Miss Sophie's Secret (10 page)

He pointed to a rift in the storm. On a glistening spot far out on the ocean, they could see a tiny ship fighting its way through a heavy sea. While they watched, a rainbow sprang to life.

Sophie gasped. “How beautiful!”

“Rain is rebirth, you know, and the rainbow its banner,” he told her.

After a time he had summoned a servant and ordered their food, and later, while they sat eating and watching the storm ebb and flow, he had talked about his island.

“Stonehaven a beautiful place,” he said. “It’s rough and stark, but there’s as much beauty in that as in softness and weakness—sometimes more, don’t you agree?”

Sophie nodded agreement; she had agreed with everything he said of late.

“When the rain passes, we’ll take a ride along the cliffs,” he told her. “I like to watch you with the wind in your hair. It billows out behind you like a cloud, and your cheeks become pink, and you’re the most beautiful girl in the world. Do you know that I love you?”

She had stared at him, enraptured.

“We are alike, you and I,” he went on. “We both love these wild cliffs and storm-tossed seas.” His eyes were shining through his lush black lashes, his lips parted . . .

There was a crash somewhere as a door slammed shut.

“Miss Sophie!” Anna’s voice brought her sharply awake. “Ye must be oop noo. It be after noon.”

Sophie opened her eyes. The rain had stopped, but the day was dark and threatening. To her dismay, she discovered that the clock hands had moved past twelve. She struggled out of bed.

“Good heavens!” she exclaimed. “I must hurry. I’ve many things to do today.”

It was past one o’clock, however, before she had dressed and shared a light repast with Lady Biskup, and even after splashing cold water on her face and jumping up and down forty times, she was still lethargic and fuzzy-headed.

“I require a brisk trot through the park, Aunt Ruth,” she said. “Or at least a fast walk across the west meadow at the Priory, with the wind blowing strongly from the sea, to clear the cobwebs out of my brain.”

“Then you must march about in the square,” Lady Biskup told her. “Anna and Johnnie Aysgarth will accompany you. Go ’round and ’round a few times. And when you’re feeling refreshed, we’ll go off to the shops to buy bonnets and slippers.”

Lady Biskup rose from the table and smoothed her skirts. “By the way, my love, that beautiful Mr. Ferguson came to call this morning at the most ungodly hour—as did Albert. I received Mr. Ferguson and told him that you were still sleeping, but I sent Albert off with a flea in his ear, instructing Leeds to inform him that we were not at home.”

Sophie waited for a moment to see if she would feel a reaction to her aunt’s statement—some little flutter of alarm, perhaps—but there was nothing. Her brow furrowing, she rose to her feet.

“Mr. Ferguson is certainly very handsome,” she agreed. “That is, I like him, Aunt Ruth, but he is rather foolish. Don’t you agree? Anyone who can sleep through Kean’s thrilling histrionics . . . And he stares at me in the oddest way, then turns red when I speak to him.”

Lady Biskup laughed. “He is normal, I collect.” She sighed. “If only it were possible for you to marry Jonathan. Then we should not be obliged to endure all this nonsense. We could stay comfortable at home . . . Ah, well, there is no point to repining.”

Sophie stood by the table, watching her aunt’s departing back. She frowned. It was strange, she thought, that Lady Biskup would make such an odd remark. Marry Jonathan? Why should she wish to do that? On the other hand, there was no reason why they should not marry. Their blood relationship was not so close as to prevent it. They were not brother and sister.

Or were they? Was that possible? The thought had never occurred to her before. Now she began to give it careful consideration. If it were true, she wondered who their mother could have been.

At that moment Anna Finch came into the room. She was warmly dressed in heavy boots, an overcoat, and a bonnet that tied snugly over her ears. She carried Sophie’s warmest coat over her arm and wasted no time slipping her into it and buttoning it securely.

Continuing to muse, Sophie finally decided it wasn’t possible that Jonathan and she were brother and sister. He was born in India, and his mother had died there when he was but a babe. She was born in England a full eight years later, and everything about her mother, including her name, remained a mys—

“Miss Sophie,” Anna scolded. “Could ye stand still a bit an’ let me tie yer bonnet proper?”

“Sorry,” Sophie said.

