Chapter 7
Sophie cocked her head as she studied her reflection, wondering if her new green gown would attract the attention of suitors she may actually be willing to consider marrying.
There was no denying that it complemented her hair perfectly, even if her mother had worried that it might be too bright.
Fortunately, Lady Carlisle had yielded to Madam Baptiste’s assurance that Sophie would only catch eyes in a good way.
She smoothed her hands down her front and tilted this way and that. Her complexion wasn’t the one favored by the ton—she was too freckled for that—but she did think the contrast between her fairness, the vivid colors of the silk, and her hair was rather fetching.
What would Nicholas’s opinion be if he could see her in it?
No, she chided herself. Do not worry what Nicholas would think. You can’t marry him.
Her heart sank and her shoulders dropped. What was the point of all of this if not to find love? Was she to settle for a man she could merely tolerate?
Don’t dwell. It will all work out somehow.
Lord, she hoped so. She didn’t think she could stomach the cold type of marriage many members of the ton accepted.
“Are you ready to leave?” Lady Carlisle asked from the doorway.
Sophie turned away from the mirror. “In a moment.”
Betsy carried the emerald necklace over from the box it had been stored in, and Sophie tilted her head so that the maid could wrap it around her neck and do up the clasp at the back.
The necklace was beautiful. It had twenty small teardrop emeralds in gold settings hanging from a gold semi-circlet with tiny emeralds where each teardrop attached. It rested over her collarbone and matched the dress perfectly.
Sophie rarely wore ostentatious jewelry, but she wanted to make an impression tonight. She’d been assured that not only would Baron Sylvestor be in attendance at the Hathaway Ball, but that Colonel Moore would too.
Lady Carlisle glided over and extended her arm to Sophie. “You look exquisite, my dear. Shall we be off?”
Sophie took her arm and allowed herself to be led through the house, down the grand staircase, and out the front entrance to their carriage. The temperature outside was pleasant, neither warm nor cold.
The journey took longer than expected, as the streets were strangely congested, but as they drew nearer to Hathaway House, the traffic cleared.
The ball was to be a relatively exclusive event, although Sophie had no doubt that Lady Hathaway would squeeze as many people into their small ballroom as possible.
Upon arriving, they descended from the carriage, greeted their hosts, and began to circulate.
As Sophie made polite chitchat with the other women her age, she continually surveyed the ballroom for any sign of the baron or the colonel. Before long, she spied Baron Sylvestor. Unfortunately, he was already on the dance floor, partnered with a pretty blonde by whom he seemed entranced.
Sophie rolled her eyes. What was it about blondes that attracted gentlemen so strongly?
The men of the ton had declared her blonde sister, Violet, to be a captivating beauty and overlooked Emma, her twin, who had slightly darker hair, a fuller figure, and was less inclined to giggle and flirt.
Sophie had thought it ridiculous then, and she did now too. Were men really so shallow?
She glanced down at herself and realized how hypocritical she was being. She’d gone to the effort of wearing a dress like this and displaying her jewels in order to attract potential husbands. She was as guilty of vanity and judging by appearance as anyone else.
Idly fluttering her fan, she peered about, and her heartbeat sped up as she recognized the second gentleman she’d hoped to speak to. The colonel was standing with Lord and Lady Wembley.
“Mother.” Sophie discreetly nudged Lady Carlisle’s arm.
Her mother turned toward her. “Yes?”
Sophie motioned toward the colonel. “I would like an introduction to the gentleman speaking with the Wembley’s, if it can be arranged. He’s very handsome.”
Lady Carlisle followed Sophie’s gaze, and her eyes widened. “Colonel Moore?”
“Unless you don’t consider a decorated colonel and viscount’s brother to be an appropriate match?” It seemed unlikely, but was always a possibility.
“Of course I do.” She sounded offended that Sophie had asked. “He’s just… older than the men I thought you favored.”
Angling her head to get a better look, Sophie considered the colonel. It was true that he was likely fifteen to twenty years older than she was, but he certainly wasn’t old. And, as she’d previously noted, he was exceedingly dashing.
She decided not to voice her thoughts, leaving her mother’s comment hanging in the air between them before once more asking, “Will you facilitate an introduction?”
Lady Carlisle intertwined their arms, and together they wound through guests—who were, as Sophie had expected, packed into the close quarters—and over to the Wembley’s.
Lady Wembley lit up as they approached, obviously glad to have a new conversational partner. “Lady Carlisle,” she boomed more loudly than the situation warranted. “So good to see you. And you, Lady Sophie. I hope you plan on dancing plenty tonight.”
“I do.” Sophie smiled. “Are you well, Lady Wembley?”
“Quite.”
Mother cleared her throat and nodded meaningfully toward the gentlemen.
“Oh!” Lady Wembley exclaimed, waving toward the colonel. “My apologies. Please allow me to introduce you to Colonel Moore. He’s a friend of my husband’s. Colonel Moore, these are Lady Carlisle and Lady Sophie Carlisle.”
Sophie swept into a deep curtsy and flashed the colonel her brightest smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Colonel.”
He tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Likewise.”
Up close, he was even handsomer than she’d thought. There were faint crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and his skin was more tanned than was fashionable, but it suited him and made those brilliantly green eyes appear even more vivid.
She expected him to ask her to dance or, at the very least, exchange a few lines of polite small talk with her, but instead, he returned his attention to Lord Wembley and continued a conversation about… cows?
Sophie exchanged a startled glance with her mother. What in the world was that about?
Lady Wembley noticed their shared look and chuckled. “The colonel has purchased a large property in Wiltshire. He’s most eager to learn about tending the land and making it profitable.”
