Sophia's Cage

Sophronia Juliet Chattoway--daughter of Lady Margaret Rose and Viscount Nathaniel David Chattoway--stood staring out of her bedroom window. Unwanted, negative emotions caused her heart to ache, her stomach to churn and her eyes to sting with unshed tears. As a lady, she had no avenue to let out these emotions. Sophronia longed to trash her room, or beat the life out of her pillow or bawl like a baby. However, if she did, it would surely reach the ears of her Aunt somehow, and then she would be in for a serious tongue lashing and a set of miserable tasks. So, Sophronia held in all the pain and regret, the knowledge that her one chance for love had disappeared, and simply stared out into the hazy night. Standing in a simple nightrail, Sophronia was soon covered in goosebumps as the moist air which carried a lingering chill seeped in through her open window.

Usually the gloom that perpetually hung over London was not visible after sunset, but this evening there was a heavy blanket of fog on the streets. Sophronia could usually hear the clip-clop of horses trotting on cobblestone, or wafting voices of people walking along the streets, but the dense fog muffled the sounds of city life. Even the clattering of a carriage which passed on the street below her window seemed distant. It seemed to Sophronia that even if she screamed at the top of her lungs no one would notice her, or care. Of course, Aunt Priscilla would, but that would not garner the notice or reaction Sophronia craved. It was as though someone had turned back the clock, and once again she was alone in the wake of her parent's death with no one left to turn to.

Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled mournfully. Sophronia wanted to shut the window, to block the sound, but that would not change the reality of her situation. It was officially her day of birth. Of course, the irony of the whole situation was that the gift she wanted the most was really only out of reach because of her birthday... Well, that and the untimely death of Duke Devonshire... and her own stupidity.

With a growl of pure frustration, Sophronia roughly crumbled the beautifully scripted announcement which she had been holding and threw it out the window. It gracefully dove into the opaque soup below and disappeared from sight.

Sophronia turned her back on the window and moved to her small writing desk, where a single worn letter lay on the polished wood. She wistfully traced the bold script.

"Dearest Sophia,

Your description of Lady Helena's antics made me laugh. I could picture the scenario so clearly in my mind that it pained me to realize that I could not accompany you to the ball Lady Helena was so excited about! Unfortunately, my cicerone is determined that my Grand Tour shall last for years--as though it would prove something to the ton that our family is wealthy enough to spend half a decade gallivanting about foreign countries. Nevertheless, I can guaranty that we shall be back in residence in London two years time. Mayhaps, I think, this is not such a bad thing, for it gives me enough time to formally request a waltz before your dance card fills up!

I, Cage Wycliffe, humbly petition for honor to dance the first waltz at Almack's opening ball with you, two seasons from now.

Hopefully my letter will find you early enough that my dance had not already been spoken for. Howbeit, if my dance is spoken for I shall duel the scoundrel for it.

Your servant,

Cage"

When Sophronia had first read his words, she had laughed. Cage had known that Sophronia was already an old maid by society’s standards, and thus didn't have any dance partners to speak of. However, Cage had never seemed to care about that, even before she explained that she had spent her débutante years acting as a nursemaid to her ailing parents. Before Sophronia had met--or rather conversed--with Cage, she had struggled against the resentment she felt towards her parents for stealing away her youth.

It had been especially painful because her parents had sent her off to an elite finishing school, where Sophronia had been prepared for and excited about going into her first London season, finding a husband and joining the wealthy society ladies. Instead she had been stuck by two sickbeds and had the pleasure of watching all her friends go off to balls, soirees, masquerades, operas and plays. Most of her friends had been very considerate about her situation, but others had been too self absorbed to notice the effect their excitement had on her. So, Sophronia had suffered through their endless talk about clothes, fashion, gossip, and eligible bachelors because they were her only friends and that was what their lives revolved around.

When Sophronia had finally been presented to the court, and Lord Chamberlain, she had been five-and-twenty. She could not be considered a débutante at that age, but she had not yet been an old maid. As such, she had fallen somewhere in-between and disappeared into the cracks. In spite of that, Sophronia had tried to negotiate London's rocky social waters but, without anyone to guide her steps, she had failed. Sophronia had not landed a husband, and never even had a beau.

With no husband to support her, Sophronia had been forced to turn to her relatives for assistance. Her brother had still been a bachelor at the time, so it was not socially acceptable for her to stay with him. Although he could have set her up with a private residence, he had chosen not to in favor of spending that money on frivolous items and activities instead. As children they had never been close and that had not changed once they grew up and he inherited the Viscountry. Obviously, he didn't think a simple thing like familial ties was cause enough to give away some of his precious money.

