhaps she had judged him too harshly.

“Upper Moreland Street,” she muttered. “But you mustn’t think for a moment I’ve forgiven you.”

He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips. “You must not ever forgive me. You must not ever let me be less vigilant of your happiness than I am at this very moment.”

All right, how could she
not
love a man who spoke so beautifully?

With a lopsided smile, Caleb flicked the reins and sent the horse trotting.

The drive to Upper Moreland Street was something Caleb would remember all his days, he was quite certain. In spite of the congestion of man and horse, he could see only Sophie, hear only Sophie. In fact, he couldn’t be entirely certain that it wasn’t her heartbeat he heard in that cacophony of street noise.

The sense of panic he had felt in St. James Park when he realized he had offended her somehow was something he had not felt since he was a boy. But then again, he had not known anyone who had become quite as important to him as Sophie, particularly since Lady Paddington had told him everything about her past. But hearing it from Sophie’s own lips that day in the ballroom had haunted him. To know she had endured such hardship was almost more than he could bear. It was impossible to believe that a woman as uniquely charming as Sophie Dane could have suffered so much at the hands of the bloody bastard Stanwood.

It was odd, really. The moment he understood what she must have endured, his good opinion of her had escalated right up through the clouds to God and back. It was her quiet dignity he admired the most—she was gentle and unassuming, but one had a sense that if challenged, she refused to be beaten down by anyone or anything.

Yes, his esteem of Lady Sophie Dane was very high, impossibly high, and the moment in St. James Park he realized he had hurt her had been torturous. He could not relieve himself of that parasite Miss Birdwell quickly enough—he had not sought her companionship, had certainly tried to dissuade it, and had all but thrown her off his arm the moment Sophie went marching away from them.

He knew exactly how Sophie felt, for he had certainly felt the same and more each time he heard the rumor of the potential match between her and Trevor.

When he had asked her, Sophie had told him about Trevor’s frequent visits, saying they were quite tedious. He believed her, believed she had a certain distaste for his half-brother. Nonetheless, the idea that Trevor could call on her when
he
dare not darken her door, for fear of the gossip that would certainly follow, made for a terrible envy. And he would be untruthful with himself if he didn’t admit that he wondered from time to time if he could trust her completely. She was, after all, a woman of the
haut ton
.

Her trust in him had faltered when she had seen him with Miss Birdwell. That, somehow, was not surprising—people rarely trusted him. It was as if being born out of wedlock somehow compromised a person’s integrity. The world expected a bastard son to behave a bastard, and God knew there were times he had. But not with women, never with women, and especially not Sophie Dane. He would be a fool to toy with her affections, even if he could.

There was no pretense about her; she was sincerely warm and wryly witty. When she spoke, it was with a genuine animation that he found lacking in others. And those wide brown eyes—when they talked, he could feel himself sinking into their depths, being pulled into a strong current of pure, unadulterated passion. The afternoon they had spent in the ballroom had been an incredible experience, far richer than any other he had ever experienced. Her reaction to him, the passion flowing through her was as gratifying as a man could possibly hope. They had flowed together like water until it was impossible to tell him from her. He had felt that forbidden emotion too keenly, felt his love for her spilling over them, dousing them. They were two scarred people, two outcasts in an imperfect world.