Chapter 9
“The Elgin Marbles were acquired by Lord Elgin during his tenure as British Ambassador to the Ottoman Empire.” Edward gestured toward the massive frieze, its carved figures frozen in eternal procession across the marble surface.
The British Museum bustled with visitors around them, voices echoing off the high ceilings, footsteps clicking against polished floors.
Oliver stared at his shoes.
“They once adorned the Parthenon in Athens,” Edward continued, determined to impart something of educational value.
“Constructed in the fifth century before Christ, during the age of Pericles. The sculptures depict the Panathenaic procession, a festival held every four years in honor of the goddess Athena.”
Oliver picked at a loose thread on his coat sleeve.
“The architectural significance cannot be overstated. The ratio of the columns, the optical illusions built into the design to counteract perspective distortion, the remarkable preservation of the metopes and pediments—”
“Uncle Edward?”
Edward paused. Oliver had not started a conversation with him in days. “Yes?”
“Why are all the people naked?”
Mrs. Palmer coughed into her hand. Edward felt heat creep up his neck.
“The ancient Greeks celebrated the human form. They believed—”
But Oliver had already wandered away, his attention captured by a display of Egyptian artifacts in the adjacent gallery. Edward watched him go, frustration and guilt warring in his chest.
He had thought this outing would help. A shared experience. An opportunity to connect.
Instead, he had delivered a lecture to a four-year-old about fifth-century architecture.
He nodded to Mrs. Palmer, and they followed Oliver into the Egyptian gallery. The boy had stopped before a painted sarcophagus, his small face pressed close to the glass case, his breath fogging the surface.
“Oliver.” Edward approached. “You must not run off. The museum is crowded, and—”
“Sophia!”
The boy’s face transformed. He bolted across the gallery, weaving between startled visitors, and launched himself at a familiar figure in blue.
Lady Sophia caught him with a laugh, crouching to return his embrace. Beside her stood an older woman with honey-blonde hair and the same green eyes, watching the reunion with soft surprise.
Edward’s breath caught. He had arranged this meeting and had sent word to Lady Sophia about his plans for the museum visit.
But seeing her here, sunlight streaming through the tall windows to catch the shine of her hair, made something shift beneath his ribs.
She wore a simple day dress of cream muslin, and he found himself noticing the way it skimmed her figure, the hint of collarbone visible above the modest neckline.
He crossed the gallery to join them, acutely aware of how his pulse had quickened.
“And who is this lovely young man?”
Sophia’s mother kneeled beside Oliver, her smile warm and unguarded in a way Sophia had not seen in weeks. The boy pressed closer to Sophia’s side, suddenly shy, peeking at the stranger from behind her skirts.
“Oliver, this is my mother, Lady Brimsey.” Sophia smoothed his hair. “Mama, this is Lord Oliver Gray. Jane’s son.”
Her mother’s expression softened with recognition. “Oh, my dear boy. I knew your mother when she was just a girl. She had the most beautiful laugh.”
Oliver’s grip on Sophia’s skirts loosened. “You knew Mama?”
“I did. She used to visit our house for tea, and she would always ask Cook for extra biscuits to share with the sparrows in the garden.” Lady Brimsey tilted her head. “Do you like sparrows?”
Oliver considered this. “I like robins better. They have red on them.”
“Robins are excellent birds.” Lady Brimsey nodded with grave approval. “Very sensible choice.”
A smile crept across Oliver’s face. He released Sophia’s skirts and stepped closer to her mother. “Do you have biscuits?”
“Not at present, I’m afraid. But perhaps we might convince your uncle to stop at a tea shop after our museum visit?”
Sophia looked up to find the Duke of Heatherwell standing a few feet away, his expression unreadable.
His gaze met hers, and the familiar jolt ran through her, that unsettling awareness that seemed to grow stronger with each encounter.
Heat crept up her neck. In the golden light of the gallery, she noticed details she had no business noticing.
The strong line of his jaw. The way his coat stretched across his shoulders.
He stood close enough that she caught the intoxicating scent of him, and her breath stuttered before she could stop it.
“Your Grace.” She rose and curtsied. “What a pleasant surprise.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Indeed. Lady Brimsey, Lady Sophia. How unexpected to find you here.”
They exchanged the pleasantries, maintaining the fiction of coincidence for the benefit of Mrs. Palmer and anyone who might be watching.
Sophia introduced her mother to the duke, noting how his posture shifted and how his voice softened when addressing the older woman. Courtesy, perhaps. Or something more.
“Sophia.” Oliver tugged at her hand. “Uncle Edward was telling me about the naked people, but it was boring. Can you tell me about the mummies instead?”
The Duke’s face flushed. Sophia bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.
“I would love to tell you about the mummies.” She took Oliver’s hand and led him toward the sarcophagus he had been examining. “Do you know what the ancient Egyptians believed happened after someone died?”
Oliver shook his head, his eyes wide.
“They believed the person went on a great adventure. A journey through the underworld, with monsters to defeat and riddles to solve. And at the end, if they were brave and good, they would reach a beautiful land where the sun always shone, and the river never ran dry.”
“Like a story?”
“Exactly like a story.” Sophia pointed to the hieroglyphics painted on the sarcophagus. “See these pictures? They are spells to help the person on their journey. This one here, with the bird? That is a falcon, the symbol of a god named Horus. He protects travelers.”
“A falcon.” Oliver pressed his face to the glass again. “I like falcons. They are fast.”
“They are indeed.” She crouched beside him. “Shall we play a game? Let us see how many animals we can find hidden in these paintings. I will count the birds, and you count everything else.”