When her paternal aunt, a crotchety old matron, had agreed to house and feed her if Sophronia agreed to be at her beck-and-call, Sophronia had hastily agreed. Sophronia quickly came to regret that decision. In a position that was not quite family, but not quite servant, Sophronia had once again fallen outside the typical social situation and ended up in a no-mans-land with no rules. As such, Aunt Priscilla would have Sophronia do all manner of demeaning tasks on a whim, simply because it amused her. At Aunt Priscilla direction, Sophronia had done the laundry, cooked meals, washed dishes, polished silver, and cleaned the house--usually with Aunt Priscilla lounging nearby, watching.

Although Sophronia could not claim to be an expert on the human psyche, she had finally reconciled herself with the reason behind Aunt Priscilla's cruelty. Ironically, by Sophronia's estimation, the cause of her torture came from her parents once again.

Sophronia's mother, Margaret, had been the daughter of a baron and a nobody in the eyes of most gentry. Yet Margaret had managed to catch--and, to Aunt Priscilla's everlasting despair, keep--Viscount Nathaniel Chattoway's attention. This had ousted Aunt Priscilla from her position as the most important woman in Nathaniel's life, something that had infuriated her. In Nathaniel's eyes the sun had rose and set on Margaret, so Aunt Priscilla has seethed in silence for years.

That knowledge did not lead to forgiveness. There was only one reason Sophronia could forgive Aunt Priscilla and that was because, through her, Sophronia had met Cage Wycliffe.



It started as an ordinary day. Aunt Priscilla called Sophronia into the sitting room and instructed her to write out invitations to a dinner party--which, of course, Sophronia was not allowed to attend. Sophronia shuffled through a stack of papers in which Aunt Priscilla and her cronies had written down who they wanted invited and who they did not. Sophronia wasn't sure why the stack was necessary rather than a simple list, but she chocked it up to Aunt Priscilla trying to make the task more tedious than it already was. Amidst her search, Sophronia unearthed a letter bearing the salutation 'Dear Ronnie'.

Perplexed, Sophronia pointed the letter out to Aunt Priscilla. Aunt Priscilla glanced at it and immediately dismissed it as something she must have accidentally picked up at her friend's house. She told Sophronia to throw it out with the rest of the used papers. Sophronia nodded obediently and stuffed it into the throw out pile. However, after Aunt Priscilla left the room to go for a jaunt around Hyde Park, Sophronia shoved the letter down the front of her dress--no she had no pockets to store it in--before she discarded the remaining papers.

That night when Sophronia went to her bedroom, she stayed up and read the letter. It was a humorous account of places and things the author had seen in a foreign land. Sophronia enjoyed the letter immensely, and hoped that Ronnie had a chance to read it before Aunt Priscilla had wandered off with it. It was signed by Cage Wycliffe, and gave an address in Spain where a reply could be sent.

For the next few weeks Sophronia fixated on the letter, and invented a background for the author. It was obviously a man, probably on his grand tour. He was wealthy--it said so in the letter--so he was probably the son of a Duke, and he would be handsome, of course. It was obvious that he was witty and had a good sense of humor, he cared for someone enough to write to them, even though there was so much to distract him, which added to his appeal. Sophronia stopped short of giving him hair color and eye color, but only because Sophronia really didn't care about that so much as his personality. Sophronia really wanted to get to know him but, even more than that, she wanted to be able to read tales of all the other foreign places he would visit.

Sophronia fought back and forth in her mind as to whether or not she should write back. Obviously, just the fact that she had read the letter was a violation of privacy. It was quite possible this letter was old and he wouldn't still be at that location in Spain. But most importantly, why would he want to receive a letter from her?

Sophronia made the mistake--or the best decision of her life of life, depending on how you looked at it--of confiding her dilemma to her best friend, Lady Helena. Lady Helena absolutely loved the intrigue and romance of it, and she forced Sophronia to sit down and write a response--not that much 'forcing' had been required. In the letter Sophronia explained how she had acquired the letter and told him that she hoped she had not overstepped her bounds by reading and replying to it. She also mentioned the reason why she replied was because she would love to hear more about his adventures. Sophronia didn't want to expose herself to reticule in the event that Cage turned out to be vindictive, so she signed off as Sophia and left the address of a local church. Lady Helena then took the letter and sent it off to Spain.

Sophronia waited impatiently for a reply and started visiting the church everyday after the first two weeks had gone by. Her numerous trips were not all wasted though. Sophronia became good friends with the priest who lived there, and he assured her that he would save the letter when it arrived. Aunt Priscilla also noticed Sophronia's frequent trips to the church. She happened to thoroughly approve, saying "Good, go to church to ask for forgiveness for your sins, for you surely won't find it in this house!"

