“But you will at least investigate the possibility that she is your ideal mate?”
He indeed wanted to answer that fundamental question for himself. “Yes.”
Jumping up, Skye came surging around the table and wrapped her arms about his neck from behind.
Half smothered by her fierce hug, Jack chuckled. “If you strangle me, I won’t be alive to rescue her.”
“I am sorry. It is only that I am thrilled beyond words.” Skye planted an effusive kiss on the top of his head before releasing him. “What will you do first? You cannot get near Sophie. Her parents won’t allow it.”
“Leave the details to me. For now you need to take yourself home.”
“Very well,” Skye grumbled. “But I expect regular reports on your progress.”
“If so, you will wait in vain.”
Picking up the journal, Jack stood, then escorted his intrusive though well-meaning cousin out of the kitchens and upstairs to his front door, where she collected her pelisse and reticule. Skye had her own carriage and coachman and two strapping footmen to attend her, so Jack had few qualms about sending her home at this late hour. She would have protested his concern in any case.
When he had seen her safely into her carriage, Jack turned back toward his house. He had a journal to read and a course to plot.
As he mounted his front steps, his mouth curved in an ironic, self-deprecating smile. Doubtless he needed to have his head examined, but he was about to don his slightly-tarnished-knight armor—or more pertinently, his Romeo costume.
As mad as it seemed, he intended to pursue Sophie Fortin and explore the question of whether their legendary tale had a shot at coming true.
Situated in a quiet London neighborhood, the Arundel Home for Unwed Mothers provided refuge for nearly three dozen indigent expectant women and their newborns. The modest accommodations included a dormitory and nursery as well as a large community room, where currently many of the residents were engaged in mending and sewing articles of clothing.
Using the primers she’d brought with her, Sophie had spent the past hour with her family’s former maid, tutoring Martha in reading and elementary sums. Upon finishing, Sophie returned the books to her satchel, then rose and donned her spencer and bonnet in preparation for leaving.
The very pregnant Martha climbed awkwardly to her feet and began weeping as she hugged the gown of forest green muslin Sophie had remade to accommodate her swelling figure.
“I cannot thank you enough for your generosity, Miss Fortin,” Martha exclaimed, smiling through her tears. “ ’Tis a beautiful dress—the loveliest I have ever owned.”
“At least it should be comfortable for the final month before your child is born,” Sophie said, embracing the girl gently. “But please don’t cry. It cannot be good for you or the babe.”
Just then, the pleasant chatter among the women suddenly died and the room went quiet. Sophie glanced behind her to see a tall, well-dressed gentleman leaning against the wall near the door, watching her. With effort, she managed to hide her start of surprise at Lord Jack Wilde’s unexpected presence, although she couldn’t control the delicious quiver in her stomach or the sudden catch in her breath at the mere sight of him.
With his broad shoulders and lean-muscled form superbly displayed in a burgundy jacket, snug buff pantaloons, and shiny Hessian boots, he looked strikingly out of place in the auditorium full of large-bellied, plainly-garbed women. And yet he seemed as much at ease as he had two nights ago in her aunt’s library, when he’d kissed her senseless.
Sophie swallowed at the memory as she gazed back at him. His overlong hair was slightly ruffled and windblown, so that he still resembled something of a pirate. And he still had a devilish gleam simmering in his eyes that awakened all her feminine nerve-endings.
“Martha,” she murmured to the girl, “do remember, I will be away from town so I won’t see you next week, but I shall visit you as soon as I return. Meanwhile, you can continue studying Mrs. Radcliffe’s novel for vocabulary. And I am leaving the primers for you as well,” she added, handing the satchel of books over.
“Yes, thank you, Miss Fortin … I will.”
When Sophie turned and approached Lord Jack, he pushed away from the wall. “What did you do to make your maid cry?”
Taken aback by his insinuation, she started to answer seriously. “I did not make her cry exactly. Women in her condition sometimes become overly emotional—” She broke off at seeing the glimmer dancing in his dark eyes, realizing that he was teasing her.
“She was merely grateful for the refitted gown I gave her,” Sophie finished. “Her own gowns are much too snug now. What brings you here to the auditorium, my lord? You look like a fish out of water among all these mothers-to-be.”
He flashed her a smile of heart-stopping charm; the kind of smile that made women go weak at the knees. “I came to see you but found you engaged with Martha.”
Again he’d surprised her. “How do you know her name?”
Jack fell in beside Sophie as she moved from the auditorium out into the corridor. “I investigated you with the trustees. You visit your maid twice a week, teaching her to cipher and read. What are you, a bluestocking at heart?”
His tone told her he was still roasting her, so she answered just as lightly. “If you mean to disparage me, you won’t succeed, since I find many bluestockings admirable. But I cannot claim to be one. I simply believe that Martha will likely find employment at higher wages if she has a command of basic skills. A shop assistant earns far more than a chambermaid, for instance.”
“So you are practical as well as tenderhearted,” he observed.