It took him a moment, but eventually he rasped out a terrified little, “Sorry.”
Sophie wiggled the fingers on her free hand at him. “Nimble fingers,” she reminded him. “Remember that while you’re packing.”
He didn’t seem inclined to argue, so Sophie took Mirabelle by the hand and led her out of the room.
“Are you all right?” she asked, as they walked briskly down the hall toward the guest rooms in the east wing.
Mirabelle nodded shakily and smoothed the front of her skirt in a nervous gesture. “I’ll be fine.”
“We should find Lady Thurston.”
“No.”
Sophie was surprised by the vehemence in Mirabelle’s voice. “But she needs to—”
“No,” Mirabelle repeated firmly. Then she sighed and stopped to face Sophie. “Please understand, Sophie. Lady Thurston is like a mother to me. She has done more for me…she means more to me than I could hope to express. I won’t say or do anything to upset her.”
Sophie considered that for a moment. “Whit then—”
Mirabelle gave a humorless little laugh and resumed walking. “Whit wouldn’t trouble himself over my concerns, except maybe to offer to buy the man dinner.”
Sophie refused to believe that, but now wasn’t the time to argue the matter. Mirabelle was understandably on edge, and a discussion of Whit’s sense of honor, or lack thereof, would only upset her further.
“Someone needs to make sure he leaves,” Sophie said instead.
“He’ll leave,” Mirabelle replied flatly.
It took a moment for Sophie to realize the full implications of that statement.
“This has happened before, hasn’t it?”
Mirabelle nodded without looking at her.
Sophie cleared her throat. “Last time…did he…how did you…?”
“I kneed him in the groin.”
“Oh,” Sophie replied, duly impressed. “Good thinking.”
A whisper of a smile passed over Mirabelle’s face. “Evie taught me. She learned it from one of the maids. Unfortunately, it’s hard to use that trick on the same man twice.”
Sophie had seen the effects of that particular maneuver once. It did seem the sort of thing a man would learn from quickly.
They stopped outside Mirabelle’s door. Sophie waited while Mirabelle retrieved her key and turned it in the lock. She paused in the motion. “Thank you for what you did tonight, Sophie.”
Sophie felt herself blush. She was uncomfortable in the face of such earnest gratitude. “It was nothing,” she replied in a falsely bright voice. “You would have done the same for me.”
Mirabelle gave a small laugh at that and finished opening the door. She waited until they were both inside, then turned back and relocked it. “I certainly would have tried,” she said, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “But I’m afraid I haven’t your talent with cutlery.”
“You could learn,” Sophie offered, sitting down.
“I hesitate to ask after everything you’ve already done for me, but do you think you could teach me?”
Sophie grinned. “Absolutely. And if you’re so terribly concerned over being in my debt—which is patently untrue, mind you—I have just the solution….”
Mirabelle showed her a rarely used passageway out the back of the house. She agreed to spread the word that Sophie had the headache and should not be disturbed, then enlisted Evie’s help in bribing the stable hands to hitch Sophie’s team in secrecy, while Kate went in search of extra carriage lanterns. Sophie knew it would look silly, but she intended to have the carriage as brightly lit as safety allowed.
She was on her way to London within the hour.
Alex noticed Sophie’s absence almost immediately. When he first entered the ballroom, he had caught sight of her, dancing with Mr. Johnson and looking decidedly unhappy about it. Of course, in his opinion she never looked overly pleased with the attentions of her admirers—despite her show of smiles and laughter—but this time her discontent was evident for everyone to see.
Interesting. Perhaps she had finally come to her senses. He meant to ask her that very question tonight—have you come to your senses? She damn well better have. He’d spent the entire week watching her every move from a distance, hanging on every word she spoke in conversations with other people, analyzing every expression, every wave of her hand, and every inflection in her voice. He’d even sent Whit on a scouting expedition. Clearly, he needed either to resolve matters with her soon or check himself into Bedlam.
He’d watched her dance next with Mr. Holcomb, looking only slightly less perturbed by the notion.