A Curse of the Heart

Sophie thought to put her handkerchief to her mouth lest she catch it, but there was no danger of that. Excitement was definitely not what she felt.

She gripped Emily’s hands, the blood rushing from her face and pooling at her feet as though expecting an army of heathens to suddenly burst through the door. “I don’t want to see him,” Sophie cried. “You must hide me, Emily.” Fearing she sounded like a raving lunatic and in a bid to infuse an element of logic into her plea, she added, “I don’t want him to ask about my brother. I don’t want him to know I am on my own. At least not yet.”

Emily gave her a knowing look. “Well, there’s no sense in taking chances,” she said. “Quick, you can hide behind here.” She directed Sophie to the concealed dressing room, pulled back the red curtain and ushered her inside. “Wait in here until I come and get you. Mother is too busy flapping to even notice.”

Emily closed the curtain, leaving her alone in the shrouded space and Sophie could hear the heavy beat of her heart thumping in her ears.

The sound of scraping wood and the tinkling of a bell preceded the heavy thud of booted footsteps.

“Good day, my lord,” Mrs. Potts chirped. “May I say, what a pleasure it is to have you home at last.”

“Good day to you, Mrs. Potts. It is certainly a pleasure to be back.”

Sophie closed her eyes tight and placed the palm of her hand over her stomach in a bid to stop her traitorous body responding to the warmth of his tone, to the slow, purposeful drawl.

You hate him, she cried silently, chastising her fickle heart.

“Indeed, I am in desperate need of new gloves,” he continued, no doubt much to Mrs. Potts delight. “And I can see you have an excellent selection.”

In the small confines of her curtained prison, Sophie did not hear the rest of the conversation. Her mind drifted back to the study, to the young girl hiding behind the drapes desperate to hear more from the handsome buck.

“I will speak to Sophie,” her brother James had said. “Every time I turn around she is nipping at your heels like an annoying little dog.”

He spoke then, and she remembered her tummy flipping somersaults. “That is what country girls do, James. They are tedious and tiresome and will not rest until you die of boredom. I can picture your sister married to a vicar, listening to him drone on about the righteous and eating supper at six. She will sit with her hands in her lap and only speak when spoken to.”

James chuckled. “What you desire, is someone more seasoned.”

“Precisely. Did I tell you about the lady I met in London recently? She had the sweetest mouth …”

Sebastian Ashcroft broke her heart that day.

And the irony of her current situation was not lost on her.

With a deep breath, she opened her eyes and glanced at her reflection in the mirror.

Her long black curls were tied loosely at her nape as opposed to the ridiculous knots she wore as a girl. Her slender, shapely figure no longer resembled an over-sized dumpling. No one thought her weak and insipid; the whole village knew her to be strong and fiercely independent. The silly little girl had grown into a woman, and she did not need to hide behind curtains anymore.

With renewed confidence, she straightened her back, lifted her chin and threw back the velvet curtain. “The bonnet is divine, Emily,” she said striding out of the dressing room. “I shall call and collect it tomorrow.” As she approached the door she could feel the heat of his gaze, and he rushed forward to hold it open. She refused to look at him directly but decided to be civil. “Good day, Mrs. Potts. Good day, my lord,” she said, resisting the temptation to run all the way home.