Solving Sophronia (The Blue Orchid Society #1) - Jennifer Moore Page 0,1

Palace Pier, wasn’t it?” He looked down at her and nodded. “Very cute.”

Sophie bowed her head so he couldn’t see her nostrils flare. She was so tired of patronizing tones when it came to her work. I am beyond ready to move on to something real. “Thank you, my lord.”

“If you’ll excuse me.” He straightened his neckcloth, making the large ruby of his tiepin gleam in the light of the gas lamps, gave another bow, and then strode away.

That ruby tiepin, given to him by Lord Ruben—who thought the gem a clever play on his name—identified Lord Everleigh as a member of an elite group: the West End Casanovas. Sophie had first used the appellation in an article, intending it as sarcasm, but the group had been delighted by the moniker and had adopted it as their own. The five Casanovas were extremely handsome and tremendously wealthy young men, each coming from old and established families and each an heir apparent to a high-ranking title. The men had attended school together at Eton and university at Oxford and were considered by all of London to be the most eligible bachelors in the kingdom. They were the future leaders of the country, and nearly every unattached young lady and her mother aspired to catch the attention of one of them.

Sophie suspected Lord Ruben, as self-appointed leader of the group, had delayed his engagement for just that reason. Though he had courted Dahlia Lancaster for two Seasons, his attentions had by no means been exclusively to her. He enjoyed the role of flirt, and Sophie thought he must be reluctant to give up the game and commit to matrimony.

Before anyone else could approach her, she quickly made her way through the entrance and down the wide passageway of the grand London home, passing sculptures and paintings but giving them hardly a look as she walked on the thick carpet of a side passage. Surely there was a quiet room where she could find respite from false smiles, petty gossip, and backhanded compliments.

Ahead a band of light glowed beneath a door. When she pulled it open and peeked inside, wooden shelves, heavy with leather books, glowed in the light of gas lamps. Before the lit hearth was a deep sofa and plush leather chairs that implored her to set herself at ease, forget her insecurities and frustrations, and pretend the ball was far away.

Stepping across the threshold, Sophie felt lighter already. She lowered herself into a soft armchair, rested her head back, and closed her eyes. Even before the newspaper had employed her, she’d dreaded situations in which she was expected to play the games of Society. Acting one way and thinking another was contrary to her nature, a trait that did little to win friends or the approval of her parents.

And the discomfort had only become greater when Priscilla was launched into Society last year at the age of eighteen. Sophie was only two-and-a-half years older, and sisters so close in age naturally invited comparison; next to Prissy, Sophie’s shortcomings felt all the more obvious. She wasn’t tall, blonde, and slender like her sister, but short with drab brown hair, and she struggled to keep her waist shapely, even with the strongest whalebone corset.

Hearing a sound, she started from her thoughts, rose quickly to her feet, and looked around the room.

On a chair in the darkened far corner, a young woman hunched over with her face in her hands, elbows on her knees.

Sophie cleared her throat, uncertain what to say. “I beg your pardon. I did not realize anyone was here.” Now that Sophie saw her, she realized the woman’s breath was coming in gasps, a sound she’d first assumed was made by the fire. Sophie walked nearer and crouched down as sympathy replaced her unease. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

The woman raised her face, and Sophie recognized her as Miss Hazel Thornton. Though Sophie didn’t know her personally, she had heard the young woman had recently come to live with relatives in London while her father, a general in Her Majesty’s army, was stationed in Africa. Sophie had heard rumors that Miss Thornton had endured some trauma in India and was prone to attacks of panic. She presumed the poor woman was experiencing one at the moment.

Sophie raised her brows at the young lady’s chalky complexion and damp forehead. “Are you all right?”

“No. I mean yes.” Miss Thornton’s hands shook, and she rubbed her eyes. “I’m sorry, Lady Sophronia. Yes, I