“I think she has, but I sincerely doubt it’s anything tangible,” Sophie replied sadly. The woman was quite obviously mad. It was a common enough affliction, and there was precious little that could be done, or would be done, for women like the one in the street. She might be locked up in a third-rate asylum, which, considering how horrific first-rate asylums were rumored to be, would likely do more harm than good. Or perhaps she would just be run off and left to starve. Sophie wondered if she could approach the girl with the offer of assistance. At the very least, she could offer her enough money for a proper meal and a place to sleep.
She had no experience dealing with a madwoman, however, and wasn’t quite sure how to go about it. What if she were violent?
“This street is usually quite busy,” Kate murmured. “This can’t be safe.”
Kate was right. Bond Street was a favorite haunt for young unmarried ladies, and therefore, an ideal hunting ground for young gentlemen. Sophie had seen them parade up and down the street all morning, showing off their new mounts, their fancy carriages, their fast phaetons…like the one now careening around the corner.
Both the girls started and gasped at the sight.
“Look out!” Sophie yelled waving wildly at the oncoming phaeton.
“Get up, girl!” Kate cried at the crouching figure.
Neither took notice of the screeching girls on the sidewalk. The young man behind the reins was too busy craning his neck to see who might be watching his daring little drive, and the girl, well, there was simply no telling what she was doing.
“Get up!” Sophie yelled again and amazingly enough, the girl did. She turned to face the phaeton, and made absolutely no move to get out of its path.
“Dear God,” Kate whispered in horror.
Sophie didn’t hear her. She was already moving forward.
Ten
It would have been a spectacular display of heroics.
It would have been hailed as bravery personified.
It would have been, had not the girl decided to jump to safety of her own accord at the last possible second, leaving Sophie running full tilt and off balance.
She had thrown herself forward in an attempt to grab the girl and hurl them both to safety by means of brute force. Now she was hurtling quite alone with her feet moving too fast to stop and too slow to catch up with the top half of her body. She felt a burst of air as the phaeton raced past, missing her by inches. She should really just fall. She knew she should. Eventually, she would have to. There was no pulling out of it now, and if she didn’t fall, the only other way she could possibly stop would be to—
Sophie caught a glimpse of the carriage door before she hit it. Then everything went black. Her legs gave out from under her. She anticipated the hard impact of the cobblestone on her knees and had a brief hope it would distract her from the blinding pain of her forehead. It never came. Instead she landed on something soft, warm and…
Oh no. Please no, please no, please!
When the smell hit, Sophie realized no amount of begging was going to save her.
She felt Kate tug her arm. “Get up, Sophie, you’re kneeling in horse—”
“I know!”
Sophie ignored the snickers and outright laughs of the crowd beginning to circle, and allowed Kate to help her to her feet and assist her to the sidewalk. She forced her eyes open.
“Are you hurt?” Kate asked with quite the most sympathetic expression Sophie had ever seen.
“No,” Sophie replied miserably. And why the devil not? Surely, if one were going to throw oneself headfirst into the side of a carriage, one should expect to be rendered unconscious.
Preferably for several days.
“Are you sure?” Kate continued staring at her forehead. “You took a rather nasty blow to the head and were babbling something awful there for a moment.”
“I was swearing.”
“Really? In what language?”
“Mandarin, I think.”
“Oh.”
“Do stop staring at my forehead, Kate, I’m quite all right. I just want to leave.”
“Oh, I believe you, that you’re all right that is. It’s…it’s just that you seem to have struck the earl’s coat of arms on the carriage door and you now have the most astonishing imprint of a fleur-delis”—Kate pointed to Sophie’s forehead, slightly left of center—“right there.”
Sophie touched the offending spot gingerly and groaned. Really, could things get any worse?
Kate titled her head objectively. “I wonder if it will bruise like—oh, look, here comes Alex.”
Oh. Dear. God.
Sophie felt her fingers fall from her forehead. She didn’t suppose there was any real chance he had failed to witness her humiliating episode. He was coming from a shop on the corner that, naturally, had two large windows facing both streets.
“Let’s just wave and go,” Sophie whispered in a panic.
“We’ll do no such thing,” Kate sniffed. “It’s cowardly.”
Sophie looked down at her manure-smeared gown and made a decision.
“I can reconcile myself to that.”
“Pfft, you’d only regret it later,” Kate stated firmly. “Besides, at least a dozen members of the ton are here, several of them notorious gossips, and all of them will now witness the Duke of Rockeforte coming to see to your welfare. It will go a long way to repair any damage done to your reputation by your little mishap. Now chin up and smile.” Kate’s speech had come out low and rushed in an attempt to finish before Alex arrived.
“Are you hurt, Sophie?” Alex looked concerned rather than amused. Sophie wasn’t sure if that fact made her more embarrassed or less.