Chapter 15
“Awidower of fifty-two seeking companionship.” Mr. Colborne peered at his own copy through his spectacles. “He lists his requirements as pleasant disposition, modest expectations, and a tolerance for snoring. At least the man is honest.”
The candle guttered in its holder, casting dancing shadows across Mr. Colborne’s cluttered desk. Sophia bent over the latest application, her quill scratching against parchment as she composed her reply.
“Honesty is refreshing.” Sophia dipped her quill in the inkwell. “Mrs. Elmwood would suit him. She wrote to us last month, if you recall. Widow of a clergyman. She mentioned that her late husband snored like a freight cart, and she found it comforting.”
Mr. Colborne shuffled through his stack of papers. “Ah, yes. Here she is. Pleasant woman. Realistic expectations.” He set the application aside. “I shall arrange for them to cross paths at a poetry reading.”
Sophia nodded and continued writing. The familiar rhythm of the work soothed something restless inside her.
Here, in this cramped office with its ink-stained floors and tottering stacks of correspondence, she was not Lady Sophia Readthorpe, aging spinster and object of pity.
She was Lady Fairhart. She was useful. She was good at something.
“We have had three new applications this week.” Mr. Colborne leaned back in his chair. “Word spreads. Lady Fairhart’s reputation grows.”
“That is good news.” Sophia signed the letter with her flourish and reached for the sealing wax.
“It is. Although I confess, I worry about the season’s end.” Mr. Colborne polished his spectacles on his sleeve. “Once the families retreat to their country estates for house parties, our business will slow considerably.”
“House parties.” Sophia pressed her seal into the warm wax. “I have always found them rather fraught.”
“Fraught indeed.” Mr. Colborne chuckled.
“House parties bring out the other side of people. Proposals happen. Scandals break out. Something about being confined together in the countryside makes folk behave in ways they never would in London.” He shook his head.
“We have matched more than one couple who met under such circumstances. And we have had more than one application from someone fleeing such circumstances.”
Sophia tucked that observation away. She gathered the completed letters and rose from her chair. “I should go. It’s almost dawn.”
Mr. Colborne handed her the payment pouch. “Safe travels, Lady Sophia. Until next time.”
She slipped out into the gray predawn streets, her hood pulled low, her mind already turning to the day ahead.
Hyde Park glittered in the afternoon sun. Ladies in pastel gowns strolled along the paths, their parasols bobbing like colorful mushrooms. Gentlemen tipped their hats. Children shrieked and chased one another across the grass while their nursemaids looked on with varying degrees of alarm.
Sophia walked arm in arm with her mother, savoring the warmth on her face and the simple pleasure of an afternoon away from worry.
“Your father would love a day like this.” Lady Brimsey’s voice held a wistful note. “He always says the park was wasted on people who only used it to see and be seen. He prefers to sit by the Serpentine and watch the ducks.”
“I remember.” Sophia squeezed her mother’s arm. “He used to bring bread crusts in his pockets. The ducks would swarm him like he was their long-lost king.”
Her mother laughed, a sound that had grown rare in recent months. “He named them, you know. Every single one. He was convinced they recognized him. Probably still is.”
“And they probably did. Papa had that effect on creatures.” Sophia smiled at the memory. “Has there been any news from the country?”
Lady Brimsey’s smile faded. “The doctor writes that his condition remains stable. No better, but no worse. He has good days and bad days.” She paused. “Lily sends her love. She asks constantly when you will visit.”
Guilt twisted in Sophia’s chest. Her little sister had been sent to stay with their aunt in the country to shield her from the worst of the family’s troubles. Sophia had not seen her in months, and she missed her dearly.
“Soon.” The word felt hollow even as she spoke it. “Once things are more settled.”
“Lily understands more than you think.” Her mother patted her hand. “She knows you are working to keep us safe. She is proud of you, Sophia. As am I.”
Sophia blinked against the sting in her eyes. Before she could respond, a familiar voice cut through the pleasant afternoon air.
“Lady Brimsey! Lady Sophia! What a delightful surprise.”
Lady Clarissa Whitby approached with two companions in tow. Her smile was sharp as a blade. She wore a gown of pale lavender that probably cost more than Sophia’s entire wardrobe, and her parasol matched perfectly.
“Lady Whitby.” Sophia curtsied with practiced grace. “How lovely to see you.”
“Isn’t it a beautiful day?” Lady Whitby’s gaze swept over Sophia’s gown with barely concealed disdain.
