As Luck Would Have It (15 page)

She couldn’t let Whitefield go. Not only was it the beloved ancestral home of her childhood, it was the only reliable source of income for her and her father. The work they did overseas with antiquities was a labor of love. They had never managed to turn a profit, and she rather doubted they could. Probably, they could live off the money offered by the Crown if she managed to accomplish her mission, but that was a fairly significant “if.” Particularly in light of her recent failures to acquire any useful information from the homes of Patton and Calmaton.

She might take what few funds her family had left—and any money she might earn—and invest it, but neither she nor her father knew anything about business ventures.

Maybe she should use their money to hire a solicitor to stall the transfer of own ership in the courts long enough for her father to make the trip from China.

She groaned and dropped her head to her hands. It would never work. She’d have to get a letter to him first, and then there were the usual arrangements to make—it would take months for him to arrive. She didn’t have the funds to hire a decent solicitor for that long. And if it failed, she’d lose what little money they had left.

She sat up and scowled. This was, obviously, a very unfortunate business. Surely something brilliant would turn up to balance things out. But what? And more importantly, when? She couldn’t very well sit about and wait for that something to happen. She needed to do something.

She needed…

Twenty minutes later she was traveling across town. She’d left a note to Mrs. Summers in Penny’s care briefly explaining Loudor’s new living arrangements.

She had a plan.

“Sophie, you came!”

Sophie returned Kate’s bright smile and followed her into a smaller parlor in the back of the Cole town house.

“Mirabelle and I have decided not to be at home to other visitors today,” she explained. “Rather hard to do when all the world can see you through the front windows.”

“I would imagine so,” Sophie murmured, only half listening. “I apologize for not sending a note in advance—”

“Nonsense,” came Mirabelle’s voice as she stepped into the room and plopped down on a settee. “You were invited.”

Sophie smiled her thanks and took her own seat uneasily. She felt awkward all of a sudden, and nervous. She had never asked for help from anyone before, at least not since she was old enough to dress and feed herself, and certainly never from someone she had known for less than a fortnight. Exactly how long was one supposed to wait before partaking of the full advantages of friendship? And what exactly
were
the full advantages? Asking for money wasn’t appropriate, she knew that much at least. And even if it were, Sophie could never
bring herself to make such a request. But if one were only seeking advice, of a sort, surely that would be acceptable, wouldn’t it? Maybe even appreciated?

“You look distracted, Sophie,” Mirabelle commented.

Sophie looked up to find both girls staring at her expectantly. Kate was holding out a cup of tea. Good Lord, someone had already come and gone with the tea ser vice and she hadn’t even noticed. She
was
distracted. No, she was more than distracted, she was going mad under the strain. The thought frightened her, enough so that her brain seemed to shut down completely, and without further ado she announced, “I evicted my cousin.”

Twelve

K
ate dropped the teacup. Which turned out to be a good thing for Sophie. She was too busy righting the mess at her feet to heed the little voice in her head that demanded she kick herself in the shin for her outburst. She handed the empty and somewhat sticky cup back to Kate, who took it without looking. Kate’s mouth and eyes were wide open in shock. Mirabelle looked much the same.

“Oh, do say something, please. I—” Sophie started.

“Can you do that?” Mirabelle asked in an awed whisper.

“I can, and I did,” Sophie stated resolutely. “And with good reason, I assure you.”

“I’m sure,” Mirabelle offered sincerely, “but what I meant was, can you evict someone from their own—”

“The town house belongs to me,” Sophie interrupted. “It always has.”

Mirabelle considered that. “Oh,” she finally said, still looking
a little dazed. Then she added, “Close your mouth, Kate. You’ll catch flies.”

Kate’s jaw shut with an audible
clack
that made Sophie wince.

“It’s a very long story,” Sophie explained. “But the long and short of it is, Lord Loudor has been stealing from my father in a positively reprehensible and revoltingly legal manner.”

“Well,” Mirabelle replied, clearly searching for something, anything, to say. “Well.”

As there was nothing intelligent she could add to that, Sophie turned to Kate. “Are you upset with me, Kate?”

Kate shook her head mutely but emphatically.

