Free Courtship and Curses by Marissa Doyle Page A

Parthenope.
    “Goodness!” Parthenope murmured. “Who is that?”
    The comte had entered and was bowing elegantly, though his eyes had gone straight to Aunt Molly. What a mercy Aunt Isabel wasn’t here!
    “It’s a terribly romantic story,” Sophie murmured back. “He’s the Lost Love of my aunt’s youth, come back from France after more than twenty years.”
    “Really?” Parthenope watched as the comte seated himself next to Aunt Molly on the sofa. “He’s not already married and the proud papa of twelve back over there, is he?”
    “Oh!” Why hadn’t she thought of that possibility before? “I hope not! If he isn’t, I am determined to see that they get the chance they didn’t have twenty-whatever years ago.”
    “Playing matchmaker, are you?” Parthenope grinned. “That sounds like fun. May I join you?”
    Sophie hesitated, then smiled back. “Please do!”

 
    Chapter
    5
    At twenty-five minutes past four the next afternoon, Sophie and Parthenope on horseback, along with an elegant little barouche containing the Comte de Carmouche-Ponthieux, Aunt Molly, and Amélie, clopped through the gate at Piccadilly into Hyde Park and toward Rotten Row, the roadway that ran along the southern side of the park. It was before the magic hour of five, when the fashionable portion of London thronged the park to take the air, see, and be seen. But Sophie observed that there were already a number in carriages and on horseback as well as elegantly dressed strollers enjoying the pale afternoon sunshine shimmering down from a pearly sky.
    Sophie had been delighted when the comte arrived at the house to take Aunt Molly and Amélie driving. Though it might have been preferable for him to take just Aunt Molly, she couldn’t help liking him for including Amélie as well. This would do to begin with.
    “It’s perfect! We shall cut quite the figure together!” Parthenope had nearly shrieked when she saw Sophie’s sapphire blue velvet riding habit. Hers was very similar, though in a reddish purple the color of a plum. Both were dashingly military, with frog fastenings and epaulettes and tall ostrich-plumed hats much like the shakos worn by soldiers. “Though I saw a lady two days ago with a habit rather like ours, but she’d gone and had gold braid put on it, so it looked like she’d pilfered it from an officer somewhere. Too much.” She shuddered delicately.
    “Lady Parthenope is a young woman of taste, I can see,” observed the comte, with a twinkle in his eye. But Sophie had noticed that even when he smiled there was a sadness about his expression that made her feel sorry for him. Was it from being disappointed in his youth?
    “Would you tell my Macky that? She hates half my new dresses and would much rather I was still in pinafores, I think.” Parthenope looked disgusted.
    “Try as I might, I simply cannot picture you in a pinafore,” Sophie said to her.
    “Oh, good. That makes me feel better.”
    “Unless it was quite grubby and had at least two fresh tears in it.”
    Parthenope laughed. “How did you know? Come on, let’s canter.”
    Sophie glanced back at the carriage. Aunt Molly and Amélie sat side by side, facing the comte. It would have been better if Aunt could have sat next to the comte, but that would not have been proper. She and he were chatting happily, which was wonderful. Aunt Molly had always been a little vague, a little in her own world, but today she was obviously very present. Sophie hoped that Amélie would not be bored and caught her eye. Amélie smiled and gave her a slight nod. Reassured, Sophie touched her horse on the flank with her crop and then cantered after Parthenope.
    They had slowed after a few minutes—the increasing traffic made only short bursts of speed feasible—when Parthenope’s face lit into a grin that was decidedly mischievous. “I say, could that be…? Why, Cousin Peregrine! What a pleasant surprise!”
    Peregrine! Sophie nearly groaned aloud as a rider a