The Wedding Duel (The Dueling Pistols Series) (21 page)

Victor straightened. "George's wife."

Sophie drew on her hood and moved toward the door.

Victor grabbed her arm. "Let my man check to make sure the coast is clear."

Sophie rolled her eyes.

Victor wondered not for the first time if there wasn't more to Keene's relationship with Amelia than either of them were letting on.

* * *

A few days later, Sophie stood in front of the dressmaker shop's cheval glass. A seamstress pinned the new morning gown hem to the correct length, while Sophie studied her reflection. Her blonde hair curled around her head in close-cropped curls. She liked the ease of care, but wasn't sure the change hadn't made her look a little too boyish. It was too late in any case, and the little Frenchman who had cut it insisted it was both fashionable and flattering.

Letty had cried.

Since then, Sophie had seen several young ladies sporting similar styles. Victor assured her the change was pleasing, but her inquiries about whether or not Keene should like it were met with consternation, and a renewal of Victor's suggestion that she should inform her husband of her presence in town.

The seamstress begged Sophie to excuse her a moment.

Sophie looked critically at the new gown in a flattering shade of lemon. The soft drape of the material hugged her breasts and moved against her body in a revealing way when she walked. When she stood still the gown appeared deceptively demure. The style was simple and liberating. Her father would hate it. A twinge of guilt slipped through her consciousness.

"Oh, I love that gown. I want one just like it."

Sophie turned to see a young woman standing with her hands buried in a heavy, velvet-lined fur muff. "You like my dress?"

"Well, I daresay it is quite flattering to you. I do not suppose it would do the same for me."

Sophie studied the young woman's dark hair and long-lashed sable eyes. "I should imagine you need a richer color, a burgundy perhaps."

The other girl smiled and removed one hand from her muff and extended it. "I'm Mary Frances Chandler."

"Sophie Far—Davies."

Mary walked around her, looking at Sophie's gown. "It does flatter you, and the color complements your complexion."

"Thank you."

"Well, Madame is the best dressmaker in London. I should know, I've tried them all."

Sophie didn't doubt her new acquaintance's claim. Her pelisse was caped and frogged like a fashion plate Sophie had studied in the latest issue of
La Belle Assemblee
just this morning.

"One must employ great tactics to distract the gentlemen from the study of their fobs and seals, mustn't one?"

"Is that what distracts them?"

Mary shrugged and watched intently as she replied, "Their pretty pieces, whatever their shape."

Sophie wasn't quite sure what her companion meant. In fact, she had a sickening feeling that the comment was the sort that would prompt Victor to tug her away and say she must pretend to have not heard. She didn't answer.

The dressmaker and the seamstress returned carrying a gown. "Miss Chandler, if you would step into the changing room. We'll have you done in a trice."

The seamstress knelt and resumed her pinning of Sophie's hem, but when Mary emerged from the dressing booth, both the dressmaker and the seamstress moved toward her. Obviously they considered her a more important client than Sophie.

"Is that gentleman waiting outside with you?" asked Mary as she pivoted for the women pinning her hem.

"Yes."

Mary gave her a speculative look out of the corner of her eye. "I recognize him. Lord Wedmont, isn't it?"

"Yes. He is a good friend of my husband's."

"Who is your husband?"

Sophie was aware of the glances exchanged between the dressmaker and the seamstress. "Keene Whitmore Davies."

"Lord Whitly's son?"

"Yes."

The dressmaker moved over to finish pinning Sophie's gown.

A slight frown moved across Mary's face. "You are newly married, then."

"Three weeks ago." Sophie wondered if she was being indiscreet in giving her husband's name, but it was too late now. Victor would have an apoplexy and insist if she was to announce to the world she was about town, then she might as well leave the hotel and go to Keene's house.

Mary leaned her head sideways and narrowed her eyes. "We ought to stroll together in the park. We should supply each other with an excellent foil, don't you think?"

Sophie smiled back. "I should like that."

"Perhaps your husband and Lord Wedmont would like to join us."

"I don't know." Sophie wondered how she could dodge the obvious problem of inviting her husband to do anything when he didn't even know she was in town—let alone whether he would want to do anything with her, anyway.

Besides, Victor was none too eager to escort her anywhere beyond the bank, the dressmaker, and the sundry other shops she needed to visit to furnish her wardrobe. He'd firmly dug in his heels when she suggested a simple walk to burn off energy. Instead, she dragged Letty around each morning as she explored the city at what apparently was too unfashionably early an hour for the ton to be about.

"Ah, I see you do not wish to share," said Mary with a tinkle of a laugh.

"No, it is not that. I thought we should enjoy ourselves better with just our maids."

"Of course we would, but you must understand I have a
goal. You have already landed a husband, and I must, of
course, concentrate my lures. But then, perhaps you could see your way to giving me pointers for convincing a fish once landed to let me go my own way."

"I should do better at teaching you how to take a fence."

"Could you, for I am a terrible horsewoman."

"Perhaps I should not, for I took an awful fall from Grace not so very long ago."

Mary laughed out loud and then covered her mouth with her hand. Sophie wasn't quite sure what was so funny about admitting a fall from a horse.

"She was not well trained, and I was prepared for her to rear when she bucked instead."

"Oh, Mrs. Davies, you do amuse me. Are you to tell me Grace is a horse?"

The dressmaker finished pinning the hem and invited Sophie to return to the dressing room to remove the gown so it could be completed and delivered.

