Page 58 of Solving Sophronia

Jonathan nodded. The investigation was certainly moving in that direction. “But who?” he muttered and reached to his chest before once again remembering he didn’t wear his pocket watch. He’d not brought any peppermints either. He fiddled with the braids on his sleeves.

A pair of gentlemen approached the table where Sophie sat. Jonathan knew the two men; he’d been introduced earlier by Lord Meredith in the cardroom.

Lord Everleigh, Jonathan thought, was the sort of man who folded his stockings and cut his food into neat, uniform bites. His hair and mustache were beyond tidy and trimmed in the sort of way that hinted at obsessive, and his clothing appeared to have been starched by someone who didn’t want him to bend in any way. As Lord Everleigh’s gaze traveled around the room, he looked perpetually unsatisfied with what he saw.

Lord Chatsworth, on the other hand, wore his hair purposely mussed, his curls falling over his forehead. His clothes were fine and fit him well, but they were not immaculately pressed, and he had an amused air about him. From what Jonathan had gathered in their short meeting, Lord Chatsworth had quite the reputation as a ladies’ man.

Lord Chatsworth kissed one of the older women on the cheek. His grandmother, Jonathan guessed, remembering the woman’s name. He said something to each of the other ladies, making them giggle or blush, then sat down beside Sophie.

Jonathan stiffened.

“Who’s that, then?” Sergeant Lester muttered. “Seems like a gal-sneaker, if you ask me.”

Jonathan glanced at the sergeant, smirking at his use of the cant, then looked back at the table.

The other gentleman sat as well, and the pair started up a conversation.

Lord Chatsworth rested his hand on the arm of Sophie’s chair as they spoke.

The sight made Jonathan’s mouth taste bitter, and his chest went hot.

“I don’t like that at all,” Sergeant Lester said. “What’s he playing at, flirting with Lady Sophronia?”

“It is none of our concern, Sergeant,” Jonathan said.

Sergeant Lester grunted. “I just don’t think it’s proper, that’s all, him taking such liberties.”

“One might wonder at your interest in the lady’s welfare.” He had meant the words to come out as a jest but couldn’t keep the sharpness from his voice.

“Just looking out for a friend, that’s all.” He folded his arms and squinted at Jonathan. “As are you, judging by your glower. If you don’t mind my saying so.”

“I do mind your saying so.” Jonathan turned his back on the scene in the dining room, not appreciating the sergeant’s insinuation, especially as it touched so close to the thoughts Jonathan had fought against all night. “This is not the society pages, Sergeant. The young lady’s associations are none of our concern. We are not part of Soph—Lady Sophronia’s world, and we would do well to remember it.” Jonathan’s voice came out sharply, and he’d almost called her Sophie. When had he started thinking of her in that familiar way? He went back over their interactions this evening. Had he spoken the name aloud to her? He believed he had. How had he dared to presume such intimacy? “We are poor policemen, and she is a lady. Just because she is polite doesn’t mean she considers us to be her equals.” He was saying the words more in reprimand to himself than to the sergeant, he knew, but this familiarity had gone too far. For both of them.

“Well, sir, I believe you’re wrong. I don’t think that sort of thing bothers Lady Sophronia.”

“It bothers me,” he muttered, pushing the door open and walking back into the room. As he did he nearly knocked over another server, who was bringing a tray of drinks.

“May I help you, my lord?” the man asked.

“I look for vodka,” Jonathan said, using the excuse he and Miss Thornton had come up with should he be discovered somewhere he was not supposed to be.

“Yes, of course. I will bring your drink directly, if you’d care to be seated.” He stepped out of Jonathan’s way and gave a small bow.

“Dank you.”

As Jonathan crossed the room and saw Sophie—Lady Sophronia—laughing with the gentlemen, he felt his chest grow even hotter. Sergeant Lester’s affection for the young lady must be rubbing off on him. And the man’s protectiveness. But Jonathan knew the feelings were all wrong, and fighting against them just made them grow into heat and bile in his throat.

He didn’t know what had happened between himself and Lady Sophronia on the dance floor tonight. And he didn’t fool himself for a moment that her reactions had been a result of overheating or hunger. He clenched his fists, frustrated.

What had he done wrong? Had he upset her? He thought all young ladies liked to dance, but perhaps he was mistaken. Sophie was not exactly a typical young lady. But for a moment, as he held her, he’d thought... His ears burned, and a mixture of bitterness and shame churned in his gut—he had presumed too much.

She was Lady Sophronia, daughter of a peer of the realm, and he an orphan from the rookery. A fancy costume and an evening among high Society didn’t change the bare facts. They were working a case together, nothing more. Their relationship was mutually beneficial for each of their careers, and once the case was solved, it would end.

He neared the table and slowed, listening to the conversation.

“. . . still in the dining room when the lecture began—quite a few of us. Lost track of time, I suppose,” Lord Chatsworth was saying. “We were quite disappointed to miss the tale of the lion attack, and once the lecture ended, we remained behind to see the picture.”

“I don’t blame you,” Sophie said. “It was, from what I hear, the most exciting part of the evening.” She turned to Lord Everleigh. “Did you attend the lecture as well?”

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