Then it happened. One rainy afternoon, Sophronia arrived at the church and spent a few minutes in the entryway trying to whisk the water from her clothes and scrape the mud off her boots. Father Dominic always kept the church so tidy, Sophronia would hate to mess it up unnecessarily. When she looked up, the priest stood before her. His eyes twinkled brightly and were matched by his charming smile. However Sophronia barely noticed, as she was fixated on the piece of paper he held in his hand. Sophronia's throat closed on her question, but the priest knew her well enough that he simply nodded and proffered the letter.

Her hand trembled as she reached out and took possession of the letter. The crisp and firm paper started to darken around her fingers from the rainwater which clung to her hand. Sophronia hurried to the nearest pew and dropped the envelope onto it before the water could damage the letter inside. As though releasing it had broken the spell, Sophronia berated herself for her rudeness and turned to thank Father Dominic. One look around the room told her the church was empty.

Sophronia had never told the elderly priest the whole story, she had been afraid of rebuke and his refusal to help. It would seem that whatever Father Dominic thought about the situation, he had understood how important it was to her and given her privacy in which to read the letter. With one last furtive glance, Sophronia knelt and dried her hands on her petticoats. Without further ado, Sophronia picked up the envelope and used her fingernails to pry off the unmarked wax blob which sealed it.

Sophronia unfolded the letter and saw her sobriquet printed at the top, in the bold scrawl which authenticated it. It read:

"To my mysterious correspondent, Sophia,

Your letter left me quite perplexed. At first I thought it surely was a childish prank pulled by my sister--and possibly some doubt still remains--but your writing style is much different than hers is, even assuming she dictated her response (her handwriting would have given the joke away). I confess, curiosity is the main reason I have chosen to respond to your letter. What kind of lady would risk the impropriety of contacting a gentleman she has never met? Your English, spelling and calligraphy is sophisticated enough I must assume you are among the ranks of the ton. However, I can think of no débutante who could manage to pull her head out of the flurry of ribbons and dresses and balls to find a pen and write a letter to complete a stranger. Unless, of course, she was attempting to acquire his hand in marriage (you women do seem willing to go to any length to achieve this goal).
So, then I think to myself, mayhaps you are an elderly matron who wishes to live vicariously through my own adventures? Except your voice is much to belong to the vicious upper echelons of the ton.
Ergo, we have something in common, we are both curious about the other. The only logically conclusion I find for our predicament is a pact, I will tell you about my journeys abroad if you tell me about your life in the homeland. Do we have an accord?

Awaiting your reply,
Curious Cage

Postscript: I will only be in residence at this address until two months past the date upon this letter."

Sophronia grinned. Although, in her fantasies, his letter had been a joyous reply--in which he had expounded on how grateful he was that someone cared to listen to his stories and how happy he had been that she had found his letter and had the courage to respond--Sophronia accepted his real response without disappointment. It had an feeling of authenticity, and it wasn't the scathing letter Sophronia had had nightmares about.

Sophronia carefully tucked the letter in her reticule and went in search of Father Xavier. She entered the rectory and found him bent over a desk which was covered in scripted papers. Not wanting to interrupt if he was in the midst of a prayer, Sophronia hovered in the doorway for a moment. Father Dominic looked up and smiled, "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Slightly taken-a-back, Sophronia reflected an the odd question. "Yes... I think I did."

"Good, good." Father Dominic heaved himself to his feet and started toward her.

Sophronia moved out of the doorway and followed him back to the front door of the church. "Thank you, Father."

Father Dominic chuckled, "Of course, child. You are welcome anytime. You had better hurry home now, the rain has let up but that will not last long."

So, Sophronia hurried home, carrying the beginning of her long distance love affair.



Sophronia shook herself from those wonderful memories which had turned into a painful reminders of her stupidity. Why had she never thought to ask him for a permanent place of residence? Why had she never told him her real name?

By the time Sophronia had trusted him enough to tell him anything, names and locations hadn't seemed important anymore. Somehow, she had never considered the possibility that their letters would not reach each other.

It had been almost a year since she had received a letter from him, which left her with a name that did not seem to belong to any of the nobles in London and the Almack dance request that Cage had probably forgotten about.

Of course, now it appeared that she would not even be able to make it to the dance. Originally, the opening ball at Almack's had been scheduled for a week ago, but the Duke of Devonshire's death had been such a huge event that Almack's had actually canceled it. Just today Sophronia had received a notice--which, incidentally, was now drifting out in the fog--that their first ball was going to be held in two days.

As the fates would have it, Sophronia's thirtieth birthday was tomorrow. Or rather, today.

Although Sophronia had long ago sent in her hard won pounds with a request for an Almack subscription, but she wasn't going to hold her breath for a letter of acceptance. Sophronia had known it would be next to impossible to receive an acceptance before, now there was no chance that the highly esteemed Patronesses of Almack's would allow her attendance.

