Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
Lady Sophie Wren tapped her toe as she watched the dancers twirl by. She had not yet been asked, but she held out hope that she’d fill at least one spot on her dance card.
But hope was far different than reality.
First, she had little experience in such things, having only recently been brought into her uncle’s house after the death of her mother. Her small village had not prepared her for London’s social scene. Second, her uncle had done little to introduce her to the finer world, and his acquaintances were of the roughest sort. It was so odd for the son of an earl. Third, her gown for the evening was borrowed. And though she’d thought it pretty, she could see it was a different sort from what the other women wore.
They were all pale, while hers was dark, and then there were the numbers of ribbons, bows, and fripperies that adorned their clothing. She was certain her uncle hadn’t considered current fashion when he’d chosen the gown. She hadn’t asked where it had come from, but it had taken some work to get the scent of cheap perfume from the fabric.
Sophie has been in the care of her uncle for less than a year. It was not so long that she felt truly comfortable, but long enough she’d learned its rhythm.
A fair number of unsavory men came through the house, but as per her uncle’s wishes, she retired to her room at seven every evening and bolted the door. It was odd at first, but now she’d grown accustomed to the practice.
The noise was a different matter. She still found the yelling, cursing, and loud banging upsetting. But in those moments, she’d hold Abigail and soothe her little sister, and herself, until they both fell asleep. Sophie never complained about the noise, however. She felt fortunate her uncle had taken her in at all. She and Abigail had food, warmth, a roof, and clothing.
At the age of twenty, however, she’s been wondering if she’d ever get to make a match of her own. She’d hinted to her uncle but said nothing more. She was fortunate to have him, and she did not wish to upset the balance they’d found. Still, it had been such a treat when he’d informed her that he was taking her out tonight to Lord Maxwell’s latest ball.
A nanny had been hired for Abigail, and Sophie had set off on this adventure. And by adventure, she’d spent most of the evening leaning against the wall. But even watching the dancers, and listening to the music, felt like a rare treat.
A couple of women walked by, hardly noticing her by the wall. “Have you caught sight of Lord Maxwell?”
“No, but I’m so curious. I hear he’s handsome.”
“Did you hear that he doesn’t speak? Ever. So odd…”
They kept going, and Sophie was no longer able to hear what they said. She’d like to have participated. It would be so nice to find someone to talk to and maybe have that single dance. If she could make either of those happen, she’d consider tonight a success.
Uncle Allister was engaged in conversation several feet away. He wasn’t much for making conversation with her normally. They rarely spoke, but tonight, he paid even less attention to her than normal. He stood with a group of men, their heads bent together. She could not hear what was said, but she did note that several of the men wore clothes not unlike her own.
By that, she did not mean they wore dresses. They did wear clothes that did not quite fit in this setting. It was the way their cravats were tied. Or the style of their shoes or…
She snapped her attention back to the dancers, trying not to focus on all the reasons she shouldn’t be successful tonight. If she were going to make something of this evening, she’d have to leave this one spot next to a potted fern and…mingle.
With that in mind, she set out, intent upon seeing the room from a different angle and perhaps, visiting the ladies’ repose. She might hear something of interest or even participate in a conversation in a smaller, quieter environment. She moved slowly, savoring the experience, until she saw a small group of women make their way down a quiet hall. Surely, that was the way to the repose.
Following, she entered a spacious room where lounges had been set about with ladies resting on them as others adjusted the pins of their hair in a large mirror. Smiling, she draped herself across an empty lounge, her attention turning to the group she’d followed.
“And would you believe that dress Miss Poppy is wearing? Dreadful.” A beautiful blonde in pale pink satin patted her perfectly coiffed curls.
“I know,” a delicate brunette responded. “She thinks that her father’s money will buy her social standing. But no merchant’s daughter is going to be in the inner circle…”
Sophie ducked her head. These women were not likely to be her friends, and she instinctively understood that being caught staring might incite their ire.
“Smart,” a girl next to her whispered. “They are vipers in disguise. You should not make eye contact.”
Sophie looked to her left to see a pretty woman in a perfect pale green silk gown lounging next to her. She had all the markers of one of the vipers. So why was she talking to Sophie? “What makes them vipers?” she whispered back, leaning closer before glancing over quickly to make certain she hadn’t been heard.
“Oh, they look sweet and innocent, but they collectively cut the rest of us to ribbons with their words.” She gave Sophie a friendly smile. “I’m Lady Tabetha, but my friends call me Tabbie.”
“Tabbie,” Sophie said, nodding. “Miss Sophie Wren. A pleasure.”
