Chapter 22
“You look as though you are preparing for battle rather than a ball.”
Alice appeared at Sophia’s elbow; her eyes bright with amusement. The ballroom at Heatherwell Hall glittered around them, chandeliers casting warm light across the polished floor, banks of white roses perfuming the air.
Sophia smoothed her skirts. “I am merely observing.”
“You are brooding.” Alice linked their arms. “There is a difference.”
Across the room, Edward moved through the crowd with stiff courtesy.
Miss Stanton hovered near his elbow, radiant in cream silk, her hand resting on his arm with easy familiarity.
They made a handsome pair. Everyone said so.
Lady Blackwell had remarked upon it at dinner and had hinted at an imminent announcement.
Sophia watched them and told herself the ache in her chest meant nothing.
The musicians struck the opening notes of an allemande. Couples drifted toward the floor. Edward led Miss Stanton to their position, his arm entwining with hers, and they began to move in perfect, practiced harmony.
Sophia turned away.
“Lady Sophia.”
The Duke of Thornwaite appeared before her, immaculate in evening dress, his smile carrying its usual hint of mischief. He swept into an elaborate bow.
“Might I have the honor of this dance?”
Sophia blinked. Of all the people she had expected to approach her tonight, the Duke of Thornwaite was not one of them.
“I…” She recovered herself and placed her hand in his. “Yes. Thank you, Your Grace.”
He led her onto the floor with easy confidence. His hand settled at her waist, light and proper, and they joined the swirling dancers.
“You looked as though you needed rescuing.” His eyes sparkled. “Standing there alone and watching everyone else have all the fun. It was terribly tragic.”
“I was not tragic.”
“You were at least melancholy. Perhaps wistful.” He guided her through a turn. “I have a keen eye for these things.”
Sophia laughed despite herself. “You are ridiculous.”
“I prefer charmingly unconventional.” Hugo’s grip tightened as he spun her. “Now. Tell me. How are you finding Heatherwell Hall? Has our illustrious host been suitably hospitable?”
“The house is lovely.” Sophia chose her words with care. “And His Grace has been perfectly courteous.”
“Perfectly courteous.” Hugo’s lips twitched. “What damning praise. Edward would be devastated.”
“I doubt the Duke cares much for my opinion of his hospitality.”
“Do you?” Hugo’s gaze sharpened, though his smile remained. “I rather think he cares a great deal more than he lets on. About a great many things.”
Sophia didn’t know how to respond. She glanced across the ballroom and found Edward dancing with Miss Stanton. His posture was rigid, his movements precise.
He was looking at her.
No, not at her. At Hugo.
His expression could have frozen the Thames.
“He’s glaring at us.”
Hugo did not bother to look. “Is he? How delightful.”
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“I am rarely surprised by Edward. He is remarkably predictable once you understand him.” Hugo spun her through another turn. “For instance, I predicted he would spend the entire ball watching you instead of the lady he’s supposedly courting. And look. I was correct.”
Heat crept up Sophia’s neck. “He is watching you, not me. He’s probably wondering why you are dancing with a spinster rather than with an eligible young lady.”
Hugo leaned closer, his voice dropping. “Trust me, my lady. He is not thinking about that. He is thinking about you.”
The music swelled toward its conclusion. Sophia kept her eyes fixed on Hugo’s cravat, refusing to look at Edward again. Refusing to let herself hope.
“And young Oliver?” Hugo shifted to safer ground. “How is he? I noticed he was quite attached to you during the lawn games.”
Sophia’s voice softened. “He is a sweet boy. Lonely, I think. He misses his parents terribly.”
“And Edward? Does he miss his brother?”
The question caught her off guard. “I believe so, but he doesn’t speak of him.”
Something flickered across Hugo’s face. “Edward rarely speaks of anything that matters. It is both his greatest strength and his greatest flaw.”
Sophia considered this as they turned through the final measures of the waltz. She thought of the way Edward’s jaw tightened whenever Oliver mentioned his parents. The careful blankness that descended over his features when anyone ventured too close to anything resembling emotion.
Hugo was right. Edward had built fortress walls around everything that mattered, and she suspected he had been doing it for so long that he no longer remembered how to tear them down.
The dance ended. The dancers stilled. Hugo raised Sophia’s hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss to her gloved knuckles.
“Thank you for the dance, Lady Sophia. It was a genuine pleasure.”
Before she could respond, a hand clamped onto Hugo’s shoulder.
“A word.”
Edward stood behind them, his jaw tight, his eyes blazing. He did not wait for Hugo’s agreement. He steered his friend away from the dance floor with the determination of a man herding a wayward sheep.
