Miss Sophie's Secret (14 page)

Sophie looked at him as if he’d grown two heads. “No, sir, I cannot admit to any such feeling. Please . . .” She glanced around. “If you do not mind, release my hand. That young woman with the enormous nose and colorless eyes is staring at us.”

“Eh?”

He dropped her hand and turned to consider a group of young people who were standing nearby, chatting with each other.

“Ha ha!” he laughed. “That’s my sister, Abigail. I shall relay your description of her. She’s the silliest creature in the world, always putting on airs—considers herself uncommonly handsome, can you credit such folly?”

“No, please, sir!” Sophie felt hot color climbing her cheeks. “If you’re my friend, don’t reveal my imprudence.”

“Certainly, certainly,” he said, reaching for her hand again and cradling it in his. “I shall be your most devoted friend to the end of time.”

Sophie glanced toward the orchestra, hoping to find them about to begin the next set, but they were resting—chatting together—and gave no indication that they intended to resume playing for a time.

Ferguson moved closer to her. “Miss Althorpe, I must speak my heart,” he said. “I love you—I have adored you from the moment I set eyes on you. I wish to make you my shining bride.”

Her face flushing hotter, Sophie attempted to draw away, but he held her tightly, pinning her arm to his side in such a way that they were pressed together in an intimate pose.

“My dearest love,” he continued rapidly, “if only I could carry you off on a white charger and ignore my modest circumstances. But honor dictates that I confide in you. Alas, I am only the third son of the baron Ferguson and, therefore, penniless. You are, I understand, an heiress?”

“To my knowledge, I am not,” she told him, tugging at his arm but still unable to escape. “I believe that I am also penniless.”

He sighed. “So be it. We’ll be obliged to live in poverty. But love will sweeten our suffering, I’m confident.”

She finally jerked her arm away and stepped back. “Sir, I assure you that I am honored by your offer, but I must decline.”

“Decline!” He stood for a moment, considering her. “Don’t you think me handsome?”

“Of course I do,” she said. “But a life of happiness cannot be built on a pretty face. And, sir, I might point out that you have no way of knowing whether or not you truly love me. You have only known me for a week.”

“We can remedy that,” he pointed out.

“Yes, but I . . .” She hesitated then plunged ahead. “My affections are engaged, sir.”

She was surprised to see his face twist with sincere discomfort. “Engaged?” he said in a weak voice. “You will change your mind?”

“No,” she assured him.

At that moment the orchestra struck up the opening strains of the next set. Ferguson stood gazing miserably down at his left toe. Sophie looked around nervously as the other dancers moved onto the floor and took their places.

When Ferguson continued to stare at the floor with a fixed expression, she whispered, “The dance is beginning, sir.”

“I don’t feel like dancing,” he said. “May we go off to find some lemonade or a glass of wine?”

“Please, sir,” she insisted. “I wish to dance.”

“Oh, very well,” he said and, taking her hand, led her into line.

He made no attempt to converse with her during the set. She was able to observe the other dancers and scan the faces of those who stood around the edges of the room. Jeanette and Jonathan swept past her several times, chatting and smiling. Nicky was in line with Elizabeth Bingham. Fairmont was nowhere to be seen.

At the end of the set he appeared, however, and led Sophie away from Ferguson, who went off with a sour look on his face. A few seconds later Sophie saw him bowing to Kathleen Bingham.

When the next dance ended, Fairmont led Sophie to the side of the floor where they were soon joined by Jonathan, who was alone, and by Jeanette, who was in the company of a young man who looked vaguely familiar. It took Sophie a few seconds to realize that it was Peter Joshua, the man who had been walking with Albert the morning he had snubbed her. Jeanette presented him.

Joshua bent himself in an odd way that reminded Sophie of one of her dogs when it wagged and circled and attempted to worm its way out of a scolding. “Miss Althorpe, it’s a great pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said. “Such a droll mishap we had the other morning. I assured Albert that he had slighted his family, but he would have none of it. By the time I had convinced him, we were at Tattersall’s where it was necessary for us to linger awhile and place some bets . . .”

Before Sophie could say that Albert had told her an entirely different story, Jonathan cleared his throat.

“Well, Bertie!” he said. “How good to see you again.”

Sophie turned to find a tall young man standing behind her. He was rather carelessly dressed and had an unruly mop of brown curls that billowed up in a pile then tumbled over his forehead, nearly covering his eyes. He smiled brightly at the group.