Tabbie turned to extend a hand and that’s when Sophie noticed the scars that marked her left side. Her skin looked as though she’d been burned.
Sophie was no stranger to the cruelty of life, so she only smiled brighter, taking Tabbie’s hand. “I’m so pleased to meet you.”
“Oh look,” the blonde in pink trilled a laugh. “Tabbie made a friend. Isn’t that sweet? It’s Cinderella and the Beast.”
All of the blonde’s friends turned to stare at Tabbie and Sophie. Sophie’s face flamed as she wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole.
But Tabbie only straightened up. “Spread your venom elsewhere, Elsa, or else I shall have to explain to your mother why your invitations to all the best events have been withdrawn.”
Elsa let out an indignant gasp, but she said no more as, chin high, she left the repose with the other women trailing behind her.
“Oh my…” Sophie said and then gulped. “How did you manage that?”
“My father is a marquess. As I manage our social calendar, I have a certain sway most ladies my age do not.”
Sophie nodded, staring at the door the women had just exited.
Tabbie sniffed as she settled back in the chaise. “At one time, I tried to be friends with Elsa. She and her friends were kind on the surface, but it became clear that their hearts are black after…” Tabbie pointed down to her scarred arm.
Sophie didn’t ask. They were too newly acquainted. “I’m sorry for their cruelty.”
Tabbie shook her head. “It matters not. I’ve learned a great deal about life and what sort of people are worth the time.” She gave Sophie a twinkling smile. “Tell me about yourself.”
“There isn’t much to tell. I’m enjoying the evening immensely, but I am certainly one of the women who does not belong. My uncle does not normally socialize, but he’s here by the invitation of Lord Whitehouse.”
Tabbie’s smile slipped and Sophie cocked her head. Had Tabbie’s demeanor changed because she realized that Sophie was not an actual debutante?
“Lord Whitehouse’s invitation?” Tabbie’s voice was neutral, but Sophie could sense the tension underneath.
“That’s right.”
“Have you met him?”
“I did briefly this evening.”
Tabbie relaxed again. “First time?”
“Yes. This is the first. So odd, because seeing them tonight, my uncle and Lord Whitehouse, they seem quite close. But he’s not been to my uncle’s house in the year I’ve lived there. I came after my mother…” Sophie stopped. Her chin dipped. She was doing that thing she often did where she let her tongue run away with her.
But Tabbie only sighed. “I lost my mother too. Dreadful, isn’t it?”
Sophie nodded. She didn’t ask for the details, she didn’t wish to pry. “It is indeed. But we’re very lucky that my uncle took us in. It could have been much worse.”
Tabbie nodded. “That is almost always true. It can always be worse.”
Sophie grimaced. She had this tendency toward attempted optimism that sometimes irritated those around her. “My apologies. I don’t know the circumstances of your loss. I…”
Tabbie gave her a soft look of appreciation. “Not at all. I have my father. I’m titled. You are an orphan apologizing to me about being too grateful. I was chastising myself.”
Sophie let out a long breath of relief. “I’m so glad to have met you, Tabbie. I’ve been missing friends since coming to London.”
“Do you not socialize with any other women our age?”
Sophie shook her head. In a move that was against her nature, she didn’t tell Tabbie how she cared for her sister or her uncle’s strange requests. Tabbie had been very kind; Sophie needn’t frighten the other woman away. “We’ve been settling in.”
“We?”
“I have a small sister. Abigail. She’s just four.”
Tabbie’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, Sophie.”
“We’re good. I’m fortunate…” She stopped, knowing she was doing it again. “I’ve enjoyed your company this evening. Thank you.”
“We must see each other again.” Tabbie pulled out a small, elegant card from a clutch. “You must call on me. Soon. Just present this card and you’ll be shown to the morning room where I take callers.”
Sophie took the card, hoping she might have the chance to do just that. She left the repose, thinking that she’d managed one of her goals, and met a wonderful person.
Excitement bubbled inside to have made a friend. But perhaps her thoughts were a distraction she could ill afford because as she made her way down the hall, she ran smack into a large chest. Bounding off the man, she nearly tripped and stumbled when his hand shot out to her waist, holding her in place. Her chin snapped up, her gaze colliding with the hard and uncompromising eyes of the largest man she’d ever encountered.
She gasped. The size of his shoulders blocked the view of the ballroom beyond. “I beg your pardon, sir.”
He continued to stare, not saying a word. She made to step back, but his hand only tightened around her.
Panic rose in her chest as she tried harder to move away. He held tight. Then, with his free hand, he reached toward her.