 
"Of course, Grace is a horse," answered Sophie. "Although her real name is Salamanca, but I prefer to call her Grace. I mean, to name a mare after a battle seemed rather silly to me. Although given her penchant for tossing riders, perhaps she is a battle horse. Please, I would like it if you called me Sophie."

"By all means, you must call me Mary Frances. I hope we meet again."

Sophie was disappointed the walk in the park wouldn't materialize. "I do hope so, too."

But when her dresses were delivered she would have no need to remain in London. The thought was sobering. Yet, how was she to know if her new appearance would have any effect on Keene if he never saw the changes she had made?

* * *

Keene leaned against a chair and watched the animated discussion taking place around him. For once he was not inclined to participate in the exchange. When he had received this invitation to one of Lady Burress's salons, he had thought he couldn't afford to miss the engagement. Normally the highly charged political exchange invigorated him, but tonight he found himself distracted.

A couple of young men passed by him. "Have you seen Wedmont's latest?" one asked the other. "Pretty little blonde."

"I hear he's been outfitting her in the best."

"I've never seen her before. Do you know who she is?"

"I heard—"

Keene swiveled to listen.

The young man speaking caught his interest and blanched. He tugged on the other man's arm and backed away.

Keene had tried to run Victor down a few times since that day he found his friend concealing his new paramour in his bedroom, but Victor's valet would turn him away with a stony, "He's not at home, sir."

Who the hell was this mysterious woman of Victor's? How could he possibly afford to clothe his high-flyer in fine feathers? And if she was married as Victor stated, why were other people privy to her identity? If he didn't know better, he would suspect Victor was trying to keep her identity secret from him.

Lady Burress stopped in front of Keene. "Are you enjoying yourself, sir?"

"Of course I am."

"I hoped you might bring your wife."
Lady Burress
studied him with the quiet curiosity he had learned to expect.

"She isn't on the town yet."

Keene expected to run through the usual platitudes and false statements.
Yes, he was hiding her away in the country to keep her to himself. She was engaged in remodeling his home. No, it wasn't sudden, they had known each other all their lives.

Instead, Lady Burress took a slight step back. "Oh! I thought I heard she was in town."

Keene pushed away from the chair and stood straight. "Where did you hear that?"

"I was talking to a young lady—what was her name?—oh, that heiress, Miss Chandler. The girl has a sharp tongue."

Keene shifted, impatient with her chatter. "I don't know Miss Chandler."

"Anyway, she said she met your wife in a dressmaker's shop."

Keene shook his head. Some niggling feeling kept him from saying it was impossible.

"Said she was in the company of your friend." Lady Burress snapped her fingers as if the name eluded her.

Keene didn't believe it for a minute. He waited until she supplied the name, even though alarm bells rang in his head.

"Lord Wedmont."

Keene managed to take a slow drink from his glass and offered a negligent shrug. All the while a murderous rage poured like melted lead through his veins. This time he was really going to kill him.

"Sophie, you cannot."

"Why not? If you won't escort me, I'll take Letty with me."

"It just isn't done."

"One little trip to Covent Garden. It can't be so very terrible." She stopped at the side of the street, glancing across the busy thoroughfare at a violet seller. The pretty girl wore a raggedy gown with a rip across her shoulder, and her too-short frayed skirts exposed her bare legs to the cold and damp London weather.

"I have all these beautiful new gowns, and I want the chance to wear one for an evening." She wished she could give the little violet seller one of them. The girl probably needed it worse and would at least be seen wearing it. "I promise I won't get into any mischief. It is a perfectly respectable place."

Victor caught her arm as she started to cross the street. "Not for a woman alone, it isn't. I won't escort you."

"Fine."

Victor let go of her arm.

Sophie darted across the street, weaving between a dray wagon and a hansom cab. She heard his call behind her. She knew she could do little to alleviate the wretched condition of some Londoners, but she could buy a posy and help the violet seller in her day-to-day toils. Not that Sophie found London as squalid and poor as her mother had portrayed it. Just an occasional situation tugged at her heartstrings.

For the most part, the city was so full of life. London abounded with noises, the hawkers and peddlers shouting their wares, the continual clip-clop and rolling rumble of traffic, the greetings of friends, the play of children, the odd cockney turns of phrase that drifted to her. She only had to take in the sounds to feel invigorated. It was all so wonderful, and she would have to leave soon.

Victor reappeared at her side. "For heaven's sake, Sophie,
have a care of yourself. You could get run over, darting
between traffic like that."

"Oh, pish."

He grabbed her arm, leaned close and muttered under his breath, "Have a care of your condition. Or if you cannot think of yourself and yours, think of how bad it should go for me trying to explain what happened to Keene. What if you fainted and fell beneath a dray horse? He should run me through."

Hardly.
"I assure you, my health is fine. You are just being a wet hen today."

Victor gave her a sidelong glance. "You're not going to the theater, right?"

"I can't very well go without an escort, can I?" Sophie pursed her mouth, hoping he might change his mind. She wanted to do one thing exciting before taking herself and her new clothes back to obscurity in the country. She swallowed down her disappointment that Keene had not found her. She had hoped that he might have seen her on the street, been swept away by her new, improved appearance, sworn everlasting devotion, and offered eternal pledges to think of only her happiness. Not that the dream was anything more than a silly young girl dream.

That he hadn't seen her wasn't surprising. Victor behaved as a vigilant watchdog, steering her away from people who might recognize him, and avoiding fashionable places during fashionable hours. Sophie had dutifully followed his strictures to dine in her hotel room and remain unseen each evening.