Arnaud flipped them an extra coin. "If you see that lot again, get word to Captain Bellingham at Number Nine Hanover Square.”
As an afterthought, Arnaud turned back toward the boys and balanced a third coin between his left thumb and forefinger. “One of the ladies lost an important bit of foolscap with some poetry. There's another reward if you can find it." He turned away and headed toward a lone horseman trotting from the direction of Hanover Square.
Lydia stirred another lump of sugar into her tea. "What do you suppose Captain Bellingham does in the Royal Navy? There was a great deal of braid and polished medals and buttons on his jacket. Perhaps he's a hero, or something."
Sophie pressed her fingers against her throbbing head. If only Lydia would stop asking so many questions. The ornate tea room table where they sat seemed to shimmer as if about to spin, and she couldn’t stop her mind from re-playing the horrible events outside the milliner’s shop.
Sophie placed her hand over Lydia’s. "Please, your imagination is making my head and stomach do strange turns. In any event, it barely matters. We shall never see him again."
"Oooh," Lydia babbled on. “Of course we will. Did he not say he was off in search of our carriage? Did you not notice how beautiful he is? All that dark, curly hair, and fine eyes? I'm sure he'll attend some of the better balls, or maybe even the theater, if he's in town for long.” Lydia finally sucked in a breath. "Or maybe we could ask Teddy if he knows him."
"Leave Teddy out of this,” Sophie said. “You don't even know the man’s name. And besides, he's probably forgotten us already."
"He did tell us his name. Don't you remember?" Lydia said. "He's Captain Arnaud Bellingham. His mother has a townhouse on Hanover Square. Honestly, Sophie. Did you hit your head when they grabbed you?"
No more had she spoken than the dark stranger re-appeared inside the tea shop.
Sophie stared a few seconds too long, and their eyes met.
He walked straightaway to their table and said, "Your carriage is outside. Your coachman and footman have been warned of the danger and will see you home. I’ll ride along behind to assure you're not harmed."
"We live near St. James Park," Lydia blurted out.
"Sir, I am sorry," Sophie interrupted, "but we do not know you that well.” She moved her hand toward her friend's mouth to forestall any further outbursts.
He gave her a strained smile. "Captain Bellingham, at your service.” He gestured to his friend, also in uniform, who had followed him through the door. "This officer, my ship’s surgeon, Dr. Cullen MacCloud, will vouch for me and my family."
“Ladies," Dr. MacCloud said, "I promise no harm will come to you from association with this man. I would trust him with my life." Then the surgeon gifted them with a smile so warm, even the dark corners of the tea shop seemed to glow. "He has in fact had my life in his hands many times," he added.
"Now your carriage awaits. Let me see you safely home.” Captain Bellingham ushered them out to their waiting footman.
Sophie leaned back into the comfortable squabs of Lady Howick’s carriage and stared forward, past Lydia’s concerned face. She picked at one of the buttery tearoom biscuits stashed in her reticule just before the strange captain hurried them out the door. When she tried to swallow, a small piece caught in her throat, bringing on a coughing fit.
"Here," Lydia said. "Suck on this lozenge and calm yourself, or I'll have to knock for Thomas to stop and find you something to drink."
Sophie popped the peppermint into her mouth and her throat soothed immediately. If only she could calm her heart as easily. The poor thing pounded as if in time to a military tattoo. She couldn't decide which unsettled her more, the surly men who'd tried to snatch her off the street, or the naval captain and his friend who'd come to her rescue.
Much worse, however, was the black terror of waiting for the next disaster to fall. What if a highly placed gossip had seen her struggle with the kidnappers? The rumors might make it impossible to fulfill the terms of her grandmother's will.
The will stipulated her marriage to a gentleman of the ton, but her heart rebelled. Why could Grandmama not have trusted Sophie to live life on her own terms, with her books and her poetry?
Unfortunately, she knew the answer: her irresponsible father. Sophie had no choice but to live with him after her grandmother's death two years earlier. The duchess had feared his influence would corrupt Sophie and send her into an unsuitable alliance when she came into her inheritance.
Sophie had never considered what an "unsuitable alliance" would entail, but she suspected the wickedly handsome captain trotting behind the carriage might be what her grandmother had feared.
Both her mother and her grandmother had lived unconventional lives. Her mother had abandoned the protected life of a duke's daughter to run off with Sophie's Venetian poet father. Her grandmother had written romantic novels, successful across the continent, under an assumed name. But then she had been a duchess.
Lydia interrupted Sophie's tortured thoughts. "Why are you frowning and still sucking on that peppermint? You've been sitting like that for so long, you're going to give yourself permanent wrinkles."
Sophie flashed her friend a sudden smile and giggled at the thought of wrinkles. If only minor facial imperfections were the worst of her worries.
Arnaud rode Achamé` behind the ladies’ carriage and worried. When two workmen stepped into the street, he gave an involuntary jerk on the horse’s reins. Would there