She let out a cry, her heart hammering in her chest as she pulled harder. His fingers touched the dance card dangling from her wrist. Letting go of her waist, he pulled a small bit of lead from his cuff and scratched a name on one of the lines.
“I…”
He took her hand, tucked it in his elbow, and turned. Sophie had little choice but to walk with him as they started for the ballroom.
Sophie had wanted a dance. More, even, than she’d wished for a friend. In her heart of hearts though, this was not how she’d imagined it happening. She’d pictured a handsome gentleman approaching, perhaps paying her a compliment or two before he kindly asked for the honor of her company on the dance floor.
This felt a bit more like she’d been taken hostage.
The man who now stood with her hand in his, his other at her waist, had yet to say a word. She craned her neck to look at him, the thick muscles of his neck straining his collar and cravat. Swallowing down a lump, she tried to think of something she might say. But for once in her life, she was at a complete loss for words.
In the candlelight, she could see that he was handsome in his way. He had a chiseled jaw, a strong slashing brow, and his jacket pulled across his chest. His hand dwarfed hers as the first strains of the violin filled the ballroom. With a sure step, he began the dance.
She gasped, not sure she knew the steps. She wasn’t educated in these sorts of things, but with strong arms, he led her effortlessly about the floor. She could hardly keep her breath; the steps were so quick. But for a man who frightened her as he did, she found the strength of his arms comforting as the other dancers appeared to make way for them.
Why would they? She couldn’t mull over the question long because her mystery partner spun her close to her uncle and his group. They stood in a straight line staring. Staring. Her uncle’s arms were crossed as he glared back at her. She barely had a moment to question why before her partner swung her about again, closing off her view and swirling her in another direction.
She gasped in a breath, sensing that she’d entered into something she ought not to. Events were unfolding well past her control, but she had no idea what or how.
The song came to an end, and the mysterious man who’d dragged her to the floor let her go. Just like that. Then, with a bow, he was gone. She watched him disappear into the crowd, her brow furrowed as she watched him go.
“Sophie, you fool,” her Uncle Allister hissed from next to her. “Do you have any idea who that was?”
“None.”
“None?”
“No,” she shook her head, turning to her uncle, her gaze going wide. He looked excessively angry, more so than she’d ever seen. “I was coming back from the repose, and he just grabbed my arm and dragged me to dance. Never said a word.”
“Interesting,” another man said from next to her uncle.
She leaned forward to see who’d spoken to find Lord Whitehouse at her uncle’s elbow. Unlike most of the men with her uncle, this man fit the setting perfectly. His clothing was of the finest quality, the knot in his cravat perfect, his silver hair styled back in a neat and distinguished manner. He oozed influence and money.
“Is it, my lord?” her uncle asked, much of his anger disappearing.
“Indeed,” Lord Whitehouse answered. Then, his gaze found Sophie’s, his gaze running down her in a way that made her excessively uncomfortable. Her hands flattened into the folds of her skirts as she resisted the urge to curl into herself.
“I’m glad to hear that he accosted you rather than charmed.” He turned to her uncle. “Get her better clothes.”
“How do I do that?” her uncle asked with a frown.
Sophie was still puzzling over his first comment. Would it have been a problem if she’d agreed to dance with whoever that man was? Why?
“Bring her to a modiste. The woman will do the rest.”
She delicately cleared her throat. She had no idea why she might need them, whatever the reason, this might be the excuse she needed to see Tabbie again. “I know who to ask for help. I hope.”
Lord Whitehouse gave her a wide smile. “Beautiful and resourceful. You will prove to be as useful as I hoped.”
Her brows drew together. What did that mean? Now she was truly confused. This man had hopes for her? Why? How? When?
Her uncle clamped a hand on her arm even as Elsa appeared in her peripheral vision.
“Excuse me,” Elsa called, lifting a finger.
“Yes?” she asked, not quite certain that the woman was speaking to her.
“I should like to call upon you,” Elsa said with the sweetest most innocent smile. “Perhaps invite you to my garden party next week.”
Sophie shook her head. Had she stepped into a different world? It looked like the same one, but everyone was acting so oddly.
“Send invitations to me, Miss Dayton,” Lord Whitehouse nodded at Elsa, the two of them clearly acquainted. Then, he leaned over and whispered to her uncle, her uncle nodding as the other man spoke.
What were they saying? It was surely about her.
Tabbie came into view as well, standing ten feet away from Elsa, her look one of concern. She gave the other woman a wide-eyed stare.
“What’s happening?” Tabbie mouthed.
“I don’t know,” Sophie said back, so glad someone else understood that the whole world had gone mad.