“Well,” Mirabelle said again. “Perhaps it would help if you told us the whole story.”

Sophie did just that. Well, not everything, precisely. Prudence dictated she keep the bit about spying for the Prince Regent to herself. But she told them everything else. There didn’t seem any reason not to. In fact, it would probably have been wrong to hold back, since she was going to ask for their help. And it felt so very good, as if she were easing a little of the burden onto someone else’s shoulders.

“I’ve gone over all my options,” she said, after reciting the day’s events, “and I think…I know, that the only solution is to marry, and marry quickly. By the terms, the
ridiculous
terms, set out by the courts, if I find a husband before the age of five-and-twenty, Whitefield falls to me.”

Mirabelle gave a thoughtful nod of agreement.

Kate, whose stunned expression hadn’t changed since she closed her mouth, let out an audible whoosh of air, blinked once, then said, “Well,” giving Sophie the impression that the poor girl was several steps behind in the conversation.

“Are you sure you’re not cross with me, Kate?”

“Oh, quite,” Kate replied earnestly. “I was just a bit stunned that’s all. But I’m fine now, really.” To prove her point, Kate
reached for a clean cup and saucer and poured Sophie another cup of tea. “How can Mira and I help?”

Sophie felt like crying with relief and gratitude. There wasn’t so much as a whisper of uncertainty in Kate’s voice. She hadn’t hesitated a moment before offering assistance. She hadn’t even waited for Sophie to ask. And by Mirabelle’s expression, Sophie guessed her to be every bit as determined as Kate.

“I know,” Kate said, not waiting for Sophie to reply. “We can apply to my mother. She knows everyone, and this is just the sort of project she delights in, matchmaking that is. She’d find you a husband in a trice.”

“Perhaps,” Sophie mumbled evasively. Lady Thurston was a lovely woman, but Sophie wasn’t entirely comfortable involving Kate’s mother in her tangle of problems. “I had hoped the two of you might know of some suitable gentlemen.”

Mirabelle nodded and stood. “We’ll need to make a list,” she stated, crossing over to a small writing desk to retrieve paper, ink, and quill. “Best to keep your mother out of this for now, Kate,” she said handing the supplies to Sophie and resuming her seat. “I love her dearly, but the woman is a prodigious gossip.”

“That’s true,” Kate admitted. “Very well, whom do we know, or rather whom do you know, Mirabelle? As I’m not out yet and by all rights shouldn’t know any gentlemen.”

“Thanks to your mother, however, you know of every gentleman within a hundred-mile radius,” Mirabelle replied.

“Yes, but I learn the best bits from you and Evie.”

“Er, before we start,” Sophie began, hoping they were going to start sometime soon, “I think I should mention a few…requirements.”

Kate and Sophie looked at her expectantly.

“I know beggars can’t be choosers, but…”

Kate cut her off with a dismissive wave of her hand. “A girl needs to have some standards, of course. What are yours?”

Sophie stalled by clearing her throat. She only had one standard, but it was both demanding and nonnegotiable. “I intend to return to my father at the end of the season, next spring at the very latest. I need a husband who is willing to let me go.” She braced herself for their response.

“Oh,” Mirabelle replied quietly. Kate said nothing but shot a quick look to Mirabelle.

“I know it’s a lot to ask of a new husband,” Sophie continued, “but I have the town house and Whitehall as a dowry, and I am the daughter of a viscount.”

“It’s not that, Sophie,” Kate explained. “It’s just…we had so been looking forward to having you around.”

Sophie felt inordinately pleased. “That,” she said, “is quite the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a very long time. Thank you.”

Kate blushed adorably. “Well,” she said affecting a nonchalant air, “I am a very nice person.”

Mirabelle snorted. “You spend too much time in Evie’s company to be a truly nice person. Now, as much as I’ll hate to see you go, Sophie, I’d hate it even more to see you go and Lord Loudor stay in your house. We should start that list.”

Kate and Sophie both nodded, but after several minutes of considering, then rejecting, various gentlemen as possible husbands, Sophie began to grow nervous again. Apparently, there weren’t many men in a position that would allow their new wife to live on the other side of the world.

