Free Courtship and Curses by Marissa Doyle

should do. We’ll tell everyone that you injured yourself when attempting to save your father, and you can spend the rest of the season languishing on sofas being pale and interesting and ordering all the young men to bring you restorative glasses of champagne.”
    Sophie grimaced. Except for Lord Woodbridge, of course. Then again, if he were to bring her a glass of champagne, she’d probably throw it at him. “It’s a lovely thought, but I don’t think my aunts would approve.”
    Parthenope looked over at Aunt Molly. “Mm, perhaps not. What a shame. I expect you could have been quite the thing.”
    Sophie looked down at her hands in her lap. “Sometimes … sometimes I wish, if I had to be crippled, that it had happened when I was riding breakneck to hounds or something dashing and romantic like that. Then I suppose I could have tried your sofa and champagne idea. But having been ill is scarcely dashing. Besides, if I drink too much of anything, I won’t be able to spend much time on the sofa, will I?”
    Parthenope giggled. “Oh, I know. D’you know what my Macky told me? She said that I should eat and drink as little as possible when I’m out in the evenings, because I’m sure to muss something up about my dress if I have to use the convenience. I think you and I ought to make a pact—if we’re at the same party, we’ll neither of us go to the privy alone, just in case we get our petticoats in a twist. All I need to do is disgrace myself in public—I’ll never hear the end of it from Perry.”
    “From—oh.” She meant Lord Woodbridge, of course. Sophie hesitated, then said, choosing her words carefully, “I … um, I know he’s your cousin, but … I must confess, I came very near just now to poking him in the eye.”
    “Really? Not Saint Peregrine! What did he do? I thought it rather interesting that he’d called—”
    “He called so that he could tell me how sorry he was for me.”
    “What?” The smile on Parthenope’s face vanished.
    “It seems his mother knew my mother and told him to be kind to her old friend’s crippled daughter. That’s what he was trying to do last night at Lady Whiston’s when you—er—”
    “When I lumbered in on your conversation,” Penelope finished for her. “Hmmph. He’s usually a lot more diplomatic than that. I would have thought that he wouldn’t say, ‘I’m here to be kind to you’; he’d just … do it. There’s a reason he wants to find a position in the diplomatic corps—he’s good at being tactful and politic. So why be such a blunderbuss all of a sudden?”
    “He claimed to be concerned that he’d hurt poor fragile me.” Sophie shrugged. “I’m about as fragile as an old boot. Being crippled is not for the feeble—my leg may be too short and weak, but the rest of me has had to make up for it.”
    “I’d not thought of it that way, but you’re right, aren’t you?”
    “Not everyone thinks so. My Aunt Isabel disapproves of my not behaving like a drooping blossom about to fall off its stem.”
    “What a dreadful way to want someone to behave.” Parthenope looked thoughtful. “May I ask—can … that is, do you ride?”
    Sophie hesitated, then told herself not to be touchy. Even many noncrippled ladies did not care for riding, after all. But on a horse’s back was one place she didn’t limp. “You should see my new riding habit. Aunt Isabel disapproves of it, too.”
    “I’ll bet it’s just splendid, then. Have you been riding in Hyde Park yet? It’s quite the place to see and be seen. I say, let’s ride there tomorrow. ’Tis a pity it’s not last year, when the czar and the king of Prussia and half of the continent were here, but that doesn’t mean London is quite empty. Do say you will!”
    “Monsieur le Comte de Carmouche-Ponthieux,” Belton intoned from the doorway.
    “Oh, he came!” breathed Sophie. She hadn’t even heard the door knocker, engrossed as she had been in talking with