Masquerade (15 page)

Chapter 9

“Are you certain you don’t mind delivering the soup to Mr. Randolph, dear? It’s a cold day and you are sure to get wet feet. I could go myself if you don’t feel up to going.”

Sophie removed her shawl from a hook beside the front door and draped it around her shoulders. She held out her arms and took the yellow crock of hot soup from her mother. Holding it with mittened hands, she didn’t burn her fingers. The warmth seeping through the crockery was a comfort.

“The sky is clear, at least, so I will not be snowed upon. My bonnet and shawl will keep me warm enough, and if my shoes get wet they will dry before the hearth. My feet, as well, will survive even if they do become damp. They have done so before, you know.” She smiled at her mother and was pleased to see the lightness of the conversation smoothed the worry lines from the familiar face. It would be a cold day indeed before she would allow her mother to brave the elements while she lounged at home.

“I suppose you’re right. It is just that I worry about you girls. It is, after all, a mother’s job.”

“One you do marvelously,” Sophie said as she brushed her mother’s cheek with a fast kiss.

When she moved toward the front door, her mother’s words stopped her.

“Do not tarry at the Randolph’s, dear. Poor Mr. Randolph, his cold is severe and his cough, from what Louisa says, is harsh. It would be terrible if anyone else caught his chill. As it is, this appears to be the same ill-health that sent Colin to bed just last week.”

Winter infirmities, especially those that fell after the holiday season, were to be avoided at all cost. The long, dreary weeks before spring were an opportune time for germs to spread. With windows tightly closed against the elements, the slightest sniffle might grow to epic proportions. There had been years when there were more lives lost to late-winter disease than any one illness during the other three seasons combined.

“Colin—oh, I could shake him for this!”

Her mother stared at her in astonishment. Then, putting her hands on her hips, she asked, “Why would you want to shake poor Colin? What in the world did he do to deserve such treatment?”

Speaking ill of either Colin or Penny was akin to throwing stones at one of Mrs. Teasdale’s own children. Sophie knew her words had limits where the Randolphs were concerned. If she pushed too strenuously her mother might rush to Colin’s defense.

Still, she could not keep her tongue from forming the words in her head.

“I cannot believe you refer to him as ‘poor Colin’—goodness gracious, Mother. If he had an ounce of sense his father wouldn’t be ill, and would certainly not require chicken soup from Louisa’s kitchen. Don’t misunderstand. I don’t mind delivering the soup and I pray Mr. Randolph recovers quickly, but I cannot stand here and listen to you talk about ‘poor Colin’ as if he’s a saint.”

The forget-me-not blue incident that took place yesterday afternoon had kept Sophie staring at her ceiling most of the night. Her own eyes burned from lack of sleep. Her disposition made a porcupine look like a housecat.

While she couldn’t understand why it mattered so much what Colin thought of their guest’s eyes—or anything else about the still-slumbering Wendy Wentworth—she took umbrage with his ludicrous behavior. He had been so obviously befuddled by the silly laughter, fluttering eyelashes, brainless chatter, and flirting blond visitor it made her ill. They had both—Colin and Wendy—been so transparent. It was absolutely appalling.

Unquestionably, she was all in favor of Colin finding a woman to marry—someday. It was not that she wanted him to be a bachelor all his life—certainly not! And she didn’t mind his being taken with someone—as long as that someone had more wit than hair. Which their uninvited guest didn’t seem to possess.

Sometime during the night she’d stopped counting how many times she reminded herself Colin was free to choose any available woman. It wasn’t up to her to decide whether his choice was appropriate or not.

Sophie knew all that, but still she couldn’t shake the annoyance clinging to her mood as stubbornly as an unpleasant smell.

“You hold Colin responsible for his father’s cold?”

“I do.” She didn’t meet her mother’s gaze when she gave a fast nod, knowing full well the censure she would find in the eyes fixed on her. “If he had worn his coat on New Year’s morning, no one in that house would be sick today. He caught a chill and now it is being passed around like an unwelcome guest. Had he worn his coat, Mr. Randolph might be well today instead of lying in bed coughing and sneezing.”