Johnnie Aysgarth arrived as Anna was tucking her mistress’s hands into her muff, and the three young people went out the front door together and down the steps. At the roadway Anna was obliged to catch Sophie firmly by the arm, draw her back against the fence, and hold her while a curricle swept past them. Then she hurried her across the thoroughfare and into the safety of the park. They began to stroll briskly along one of the paths.

“Anna,” Sophie began, “does your mother remember my mother?”

The girl shook her head. “I’ve no notion, miss. She never said.”

“When you write to her next, will you please ask her?”

Anna giggled. “I’ll not be doin’ that, Miss Sophie. I can nae write.”

Before Sophie could do more than frown at that, an exquisite young man, thoroughly muffled in scarf, fur-trimmed greatcoat, and beaver, sprang out at them from behind some shrubbery.

“Miss Althorpe!” he caroled. “What a pleasure to meet you here!”

“Mr. Ferguson,” she said, smiling. “Good morning.” She hesitated. “Or should I say, good afternoon?”

“I would say
excellent
afternoon,” he replied, beaming, “as any time I have the pleasure of spending in your company must be rated the very highest.”

She bobbed her head to him. “I thank you, sir, for your kind words.”

“No, no,” he protested. “I thank you for granting me your company.”

He held out his arm to her, and after a slight hesitation she removed a hand from her muff and accepted his offering, tucking the muff quickly back over her hand as a chill wind circled around it. She glanced at him surreptitiously. Surely he was the handsomest creature in the entire world, with his flickering dimples that came and went in a mocking way, but there was a look about his eyes—a sort of bland vacuity that surrounded the shining irises—that Sophie found discouraging. It implied a sort of emptiness, she thought, that hinted at reasoning powers which were less than acute.

“Miss Althorpe,” he began, smiling warmly at her, “are you interested in whist?”

“In what?”

“Whist. The card game.”

She shook her head. “No, sir, I am not. I tried to learn when I was younger, but it failed to captivate me. I have spent most of my time playing chess with Lord Reginald, when games were required.”

“You must try whist again,” he urged her. “It is certainly the most delightful game. It is all tricks, you see.”

“Tricks, sir?” She raised her eyebrows. “Is that quite honest?”

He laughed good-naturedly. “So droll, Miss Althorpe. I mean
taking tricks
, of course. Matching cards, and so on. Most challenging, putting one’s wits against the most brilliant minds in the ton.”

Sophie decided that it was time to turn the conversation to a topic that interested her. “Do you hunt, sir?”

“Hunt!” he exclaimed. “Good heavens!” It was apparent that he was about to deny it hotly, but he hesitated, peering into her face. “Do you hunt Miss Althorpe?”

“Oh, yes!” she said. “It is the most wonderful thing in the world, riding to hounds—after the theater, of course.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. “My happiest moments have been spent riding neck or nothing over the countryside. Excellent sport! Perhaps you also shoot.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head firmly. “I could not bear to slaughter defenseless birds.”

“My feelings precisely,” he said. “How many interests we share!”

Just then a strong blast of cold wind whipped through the square. Sophie was obliged to duck her head and lean it close to Ferguson’s breast until the icy air had swirled past them. When she raised it again, she discovered a thickly swaddled figure hurrying toward them. Over a plaid greatcoat, a muffler was wound around his chin, nearly obscuring his features, but the vivid blue eyes that peered out of a bright red face were unmistakable.

“Ah, Cousin!” Albert called. “What a pleasure to find you out on such a day! Ferguson, sir, we’re not acquainted, but I’d made up my mind to seek you out. We are both friends of Spencer Millard. My name is de Lisle.”

Ferguson hesitated, obviously searching his mind for the name. “It is a pleasure, sir.”

He was obliged to disentangle his right arm from Sophie’s in order to shake hands properly, and the moment the task had been accomplished, Albert slipped Sophie’s hand through his arm and adroitly maneuvered Ferguson out of the way. His triumph was short lived, however, as they were attacked by another burst of freezing wind. They had barely straightened up again when they were hailed by Jonathan, who came striding up to them.

He was hatless and wearing a new greatcoat with an extra cape, which lent a wonderfully stylish air to his figure.

“It’s growing colder by the second, Sophie,” he said. “Come inside, all of you, before you take a chill. We’ve something hot for you to drink.”

There was a moment during which Ferguson and Albert considered him hostilely. But then another icy blast shook the thickets around them, and everyone scampered toward Vaile House, huddling inside their coats as the wind scattered a light powdering of snow across their shoulders.

