best go home. I’ll go in Lady Eleanor’s coach, and perhaps Lucy can take you to Laura Place.”
“Blast, Soph,” Robert grumbled, jumping to his feet, “I’ll take you home.”
Sophie ignored him. “Mr. Puddleford, would you be so kind as to escort me to my carriage?”
“It would be my greatest honor,” he exclaimed, springing to his feet with an alacrity that made her blink.
Annabel looked surprised, but after a quick inspection of Sophie’s face she rose from her chair.
“Hush, Robert,” she said, ruthlessly cutting off her husband’s protests. “Of course you must go home, my love, if you are not well. Lucy will be happy to take us to Laura Place.”
Sophie gave Annabel a quick hug, nodded to Lucy, and then rushed from the box. Mr. Puddleford hurried after her, puffing as he followed her down the stairs to the lobby.
She bolted through the lobby and out into the night, not caring who might see her furious dash into the street. A few stragglers lingering at the entrance to the theater raised disapproving eyebrows as she rushed by.
“Miss Stanton, please wait,” gasped Mr. Puddleford as he clutched at his side. “You will surely do yourself a harm with all this rushing about. It is neither seemly nor healthy for you to do so.”
“Forgive me, sir, but the air was so close inside. I really couldn’t bear it a moment longer.”
“I understand, my dear Miss Stanton,” the widower said, struggling to catch his breath. “Please allow me to take you home myself. Indeed, you must allow me to take care of you.”
Mr. Puddleford’s eyes held a certain gleam—the gleam they got whenever he was about to solicit her hand in marriage. Sophie couldn’t bear yet another proposal, especially not now.
“Mr. Puddleford, I see Lady Eleanor’s footman, James, just over there. Could you please ask him to fetch the carriage?”
The widower hesitated and then bowed, moving down the line of carriages to speak to the footman. Sophie exhaled a huge sigh of relief and began counting stones in the pavement, determined to bring her temper under control before he returned.
A flash of movement at the far edges of the torchlight caught her attention. She glanced up and found herself looking straight into the eyes of her little street thief. Hovering just out of reach, he looked as ragged and frightened as he had the first time she had set eyes on him.
But he didn’t retreat into the darkness. His pale, haunted eyes fastened to where she stood frozen on the pavement.
A shiver of awareness ran across her skin.
Sensing that he looked for a sign, she gave him a wary smile and gestured for him to wait. The boy nodded and drifted back into the shadows.
“Your carriage awaits, my lady,” Mr. Puddleford cried with laborious gallantry as Lady Eleanor’s coach and pair drew up before her. “Allow me to escort you home.”
“That will not be necessary, Mr. Puddleford. James will take care of me.” She grabbed his hand and briskly shook it, then turned as if about to step into the coach. “I hear the gong for the interval. You will not wish to be late. Good night, sir.”
In the face of so blighting a dismissal, the widower had no choice but to bow and murmur his good-byes. She felt a twinge of guilt at the hurt on his pudgy features, but knew he would forget the snub by tomorrow.
“Miss, will you step in?” James stood respectfully by to help her.
“In a minute, James.” She waited until Mr. Puddleford disappeared into the theater. After a quick inspection of the street, she decided the few people milling about the steps of the building would likely not even notice her. In any event, she had to risk it.
“Stay here, James. I’ll return in a moment.”
The footman looked astonished, but bowed his compliance. After another swift glance around, Sophie hurried to the other side of the carriage, out of the direct light thrown by the torches.
“Little boy, are you there?” she called out in little more
“Blast, Soph,” Robert grumbled, jumping to his feet, “I’ll take you home.”
Sophie ignored him. “Mr. Puddleford, would you be so kind as to escort me to my carriage?”
“It would be my greatest honor,” he exclaimed, springing to his feet with an alacrity that made her blink.
Annabel looked surprised, but after a quick inspection of Sophie’s face she rose from her chair.
“Hush, Robert,” she said, ruthlessly cutting off her husband’s protests. “Of course you must go home, my love, if you are not well. Lucy will be happy to take us to Laura Place.”
Sophie gave Annabel a quick hug, nodded to Lucy, and then rushed from the box. Mr. Puddleford hurried after her, puffing as he followed her down the stairs to the lobby.
She bolted through the lobby and out into the night, not caring who might see her furious dash into the street. A few stragglers lingering at the entrance to the theater raised disapproving eyebrows as she rushed by.
“Miss Stanton, please wait,” gasped Mr. Puddleford as he clutched at his side. “You will surely do yourself a harm with all this rushing about. It is neither seemly nor healthy for you to do so.”
“Forgive me, sir, but the air was so close inside. I really couldn’t bear it a moment longer.”
“I understand, my dear Miss Stanton,” the widower said, struggling to catch his breath. “Please allow me to take you home myself. Indeed, you must allow me to take care of you.”
Mr. Puddleford’s eyes held a certain gleam—the gleam they got whenever he was about to solicit her hand in marriage. Sophie couldn’t bear yet another proposal, especially not now.
“Mr. Puddleford, I see Lady Eleanor’s footman, James, just over there. Could you please ask him to fetch the carriage?”
The widower hesitated and then bowed, moving down the line of carriages to speak to the footman. Sophie exhaled a huge sigh of relief and began counting stones in the pavement, determined to bring her temper under control before he returned.
A flash of movement at the far edges of the torchlight caught her attention. She glanced up and found herself looking straight into the eyes of her little street thief. Hovering just out of reach, he looked as ragged and frightened as he had the first time she had set eyes on him.
But he didn’t retreat into the darkness. His pale, haunted eyes fastened to where she stood frozen on the pavement.
A shiver of awareness ran across her skin.
Sensing that he looked for a sign, she gave him a wary smile and gestured for him to wait. The boy nodded and drifted back into the shadows.
“Your carriage awaits, my lady,” Mr. Puddleford cried with laborious gallantry as Lady Eleanor’s coach and pair drew up before her. “Allow me to escort you home.”
“That will not be necessary, Mr. Puddleford. James will take care of me.” She grabbed his hand and briskly shook it, then turned as if about to step into the coach. “I hear the gong for the interval. You will not wish to be late. Good night, sir.”
In the face of so blighting a dismissal, the widower had no choice but to bow and murmur his good-byes. She felt a twinge of guilt at the hurt on his pudgy features, but knew he would forget the snub by tomorrow.
“Miss, will you step in?” James stood respectfully by to help her.
“In a minute, James.” She waited until Mr. Puddleford disappeared into the theater. After a quick inspection of the street, she decided the few people milling about the steps of the building would likely not even notice her. In any event, she had to risk it.
“Stay here, James. I’ll return in a moment.”
The footman looked astonished, but bowed his compliance. After another swift glance around, Sophie hurried to the other side of the carriage, out of the direct light thrown by the torches.
“Little boy, are you there?” she called out in little more