“Be that as it may, my dear, Mr. Randolph is abed and feeling poorly. The soup will do him some good, I hope.” The tone was stern but not hard, that perfect blend of mothering and acceptance her daughters had come to expect. She softened her voice, and added, “And I hope the short walk down the lane and back will bring you some comfort, as well. Thank you for delivering the crock, Sophie. I appreciate your going out of your way for someone else—it is so like you to be so charitable. It is one of your most admirable traits, your willingness to help others—even if at this moment you feel…”

She did not need to say anything more. Sophie filled in the last part of the sentence in her own head. It was regrettable that her mother felt she was not being as kind as usual, and perhaps her mother was right but Sophie couldn’t help how she felt.

Right now, she was irritated by Colin’s recent behavior. That would probably change later, but at the moment she planned to hold tightly to the aggravation. It kept her from having to examine the reason behind her feelings. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but she suspected the reason she was so annoyed by her old friend’s antics was deeper than she was prepared to admit.

“I’ll be back shortly.” Sophie put her hand on the door latch, and would have escaped had she been a second or two faster.

“I don’t know where you’re headed, but may I come along?” The question was followed by a giggle.

I thought you were still in your bed!

Sophie wondered if she could bolt without being caught. It was a daring daydream, one she could not indulge but nonetheless, it did cross her mind.

Turning, she pasted a bland expression on her face.

“Why, good morning, dear.” Mrs. Teasdale smiled warmly. “How did you sleep?”

Wendy stood on the bottom stair, beaming as brightly as if a large candle lighted from her within. Sophie nearly squinted, aggravated by the sight of the blue-eyed interloper.

“Good morning to you, Mrs. Teasdale. Sophie. I did sleep well, thank you.” A smile flashed across her face. For an instant, she looked like a china doll, too pretty by far to be an ordinary flesh-and-blood woman.

Attired in what was obviously a dressmaker’s creation of periwinkle blue and cream, Wendy looked like she had just stepped off the pages of the latest ladies’ fashion magazine. Her dress matched her shoes, which were a darker shade of blue designed, no doubt, to provide contrast to the outfit. It was the first time blue leather shoes had been worn in the Teasdale house.

Sophie noticed the way all the ribbons lay flat against Wendy’s bodice. Perfect pleats and skillful embroidery stitches gave the garment exquisite detail the likes of which Sophie certainly could never hope to possess in her own wardrobe. It was hard to take her eyes from the dress and in particular the fine stitches just below the neckline. It was, by far, one of the prettiest morning dresses she had ever seen. Her fingers itched to reach out and touch it, but her pride kept her arms immobile.

Irritation ratcheted a notch higher. A dull headache began to form behind her eyes.

“That is what I hoped to hear, Wendy. I wouldn’t want you to spend one sleepless night beneath our roof.” Sophie’s mother looked from her guest to her daughter, with one eyebrow arched for the latter, and then went on, “Sophie is doing me a favor by delivering some soup to Mr. Randolph. He is, I am afraid, feeling rather low, and it’s my hope Louisa’s chicken soup will chase the sniffles right out of his head. The walk is a short one, but I know you two young ladies will find something interesting to discuss along the way. I am sure Sophie would love your company.”

There was no polite way to refuse, so Sophie smiled when she wanted to scream.

“Of course. I would very much enjoy it if you would walk with me.” Her mind scrambled to come up with a deterrent. Almost as a last resort, she nodded to the blue shoes and added, “I shan’t stay at the Randolph’s. I’m merely going to drop off the soup and turn right around. It might not be worthwhile for you to chance ruining your lovely shoes on such an unimportant errand.”

There.
That should put an end to this
, Sophie thought with a burst of satisfaction. It seemed no matter where she turned these days, someone or something brought confusion to even the simplest act. Time to grab the upper hand and restore order.

“Oh, these old things? Why, they are hardly worth the worry.” Wendy lifted the hem of her gown, exposing the shoes all the way up to their side buttons. They were attractive but sturdy looking. A flash of stocking—also dyed blue—showed before she released the dress, allowing it to fall back into place. “By any chance, is the sickly Mr. Randolph Colin’s father?”

Sophie nodded. “It is.”

“So we are going to Colin’s house?” A giggle, one that made Sophie grit her teeth.