“We’re going about this all wrong,” Mirabelle finally declared. She tapped her finger to her chin in a contemplative gesture. “I think,” she said thoughtfully, “that we should limit the list to widowers.”

Kate looked delighted. “Oh! That’s very clever. But not just any widowers.”

“Of course not,” Mirabelle returned.

“Only widowers with an heir,” Kate clarified.

Mirabelle nodded. “And preferably a spare.”

“Naturally.”

Sophie help up her hand. “Why would I want…ooh, that
is
clever.”

A widower already blessed with two sons was far more likely to accept her offer of a marriage in name only. To Sophie’s understanding, most
ton
marriages were continued only on paper after the production of heirs. She needed a husband willing to forgo the preliminaries.

“Won’t that just further limit the number of suitable candidates?” Sophie asked.

“Actually,” Kate said brightly, “I rather think there are more gentlemen with whom one might be willing to marry, provided they stay several thousand miles away, than there are gentlemen whose presence one could tolerate on a daily basis.”

Sophie thought so too. “Right. Shall we begin anew then?”

The task proved considerably more challenging than anticipated. After two hours, two pots of tea, and too many biscuits, Sophie’s list of eligible bachelors remained depressingly short. She was tired, frustrated, and beginning to entertain the rather unkind notion that England needed more dead wives.

Her guilt was somewhat assuaged when Mirabelle sighed and said, “There aren’t enough widowers.” Which was really just a more tactful way to say the same thing.

“I wish Evie were here,” Kate said.

“Evie?” Sophie inquired. She had heard the name a few times but had always been too interested in the conversation at hand to request an explanation. Now, however, seemed a very good time to ask about a perfect stranger. Anything for a few moments’ respite from the topics of traitorous family members and an eventual loveless marriage.

“My cousin,” Kate explained. “She lives at Haldon Hall and usually comes to London with us, but she insisted on staying on in the country this year.”

“Why? Is she unwell?”

“Well, she’s mad to hear my mother tell it, but no,” Kate replied, “she’s perfectly well. Evie’s had four seasons already,
and she insists she’s not going to marry anyway, so what does one season at Haldon matter?”

“Evie’s painfully shy with people she doesn’t know well,” Mirabelle explained, “and a radical around those she does. She also has a couple of…physical reminders of a childhood accident that I suspect she’s rather sensitive about. All in all, not a matrimonial prize in the narrow view of society.”

“I see,” Sophie replied, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“But she’s very good at this sort of thing,” Kate added.

“What sort of thing?”

“Scheming,” Kate replied, and with such fondness that Sophie could only assume it was meant as the highest of compliments.

“Oh!” Mirabelle cried suddenly, sitting up straighter in her chair. “That reminds me of something Evie said. Write down Sir Frederick Adams and Mr. Weaver.”

Kate looked confused. “Sir Frederick? But he’s not a widower.”

Mirabelle waved her hand dismissively. “He’s perfect, trust me. Put him on the list, Sophie.”

Sophie lifted the quill but hesitated. She looked at Kate, then Mirabelle, then back again. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Mirabelle, she just didn’t know her as well as Kate did. And Kate was looking at Mirabelle as if she’d lost her mind. It would probably be best to err on the side of caution. Sophie was willing to take a few leaps of faith where her new friends were concerned, but they were discussing a potential husband for her, not a new bonnet.

She turned back to Mirabelle. “Why?” she asked, still holding the quill suspended over the paper.

“Why is he perfect, why should you put him on the list, or why should you trust me?”

“The first two.”

Mirabelle took a deep breath, carefully considering her
next words. “Sir Frederick,” she began slowly, “is the type of man who…who eschews the company of women.”

“Ohh,” Sophie replied in sudden understanding, her eyebrows rising, and her lips retaining the ‘oh’ position long after the sound was gone.

Kate’s lips did the same thing, but her eyebrows went down in befuddlement instead of up. “How’s that?” she asked.

Mirabelle and Sophie both shifted a little uncomfortably in their seats. Kate looked to Sophie, who quickly busied herself adding the names to the list. She didn’t know Kate all that well either, she reasoned. Surely this sort of enlightenment was best left to an old friend.