Without her permission or approval, tears started leaking out of her eyes. Sophronia tried to blink them back, but her efforts were in vain. Her cheeks became icy as the room sucked all the warmth out of her tears. The cold had finally caught up with her. Sophronia hurried to the window and shut it. Then, still attempting to ignore the melancholy feelings in her heart, Sophronia extinguished the lamp and crawled into her bed.

* * *

Alexander Micajah Byron Wycliffe, son of the Marquess of Longley, walked into the sitting room of his parent's townhouse. It resembled nothing more than an explosion of pastel paints which had been dusted with the falling ash of frills and lace. It was something his mother had done to the whole house in a fit of pique over one of his father's numerous mistresses. It was sickening, but seeing his father's study in that state had been highly entertaining--seeing his father's reaction to the house had not been. Fortunately, now the sitting room was the remaining trace of that event.

Alexander grinned when he saw his sister studiously bent over her writing desk. Veronica was so intent on what she was doing she hadn't even noticed his entry. Carefully, Alexander snuck up behind her and blew on her ear, just like he had when they had been kids. He was gratified to see that she still reacted the same way, with a loud screech and an involuntary jump.

"Cage! When did you get back from your grand tour?" Veronica jumped up from her chair and, quill still in her hand, threw her arms around him.

"Only moments ago, sister dearest." Alexander admitted, "Although I was at the country estate for two days before finishing the trek out here."

"I'm surprised you actually made the rest of the trek out here. Did you remember the London Season is just beginning?"

Veronica pulled out of their embrace and glanced at the quill in mock horror, "oops, I think I ruined your jacket."

Alexander cocked an eyebrow at her, but let it go. "Yes, I was aware the season just started. I'm here looking for someone. Do you know a lady of the ton named Sophia?"

"What? Why?" Veronica's perplexity was evident in her voice.

Alexander didn't answer but continued to stare at her until she caved.

"Fine! Leave me out of it! ...." Veronica still paused to let him change his mind, then she rolled her eyes and gave in. "Sophia is a really popular name right now. I can think of more than a dozen women I know who go by that."

Alexander sighed and shoved a hand through his already rumpled hair. "Somehow I thought that would be the case."

"Hey, what's wrong?" Veronica rested a hand on his arm, concerned at his odd behavior.

"She would be older, maybe thirty or five and thirty... unmarried." I hope.

"Well..." Veronica hesitated. "Today I responded to Lady Sophronia Chattoway....."

"Hmm, Sophronia?" Alexander tested the name out then shook his head, "I doubt it is her."

"Yeah, but you said this lady you are looking for is old. Sophronia turns thirty tomorrow."

"How do you know that?"

"Well, as the newest--and youngest, I might add--Patroness of Almack, it is my job to know these things. I do most of the manual labor, the rest just gossip."

"Ah, and of course, by manual labor you mean writing." Alexander teased.

"Of course. I am a lady." Veronica responded with a smile.

"Sophronia Chattoway... Why were you writing her?"

"She requested a subscription to Almack's. I was returning her fee with a polite rejection." Veronica waved casually at her desk, then gasped when she realized what had happened. "Oh you ruined all my letters!"

Veronica hurried over and righted the now-mostly-empty bottle of ink and shuffled delicately through the mess, trying to avoid staining her fingers.

"You know what a subscription to Almack means to these society ladies.How could you reject her subscription?" Alexander watched the careful way Veronica sorted through the papers and noted the perfection of her dress and coiffure and realized that somewhere along the way Veronica had become one of those society ladies they had used to make fun of.

Victoria made a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, but avoided his gaze. "The only reason a subscription to Almack means anything is because we are so selective. Not only would it be her fifth season, but she is turning thirty tomorrow."

"And this rejection is your gift to her? Accept her subscription." Alexander demanded, angry at the fact that Veronica now accepted the callous ways of London society.

"Why does it matter so much?!" Veronica snapped, finally turning to look at him.

"Because we made a promise that we would never be like them!" Alexander emphatically pointed toward the door. "...but I come home and you are now a younger version of our mother. Is that who you want to be?"

Veronica's face recoiled as though he had slapped her. "It's different when you are a woman, Cage. You have to act normal or you will be ostracized. You left me, and I had no one left to protect me!"

Alexander sighed and rubbed his forehead. "When I left you did not need or want my protection, Ronnie."

"Don't call me that! I'm not a little girl anymore." Veronica turned away and looked down at the ruined letters.

"No, you are not." Alexander preferred his "Ronnie" to grown up Veronica though.

"I cannot approve her subscription..." Veronica started playing with the ruined letter again, but this time she got ink on her fingers. Whether unknowingly or deciding that she no longer cared about ink stains anymore, Alexander did not know.

