Chapter Seven
Jumping back from the window, Sophie clutched both of her hands to her chest. The Earl of Abelard was here, calling on her? And at a slightly earlier than acceptable hour. It made no sense. Her aunt was going to have heart palpitations once she heard of this new development.
“Lady Sophie?” Stokes said from the doorway. “The Earl of Abelard is requesting to see you. Shall I show him in?”
“Um, yes, of course.”
“Very good,” Stokes replied as he bowed and left the room.
Sophie focused on calming her breath. He was a friend of the family and her best friend’s brother; surely that had to be why he had come. No need to get all flustered about it. Goodness, she was four and twenty now, not some little miss just out of the school room, and she was an Earl’s daughter at that. She could handle a visit from the Earl of Abelard.
Quickly, she scooted over to the chaise longue and sat down, only to jump up a second later as she heard booted footsteps at the doorway.
“The Earl of Abelard, Lady Sophie,” Stokes announced from the door.
Abelard strode into the room, dressed resplendently in a dark blue morning coat and buff-colored pants, with his brown hair carelessly tousled from the wind and a hat tucked under his arm.
He was a very handsome man; in that regard, her memories had not failed her in the least. Though not as devastatingly so as the Duke, an annoying voice whispered in her head. Once again, she was struck by the fact that her once-fervent feelings for the Earl had dulled considerably. And she refused to even ponder the possible cause.
“Lady Sophie,” he said, walking over to where she stood. “Thank you for receiving me at this hour. I know it is a little early.” He picked up her right hand and bowed slightly, imparting a chaste kiss on her knuckles.
“No apologies needed, my lord,” she replied as he released her. An odd sense of disappointment filled her when his touch failed to produce the same giddy sense of anticipation and thrum of electricity as— No. She wouldn’t even think it. While she was happy to see Abelard, she didn’t feel the thrill from his greeting that she would have just a year ago. Which was only to her benefit, seeing as she was determined to dedicate her life to Grey Street, not to pleasing a man. “Do have a seat.” She gestured to the lounge opposite, then glanced over at the butler. “Stokes, would you fetch us a fresh pot of tea?”
“Of course, Lady Sophie.” Stokes retreated from the room.
She sat, and Abelard followed suit. “If I might, belated though it is, please accept my condolences on your wife’s passing,” she said gently. “I was sorry to hear of it.”
She felt a pang as his whole body stiffened for a brief moment, and his eyes tightened at the corners. Poor man, losing his wife mere months into their marriage, when no doubt they’d been at their happiest.
“Thank you,” he said. “It was a difficult time. However, life goes on, as must I.”
They exchanged pleasantries, chatting briefly about his sister and his recent visit to her in Scotland. Then he gazed at her rather intently for a moment before growing serious. “I had meant to speak to you about a matter last night at Chiffley’s ball, but you’d already departed when I sought you out. It relates to one of my previous servants, a maid by the name of Jane Thompson. Do you remember her?”
“Of course.” Sophie creased her brow, somewhat puzzled by topic. Obviously, she hadn’t been expecting a sudden marriage proposal, but his bringing up Jane was rather odd. “Thanks to your generosity, she was one of the first Grey Street orphans who was successful in obtaining a position in a household. And after your wife’s death last year, Jane was easily able to obtain another post in Lord Crowley’s household because of your kindness in providing her with such a glowing letter of reference.”
“So that’s where she went. I hadn’t known.” Lord Abelard paused for a moment. “Lady Sophie, I do not wish to alarm you, but it has only recently come to my attention that some of my wife’s jewelry and her private journal went missing after her death.”
“Are you suggesting Jane took them?” No. She wouldn’t even entertain that possibility.
“To be honest, I am uncertain.” He tossed a hand in the air, obviously at a bit of a loss. “It may have been someone else, but until I speak with her, I cannot be sure.”