Oliver threw himself into the task with enthusiasm, pointing out jackals and serpents and creatures Sophia was fairly certain did not exist outside the artist’s imagination. She praised each discovery, asked questions, and let him lead the exploration.
“That is not historically accurate.”
The Duke’s voice came from behind her. Sophia straightened and turned to find him frowning at the sarcophagus.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The journey through the underworld. You simplified it considerably. The weighing of the heart, the tribunal of forty-two judges, the role of Osiris as lord of the dead—”
“He is four years old.”
“And capable of understanding complexity.” The duke crossed his arms. “Education should challenge, not coddle.”
“Education should engage.” Sophia matched his posture, folding her own arms. “A child who is bored learns nothing. A child who is curious learns everything.”
“Curiosity without rigor is mere entertainment.”
“Rigor without curiosity is mere torture.”
They stood facing each other, the sarcophagus between them, the air charged with something that had nothing to do with ancient Egypt. Sophia realized how close they stood. Realized the way his jaw tightened when he was annoyed. The flecks of gold in his blue eyes, visible only at this distance.
“Sophia!” Oliver’s voice broke the tension. “I found a lion! Come see!”
She turned away from the duke and followed Oliver to the next display case. Behind her, she heard her mother’s soft voice.
“That game she plays with him. The counting game.” Lady Brimsey spoke to the duke, though Sophia could still hear.
“Her father invented it. When Sophia was small, he would take her to museums and galleries and challenge her to find hidden treasures in every room. She spent hours searching, learning without ever realizing she was being taught.”
Sophia’s chest tightened. She had not thought of those afternoons in years. Her father’s patient voice. His quiet pride when she discovered something new. The way he made the whole world feel like an adventure waiting to unfold.
The Duke moved to stand beside Sophia while Oliver counted the sphinx’s legs.
“Your mother mentioned you have a talent for observation.” His voice was low, meant only for her. “For seeing connections others miss.”
Sophia’s pulse quickened. “She flatters me.”
“I think not.” He watched Oliver for a moment. “Surely a woman of your… profession picks things up that others do not,” he whispered. “Admittedly, I find myself curious about the particulars of your… enterprise. How does one identify a suitable match?”
She glanced at him, surprised by the genuine interest in his tone.
“I listen. Not just to what people say, but to what they avoid saying. I watch how they move through a room, who draws their attention, what makes them laugh.” She paused.
“Most people tell you exactly who they are if you pay attention.”
“And Mr. Colborne?”
“He handles the correspondence. He provides respectability, and I provide insight.” She kept her eyes on Oliver. “We have helped more than twenty couples find happiness.”
The Duke was silent for a long moment. “You speak of it with pride.”
“Should I not?” She met his gaze. “I give people what they most desire. Connection, companionship. Love, if they are fortunate. There are worse things to build a life upon.”
He studied her as though seeing her for the first time. “No. I suppose there are not.”
She focused on Oliver, who was counting the legs of a sphinx with intense concentration.
“Four!” He held up his fingers. “The lion thing has four legs!”
“Very good.” She crouched beside him. “But look closely. What else does it have that lions do not?”
Oliver squinted. “A person head!”
“Exactly. It is called a sphinx. The Egyptians believed it guarded important places, like a very fierce watchdog.”
“Can it bark?”
“I imagine it would roar. Very frightening roars that scared away anyone who did not belong.”
Oliver considered this. Then he threw back his head and produced the most fearsome roar a four-year-old could muster.
Several nearby visitors jumped. Mrs. Palmer looked mortified. The Duke pinched the bridge of his nose.
Sophia laughed. She could not help it. The sound bubbled up from somewhere deep in her chest, bright and unguarded.
Oliver beamed at her reaction and roared again, louder this time.
“Oliver.” The Duke’s voice cut through the noise. “That is quite enough. We are in a public institution.”
Oliver’s face fell. The joy drained away, replaced by the guarded wariness that seemed to descend whenever his uncle spoke.
Sophia reached for the boy at the same moment the duke did.
Their hands collided over Oliver’s shoulder.
Heat shot through Sophia’s arm, radiating outward from the point of contact. His fingers were warm, solid, and unexpectedly gentle where they brushed against hers. She looked up and found his eyes already on her, something flickering in their depths that made her breath catch.
Neither of them moved.
The moment stretched, suspended in time.
Around them, the museum continued its bustle, voices echoing, footsteps clicking, the world carrying on as if nothing had changed.
But something had changed. Sophia felt it in the quickening of her pulse, the warmth spreading through her chest, the sudden difficulty of drawing breath.
The Duke withdrew his hand first. He stepped back, his expression shuttering, the familiar mask of control sliding into place.
“Forgive me.” His voice emerged rough. “I did not mean—”
“No need to apologize.” Sophia gathered Oliver close, using the movement to steady herself. “We both simply wanted to comfort him.”
Oliver looked between them, confusion creasing his small brow. “Why are you both red?”
“The museum is warm.” Sophia forced a smile. “Shall we find more animals? I believe I saw something with wings in the next gallery.”
Oliver brightened and tugged her toward the doorway. Sophia followed, acutely aware of the duke’s gaze on her back, the phantom warmth of his fingers still tingling against her skin.
Her mother fell into step beside her, a knowing look in her eyes that Sophia ignored.
She could not afford to think about what had just happened. Could not afford to wonder what it meant, why his touch had affected her so deeply, why she wished it had lasted longer.
He was her arrangement. Her obligation. A duke searching for a bride who was not her.
She would do well to remember that.
But as she led Oliver through the Egyptian gallery, surrounded by ancient treasures and the ghosts of civilizations long past, she could not shake the feeling that something between them had shifted.
Something that could not be so easily defined or dismissed.
Something that terrified her far more than any sphinx.