"However, I can send her a Stranger's Pass." Veronica's voice was flat and mechanical, as though offering this option solely because she thought social rules dictated that she had to.

"It does not matter." Alexander replied as he stared at his sister's rigid back. "I am not concerned about that, I am concerned about you."

Veronica didn't respond.

"I'm sorry, Veronica."

Veronica nodded, but continued giving him the cold shoulder.

Alexander silently weighed his options. Instinct told him that he could try all night and Veronica would not yield. He had hurt her, he saw his words cut deep and he wanted to fix it before it festered, but that would not happen tonight.

Alexander turned around and left the sitting room as quietly as he had entered it.

* * *

Sophronia's mouth dropped open in amazement.

"Shut your trap!" Aunt Priscilla snapped. "Before your unladylike behavior mars my reputation."

Sophronia hastily closed her mouth, and reread the letter in her hand. Her Almack's subscription had been denied but the Patroness had enclosed a Stranger's Pass, which meant that Sophronia could attend one ball.

Usually Stranger's Passes were only granted at the door to guests which members had brought with them, but those guests still had to petition the Patronesses before they were awarded the pass.

Sophronia grinned. She would be able to attend the ball tomorrow! She needed to start getting ready now! She would have to contact Lady Helena and tell her the great news. Sophronia knew Lady Helena would help her get ready. She would have try to find something suitable to wear though, or they might kick her out, Stranger's Pass or no Stranger's Pass.

* * *

Alexander lounged in a smokey corner of White's and stared broodingly at the wall. White's was dimly lit all the time, heavy brocade curtains covered the windows and the oil lamps had to fight through the heavy cigar smoke which lingered in the air. This made White's a good place for drinking and brooding, two things Alexander planned to do a lot of tonight. Alexander waved his hand and a nearby attendant rushed to refill his glass of Armagnac.

Alexander's day hadn't gotten any better after its inauspicious beginning of his fight with Veronica. He had made a mess of things with his sister and he still wasn't any closer to finding his Sophia. A wry smile curled his lips for a brief moment. How easy it was to think of her as 'his', but she might not be anymore. It had been a year and, although her prospects had been slim, she might have gotten married in that amount of time. Or died...

Alexander shoved that thought from his mind and finished his snifter of Armagnac.

Visiting the address he had sent letters to had done him no good. It was an old catholic church and the priest there had known nothing about any letters. So, either the priest had not been there one year ago, the priest was lying--unlikely given his occupation--or Sophia had managed to get the letters from the robins without going through the church. Regardless of which scenario it was, none of it helped him.

"Alexander?!"

Alexander pulled himself out of his thoughts and turned to see a man with curly brown hair--which had stubbornly managed to overcome his fashionable hairstyle and stick out at odd angles--rushing towards him. "William?"

Alexander stood up and accepted William's short embrace, then they both settled back onto the comfortable cushions. Amidst rounds of liqueur, William caught Alexander up on the local gossip and Alexander told William of the places he had visited and interesting things he had seen.

Eventually, William set down his snifter and grinned broadly. "I must say, it is so good to see you again, Alexander. Without you around to keep things interesting I have come to realize how bloody boring the rest of these blokes are."

Alexander laughed. "I was good at stirring up trouble, wasn't I?"

"Indeed." William agreed with a bright smile. "I still don't think Carlton's has gotten over your lecture about how requiring membership elections is only a sign that the gentry are scared that commoners may turn out to be gentlemen too!"

Alexander smiled slightly, recalling the horror on the faces of the men in the club that day. Shortly afterwards, his father had shipped him abroad, mandating that he not return until he had learned some sense.

"I was young and impulsive," Alexander admitted. "I never should have stated it so bluntly or sought instant change. I will have to be more subtle."

"But... you still seek change?"

"Yes. More than ever." Alexander leaned forward and steadily met William's eyes. "Just because we were born into wealthy family and are able to live luxurious lives does not mean that we are better than those born to the servants. Surely you, my best friend, have not lost your conviction of that?"

"Of course not!" William affirmed quickly, but he looked away and fiddled with the glass in front of him. The attendant took that as a subtle hint that the lords wanted more to drink. He quickly walked over and poured two inches of a dark coloured bandy into their glasses before disappearing.

After a few contemplative sips, William sighed heavily and admitted in a low voice, "I do not have your strength, Alex. Without you around.... it was easier to just be a Lord, than it was to be a man."

Alexander grimaced. "I did not say that to shame you, my friend. Who am I to judge? I could have fought my father's orders but it was easier to leave. I wanted to leave, I was sick of this place.... I still am. I have managed to make my sister mad at me already, and I've only been in town a few hours. I do not want to alienate you also."