“So you’re back safe and sound, Jonathan,” he said. “Thank God!”

Everyone greeted Bertie, and Jonathan presented him to Sophie. “This is a cousin of ours, Bertie Williams, Lord Camden. You’ll hear of him often enough in the future, I’m confident. He’s the black sheep of the family—the one who’s always in the soup.”

Bertie punched him playfully on the shoulder before turning his attention to Sophie. “My mother wants to have a bit of a jaw with you, Cousin Sophie. Come along with me, and I’ll bring you back when she’s through with you.”

Sophie hesitated.

“Come along,” he insisted. “She’s waiting in one of the salons, and she’ll be in the devil of a snit if we leave her there cooling her heels.”

Jonathan nodded at her, and Sophie accepted Bertie’s arm.

They found Lady Camden at one end of a small withdrawing room seated on a chair that she somehow managed to give the air of a throne. She was a magnificent woman—her head was piled high with gold ostrich plumes, her russet satin gown swirled in folds around the throat, and an enormous ruby ring blazed from one of her fingers.

“Ah, here you are, Mam,” Bertie announced, as though he had not expected to find her there. “This is Sophie Althorpe.”

“Yes,” the woman said. “Come forward, my dear.”

Sophie walked up to her and performed a formal curtsy, which brought the merest ghost of a smile to Lady Camden’s lips. Abruptly she frowned at Bertie and waggled her hand impatiently at him.

“You may run along, dear. Wait outside the door until I have finished with Sophie. Then you may take her back to her party.”

“I’ll wait here,” he told her.

“You’ll do as you are bade,” she snapped. “Wait outside the door. We’ll not be long.”

He sighed and, shrugging elaborately in Sophie’s direction, withdrew, closing the door behind him.

“Ah,” Lady Camden said. “We must be quick as we are sure to be interrupted before long. You must tell me who you are. I am an Althorpe, you see—a second cousin once removed of Ruth Biskup. I know that she is presenting you to society as her niece. Who is your father?”

Sophie caught her breath. “Why . . .” she began hesitantly, “Timothy Althorpe, ma’am.”

Lady Camden snorted. “It is as I feared. You are an imposter. There never was a Timothy Althorpe. Who are you in reality, my child?”

For a moment Sophie was too shaken to answer. Then she said in a wavering voice, “I have no idea. My Aunt Biskup has sworn to me many times that I am the daughter of Timothy Althorpe, and her own true niece. Perhaps you are mistaken, ma’am. Certainly there must have been a Timothy Althorpe who went off to Russia with his wife, Rose . . . or Lily . . . or perhaps Violet . . .”

Lady Camden scowled. “So that is her story, is it? And what is this Rose, Lily, Violet nonsense? Tell me truthfully, what was your mother’s name?”

A sob caught in Sophie’s throat, causing her to swallow hard before she answered. “I have no idea, ma’am. My Uncle Vaile always referred to her as Rose, but my Aunt Biskup has told me that her name was Lily or Violet.”

“You foolish girl.” Lady Camden snapped. “Do you not see that it is all subterfuge?” She gave a sharp, bitter laugh. “We shall speak no more of this. It is our secret. It’s apparent that some dreadful scandal is the reason for this ruse, and as an Althorpe, I shall do everything in my power to keep the world from discovering it. Most likely you’re one of Matilda’s children. Her life was not entirely free from excitement.”

“Jonathan’s mother?”

“Yes.”

“But she died well before I was born.”

Suddenly Lady Camden waved an impatient hand. “You may leave me now. Run along, girl.”

Tears gathered in Sophie’s eyes. “Please, Lady Camden,” she begged. “Tell me who I am. I have pleaded with my Aunt Ruth—so many times. I have begged her to reveal the truth to me, but she fobs me off with nonsensical stories. Who am I? What am I? What is my future in this world?”

“My dearest child,” the woman protested. “I have not the faintest notion who you are. It is apparent that the family is making every effort to conceal your origins, and I shall go along with them in this endeavor. A dreadful scandal could ruin the lives of all of us.”

Sophie reached out a hand. “But have you no notion . . . no information that could lead us to certain discoveries?” she persisted. “I cannot rest, I cannot perform any of the normal activities of life until I find out the name of my mother and father.”