“I was just telling Lady Clara and Lady Gosling how refreshing it is to see the same familiar faces season after season. Some of us may acquire new gowns and new husbands, but others remain delightfully constant.”
Her companions tittered.
“Constancy is a virtue.” Sophia kept her voice pleasant. “Or so I have always believed.”
“Of course it is.” Lady Whitby’s smile widened. “Though I imagine it must be difficult, watching all your friends marry while you remain unattached. Twenty-five is such a precarious age. One more season and you shall be firmly on the shelf.”
Sophia’s mother stiffened beside her. Sophia squeezed her arm in warning.
“I find the shelf rather comfortable, actually.” Sophia smiled. “The view is excellent, and one avoids the dust of the lower shelves entirely.”
Lady Whitby’s smile flickered. Her companions exchanged uncertain glances.
“Well.” Lady Whitby recovered. “We must be going. So many calls to make. Enjoy your walk, Lady Sophia. And your… ahem… lovely gown.”
They swept away in a rustle of expensive silk. Sophia watched them go, her jaw tight.
“Spiteful creature.” Her mother’s voice trembled with anger. “How dare she speak to you that way?”
“Let it go, Mama.” Sophia resumed walking. “She’s not worth our energy.”
“But—”
“We have had a lovely afternoon. I refuse to let Lady Whitby ruin it.” Sophia patted her mother’s hand. “Now. Tell me more about Papa’s ducks.”
Her mother hesitated, then sighed. “There was one he called Admiral Featherstone. The most pompous mallard you ever saw. Your father was convinced he was plotting a coup against the other ducks.”
Sophia laughed, and the sting of Lady Clarissa’s words faded.
They rounded a bend in the path and nearly collided with a group of gentlemen walking in the opposite direction.
“Lady Brimsey. Lady Sophia.”
The Duke of Heatherwell stood before her, tall and impossibly handsome in the afternoon light. Beside him, the Duke of Thornwaite offered a charming smile, and a third gentleman, older and portly, mopped his brow with a handkerchief.
Sophia’s heart lurched. She had not seen Edward since the ball. Since the balcony. Since the kiss that still invaded her dreams.
“Your Graces.” She curtsied, her voice cool.
Edward bowed. His expression revealed nothing. “Lady Sophia. I trust you are well.”
“Quite well. Thank you.”
The silence stretched, uncomfortable and charged.
Hugo stepped into the breach with practiced ease. “Lady Brimsey, you look radiant as always. May I introduce Lord Renwick? He and Heatherwell have business dealings together.”
Lord Renwick bowed and launched into a detailed explanation of his shipping interests, seemingly delighted to have a new audience. Hugo joined in, steering the conversation toward safe topics. Sophia’s mother responded with polite interest.
Sophia drifted away from the group, her feet carrying her toward a small rise that overlooked the Serpentine.
Below, families gathered at the water’s edge.
Children threw bread to the ducks while their parents watched.
A father lifted his small daughter onto his shoulders.
A mother wiped jam from her son’s cheek.
Something ached in Sophia’s chest. She had dreamed of this once. A husband who loved her. Children of her own. A life filled with ordinary joys and small adventures.
Those dreams felt very far away now.
She sensed him before she heard him. A shift in the air. A presence at her shoulder. She turned to find Edward standing a few feet away, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze fixed on the water.
“We should not be seen together.” Her voice came out sharper than she intended.
He nodded. “I’m aware. I only wanted to ask your opinion.”
“On what?”
“Miss Amelia Stanton.” He did not look at her. “I spoke with her at Fallston’s soiree. She seems promising.”
Sophia’s stomach tightened. “Miss Stanton was on the list of names I gave you. I would not have suggested her if I did not think her suitable.”
“I know.” He shifted his weight. “I merely wanted to confirm, as I promised to walk with her today.”
“Consider it confirmed.” Sophia folded her arms. “If you find her promising, then you should court her. Unless you are here seeking advice on courtship, in which case, I’m afraid I cannot help you.”
His jaw tightened. “I do not need advice on courting a woman.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
The word hung between them. Sophia kept her gaze on the water, though every nerve in her body screamed with awareness of him. Of his nearness. Of the memory of his hands on her face, his mouth claiming hers.
“We should not be seen together,” she repeated.
He nodded and turned to leave. Then paused.
“You should bring Oliver to the park.” The words escaped before Sophia could stop them.
Edward turned back. “His nursemaid already has.”
“I mean you should bring him.” She met his eyes. “Like an uncle ought to do. Take him to feed the ducks. Let him run in the grass. Spend time with him outside the walls of that house.”