William grinned. "Never think it so, my friend."

Alexander hesitated then finally admitted, "The only reason I found the desire to return is because I am looking for someone."

"Who?"

"I don't know." Alexander barely restrained himself from slamming his fist into the table in frustration. "That's the problem."

"Oh."

Silence filled the space between them as they were both caught up in their own thoughts. Finally William suggested, "I will help you find him. After all, it should be easier with two people working on it."

Alexander studied William, then sighed. "Her."

"Her, what?"

"I'm not looking for a man." Alexander ground out.

"Oooh." Predictably, a teasing smile spread across William's lips. "You are looking for a lady friend, perhaps a wife?"

"Yes."

William's stared at him, stunned. "You are serious."

"Yes, I am. I love her." Alexander knew her better than anyone else and so did she know him.

"If you love her, why do you have to search for her?" William asked.

Alexander hesitated, knowing that William was going to have a great time ribbing him about how they "met".

"Good, God, man! Don't tell me you saw her in a dream, or some such nonsense!"

"Of course, not." Alexander's tone was scathing. "She wrote me letters while I was abroad."

"Letters? She wrote you letters..... And you love her?" William laughed uproariously, while Alexander glared daggers at him.

"This has, indeed, been a most interesting day." William said conversationally as he finished off the brandy in his glass. "I would suggest, my friend, that you go home and sleep off the alcohol, and this odd fantasy."

"It was good to see you, Will." Alexander stood up and extended his hand to William. However, that last bit of alcohol had finished William off, he passed out and his body slumped back against the brocade booth.

Alexander motioned to one of the attendants, who hurried to his side. "Give Lord Fitzgerald a few hours to sleep it off, but make sure he gets home before dawn."

"Of course, Milord."

Alexander nodded his thanks and left the club.

"Pleasant outing, milord?" Alexander's butler asked when he returned to his townhouse.

"Not so much, Fredrick." Alexander had never been one to observe pomp-and-ceremony or the proper rules of gentleman-to-servant interaction, especially in his own house. Fredrick, however, turned out to be as stubborn as Alexander was, and refused to call him anything other than milord. "Have a bath drawn, would you?"

"Of course, milord." Fredrick divested him of his overcoat and hurried off to the servant's quarters.

Alexander entered his bedroom and noted that his valet--or a maid--had already unpacked all his trunks. Alexander guessed it was his valet, for the oilskin-wrapped bundle of letters sat prominently in the middle of his bed and he doubted a maid would have put it there. Alexander loosened the ties and carefully sorted through the letters. There had to be something in them that would help him find Sophia. Alexander moved the pile to his desk and started rereading them. He was so intent on his task that when his butler knocked, and informed him that his bath was ready, Alexander did not even notice.

A few hours later, and about three fourths of the way through the pile, Alexander came upon the clue he needed.

My dearest Cage,

If you are serious about that waltz, I shall endeavor to be there for the first dance at Almack's, two seasons hence. How shall you know me, you may wonder? I shall be the only one in a dress--not a ballgown--which is five seasons out of style. My hair shall not be perfectly coiffed, for I will have to do the best I can with it by myself, and my jewelry shall be non-existent. I know your character enough to trust that will be able to see past the fact that I will be the poorest and oldest woman vying for your attention.

Even if I had more partners than I could ever dance with in my lifetime, I would still reserve all of them for you. Whether at Almack's or the Wellington ball or in the garden or through the stars... for I do feel as high as the clouds when I think of you. That is the one thing I don't know about you... how you feel about me. I am sure you are constantly surrounded by beautiful and sophisticated women, and have numerous wonderful things to focus on. I, however, have only one wonderful thing in my life, and that is you. As such, I would love to let you write in your name in for all the dances on all of my dance cards from now unto the day I am too old to dance.

I scarce can believe that I intend to send you this letter... then I remember that we are the closest of friends and--even if you are not interested in anything more--I can say anything to you without any worries about impropriety.

With affection,
Sophia

Alexander grinned. Maybe there was still hope. He might be able to find her at the ball tomorrow. Or rather, today. Alexander corrected, after a glancing at the clock.

* * *

Sophronia smiled in delight at the gorgeous ballroom. The decorations were stunning, the roses fresh and the ribbons plentiful. Even the wall scones were decked out in jewels and strands of pearls. The gowns of the women around her were brightly colored and heavily ladened with frills and other decorations.

In comparison, her secondhand ballgown--given to her by Lady Helena-- stood out like a sore thumb even though it was the nicest thing she had ever worn. Sophronia had substituted ribbons for the gems most women adorned themselves with. She looked quite lovely, but nothing in comparison with those around her.