Sophia watched them go, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Edward pulled Hugo into a quiet alcove, his grip tight enough to wrinkle the fine wool of his friend’s coat.
“What the devil do you think you are doing?”
Hugo straightened his lapels with exaggerated care. “Dancing. It is a ball, Edward. That is what one does at balls.”
“With Lady Sophia.”
“Yes, with Lady Sophia.” Hugo raised an eyebrow. “She is a guest. She was standing alone. I was being kind.”
“You kissed her hand.”
“A perfectly appropriate gesture at the conclusion of a dance.”
Edward’s voice dropped to a growl. “You lingered. You cannot dance and flirt with Sophia.”
Hugo smirked with satisfaction. “Sophia, is it?”
Edward’s jaw tightened. He had not meant to use her Christian name. It had slipped out, as natural as breathing.
“Lady Sophia.” He corrected himself. “You cannot—”
“Why not?” Hugo tilted his head, his eyes sharp despite his casual tone. “You’re not supposed to care, are you? She is merely helping you find a wife. Nothing more. That was the arrangement, was it not?”
Edward stared at his oldest friend. The words tangled in his throat. He could not say what he wanted to say, because saying it would mean admitting things he was not ready to admit.
“You did this on purpose.” The realization dawned. “You danced with her to provoke me.”
Hugo’s smile returned, insufferably smug. “Did I? And did it work?”
Edward groaned. He ran a hand through his hair, destroying whatever order his valet had achieved earlier. “You are very meddlesome.”
“I prefer charmingly unconventional.” Hugo clapped him on the shoulder. “Now, if you will excuse me, I believe Miss Ashworth promised me a quadrille. Do try not to glare holes through anyone else tonight.”
He sauntered off, leaving Edward standing in the alcove, his thoughts in disarray.
“Your Grace?”
Lord Collingsworth appeared at his elbow, followed by Lord Reuben.
Business matters. Railway investments. Things Edward should care about.
He allowed himself to be drawn into conversation, but his mind remained elsewhere. Fixed on a woman in green silk who had no business occupying so much of his attention.
Sophia had taken three steps from the dance floor when they descended upon her.
“Lady Sophia!” Lady Blackwell’s voice carried a particular sweetness that promised only cruelty. “What a surprise to see you dancing with the Duke of Thornwaite. However did you manage it?”
Miss Stanton’s younger sister, Catherine, giggled behind her fan. “Perhaps she has developed new talents. Ones we are not aware of.”
Sophia kept her voice even. “I was simply fortunate. The Duke was being kind.”
“Kind.” Lady Blackwell exchanged a glance with Miss Catherine. “Yes, I suppose he would have to be. Dancing with a woman of your…” She paused. “…circumstances.”
“My circumstances?”
“Your age, dear. Your situation.” Lady Blackwell’s smile sharpened. “It must be so difficult, watching younger women secure the attention you never managed to attract. But then, not everyone is destined for matrimony. Some women are simply meant to remain…” Another pause. “…useful in other ways.”
The barb landed where it was intended. Sophia felt it sink into her chest.
She lifted her chin. “If you will excuse me, I see friends I must greet.”
She walked away before they could respond, her spine straight, her head high. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her falter.
Alice and Thomas stood near the refreshment table. Alice’s face lit up when she saw Sophia approach.
“There you are! I saw you dancing with Thornwaite. What was that about?”
Sophia accepted a glass of champagne from a passing footman. “He was being kind. Apparently, I looked tragic standing alone.”
“You did not look tragic.” Alice frowned. “You looked pensive. There is a difference.”
“That is what I told him.”
Thomas chuckled. “Thornwaite does enjoy stirring trouble. Did you see Heatherwell’s face when Thornwaite kissed your hand? I thought he might challenge him to a duel on the spot.”
Alice shot him a warning look. “Thomas.”
“What? It’s true. The man looked murderous.” Thomas shrugged. “I am merely observing.”
Sophia sipped her champagne and said nothing. Her eyes drifted across the ballroom, searching for a tall figure with golden hair.
She found him in conversation with Lord Collingsworth and Sir Edmund. As if sensing her gaze, he looked up. Their eyes met across the crowded room.
Sophia looked away first.
The musicians struck up a new dance. Alice tapped her foot in time with the music, her gaze longing.
“Go.” Sophia nudged her. “Dance with your husband. I will be fine here.”
Alice hesitated. “Are you certain? I don’t want to leave you alone.”
“I am surrounded by people. Go. Enjoy yourselves.”
Thomas offered his hand to his wife with a gallant bow. “My lady? Shall we?”