“We are. But only for a moment,” Sophie added. “Remember, Mr. Randolph is ill and this would be an inopportune time for a social call. I’m merely dropping off some soup for medicinal purposes, that’s all.”

As if she hadn’t heard a word, Wendy turned for the kitchen. Calling back over her shoulder, she said, “I’ll only be a second. I just want to grab some peanut brittle for Colin. You saw how much he enjoyed my peanuts yesterday, didn’t you?”

Had she still been within earshot she would have heard Sophie’s aggravated groan. But with her mother giving her a steely gaze, Sophie nodded. Then, plastering a smile that was almost painful to muster on her face, she called back, “Why, yes. We all saw just how enamored Colin was with your nuts.”

****

Confound the woman!
Colin thought crossly. Wendy was like sticking powder. As much as he tried to shake her, she refused to loosen her grip.

Voices roused him from the deep armchair beside the fireplace in the library. He had been reading Homer’s
Odyssey
—or so it would have appeared to anyone who happened to glance his way. The truth is he had been staring at the same page for over an hour and would have probably continued to do so had the voices not intrigued him.

Chance was a scheming opponent, and he had fallen for its ruse. Curiosity brought him to the threshold of the library, clearly within sight of the front door. Colin hadn’t seen who stood just beyond the door, but as soon as he was spotted he knew who had come calling.

His stomach dropped into his boots.

The giggle. The infernal, grating, sickly-sweet giggle. Had he realized Miss Wentworth stood on his front stoop he would have kept staring at Homer’s words.

By the time he knew, it was too late. He had been seen, and his only recourse was to proceed to the door. To his relief, Sophie was with the irritating blond. Unfortunately, Sophie seemed more interested in getting away from him than anything else. How could he blame her? He had acted like a bacon-brained schoolboy, not a man who knew his mind. What else could he expect after his unseemly exhibition yesterday afternoon?

“Well, we must be running. Mother’s waiting,” Sophie said, turning on her heel when the soup was safely delivered to Penny’s hands. “Give your father our best, won’t you?”

Colin nudged his sister out of the way, walking through a heavenly scented cloud to stand in the doorway. “I’ll walk you home.”

“No need,” Sophie said.

He grabbed his coat. “But I insist. It is wet and slippery, and my father would be greatly annoyed if either of you were to slip on his account. No, you must allow me to accompany you.”

Offering to walk them home had seemed a safe way to get back into Sophie’s good graces. He knew she liked an escort in the slippery weather, and they had a natural rhythm when they walked side by side. Perhaps it would remind her that they were so well acquainted that even their strides matched.

He had not counted on the giggler being present. In fact, once he saw Sophie on the doorstep he altogether forgot about her companion.

Miss Wentworth, however, had not forgotten about him. From the first steps she had attached herself to his arm. She refused to let go, or to move to the side in order that Sophie might share the path.

With Sophie trailing behind them, there was no chance of restoring her good humor. His, as well, had taken a decided turn for the worse.

Think of something, man! Sophie will be madder than a wet hen before we reach her gate.

Colin cleared his throat. Then, he stopped walking. With a small smile of regret, he pulled his arm from Miss Wentworth’s grip.

“I fear I am not being a suitable walking companion.” He spread his hands apologetically, bringing his shoulders up beneath his earlobes. “Miss Teasdale is, I am afraid, back here on her own. It will never do.”

He took a step back, putting himself beside Sophie. Now things were as he hoped they would be—or at least on their way to being what he had in mind. But while he was happier with the arrangement, Sophie remained stubborn in her refusal to look his way. She stared ahead as if there was a circus elephant performing in the street and she did not wish to miss even one second of the free show.

Look at me, Sophie
. He telegraphed the thought—to no avail.

“But she seems fine,” Miss Wentworth said. To punctuate the point, she giggled and asked, “Aren’t you, Sophie?”

“I am.” Sophie’s lips were set in a straight line, so severe and unforgiving they intrigued him. There hadn’t been many times in the past when she wore such a stern look.

Colin wondered how those lips, with their rigid appearance, might taste. He wondered, too, just how long it might take before this unyielding woman beside him turned back into the Sophie Teasdale he knew. And loved.