As Luck Would Have It (20 page)

“You’ve obviously been here before,” she said once they’d taken a table.

“Mr. McLeod was a groom of my father’s,” Alex explained. “Once, when I was a small boy, I toddled away from my nurse and fell into a fishpond. It was Mr. McLeod who found and pulled me out.”

Unnerved, Sophie took a swallow from the mug of ale a server had brought. “He saved your life.”

“He did. When my father died, he settled a small sum on the McLeods, and they used it to open this tavern. His wife and daughters have always been gifted cooks.”

“Your father must have been a very kind man,” Sophie remarked softly.

“And determined,” Alex agreed with a fond smile. “He tried rewarding McLeod for his good deed in life, but the man stubbornly refused every offer. Said he hoped someone would do the same for one of his children if need be, even if he couldn’t afford a reward. So in his will, my father claimed it was his dying wish—one of many it turned out—to see the McLeods comfortably settled. He was quite poetic about it. I could almost hear him laughing as he wrote it. He was a bit
of a trickster, and he knew McLeod could never deny a man his final request.”

Sophie started to ask him more about his father, but stopped when a young woman brought a large platter full of a food she had never seen before.

“What are those?”

“Jellied eels,” he supplied.

If she had been looking at his face rather than the platter she might have noticed the mischievous glint in his eyes, and hesitated before saying “Oh!” and immediately reaching for one.

Alex couldn’t hide his startle. “You like them?”

“I’ve no idea,” she answered truthfully. “I’ve never had one before.”

Alex viewed her enthusiasm with a sense of wonder. It was refreshing to see someone so overtly intent on enjoying life rather than affecting a more fashionable ennui. The world was full of new things to discover, one simply had to look beyond the front door to find them. Sophie, it seemed, understood that.

His thoughtful smile spread to a full-fledged grin as he watched her pop an eel into her mouth, chew for half a second, then blanch. Her chin dropped without her lips separating and Alex got the distinct impression she was attempting to keep the food from coming into contact with as little of her mouth as possible. That, or she was gagging with her mouth closed.

“Here.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved a handkerchief, but she shook her head. Then, to his utter astonishment, she squeezed her eyes shut, gripped the edge of the table with her hands and chewed—very, very quickly.

It was the most adorable thing he had ever seen.

She swallowed, gasped, and reached for her mug of ale, downing half the contents before speaking. “That was horrible. Truly horrible,” she laughed. “I can’t imagine why Mr. Wang carried on so about them during the trip over.” Her
brow furrowed a bit, and she twisted her lips. “I think he might have been having me on.”

“Perhaps,” Alex conceded, still chuckling. “Or perhaps he likes them. A great many people do, you know.”

She made a disgusted face. “Do you?” she asked with clear disbelief.

“Good Lord, no, they’re awful. I just thought you might like to try something new.”

“Oh,” she said, a little taken back at his thoughtfulness. “I did. I mean, I do. I never pass up the chance to try a new dish.” She reached for some bread. She couldn’t quite get the taste of eel out of her mouth. She had the bread halfway to her lips before she stopped and added, “Unless it’s made with brains. I realize calf brains are a delicacy, but I don’t much care for the idea of eating an animal’s head.”

“Perfectly understandable,” he assured her. “Would you care to try something else? Mrs. McLeod would be delighted to introduce you to a few Scottish dishes, I imagine. Ever had haggis?”

After several of said dishes, Sophie commented that such food might be the reason the Scottish were so renowned for their strong builds. Alex looked at the array of dishes still on the table with a dubious eye. “It’s sturdy fare, I’ll grant.”

“More to the point, a person would have to be sturdy to eat this sort of fare on a regular basis and survive.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. An unusual means of culling the herd, but effective, I warrant.”

“Hmm. Pass the bread, would you?”

Alex handed her his share. “You’d be one of the first to go.”

“I’m afraid so. I haven’t a drop of Scottish blood in me.”

“Pity,” Alex decided. “They say Scottish lasses are a delightfully fiery lot.”

He gave a meaningful glance toward the kitchen where the laughter of the McLeod daughters could be heard over the sound of clinking pots and pans.

