Chapter 3 #2
“I’m sure they will.” Although Sophie herself had sworn off balconies after Kate’s reputation was ruined because she was caught alone on one with her now husband.
“Do you enjoy the heat?” he asked as the song began and they started to move.
“Much more than the cold.” And more than this stilted small talk.
At least Mr. Adair danced well.
He peppered her with inane questions every time they drew close enough to speak without being overheard, and she answered because it was easier to do so than to express her frustration with the limited topics society deemed to be acceptable conversation for unmarried misses.
Her chest loosened and she breathed easier as he returned her to Kate and Lady Arundel, who were deep in discussion about Lady Hampstead’s choice of decor. He took his leave, and she was relieved to be free of his company.
He was exactly the sort of young man to whom her mother would love to marry her off, and the thought made her stomach churn and roil.
“There are just a few too many different colors,” Kate was saying to Lady Arundel. “The maroon, gold, and cream of the room is very elegant, but combined with the pink, purple, and white flowers, it’s a bit too much.”
“Not to mention all the greenery,” Lady Arundel replied, looking pointedly at a shrub that took up an entire alcove. “The food is divine, though, and the drinks are fresh and cool.”
Kate nodded. “The string quartet plays well. Do you think they’d be opposed to working with a pianist?”
Sophie wondered if Kate was planning an event of her own. Perhaps that was what she’d been working on so secretively. If so, Sophie wouldn’t press for information now. Her friend could tell her when she was ready to.
Kate offered her a glass. “I thought you might like some lemonade.”
Sophie accepted the glass and drank deeply. “Thank you. I needed that.”
She set the glass down, and her attention caught on a head of blond curls coming toward them.
As Baron Sylvestor cut through the crowd, she took a moment to appreciate his attire.
Like Nicholas, he had a certain flair. His waistcoat was black and gold, his cravat white and rakishly askew, but with his boyish smile, it was completely impossible to take him seriously as an actual rake. Besides, he was just too polite.
“I am here to claim my dance,” he declared, extending his hand toward her.
Sophie placed her hand on his. “I wasn’t sure you’d remember.”
He grinned. “I would never forget a dance promised to a lady as pretty as you.”
All right, so the flattery was nice. She would never complain about receiving compliments.
He guided her into a waltz, and she was grateful for her years of lessons when her feet fell easily into the movements, freeing her mind to assess Baron Sylvestor more thoroughly.
The man was handsome, no one could deny that. He was kind and had an impeccable reputation. Unfortunately, he didn’t stir any interest in her except as a potential way to keep her mother’s matchmaking efforts at bay for a while longer.
There were no flutters in her belly or tingles where his hands rested on her body. She didn’t become warm from his touch or experience the sudden urge to spend hours in his company.
How disappointing. Her life would be so much easier if a marriage-minded gentleman were able to displace Nicholas as the object of her affections.
By the time the dance ended and he escorted her back to Kate, her mother had joined them. Sophie thanked Baron Sylvestor and watched him walk away a little wistfully.
Perhaps if she tried hard enough, she could persuade herself to see him differently.
“You looked lovely together,” Lady Carlisle murmured, using her fan to hide the smugness of her smile. “What do you think of him?”
Sophie’s chest constricted. As she’d suspected, her mother looked thrilled by the thought of a marriage between them.
“He’s charming,” she said, reluctant to add more lest Lady Carlisle have her married by the end of the month. She needed her mother to believe in the possibility of something happening, but she didn’t want to find herself pushed into a marriage that wouldn’t suit her.
“His manners are most becoming. And his face….” Her mother waved her hand ineffectually. “It is very… cherubic.”
Sophie nodded because that was true enough. She skimmed the throng of guests, unconsciously searching for a tall, lean figure with longish dark hair and that outrageous pink brocade waistcoat Nicholas loved to wear to shock the more conservative members of the ton.
