When her search turned up nothing more nefarious than a delivery notice for some expensive jewelry to a woman who was not the viscountess, Sophie moved behind the desk and began opening the drawers. The first three held supplies, a ledger, and more paperwork detailing the running of the estate. The fourth was locked. Swearing under her breath, Sophie pulled her pick back out and went to work. This was taking too much time. The waltz was already finished and the last song well under way.
With a whispered plea to her Maker she pried the drawer open and almost groaned at the sight of more letters, but caught herself before the sound reached her throat. The letters were in French, every last one of them. She rifled through the pile anxiously. They could be anything! For the first time, Sophie was sorry she had chosen to learn Mandarin and Hindi over the much more popular French. She grabbed one of the letters and looked over the meaningless words. What if they were from a relative, or a lover? Her eyes reached the bottom of the page and she blinked in surprise. It wasn’t signed. She looked back at the others still in the drawer. None of them were signed. Surely a loved one would sign the letters.
She pocketed the paper and then, digging through the remainder, found an envelope and took that too. She hoped they were worth something. At any rate, the music was winding down and in a few minutes people would begin streaming out of the ballroom. She was out of time.
She relocked the drawer and pulled the drapes shut once again, then paused at the door to listen for footsteps in the hall. Finding everything silent, she crept out of the study, locked the door behind her, and headed straight for the ladies’ retiring room.
Six
The next day promised, if nothing else, to be an exceedingly busy time for Sophie. She rose early out of habit, doing her best to ignore the fact that she had gone to bed a mere four hours earlier. She washed and dressed quickly and had just enough time for breakfast before a fabricated sightseeing trip to drop off the papers she had stolen from the viscount’s study. Then on to a final fitting with the modiste, tea with Mirabelle Browning and her friend Lady Kate Cole, and then home to prepare for Loudor’s dinner party.
Her business with the solicitor was more quickly accomplished than Sophie had anticipated. She had rather expected to be interrogated for any additional information, or perhaps given some insight as to the content of the letter she delivered. But the solicitor, a stocky middle-aged man with a large, round nose, had simply taken the plain brown parcel in which she had wrapped her stolen goods, and made some comment on the inadvisability of a young gentlewoman visiting business offices without a proper escort.
Sophie was hard-pressed not to laugh outright at that absurdity. She was being paid to spy, steal, and commit any number of behaviors that were inadvisable for a person of any gender or social standing. She opened her mouth to relate this, then thought better of it. His expression was one of earnest concern. Apparently, he had no idea who she was, what she was doing, or what was in the parcel. She offered him a sweet smile and the assurance that she would take all necessary precautions on her way home.
The solicitor remained standing until Sophie left. Then with a chuckle, he resumed both his seat and the glass of brandy he had stashed in his bottom desk drawer upon her arrival.
He wiped the sides of the glass and licked his fingers with a little smack. Ahhh. Thank God for honest free traders, the ones who didn’t try their hands at weapons smuggling. Setting the glass aside, he picked up the brown parcel Sophie had left and eyed it with something akin to surprised suspicion.
“Well, well, well, Calmaton. Just what have we been up to?”
He read her note first, which made him smile. Then he took a close look at the contents, and laughed like a madman.
Sophie felt uncomfortable for all of five minutes. That was, give or take thirty seconds, all the time it took for Lady Kate and Mirabelle Browning to sit her down and ply her with copious amounts of tea, biscuits, and questions about her travels.
“Did Whit and Alex really rescue you on your first day in London?” Kate asked eagerly, leaning forward in her chair.
“They certainly were of assistance,” Sophie replied.
Kate was an exceptionally beautiful girl with pale blonde hair, light blue eyes, alabaster skin, and perfect, absolutely perfect, facial features. Truly, Sophie didn’t think she had ever met someone whose face and form so well matched the current standard of beauty. It would be unnerving if the girl were not so genuinely pleasant.
Kate sighed wistfully and her face took on a dreamy expression. “That’s so romantic.” Then she frowned. “Or it would be, if it weren’t Whit and Alex. Do you have any brothers, Sophie?”
“No, I’m afraid I’ve never had that pleasure,” she replied.
“The pleasure of it is debatable. They’re unbearably meddlesome creatures, but in this case, at least, their intervention was fortunate.”