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“Did you order my tea?”
The woman would only drink her special blend, which Sophie received a shipment of from the lady’s housekeeper every month. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good, I am parched.” Lady Cantwell ambled toward the table and sat down. “Pour.”
Sophie would never stand such rudeness from her other clients, but Lady Cantwell was special. The woman was a little cantankerous but she knew the business of the ton, so Sophie never minded. She’d gleaned all sorts of information from the woman. She poured the tea and then sat down across from her.
“Now, I heard a rumor that you were seen in the company of a certain marquess a few nights ago.”
Sophie gulped her tea and burned her tongue in the process. “No, ma’am. I attended the opera with the Duchess of Kendal three nights ago. The marquess also attended as a guest of the duke’s. I had not met the man before that night.”
Lady Cantwell tilted her head and cackled. “Of course. Is he responsible for all the flowers in the entry?”
“No. There were several young men who visited the box during intermission”—she leaned forward for effect—“but I believe most of their intentions are not proper.”
“I assure you, Miss Reynard, men have not changed in sixty years. The men of my youth would take one look at you and your background and assume you are only here for their pleasures. Do not be fooled by their advances.”
Sophie smiled. “I assure you I know exactly what they want from me.”
Lady Cantwell reached over and grabbed Sophie’s hand with her own gnarled hand. She gave it a little squeeze. “Hold out for marriage, my dear. There will be a man who shan’t care about your background.”
“Are you now the fortune teller?”
“No, my dear. I just know that your beauty and kindness will win over some young man.” Lady Cantwell squeezed Sophie’s hand again. “Now, tell me about this new love in my life.”
Sophie cleared her mind and closed her eyes. The usual dizziness swept over her and then nothing happened. The blackness never cleared. Oh, dear God, she really was losing her abilities!
“Well?” Lady Cantwell asked.
“I am not sure today. Nothing is coming to me.” Sophie opened her eyes and looked at Lady Cantwell. “Are you certain you are not withholding something?”
“Not at all.”
“Very well, let’s try again.” Sophie closed her eyes and still, nothing came to her. Why was this happening to her now? Ever since hitting her head in Venice her abilities have been acting odd.
Sophie opened her eyes. “I’m sorry, Lady Cantwell. I seem to be having difficulties reading you today.”
The older woman shrugged. “Perhaps I should come back in a day or two.”
“Yes, that might be the best thing for both of us.”
As Lady Cantwell left, Sophie immediately started writing a letter to the only person who might be able to help her. Once finished with the letter to her mother, she sat at her desk checking her appointments for the day when her footman arrived at her study with another large arrangement of roses. She rolled her eyes. “Another one?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“Who this time?”
He pulled out a small note and handed it to her.
She laughed softly. “Riverdale again. I do hope this doesn’t mean they will continue to send me flowers until I see them.”
“There will be no room left in the house if they do, ma’am. Where would you like these?”
“I have no idea. I’m running out of room.” She glanced about her study, which already had two bouquets on tables near the sofa. “Place those in the receiving salon.”
“There are already two in there.”
“Well, there will have to be three now.” The past two days had been a steady stream of flower deliveries to her house. All six of the men she had been introduced to at the opera had sent some large arrangement. Several had attempted to call on her, too. So far she’d sent them all away without receiving any of them.