Her heart ached. If Nicholas attended events such as this, she would be giddy at the prospect of dancing with him. Why did he always keep his distance? Did he find them tiresome?
The rest of the night dragged on. Sophie danced with several more gentlemen, and Kate danced a time or two as well, although only with men who knew she was happily married.
They dropped Kate off outside Blackwell House on their way home. It was dark outside, the streets lit sporadically by streetlamps with a yellowish glow that was almost eerie. The carriage lingered until Kate was safely inside the house before resuming the journey to the Carlisle residence.
Sophie rested her head against the side wall and closed her eyes. Her feet throbbed from her being on them for so long—not to mention that they’d been stepped on a time or two—and she couldn’t wait to collapse in her bed and sleep for hours.
“We’ll speak to your father before retiring for the evening,” Lady Carlisle declared.
Sophie bolted upright, all traces of sleepiness gone in an instant. On nights when her mother accompanied her to functions and her father remained home, they never visited with him upon returning.
“Why?” she demanded, her pulse racing and her stomach knotting because surely any deviation from their usual routine couldn’t be positive.
“You’ll find out soon,” her mother said, her expression deceptively placid.
Had she done something wrong? Misstepped? Usually, she knew if she’d made a mistake like that.
Was something else happening?
Sophie didn’t ask because she knew her mother wouldn’t answer, but her thoughts spun round and round until they arrived home and disembarked from the carriage. She followed Lady Carlisle into the house and to her father’s study. The door was ajar, and light streamed through the gap.
This meant her father had been expecting them, which in turn meant that they’d arranged this meeting prior to the ball. Ergo, it couldn't be with regard to anything she’d done while there.
She tried to swallow, but it felt like there was a lump in her throat, and it hurt.
“What is this about?” she asked, freezing in the doorway.
Her father ran a hand through his thick gray hair and gestured for her to sit on one of the two chairs opposite him.
Her mother sank onto one and, reluctantly, Sophie crossed to the other.
Her posture remained rigid, her legs tensed—although whether to flee or fight, she wasn’t sure.
She got the impression this situation would call for one or the other.
“You’re scaring me,” she said when neither of them spoke.
Her father’s features softened, his blue eyes a mirror of her own. “This is your third season, Sophie.”
“Y-yes,” she stammered, a wave of cold washing over her. She dug her fingertips into her palms and kept her chin up. “What of it?”
His lips twitched as if he might smile, but it never materialized. “After the debacle with your sisters, your mother and I rethought our approach to finding you a suitable husband. We wanted to give you the time and leeway to choose your own from among the eligible members of the ton.”
“And I appreciate that very much.” Her voice was breathy, betraying her nerves. “I know I’m fortunate to have your understanding.”
Her parents exchanged a glance.
“Unfortunately, Sophie, we can only be so lenient. Much longer, and you’ll be considered on the shelf by those you might wish to marry.
Many gentlemen already believe that you aren’t a viable option to take as their wife because you have turned down every offer presented to you so far.
” He grimaced, his mustache ruffling. “They think you hold yourself in too high regard.”
“That isn’t true!” she protested, springing to her feet.
He gestured for her to sit, but she refused. He sighed. “I know that, and so does your mother, but the gentlemen of the ton do not. Your options will dwindle the longer you wait, so we’ve come to a difficult decision.”
Her blood rushed in her ears and tears stung her eyes. “What, pray tell, is that?”
He inhaled deeply and set his jaw. “The season is half over. You have until its end to choose a suitable husband of your own. If you do not, we will compile a list of options, and you will marry one of them. Do you understand?”
Sophie blanched and swayed from foot to foot. “N-no. You can’t do that.”
Any man on their list would not be Nicholas.
Therefore she couldn’t marry them.
Not without being miserable.
Her parents wouldn’t make her go through with this, surely.
“I’m afraid we must,” Lord Carlisle said grimly. “I’m sorry, Sophie.”
What on earth was she supposed to do now?