Page 51 of Solving Sophronia

“We will be discreet, sir,” Hazel said in her quiet voice.

The other women added their agreement, assuring the officers that they would use the utmost caution in their questioning, and glancing at one another with excited smiles. They were delighted to be part of the investigation. It would certainly make the ball more interesting.

Sophie did not allow the detective’s irritation to deter her. “I plan to take my notebook—it will not be unusual for me to be drawing at the event—and I will collect information. You will each report to me all that you learn as the evening proceeds.”

Detective Graham nodded, a touch of resentment still evident in his pursed lips. “I will see that you have a copy of both suspect lists.” He turned to Sergeant Lester. “Inform Mr. Smudgely at the Belcourt that you, Sergeant, are to be portrayed as an employee for the evening. You are to have access to the serving and kitchen staff.”

Sergeant Lester nodded. “’Tisn’t royalty, but I shall manage,” he muttered in his gravelly voice, a smirk pulling at his mouth.

Detective Graham ignored him and turned to the constable. “Merryweather, you shall work in the stables. I’m certain Nick Sloan will be pleased to have your assistance, especially as it portends to clearing his name.”

“Yes, sir.” The constable gave a sharp nod, looking as if he took the duty very seriously.

Detective Graham let out a heavy breath. “Now, Lady Sophronia, I have but one day to be remade convincingly into Count Nikola Brankovic.”

The thrill of excitement returned, and Sophie clapped her hands. “Then, let us get to work, Detective.”

Chapter 15

Jonathan lifted his chin, movinghis head side to side as he studied the false mustache in the mirror. It was dark, thick, and curled upward on the ends in a style the women had told him was very much in line with the men of the Balkans. The patch of hair glued to his top lip changed his appearance slightly, but it was nothing at all compared to the rest of his costume.

He wore a military-style coat in dark blue, with epaulets on the shoulders and golden rope adornments on the cuffs, buttons, and collar. A red-and-white sash was tied around his waist and held a curved sword in its sheath. Instead of a necktie, a large pendant hung from a thick ribbon at his throat beneath his collar. Jonathan had no idea whether the pendant was truly a symbol related to the nation of Serbia, but he wouldn’t put anything past Miss Bremerton or her grandmother. Somehow the women had managed to procure the entirety of his wardrobe, complete with medals on his chest and some sort of a fur cap, as well as shiny black boots, and have the entire thing tailored to fit him in only a day.

After giving her approval of his costume, the dowager countess had departed to prepare herself for the ball. The butler, Holloway, had left him only a few moments earlier, and Jonathan remained in the entry hall, waiting for Miss Bremerton.

He pressed between his fingers, making the stark white gloves tighter on his hands, and brushed a bit of lint from his sleeve, trying to focus on little tasks instead of the rush of nerves that nearly overcame him each time he contemplated everything that could go wrong tonight. Most scenarios involved Sergeant Lester and Constable Merryweather having a hearty laugh at Jonathan’s expense when they laid eyes on him as Count Nikola Brankovic, and all involved him being exposed as an imposter.

But, in spite of its absurdity, Jonathan still could not think of a better plan. He clasped his hands behind his back and paced. The past day and a half had been a whirlwind. A dance master had spent the afternoon teaching him a few basic steps, and while Miss Bremerton was running around London in search of the finishing touches for Jonathan’s costume, Miss Lancaster had volunteered—much to Jonathan’s embarrassment—to partner him as he practiced.

Miss Thornton had given him instruction on his accent—apparently her father had a Russian friend—and practiced with him until satisfied that he had the proper cadence and pronounced his sounds correctly. “When in doubt, speak loudly and with clipped vowels,” she’d instructed.

Miss Kirby and Miss Miller had quizzed him about basic facts concerning the struggles of the nation he was to claim as his homeland, and he was again embarrassed at his lack of formal education. But after a few hours studying a map and discussing the history, they declared him to know as much, if not more, than most people at the ball.

Contrary to his initial assumption, the young women had proved to be nothing like the arrogant debutantes he’d expected when he came into the sitting room the day before. He’d actually enjoyed the time they’d spent together planning the operation, something he’d never have believed possible when it was presented. Miss Bremerton’s friends were intelligent and thoughtful and witty, much like the young lady herself, as evidenced in her detailed planning and the bowls of his favorite peppermints he’d noticed.

Hearing footsteps above him, he turned and looked up.

Miss Bremerton was walking across the landing above the entry hall. She stopped at the rail and bent down to fix her shoe. When she straightened, her gaze met Jonathan’s, and she smiled.

Jonathan had a surprisingly strong reaction to the gesture. His breathing choked off, and a current jolted in his chest. It was, of course, not the first smile he’d seen on Miss Bremerton. He supposed he could blame the unexpected response on his nerves, but the truth was Miss Bremerton—no, she was Lady Sophronia tonight—looked utterly exquisite.

Her hair was fashioned in soft curls pinned around her head and falling over her shoulders. A sort of feathery arrangement held it in place. The style was so unlike the practical one she usually favored that the difference was startling. She wore a peach-colored gown with ruffles and lace and other details he did not know the names of—except for the tournure, but it was hardly appropriate to notice that. Her neck was bare, save for a simple string of pearls. Long white gloves were pulled up past her elbows, and her sleeves were gathered gracefully on her upper arms, revealing the tops of her shoulders. The dress flattered her both in shape and color, and for a moment, the romantic nature of attending a ball with a beautiful woman gave him a thrill—until he remembered that they were hunting for a murderer, not out for a night of pleasure.

She rested a hand on the rail, and her smile grew, showing the dimples that had so intrigued him the first time he’d seen them.

Jonathan realized she hadn’t before now seen him fully attired in his costume and for a moment felt a self-conscious apprehension. He gave a stiff bow.I look ridiculous.

Lady Sophronia nodded her approval, and the action eased his worry, albeit slightly. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she did, a voice sounded from the stairs above her.

“Oh, Sophronia, really? Thepeachdress? You know it is all wrong on you. The color does nothing for your skin tone.”

An elegantly attired woman in a burgundy gown, whom Jonathan could only assume was the countess, descended the stairs. She shook her head, making a tsking sound as she neared her daughter. “And see how the waist pulls here. Could not Sally make your corset any tighter?” The woman gave a dramatic sigh, tugging on the back of the bodice. “This is what you get for indulging so, Sophronia. How often have I told you to limit your pastries? And now, here we are, attending the most important event of the Season, and you looking so—”

“Mother, we have a guest,” she interrupted in a calm voice that was at odds with the color in her cheeks.

The countess looked down into the entry hall for the first time, her mouth forming ano.

Lady Sophronia took her mother’s arm, and the pair started down the stairs.

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