Chapter 4
“Lady Sophia! What a delightful surprise to see you here.”
The voice dripped honey laced with arsenic. Sophia turned to find Lady Clarissa Whitby bearing down on her, resplendent in pale pink muslin that probably cost more than Sophia’s entire wardrobe.
The Viscountess Whitby had been Clarissa Pennington during their debut season, a year younger than Sophia and half as clever. Now she was married, titled, and insufferably smug about both.
“Lady Whitby.” Sophia dipped into a curtsy. “How lovely to see you.”
“Is it not the most glorious afternoon?” Lady Whitby fanned herself, her gaze sweeping over Sophia’s gown with barely concealed disdain.
“Though I must say, I admire your courage in wearing that shade of green again. It takes a certain confidence to repeat a dress so many times. Not all of us could manage it.”
Sophia felt her mother stiffen beside her. She kept her smile fixed in place. “How kind of you to notice. I find comfort in familiar things.”
“And you remain so wonderfully unchanged yourself.” Lady Whitby’s eyes glittered. “Still unmarried after all these years. Such dedication to spinsterhood. Though I suppose at twenty-five, one must accept one’s lot in life.”
Sophia’s fingers tightened around her fan. She thought of a dozen cutting responses, each more satisfying than the last. But her mother stood beside her, fragile and trembling from last week’s encounter with Drakeston. She would not add to her burdens.
“I am content with my circumstances, Lady Whitby. I hope you can say the same of yours.”
Something flickered in the viscountess’s eyes. A crack in the smugness.
Then she laughed, bright and false. “Oh, I certainly can. Lord Whitby is everything a woman could desire. But then, not everyone is fortunate enough to make such a match.” She patted Sophia’s arm with patronizing sympathy.
“Do enjoy the party, Lady Sophia. And give my regards to your father. I hear he remains…” She paused, selecting her words like daggers. “Indisposed.”
She swept away before Sophia could respond, her pink skirts swishing with triumph.
“That wretched creature.” Alice’s voice cut through the fog of Sophia’s composure. Her friend appeared at her elbow, Thomas in tow, her face flushed with indignation. “I saw the whole thing. The nerve of that woman.”
“Alice, please.” Sophia touched her arm. “Not here.”
Thomas moved to engage Sophia’s mother in conversation, gently steering her toward a nearby bench where they might sit in the shade. Alice watched Lady Whitby’s retreating figure with murder in her eyes.
“Do you know who matched her with Lord Whitby?” Alice hissed. “Lady Fairhart. That woman owes her entire happiness to you, and she repays you with cruelty.”
“She doesn’t know that.” Sophia’s voice remained steady, though her heart ached. “And I do not care about the ton’s opinion. Let them think what they wish.”
Alice took her arm. “Walk with me. You need air, and I need to resist the urge to trip Lady Whitby into the ornamental pond.”
They strolled along the gravel path that wound through Lord Bancroft’s magnificent gardens. Roses bloomed in riotous profusion on either side, their perfume heavy in the afternoon warmth. Sophia breathed deep, letting the beauty soothe her battered pride.
“I must tell you something.” She glanced around to ensure they were not overheard. “I have made an arrangement with the Duke of Heatherwell.”
Alice stopped walking. “An arrangement? What sort of arrangement?”
“He knows I am Lady Fairhart.” Sophia kept her voice low. “He overheard me speaking with Mr. Colborne. In exchange for his silence, and for permission to visit Oliver, I’ve agreed to help him find a bride.”
Alice’s jaw dropped. “Sophia. Are you mad? What if he exposes you anyway?”
“He will not.” Sophia resumed walking, pulling Alice along. “He is not the sort to stir scandal. He wants this matter handled quietly, and so do I.”
“But the Duke is one of the most eligible bachelors in England.” Alice clutched her arm. “Every ambitious mama in London has her sights on him. If they see you speaking with him, they will tear you apart.”
“Which is why I intend to be discreet.” Sophia squeezed her friend’s hand. “But I may need your help. If anyone becomes suspicious, I will require a distraction.”
Alice sighed. “Of course. Whatever you need. However, I still think this is reckless.”
“Probably.” Sophia managed a small smile. “But Oliver needs me. And that matters more than caution.”
A ripple of excitement passed through the garden. Heads turned toward the entrance. Sophia followed the collective gaze and felt her breath catch.
The Duke of Heatherwell had arrived.
He stood at the garden’s edge, tall and broad-shouldered in a dark blue coat that emphasized the gold of his hair. Beside him, the Duke of Thornwaite lounged with aristocratic ease, making some comment that drew a reluctant half-smile from his companion.
Even from this distance, Sophia could feel the intensity of Heatherwell’s presence, the coiled energy beneath that controlled exterior.
He greeted Lord and Lady Bancroft with perfect courtesy. Then his gaze swept the garden, searching, until it landed on her.
A jolt ran through Sophia’s body.
Nerves, she told herself. Nothing more than nerves.
He held her eyes for a heartbeat. Then he gave an almost imperceptible nod and moved toward the beverage table at the far corner of the lawn.
“Go.” Alice nudged her. “I will keep watch.”
Sophia made her way through the crowd, pausing to exchange pleasantries with acquaintances, and appearing to move without purpose. When she reached the beverage table, she poured herself a glass of lemonade, keeping her back to the duke.
“You took your time.” His voice came from behind her, low enough that only she could hear.
“I cannot simply stride across a garden without drawing attention.” She sipped her lemonade, her gaze fixed on the roses. “In which direction would you like to move? I assume you have candidates in mind.”
“I have just arrived. Shouldn’t I enjoy myself first?”