“Jane is no thief.” Feeling a sudden burst of nervous energy, Sophie stood and paced to the window. Jane had been at the orphanage since she was six years old. She’d been the first orphan that Sophie had personally taught to read and write, and had ushered into adulthood and a steady job. Her wounded heart a year ago had made Sophie bold, figuring she couldn’t make her situation any worse by asking Abelard to find a place in his and his new wife’s household for dear Jane. She’d been like an older sister to many of the younger children, and Sophie had been sorry to see her go, though happy that she had found a good life for herself away from the London streets. That girl had a heart as big as the ocean—she was no more a thief than Sophie was a Bow Street Runner.
As he started to rise behind her, she turned and gave the Earl her frostiest glare. “I refuse to believe such a thing of her.”
Abelard reared back slightly, his pale features flushed with chagrin. “I do not mean to upset you, Lady Sophie, and I can truthfully tell you that I am not accusing her of anything. But I would like to ask her.” He paused a moment. “To be honest, the jewels matter little, but I must retrieve the journal.”
Sophie pinched the bridge of her nose, her worry over Jane’s long silence increasing by the second. “And you wish to know where Jane is to get her help, is that correct?”
“I am hoping you may be able to help me get in contact with her.” He scratched his head. “Have you heard from her lately? Obviously, it would not be appropriate if I was to try to correspond with a maid, particularly as she has a position in the Crowley’s household. However, no one would raise an eyebrow if you were to get word to her.”
She’d known the earl since childhood, so she wasn’t afraid he personally meant any harm to Jane. But if she was somehow involved with the crime… Sophie bit her bottom lip. “If I assist you and it eventuates Jane did take those items, then she will be facing the gallows.”
His gaze was steady, as if he were trying to telegraph his honesty to her. “I have no intention of reporting the incident to the authorities. Of that, I give you my word.”
Thank goodness. Sophie walked back across to where he was standing and fairly collapsed onto the sofa in relief. “Why do you wish to speak to her now? It’s been over a year since your wife died.”
“As I mentioned, the theft only came to light recently.” He sat and twisted around to face her fully. “Though I cannot tell you why, retrieving Grace’s journal is of the utmost importance. Trust me, all I wish to do is talk to Jane. No more than that.”
Sophie hesitated slightly. “Do you give me your solemn vow that regardless of what you discover, you will not make a report to the authorities about it?” Jane would never steal unless under extreme duress. She was sure of it.
“I do,” he said.
She exhaled. “Very well, I will assist to a certain extent. I will write to Jane and request her to attend me on her next day free from work. Then when I know which day she will visit, I will send you word, and you can then speak with her here.”
Abelard looked somewhat puzzled. “She can read?”
“Of course she can read. And write, too. All Grey Street Orphans are taught such skills.”
He held up a hand in surrender. “My apologies, Lady Sophie. I did not mean to offend. But it is an unusual skill for a servant to possess.”
Sophie smiled at her old family friend to soften her reaction. The man did, after all, look quite contrite. “You are not the first to assume so.”
His shoulders relaxed slightly, though he still retained the ramrod straight posture of an Earl. “Well then, I would very much appreciate you organizing a meeting.”
“Am I interrupting?” a deep and all-too-familiar voice from the door drawled out.
Sophie whipped her head around, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw Devlin standing there, his tall frame leaning lightly against the doorjamb, an inscrutable look on his face.
He was dressed all in black except for the crisp white of his shirt and cravat. His tailored suit fit him to perfection, and the black material only seemed to enhance the aura of power he already wore like a second skin. Just looking at him seemed to heighten her senses. She stood, as did Abelard.
“I am sorry, Lady Sophie,” Stokes panted as he came rushing in from behind Huntington. “The Duke of Huntington here to see you. I did ask him to wait in the foyer to be announced, but he stalked in ahead of me.” The butler squinted slightly in what she knew from experience was an attempt at a forbidding glare. Not that it seemed to affect Huntington any.