Sophie rolled her eyes. She’d met the McLeod women earlier. They were friendly, congenial, and decidedly sturdy.

“Tell me more about your father,” she prompted.

Alex looked at her with surprise.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to upset you. If you prefer—”

“Not at all. I’m not upset in the least, and I don’t mind speaking of my father. I’ll never understand this odd habit people have of pretending the dead never existed.”

Sophie nodded in agreement. “It can be difficult, but in some ways it’s insulting to their memory not to at least try.”

“Your mother and sister were killed in a carriage accident before you left England, weren’t they? Is it difficult for you to speak of them?”

She looked up in surprise. “I hadn’t realized you knew about my sister.”

“I believe Lady Thurston told me,” Alex replied smoothly while calling himself a dozen kinds of cad for the lie. “She’s an old friend of your Mrs. Summers.”

Sophie nodded. “Yes, of course, Mrs. Summers mentioned that.”

“Will you tell me of her, and your mother?”

Sophie found that with Alex she could speak of her lost loved ones without feeling overwhelmed. She told him some of her and her twin sister Elizabeth’s more ridiculous antics and how they’d tried once, at age eight, to switch identities. They spent an entire day believing they had fooled everyone until one of the upstairs maids pointed out that they had two very different haircuts.

She spoke of the way her mother used to visit the nursery every day to take tea with them and how at night she would crawl into the giant bed Sophie and Elizabeth shared, sit between them, and read stories aloud. When they had outgrown children’s books, she brought novels instead, refusing to give up the tradition, and read a chapter each night.

“I miss her terribly,” Sophie mused quietly. “But I miss Lizzie more. Do you think that’s awful?”

She had never admitted that to anyone. It had always seemed so heartless to grieve for the loss of one family member more than another. But it didn’t feel heartless, sitting there with Alex. It felt like the truth.

“I don’t think it’s awful at all. I think it’s perfectly understandable. We expect our parents to pass on before we do, it’s the way of nature. But a sibling, and even more so a child, we expect to live as long or longer than ourselves. And then there is the fact that she was your twin….”

Sophie nodded thoughtfully. “With my mother, I lost her laughter and her love. With Lizzie, I feel I lost half of myself.”

“I cannot imagine what that must be like,” Alex said softly.

Sophie gave him a wry smile. “I think this is why people avoid speaking of the dead. We’re becoming maudlin.”

“And on such a lovely afternoon too. Did you notice that the sun has come out?”

She had. A beam of light was coming through a nearby window, occasionally catching him in the eye and bringing out shards of gold in the green she hadn’t noticed were there before.

“Tell me more about your childhood,” Alex prompted.

They spent the remainder of the afternoon speaking of their families, their friends. They spoke of their past and shared their dreams of the future. They drifted idly from topic to topic, by no means consigning themselves to the distressing themes of death and loss. They laughed a great deal and argued good-naturedly a little, and when Sophie took the time to stop and think about it, she realized she was, in that particular moment, truly happy.

The sun was beginning to set by the time one of the McLeod women cleared away the last of their plates. Sophie would have liked to remain there well into the night, sipping her ale and enjoying Alex’s company, but she knew she could
not. Mrs. Summers was sure to be near to the vapors by now, and Sophie had no idea how well lit the streets in that part of London might be or if the moon would be out. She wanted to be home before the city became well and truly dark.

Alex sent someone round for their carriage, paid for their meal, and escorted her to the door.

“Your Grace!”

They turned to find Mr. McLeod calling to Alex from the kitchen door. “Your Grace, a moment. If you don’t mind overmuch, Molly’s made a fresh batch of biscuits for you and the lass to be taking with you.”

“Molly is his wife,” Alex explained with a barely concealed smile. He’d felt Sophie tense at his side at the woman’s name. He was a small man for it, but that sign of jealousy made him feel like crowing. He liked that she felt territorial.

“I’ll wait in the carriage,” Sophie said, clearly relieved. “Go say your good-byes, and do give the McLeods my thanks and compliments. Everything was wonderful.”

Alex took a quick look out the front door to assure himself the carriage was already across the street, then followed Mr. McLeod into the kitchens.