When they were safely inside the warm vestibule, Sophie retired to a small antechamber where Anna removed her coat and bonnet, and exchanged her wet boots for a dry pair. She rejoined her guests in the yellow salon and found Jeanette, Lady Englewood, and the Bingham girls in happy conversation with the young men.

Ferguson was sitting on a sofa between Lady Biskup and Lady Englewood, chatting animatedly with his hostess and pointedly avoiding Kathleen’s eyes. She, in turn, was talking to Albert de Lisle, emitting little forced squeaks of laughter from time to time. Jeanette and Elizabeth stood near the fireplace with Jonathan, who was lounging against the mantelpiece, drinking in the heat of a crackling blaze. Sophie greeted the others and went quickly to the fireplace to join the party there.

“Ah, Sophie,” Jeanette said, turning to smile at her. “We are speaking of the discomfort this storm is sure to bring. Snow and cold winds are anticipated before nightfall. Fortunately, the Princess Hollande’s public rooms are always comfortable—winter or summer—but my mother is considering sending our regrets. You must urge her to reconsider.”

“Oh, yes!” Sophie exclaimed, clasping her hands and turning to Lady Englewood. “Please, Aunt Blanche! My evening will be quite spoiled if Jeanette is not there.”

Lady Englewood raised her eyebrows. “Well,” she began, “it will all be most difficult—the danger of wet slippers and such. Besides, so many of our friends went to their country seats for the holidays and won’t be back in town until the end of January.” She began ticking them off. “The Greystones went home to The Court. As did the Beckhams and the—”

Rather than listen to her tick off an endless list, Jonathan smiled at Jeanette and said, “I spoke to Roger just yesterday, and he said he is looking forward to attending this evening’s dinner and especially to seeing you there.”

“Oh?” Lady Englewood said, brightening. She turned to her daughter. “Is it true, my love? Then we must make every effort to attend. We should not wish to disappoint his lordship.”

As soon as this point had been decided, everyone turned back to his private conversation and there was soon a happy hum of voices throughout the room. Sophie chatted with Jeanette and Jonathan, while Elizabeth watched them and allowed the tiniest hint of a smile to move the corners of her mouth.

When it became apparent to Ferguson and De Lisle that Sophie’s interest was occupied and that she was not planning to indulge in further intimate conversation with either of them, they rose, made their bows, and departed, both pleading a desire to reach their domiciles before the weather deteriorated further. Jonathan was soon called away to speak to a man of business, and before long Lady Biskup took Lady Englewood into the library to consider some fashion plates that had arrived that morning from a friend in Paris. The four girls were left alone in the yellow salon.

Kathleen immediately moved closer to Sophie and gave her a toothy smile. “Please confide in your friends, Sophie, dear,” she urged. “Is it possible that Trevor Ferguson is becoming a bit particular in his attentions?”

Sophie stared at her in surprise. “Mr. Ferguson? Good heavens! I have only spoken to him twice in my life.”

“But he called on you despite the inclemency of the weather,” Kathleen persisted. “I feel certain that this indicates a marked preference on his part.”

“He did not call,” Sophie explained. “I chanced to meet him in the park, and Jonathan brought him home with us.”

“Ah,” Kathleen said, her face relaxing.

Jeanette turned to gaze thoughtfully into the fire. “Mr. Ferguson is certainly one of the handsomest creatures in the world. He has the most perfect features and a smile like an angel’s.”

“Yes,” Sophie agreed. “If physical beauty were the only thing which captured women’s hearts, the entire feminine world would be hopelessly in love with him.”

Kathleen pressed her lips together.

Elizabeth tilted her head to one side. “There is another man who is also remarkably handsome and whose character and self-sacrifice must recommend him to everyone—Jonathan Gray.” As she spoke, her cheeks grew pink.

Kathleen snorted, “Indeed, Lizzie, I shall not repeat those words to your fiancé. They are quite improper, I swear.”

Elizabeth’s face flushed a dark red. “Well . . . I, that is . . . you misunderstand me, Kathleen.”

“Yes,” Jeanette said, stepping in quickly. “What Elizabeth says is true. And we must also include Albert de Lisle’s name when we are speaking of male pulchritude. He is quite as handsome as Ferguson, in his Celtic way. And there is a sort of wildness about him that lends an extra air of masculinity. It brings to mind crags and storm-lashed rocks, and things of that sort.”