“That is perfectly all right, Stokes,” Sophie placated. “It is not your fault.” She aimed her own accusatory glare at Huntington.
“Easy enough to announce myself.” The Duke straightened and languidly strode into the room. “You were expecting me, after all.”
As he stopped in front of her, she looked up into the blue depths of his eyes and nearly forgot to breathe. Belatedly, she became aware that he had picked up her right hand and was placing a lingering kiss across her knuckles. The soft press of his lips against her skin, while his thumb stroked the tips of her fingers, sent the nerve endings of her arm to tingle in reply.
A bit more of a reaction than when Abelard had greeted her.
Feeling uncomfortably hot all of a sudden, she mustered the strength to quickly pull her hand away. The Duke grinned, looking all too smug for her liking. She dragged her gaze away from his bold stare and turned to the earl, who was eyeing Huntington with suspicion. “Do forgive me, my lord. Are you acquainted with the Duke of Huntington?”
“We have previously met,” came Abelard’s curt reply. “Huntington,” he acknowledged the Duke with a stiff nod of his head.
The Duke absently glanced in the Earl’s direction. “Abelard. Visiting rather early? I myself had an invitation to do so.”
“Your Grace!” she scolded, although she knew her words would have all the impact of a drop of rain on the ocean. “Do not be rude.”
“You know the Devil Duke?” The Earl appeared thunderstruck, raking a hand through his pale hair, mussing its former perfection as his mouth dropped open. “And have allowed him to call upon you?”
“Yes,” Huntington answered for her. “What of it?”
“She is a family friend.” Abelard’s fists clenched by his side. He edged slightly toward Huntington, though Sophie still stood between them. “I would not wish for someone of your ilk to take advantage of her.”
Huntington went almost preternaturally still. “You have no idea of my intentions toward Lady Sophie,” he intoned slowly, his voice flat.
“I think I can hazard a guess,” Abelard responded, his own voice dangerously soft to match the Duke’s.
Huntington smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. “You should not speculate unless you have your facts correct.”
“A fair point, yet here you are, visiting Lady Sophie.”
“Ah, but the lovely Lady Sophie and I had already prearranged that I would pay an early morning call upon her today.” The Duke looked back toward Sophie. “To have simply shown up at this time of the morning without a previous invitation would have been unquestionably rude.”
“That is enough, from both of you,” she commanded, inserting herself back into the conversation. Turning, she regarded Huntington, who appeared unperturbed, except that she could almost feel every sense of his on high alert. “The Earl is an old family friend and can visit when he pleases.”
Abelard gave a satisfied grunt.
She whirled around toward him, causing him to step back in surprise. “And as for you, sir, the Duke is an invited guest, and you will not criticize him in my home. Both of you will behave as gentleman, please.”
“I had best take my leave then,” Huntington said without preamble, turning toward the door.
The orphanage! If the Duke was too affronted to make his agreed-upon donation now, the children would suffer. “No, wait!” She reached forward and clutched at his arm. “You need not go.”
He glanced down at her hand on his sleeve. She released him with an abrupt jerk of her arm. “You and Abelard seemed to be enjoying yourselves immensely. Far be it from me to impose.”
Sophie huffed out an impatient breath and crossed her arms over her chest. The stubborn man. “Why must you be difficult?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Difficult?”
She had all but forgotten the Earl, as the world seemed to narrow down to only her and Huntington. “Yes! You enter unannounced and behave like a spoiled child.”
“I came here in good faith to deliver my donation for the orphanage, yet you were evidently too absorbed by what he was saying”—he flicked his fingers dismissively at Abelard, who bristled—“to pay any attention to my arrival.”
“Is that why you are upset?”
“You place too much importance upon yourself to suppose I would be upset by any antics of yours, particularly pertaining to this fop.”
Her breath hitched in her throat at his sharp words. Really, it should not matter what he said, but for some reason, his words cut more deeply than she would care to admit.