Despite this, Sophronia had not run into any issues getting in. Probably because she had waited to enter until the crowd of fashionably late party goers arrived. Strategically, Sophronia had not allowed the attendants to take her overcoat--which she had snuck out of Aunt Priscilla's wardrobe--at the door but had waited until she was entering the ballroom to relinquish it.

A loud giggle brought Sophronia back to the present. She casually glanced around the room and realized many of the women were looking at her and twittering behind their fashionable fans. Sophronia felt a stab of self-consciousness but ignored it and actually examined the crowded room. There was a beautiful spread of delicacies and drinks, and a collection of chairs, along the wall opposite to the ballroom entrance. One side of the room had windows and doors leading out to the garden, which was beautifully lit up with flickering lamps. Against the wall opposite to the garden sat a large group of musicians all wearing powdered white wigs and playing their respective instruments. There were quite a lot of dancers on the floor, moving in an intricate quadrille.

Sophronia knew from past experience that the waltz was usually not one of the first dances--quadrilles, cotillions, and the occasional gavotte or tarantella came first--which was why she had felt comfortable showing up a bit late. The program the servant at the door had given her confirmed her assumption. The first waltz was the fourth dance, this quadrille was the second.

Sophronia longed to go over to the chairs, but she had no escort and, as such, could not cross the dance floor to get to them. Swallowing a groan of frustration, Sophronia glanced back at the doors leading outside. If she went outside she could reenter the ballroom by the chairs without breaking any social rules.

Smiling politely at those she passed, Sophronia made her way through the throng of lords and ladies--whose dresses took away much of the walking room--toward the open doors. While she moved, Sophronia covertly examined the gentleman present. Young and old, portly and fit, bejeweled and plain, there were all manner of gentlemen present. Sophronia sighed, she had no idea what Cage looked like. Hopefully he would find her.

* * *

Alexander stood near the refreshment table, William had taken a position to his right and obediently handled all mothers, matrons and maidens who sought Alexander's attention. This allowed Alexander to fix his gaze on the entrance to the ballroom. He watched as an endless number of women in low-cut gowns, modest lacy gowns, beautifully and brightly colored gowns entered the ballroom. The musicians had already finished the first set and had taken up a lively quadrille.

It would appear that Sophia was not coming.

Alexander turned to William. "I think this has been a waste of time."

William grinned, "Oh, I'm having a smashing time."

"Really?" Alexander arched an eyebrow at him.

"Yes, watching the cool and collected Lord Wycliffe fret about a woman is highly entertaining."

"Wait until you find a lady friend," Alexander threatened good-naturedly.

William laughed and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, "I already have many lady friends."

Alexander glanced past William at the group of ladies who had gathered, waiting to pounce on him and William. Both of whom were considered two of the most sought after bachelors for this London season. "Let's get out of here before we get mobbed."

"Oh, ho. Look at that! She is plain as a country bumpkin." William laughed, nodding towards the entrance.

Alexander turned back to the double doors and saw a plain-looking woman surveying the ballroom. Her gaze flitted right over him as she noted the position of the musicians and the chairs. Alexander saw that ribbons had been woven into her brown hair. Her ballgown, while not five seasons out of style, certainly was not new. There was a certain hesitancy about her, unlike the other ladies in the room she did not seem to have an escort nor did she join one of the numerous groups of women, instead she made for the french doors leading outside. Victory filled him and a smile broke across his face.

Alexander hastened towards the doors on his side of the ballroom, completely ignoring the gaggle of women that vied for his attention as he passed.

"Wait. You cannot be serious! Is that her?" William asked from behind him.

"Stay here, and distract them." Alexander commanded.

William sighed dramatically, but pasted a smile on his face and allowed the women to surround him like a school of Piranha.

* * *

Relief filled Sophronia when she made it out into the cool night air. It was not as foggy as it had been the other night and there was a pleasant chill in the air which alleviated the heat and confinement brought on by her outfit.

Probably due to the chill, there were only a few people outside. Sophronia instantly felt as though a weight had been lifted off of her, now that she was not the target of all the eyes in the ballroom. A new set of music had started up inside and Sophronia entertained herself by doing a simple promenade along the outside walkway. While Sophronia watched the pathway, she turned most of her attention to the windows into the ballroom.

Out of the darkness to her right a man appeared. Sophronia stumbled to a halt. The man who stood before her was at least a head taller than herself. His hair was a dark color, either brown or black, it was hard to be sure in the dim lighting. Despite the fact that he scared her, Sophronia thought he had a nice smile which reached his sparkling blue eyes.

Ignoring proper etiquette, as they had not been introduced, he gave her a courtly bow and asked, "Is your dance card full?"

Sophronia hesitated, and was grateful that they were not in full view of the ballroom who would judge her for her silence. Finally, Sophronia smiled politely, "No."