Sophia blinked. Was he joking? “Do you want to enjoy yourself?”
“No. I am here for business.”
“Business.” She set down her glass and refilled it, using the motion to mask their conversation. “You truly see finding a wife as a business matter.”
“Marriage is a contract.” His voice held no emotion. “An exchange of assets. Political alliances. The continuation of bloodlines. Sentiment has no place in such calculations.”
“How remarkably cynical.” Sophia shook her head. “And how remarkably sad. Do you not believe in affection? In companionship? In love?”
“I believe in duty.” A pause. “You made me a promise, Lady Sophia. I expect you to honor it, regardless of your romantic notions.”
She sighed. “Very well. There are several ladies here who might suit your requirements. Lady Georgiana Huxley, near the fountain, possesses excellent breeding and a reputation for charitable work. Miss Amelia Stanton, by the rose arbor, is well-educated and accomplished in music and languages. And—” She hesitated.
“—Miss Prudence Chetwood is approaching from your left with her mother.”
“The one in yellow?”
“Yes. And I would advise against engaging with her. She cares nothing for love or companionship. Only wealth and status. Her mother is worse.”
She moved to leave. His hand brushed her wrist, so briefly she might have imagined it.
“Stay nearby.”
Sophia drifted toward a nearby cluster of guests, close enough to observe while appearing occupied with her own conversation.
Viscountess Marlington descended upon the duke with the determination of a general laying siege. “Your Grace! What an honor to see you at Lord Bancroft’s gathering. May I present my daughter, Miss Prudence Chetwood?”
Miss Chetwood curtsied with practiced grace, her eyes calculating as they swept over the Duke’s form. “Your Grace. I have heard so much about Heatherwell Hall. They say the grounds are magnificent.”
“They are adequate.”
“And the London townhouse, of course, is among the finest in Mayfair.” Viscountess Marlington fanned herself. “My Prudence has always admired fine architecture. She would so love to see it sometime.”
“I rarely entertain.”
“But surely, for the right company…” Viscountess Marlington’s smile stretched wider, “you might make an exception? My daughter is accomplished in all the womanly arts. Needlework, watercolors, and the pianoforte. She would make any gentleman a fine wife.”
Miss Chetwood preened. “Mama, you flatter me.”
“I speak only the truth, my dear.” Viscountess Marlington turned back to the Duke. “And of course, Prudence’s dowry is most generous. Her father has ensured she will bring a considerable fortune to her marriage.”
Sophia watched the duke’s jaw tighten. His responses grew shorter, clipped. When Viscountess Marlington paused for breath, he seized the opportunity.
“If you will excuse me, I have just spotted an acquaintance I must greet. Good day, Lady Marlington. Miss Chetwood.”
He strode away, leaving mother and daughter gaping in his wake.
Sophia allowed herself a moment of grim satisfaction before returning to find her mother. The satisfaction died the instant she saw who stood beside her.
Lord Drakeston.
Her blood turned to ice. She crossed the lawn with measured steps, fighting the urge to run.
“Ah, Lady Sophia.” Drakeston turned to greet her, his smile as polished as ever. “I was just inquiring after your father’s health. Lady Brimsey tells me he remains in the country. Such a shame. I hope he recovers soon.”
The words sounded innocent. The undertone was not.
“Thank you for your concern, Lord Drakeston.” Sophia positioned herself between him and her mother. “He improves every day.”
“I am relieved to hear it. Debts of health, like debts of coin, can be so burdensome when left untended.” His eyes glittered. “But I am certain your family manages admirably.”
Her mother’s hand found Sophia’s arm and gripped it tightly.
“Your Graces.” Drakeston’s attention shifted to something behind Sophia. “What a pleasure. Allow me to introduce Lady Brimsey and her daughter, Lady Sophia Readthorpe.”
Sophia turned. The Duke of Heatherwell stood before her, his expression unreadable. Beside him, the Duke of Thornwaite offered a charming smile.
“Lady Brimsey. Lady Sophia.” The Duke of Thornwaite swept into an elegant bow. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. But, Drakeston, you did not mention you kept such delightful company.”
“A recent acquaintance.” Drakeston’s smile did not reach his eyes.
“Lady Sophia.” Thornwaite took her hand and pressed his lips to her gloved knuckles. “I must say that shade of green is most becoming on you. It brings out the remarkable color of your eyes.”
Sophia felt her cheeks warm. “You are too kind, Your Grace.”
Beside Thornwaite, the Duke of Heatherwell had gone rigid. His jaw was set, his hands clasped behind his back with white-knuckled tension. When Sophia met his gaze, she found something there she couldn’t name.
“We must move along.” Heatherwell’s voice cut through the pleasantries. “There is a business associate I must greet. Drakeston. Ladies.”
He turned and strode away. Thornwaite lingered long enough to offer another dazzling smile before following.
Sophia watched them go, bewildered by the duke’s abrupt departure.
“I shall have the next installment for you soon.” She kept her voice low, her eyes still on the retreating figures. “Until then, stay away from my mother.”
Drakeston leaned close, his breath warm against her ear. “You do not give me orders, Lady Sophia. You would do well to remember your place.”
He straightened, donned his mask of gentility, and strolled away as if they had exchanged nothing more than pleasantries about the weather.
Sophia’s hands trembled. She turned to her mother, found her pale and shaken, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“Come, Mama. Let us find somewhere to sit.”
As she guided her mother toward the shade, she felt eyes upon her. She glanced back.
The Duke of Heatherwell stood at the edge of the crowd, watching her.
When their gazes met, he looked away.
But not before Sophia saw something in his expression that looked almost like concern.