Chapter 19
“You nearly laughed,” Sophia kept her voice light, teasing, but her heart beat faster than it should.
Edward stood beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body, close enough that if she shifted her weight, her shoulder would brush against his arm.
She didn’t shift her weight. She wanted to.
“I did not laugh.” His voice carried that familiar stiffness, but something softer lurked beneath it now. Something that had not been there at the start of the afternoon.
“You wanted to.” She glanced up at him. “I saw your mouth twitch.”
“You were watching my mouth?”
Heat flooded her cheeks. She looked away, fixing her gaze on Oliver, who had crouched near the performing dogs’ ring to examine a beetle crawling across the grass.
Her mother stood beside Mrs. Palmer several feet away, the two women deep in conversation about something that required much nodding and hand gestures.
“I was observing your reaction to Oliver’s request,” Sophia managed. “As any proper chaperone would.”
“Of course.”
She risked another glance. He was watching her with an expression she could not quite read, something between amusement and hunger that made her breath catch.
The crowd shifted around them. A family pushed past, jostling Sophia off balance. She stumbled, and Edward’s hand shot out to steady her, his fingers wrapping around her elbow, his grip firm and warm through the thin fabric of her sleeve.
He did not release her immediately.
Sophia felt the touch everywhere. It radiated up her arm, spread across her shoulders, and pooled low in her belly. She thought of the balcony, of his hands cupping her face, of the way he had kissed her as though she were the only thing in the world worth wanting.
“Thank you.” Her voice came out breathless.
His fingers tightened for just a moment. Then he released her and stepped back, putting proper distance between them.
“There is something I wish to discuss with you.” His tone shifted, became more formal. “Regarding our arrangement.”
Our arrangement. The words landed like cold water. Sophia straightened her spine and folded her hands before her.
“Of course. What is it?”
“Miss Stanton.” He watched Oliver poke at the beetle with a stick. “I have been courting her, as you know. She seems promising. Accomplished. Pleasant company.”
Something sharp twisted in Sophia’s chest. She kept her expression neutral and her voice steady. “That is good news. She comes from a respectable family, and her fortune would complement your estates nicely.”
“Yes.” He frowned. “But I find myself uncertain.”
“Uncertain?”
“About Oliver.” Edward turned to face her fully.
“I don’t know how she would be with him.
We’ve spoken at events, danced at balls, and walked through the park.
But I have never seen her interact with a child.
I don’t know if she would be patient with him.
Kind to him. If she would understand his grief or dismiss it as childish nonsense. ”
Sophia blinked. She had not expected this. Had not expected him to consider Oliver so carefully in his choice of bride. The realization softened something inside her, even as the jealousy continued to burn.
“That is a valid concern,” she said slowly. “A promenade or a single afternoon would not give you enough information. You would need to observe them together over time. In different circumstances.”
Mr. Colborne’s words echoed in her memory.
House parties bring out the other side of people. Proposals happen. Scandals break out.
“You could host a house party.”
Edward stared at her as though she had suggested he set fire to Parliament.
“A house party.”
“At your country estate.” Sophia warmed to the idea as she spoke.
“Invite Miss Stanton and her family. A small gathering, perhaps a week or two. You would see her in informal settings. Morning walks. Dinners. Picnics on the grounds. And you could arrange for her to spend time with Oliver. Watch how she speaks to him, how she responds when he is difficult or upset.”
“I despise house parties.”
“You despise most social gatherings.” Sophia tilted her chin. “But you are seeking a wife who will become Oliver’s mother. Surely that warrants some discomfort.”
He was silent for a long moment. His jaw worked. His hands flexed at his sides.
“Who would I invite?” The question emerged reluctantly, as though dragged from him against his will.
“Miss Stanton and her parents, obviously. The Duke of Thornwaite, to keep you from brooding in corners.” She ticked off names on her fingers. “Perhaps one or two other families to round out the numbers. And you would need a hostess to manage the arrangements.”
“I do not have a hostess.”
“Then you will need to find one. An aunt, perhaps. A cousin. Someone to oversee the domestic details so you can focus on Miss Stanton.”
Edward’s gaze sharpened. “You will need to attend.”
Sophia’s heart stuttered. “I beg your pardon?”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You know Oliver. You know what I am looking for in a bride. You could observe Miss Stanton and give me your honest assessment. And your presence would reassure Oliver. He is always calmer when you are near.”
The afternoon sun beat down on Sophia’s shoulders. The fair swirled around them, laughter and music and the cries of vendors, but it all faded to a distant hum. She stood in a bubble of silence with Edward, his blue eyes fixed on her face, waiting for her answer.
Spend a week in his home. Watch him court another woman. Help him choose a bride.
The thought made her chest ache.
“I would need to bring my mother,” she heard herself say. “For propriety.”
“Of course.” Something flickered in his expression. Relief, perhaps. Or something else entirely. “Lady Brimsey would be most welcome.”
“Sophia!” Oliver’s voice cut through the moment. He came running toward them, his face alight with excitement. “The beetle climbed all the way up the stick! I named him Sir Reginald!”
Sophia laughed, the tension of the conversation dissolving as Oliver launched into a detailed account of Sir Reginald’s adventures. Edward listened with an expression of bemused tolerance that looked almost fond.
Her mother and Mrs. Palmer rejoined them as the sun began its descent toward the horizon. The fair was winding down, vendors calling out last offers, and families gathering their tired children.
“We should return home,” her mother said. “It has been a lovely afternoon.”
Oliver’s face crumpled. “Already?”
“We have been here for hours, darling.” Sophia crouched to his level. “And Thunder needs his rest. He has had a very exciting day.”
Oliver looked at the carved horse in his hand. His protest faded into a yawn that seemed to swallow his entire face.
“I suppose,” he conceded. Then he flung his arms around Sophia’s neck, nearly knocking her off balance. “Thank you for the fair. It was the best day ever.”
Sophia hugged him tight, breathing in the scent of honeyed nuts and sunshine and little boy. “You are very welcome, sweetheart.”
She released him and rose to find Edward watching them. His expression had gone unreadable again, that careful mask slipping back into place.
“Lady Sophia.” He bowed, formal and stiff, but his voice held a warmth that had not been there before. “Thank you. For today. For everything.”
She curtsied. “You are welcome, Your Grace.”
Their eyes held for a moment longer than propriety allowed. Then Edward turned and lifted Oliver into his arms. The boy went willingly, too tired to protest, his head already drooping against his uncle’s shoulder.
Sophia watched them walk toward the waiting carriage. Watched Edward adjust his grip to keep Oliver secure. And watched him murmur something that made the boy smile sleepily against his coat.
Her mother appeared at her elbow. “They make quite a picture.”
“Mama.”
“I am merely observing.” Lady Brimsey’s voice held a knowing lilt. “The duke seems different today. Softer. And you seem different when you are with him.”
“I am helping him find a wife.” Sophia kept her gaze on the retreating figures. “That’s all.”
“If you say so, darling.”
The carriage pulled away. Edward did not look back, but Oliver twisted in his arms and waved, Thunder the horse clutched in his small fist.
Sophia waved in return, her heart full of something she refused to name.
A house party. She had agreed to spend a week watching Edward court Miss Stanton. Watching him choose a bride. Watching him build a family that would not include her.
She was a fool.
But as she turned toward her own carriage, her mother’s arm linked through hers, she could not bring herself to regret it.
Not yet.