Lady Camden inhaled deeply and sat musing for a moment, lips pursed. She put a hand to one ear and fumbled with a large diamond-encircled ruby drop. Finally she sighed.

“I have no idea. And if I were to make inquiries, I should immediately arouse suspicion in quarters where it is least desirable.” She laid her hands in her lap and gave Sophie a faint, reassuring smile.

“We must be discreet, my dear,” she cautioned. “And patient—we must be patient as well. I shall do my best to glean the necessary facts. Eventually we may be able to arrive at the truth. I shall be in touch with you.”

Sophie bit her trembling lip. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Now you must leave me before we set every tongue in London to wagging.”

Sophie nodded and hurried across the room. To her relief she found Bertie outside the door, lounging against the wall. He straightened up as she appeared and gave her a bright smile.

“Well!” he said, feigning indignation. “You’ve taken long enough.”

Immediately her eyes began to moisten again.

“Here, here,” he protested, quickly taking her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I didn’t mean to upset you. You can’t take old Bertie too seriously.” He made a lopsided face at her. “I know why you’re unhappy, m’ mum’s told you that you’re a close relation to yours truly, and that you’ll be obliged to dance with me and ride with me in the park tomorrow. Would three o’clock be convenient?”

Blinking back her tears, Sophie giggled.

“That’s better,” he said, tilting his head to consider her closely. “Od’s bodikins, you’re a pretty gel. Not looking for a husband, by any chance, are you?”

She smiled and shook her head.

He ground his teeth. “Jonathan’s got you staked out for himself, I’ll wager. Always was the most efficient chap in the entire family.”

Sophie felt another flutter of despair at the mention of Jonathan’s name. She couldn’t marry him or Albert or anyone else until she learned the true circumstances of her birth. Afraid she might burst out weeping, she looked down at the floor.

“Dash it all, I’ve done it again!” Bertie exclaimed. “What did I say? Come along, Sophie, and we’ll join this country dance as the line comes past us.” He caught her hand and pulled her onto the floor. “Push your way in there, that’s right. This will cheer you up. Hello, Barney, we’ll just slip in here in front of you, if you don’t mind. Good evening, Miss Anndell. You’re looking radiant, as always.”

Sophie found herself in the middle of a dance that was unfamiliar to her. Fortunately the pattern was not complicated, but she was obliged to concentrate in order to follow the others without making serious mistakes. When she finally began to feel comfortable with the steps and glanced around herself, she found Peter Joshua dancing past with Elizabeth Bingham. They both nodded pleasantly to her. A moment later Ferguson and Kathleen came by. Kathleen gave Sophie a broad, happy smile. Ferguson, however, looked grim, his mouth pulled down at the corners and his brow rumpled. When their eyes met, he scowled.

Jonathan passed them a few moments later. He was dancing with Nicky’s friend, Patricia. He had moved beyond her before Sophie could signal to him that a great and horrible tragedy had struck during the time they had been apart.

When the dance concluded, Bertie led her from the floor. The first couple they encountered was Jonathan and Patricia. After they had all stood together chatting for a time, Bertie and Patricia went off to dance. Jonathan led Sophie to the shelter of a pillar.

“Something’s happened to you, Sophie,” he observed. “Are you ill?”

She shook her head. “It’s just that . . . must we stay for supper, Jonathan? I’m suddenly so tired. I should like to go home, if I may.”

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll order the carriage.”

He led her over to the side of the room where Elizabeth and Wellstone were standing together. After explaining the situation to them, he departed.

Elizabeth smiled at her. “Have you been enjoying your first ball?”

Sophie managed to smile and say, “Yes, it has been quite delightful.”

Elizabeth leaned close to her and said in a husky whisper, “May I share some excellent news with you? It’s a secret, and I should allow Kathleen to convey it herself, but it is of such a happy nature that I am confident it will lift your spirits. My sister is to marry Trevor Ferguson. The announcement will be in the papers tomorrow.”

For a moment Sophie was struck speechless with surprise; then she managed to smile and exclaim “How delightful! What a charming couple they will be!”

“Yes,” Jonathan said, as he came up behind her. “That will be an excellent match.”

He tucked Sophie’s hand through his arm, and after bidding goodbye to their hostess, they procured their cloaks and went out onto the front steps, arriving at the same moment that their landau drew up in front of them. To her surprise, two tall, muscled men with a menacing look about them were standing on a brace at the back and holding onto an upright bar that supported the top.