Sophie made it halfway across the street before she felt the hand come down on her shoulder. Whirling around, she found herself facing a thickset man with a barrel chest and squashed face, and a considerably weedier man with black hair that fell in greasy lengths around his pinched face. Both looked strong, smelled foul, and were obviously drunk. The larger man’s hand slid from her shoulder to grip her upper arm.

“Ey now, li’l bird. Where you flyin’ off to so fast?”

His accomplice tottered out from behind him to loom over her like a vulture. Sophie had to keep from screwing up her face at the overpowering odor of unwashed body and cheap gin. She’d come across men like this before in her travels. Any reaction beyond cool disdain was an open invitation for trouble.

She looked dispassionately at the foreign hand on her arm, then let her eyes travel up to fix the man with a cool stare.

“Release me.”

The men both guffawed with such similarity one could only assume they were related.

“Unhand her!”

All three turned to see her driver hop down from his box with whip in hand.

Her assailants were surprisingly agile for drunk men. Before Sophie could react, the larger man pulled her arm behind her back and covered her mouth with his free hand. The thinner man raised his arm to ward off the whiplash. After the first strike he caught the weapon in his hand and wrenched it free from the driver, then reared back and plowed his fist into the man’s face.

Sophie could only assume her driver had gone down. Her attacker was forcibly dragging her into a deserted alleyway, and as he pulled her into a shadowed recess, she lost sight of her would-be rescuer.

The big man released her arm and spun her around to pin her back against the wall. Sophie immediately used the opening to lash out with her fists, catching him in the nose. He emitted a staccato yelp of pain, but didn’t let her go, just shoved her harder against the brick and began pawing at her skirts. She struck out again and again, using every trick she knew, pummeling him with her fists and feet. For a moment she thought she might gain her freedom, or at least enough of it to retrieve the knife strapped to her leg, but then a second pair of hands was there, holding her arms at her sides.

“Bitch is feisty, eh?”

“Shu’up and ’old ’erthen.”

Sophie filled her lungs with air, intending to let out an ear-piercing scream, but the sound of a furious bellow from behind the men cut her off. In a heartbeat both men were gone from her, leaving her to lean breathless and shaking against the wall.

Alex felled the thinner man with a single blow to the head. The second man circled him warily. Having sized up
his opponent and finding himself lacking, the drunk tried soothing Alex with an explanation. “Just a bit o’ fun, what guv? Didn’t know the bird was spoke for, out all alone as she were.”

Alex didn’t look ready to be soothed. He looked ready to kill. In one quick lunge he brought the man to the ground and straddled him, savagely driving his fists into his face and chest.

Sophie wasn’t a forgiving enough soul to feel the least bit sorry that Alex had hurt the two men. She’d have done the same, if she’d been able. But she couldn’t let him beat the man to death. If for no other reason than she didn’t want to be responsible for the taking of a life.

“Alex! Alex, stop! You’ll kill him!”

He paused midpunch to look at her. Had she not already been standing against a wall, she would have taken a step back. He looked half wild. His breath was coming in pants, his mouth set in a snarl, and his eyes had narrowed to angry green slits. Sophie looked to the opening of the alleyway and noticed a small group of people had gathered there.

“Fetch McLeod,” she instructed before turning her attention back to Alex. “Alex—”

“He shouldn’t have touched you!” he roared, and she pressed her back tighter against the wall.

“No, he shouldn’t have,” she said in her most placating voice, “but—”

He punched the man again.

“Alex! Please, you’re frightening me.”

“Get in the carriage!”

“No.”

“Now!”

“No!” she yelled, amazed at her own courage. “Not without you.”

He glared at her but didn’t loosen his hold on the man’s collar. She tried a different tactic. “Alex, please. I want to go home.”

He looked down at the prostrate man and then back to her
again, uncertain. Sophie opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when Mrs. McLeod stepped forward and rested her hand lightly on Alex’s shoulder. “You’ve done well, Your Grace. It’s time to see to the lass.”

Alex stared at the hand on his shoulder, then followed the arm with his gaze until it reached the woman’s face. Sophie didn’t know what he saw there, but what ever it was, she would be eternally grateful for it. Alex seemed to come back to himself. He stood, dropping the man’s head to the pavement with a gruesome thud.