"That wasn't so hard was it?" The man's tone was teasing and too familiar considering their situation. "Will you honor me with your hand for a waltz?"

Once again, Sophronia paused. There were very clear social rules about when a lady could refuse a dance request, but she was not sure what to make of this odd man. "...I shall."

"I believe they are preparing for a waltz as we speak, shall we go in?"

"Actually... this dance is already spoken for." Sophronia blushed in embarrassment for she clearly had no partner.

"Ah."

Sophronia was surprised to see no disappointment on his face at her rejection, but even more surprised at what he said next.

"I thought perhaps you had forgotten my request, Sophia."

"...Cage?" Sophronia asked hesitantly.

"Lord Alexander Micajah Byron Wycliffe, at your service." Alexander replied with a courtly embellished bow.

Sophronia giggled and curtsied in return. "Lady Sophronia Juliet Chattoway, it is a pleasure to meet you, milord."

"So, it was you." Alexander said in amazement. "Sophronia..."

"What was me?"

Alexander shook his head and grinned lightly, "We should be able to keep some secrets, don't you think?"

"Mmm, I would wager that I can get you to tell me."

"I can be fairly obstinate when I want to be."

Sophronia grinned, "That I remember."

The trumpet, used to signal the dancers to take their place on the ballroom floor, sounded.

"I believe that is our cue." Alexander offered her his hand.

Sophronia accepted it and allowed him to pull her into his arms. Then they danced beneath the stars.

Alexander was a sublime dancer, and even though it had been a long time since she had danced, he was able to lead her through the steps. It was perfect, and Sophronia wished the music would never end.

* * *

As they danced, Alexander found himself admiring how beautifully Sophia moved. He could tell that she was not practiced in the steps but, with his lead, she had a natural grace that made the movements appear fluid and choreographed anyways.

It was almost hard to believe that his Sophia from the letters was this vibrant woman in his arms. A woman whose loosely secured, chestnut brown hair was falling down and making him think of rumpled bedsheets and sweaty skin.

Granted, Sophronia was not the most beautiful woman Alexander had ever had the pleasure of dancing with, but she most beautiful one beneath the surface. She was the only person who really understood him. Sophronia understood his desire for equality among men and where it came from, his hopes for the future, and his desire to move past the shallow relationships the ton favored.

As the music faded, Alexander found himself tightening his hold on her. He did not want to let her go so soon after he had found her. Fortunately, Sophia did not seem to mind his surge of possessiveness. She stood in his embrace and gazed up at him with a timid smile.

There were so many things that needed to be said, but Alexander did not know where to start. Instead, he brushed back one of the locks of her hair behind her ear. Her skin was warm and soft, and he found his hand lingered on it. Enjoying each moment and sensation, Alexander curled his hand around the nape of her neck. He watched as her eyes darkened with desire and her tongue darted out to moisten her lips.

Suddenly a trumpet blasted and Alexander jerked back his hand. The next dance set had started up inside the ballroom.

Alexander felt like the foolish child who tried to sneak some dessert before supper and been caught by the cook. He glanced at Sophronia, but he saw no mockery on her face only a hint of disappointment.

"I think the trumpet wanted to try it's hand at chaperoning." Alexander commented to break the tension

Sophronia smiled wryly, "It did a good job."

Alexander glanced back at the ballroom. He could see William was still trying to hold back the tide of gossip-mongers at the door, but he was losing ground. Word must have gotten around that something was going on outside. While the windows provided a glimpse of them, much of the pathway was in shadows which helped to secure a small amount of privacy.

"I'm afraid we have drawn attention to ourselves." Alexander commented.

Sophronia barely glanced at the door. "Cage--um, Alexander... I was so afraid that I would never find you. I had almost given up ho--"

Alexander shushed her by gently placing a finger on her lips, then quickly dropped them before he did something he shouldn't. Alexander wanted to reassure her, even though he had shared her concerns. "I am a very stubborn and determined man, and I never would have stopped searching for you."

Sophronia smiled, but it disappeared quickly was replaced by uneasiness. She avoided his gaze and fixated on her fingers, which were restlessly following the seam in his jacket. "Where do we go from here?"

"Well, I could kiss you..."

* * *

Sophronia eyes jerked back to his, which glinted mischievously.

"Of course, then your reputation would be ruined and I would be obliged to marry you. Or..." Alexander continued teasingly. "I suppose we could just go our separate ways."

"Mmm," Sophronia's eyes dropped to his lips. "My reputation wouldn't mind being ruined."

"Good choice," Alexander grinned as he leaned down to kiss her.

Sophonia closed her eyes and briefly reflected that, even against all odds, somehow love had found a way to overcome life's little inconveniences. Then his lips touched hers and she let the magic of the kiss transport her away from her thoughts.