“Fop?” Abelard snarled, his alabaster complexion nearly scarlet with anger. “I have had enough of your insults! Name your seconds.”
Oh, for heaven’s— “You cannot call anyone out in my drawing room simply for being called a fop,” she ordered the Earl. “You are much too sensible to pay heed to such words.” Please, Lord, let him be sensible. She could only imagine the impact on her aunt’s nerves if Sophie’s two supposed suitors ended up shooting each other.
“A man’s honor is not something one takes lightly, Lady Sophie. Especially coming from him,” Abelard responded curtly, his upper lip curling as he mentioned Huntington.
“Nor is one’s life,” she said. Honestly, men, their notions of honor, and their manner of settling slights were ridiculous. “If you want my assistance with Jane, then I insist you retract your challenge.”
Abelard glowered for a moment and then nodded curtly. “Very well then, for you, I shall do so.”
“Thank you,” she acknowledged.
Just when she thought she’d gotten the situation in hand, Huntington brushed a speck of lint from his lapel. She didn’t like the look he had about him just now. “Your honor must mean a great deal to you,” Huntington said. Sophie could almost see the sarcasm dripping out of his mouth.
“That is enough!” Abelard declared as he shrugged out of his jacket and began to roll up his shirt sleeves. “I may have rescinded my challenge, but I will not continue to be insulted and let it pass with no consequence.”
Huntington, too, removed his jacket and tossed it onto a chair. “Good. I shall look forward to thrashing you.”
“You both cannot be serious?” Sophie said, unable to credit two peers of the realm about to fight each other like a pair of street urchins. “You cannot brawl in my sitting room.”
“Too late, my dear,” the Duke responded as he crouched into an odd-looking pose. He’d spread his feet apart, widening his stance, while bending his arms at the elbow in front of him. Most peculiarly, his hands were cocked back with his palms facing forward and his fingers curled slightly over, as if he were about to claw the air.
Richard rolled his shoulders. “You are versed in eastern fighting techniques then?” He raised his own hands into claws and mirrored Devlin’s adopted position.
Eastern fighting…? Oh, dear.
“So, it appears, are you,” Huntington replied. He looked positively predatory, a hawkish glint in his deep blue eyes, while Abelard appeared confident but decidedly less lethal. “How interesting. Charity work across Europe must pose a great deal of danger.”
“You would not know what charity meant even if it bit you on the backside,” Abelard replied as they began to circle each other. Sophie could only circle with them, watching their movements as she tried in vain to think of the magic words that would bring peace to this ludicrous situation.
Huntington hitched a shoulder in a shrug, without losing his posture. “If that is what you want to call what you get up to over there.” Completely mesmerized by his elegant stance, she felt like a mouse observing a swaying cobra. And he wasn’t even looking directly at her.
“That is the last straw.” Abelard strode forward and sliced a hand through the air. Huntington neatly bowed his body to avoid the blow.
The motion jolted Sophie out of her preoccupation. “Stop it!” She darted in between them, whirling from one to the other to give both of them the full weight of her fury. “I simply will not tolerate such ridiculous behavior.”
“God damn it, Sophie, get out of the way! You could get hurt,” the Duke barked as he straightened, lowering his arms. Somewhat reluctantly, Abelard followed suit.
She put up a hand on each man’s chest, allowing the pads of her fingers to dig slightly into Huntington’s shirt to emphasize her immovability. “I am not budging, Devlin Markham,” she said, mentally cringing at the loudness of her voice. She inhaled deeply and attempted to re-gather her wits. “And if you both want to behave like idiots, you will have to risk hurting me in the process.”
A self-satisfied smile spread across Huntington’s face. “Didn’t I tell you, you would scream my name aloud? Not particularly the way I had in mind.” He winked at her. “But I’ll take it.”
“Sophie Louise Wolcott!” Mabel’s voice shrilled from the doorway. “What in the Lord’s good name is going on here?”