“I see.” Lady Carlisle lowered her voice. “If he has bought a holding, may we assume that he is also interested in beginning a family?”
Lady Wembley grimaced. “Reputedly, but he seems rather focused on farming at present.” Her expression turned sympathetic as she looked at Sophie. “Any young ladies with designs on the colonel will likely require a great deal of patience.”
Sophie deflated, her stomach dropping. Time wasn’t something she had. She couldn’t afford to be patient.
Perhaps that meant she ought to forget about the colonel and focus solely on Baron Sylvestor. She’d have to discuss the matter with Kate.
“Sophie, you look lovely!”
Sophie turned, and her heart immediately lifted at the sight of her favorite sister. “So do you, Emma.”
Emma embraced her, keeping it brief and light so as not to rumple Sophie’s gown. Her tall, dark husband, the Duke of Ashford, loomed behind her, his countenance not inviting conversation even though Sophie knew he was a kind, caring man. He just wasn’t one for social gatherings.
“Nice to see you,” he said, speaking to both her and her mother, who paused her conversation with Lady Wembley to exchange greetings.
“Why do you look so despondent?” Emma asked quietly once no one was paying attention to them.
“Mother has said I must marry this season.” She briefly explained the conversation they’d had—and its conclusion. “I’d hoped that Colonel Moore might be stunned by my beauty and fall at my feet, but, alas, he’s scarcely noticed my existence.”
One side of Emma’s mouth hitched up. “I doubt both that you thought any such thing or that he failed to notice you. There is simply no way to overlook you in that gown.”
A pang ricocheted through Sophie’s chest. “Thank you.”
It meant a lot to hear it even if it was her own sister saying the words rather than a good-looking gentleman.
Emma moved closer. “It isn’t right of them to press the matter like this. Just know that you’ll always have a place with us. If you wish to delay marriage, Ashford would welcome you into our home.”
Sophie swallowed. “That’s very generous of you.”
She didn’t want to be dependent on her sister, though, nor become a drain on her. It would be best if she fixed this some other way.
Emma’s eyes narrowed and then turned on her husband. “Darling, will you dance with Sophie? She needs to be cheered up.”
Sophie waved her hand rapidly. “No, no, that’s not necessary.”
How pathetic must she appear that her sister had to order her husband to dance with her?
“I insist.” Emma’s tone didn’t brook any argument. It was at times like this that it was impossible to forget that, for all her quiet sweetness, Emma was a duchess, and people gave duchesses what they wanted.
Vaughan smiled fondly at her and offered Sophie his hand. “Come along. It’ll be easier if we do as she says.”
She went with him, allowing herself to be drawn into a lively dance. His movements weren’t as practiced as the gentlemen she was accustomed to dancing with, but he kept up well and didn’t step on her feet.
As they twirled, her skirt swishing around her legs, the silk rustling each time they brushed against each other, she asked him about his favorite topic other than his wife: their children.
He relaxed as he told her about the progress Lilian was making on learning her letters and how Teddy had started running and was creating havoc for their nanny.
Sophie’s heart warmed. She loved how deeply Vaughan cared for his family.
Was it selfish for her to want that for herself?
After the dance, she and Vaughan joined Emma near the refreshments table, where her sweet-toothed sister was in the process of eating a small, pink-frosted cake.
Sophie considered eating a cake of her own but didn’t have the chance to select one from the platter before Baron Sylvestor appeared in front of her.
He bowed, his golden hair flopping about as he straightened. “Lady Sophie. I saw that your dance had ended. Do say you’ll grace me with another?”
Fighting the urge to look about for the girl he’d seemed smitten with earlier, Sophie moved toward him with a smile pinned in place. “Of course, sir.”
“Excellent. I believe the next dance is a waltz. Does that suit?”
“A waltz would be lovely.”
The first strains of music played as they joined the other dancers. The baron held her closer than Vaughan had, and she couldn’t help but notice that he had a broad chest. Not as wide as Nicholas’s, but still pleasingly masculine.
If only his chest had the same effect on her that Nicholas’s did.
They chatted, but the subjects were superficial, not deep enough to be interesting. At least he wasn’t a bore. He laughed easily and tried to make her laugh in return. That was something.
After dancing with the baron, another gentleman requested a dance. He was young, with a surly expression, and he didn’t try to get to know her, so Sophie was a little unsure why he wanted to dance at all.
That dance was followed by one with the baby-faced Mr. Garfield and another with Mr. Jonathan Adair, which she sadly hadn’t been able to avoid.
When she was finally allowed to rest her feet, she fetched a glass of lemonade from the refreshments table and joined Emma and Vaughan.
“What on earth was that about?” she asked, confused why a string of gentlemen would want to dance with her. Usually, she danced a few times at balls, but she’d never been in such demand before.
Emma pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I think perhaps the younger set took interest because Ashford—who’s a duke and known to dance rarely, and Baron Sylvestor—who’s popular and well-thought-of, danced with you in succession.”
Sophie nodded. “That makes sense.”
It echoed her earlier sentiment about how men could be sheep, following the example of those they admired.
Glancing around, she scowled upon seeing Baron Sylvestor talking once more with the same blonde woman he’d been engaged with earlier.
Competition, perhaps?
How could she maneuver the situation so that she would be viewed favorably when competing against those whom anyone could see were more beautiful than she?
She tapped her chin, possibilities whirling around her brain. “Do you think,” she began, still working through the idea as she gave voice to it, “that if I had an impressive suitor, other gentlemen would see me as a more appealing marriage prospect?”
Emma frowned. “Possibly. But if you had a suitor you genuinely liked, why would you need other options?”
Sighing, Sophie replied, “Because it wouldn’t be real.”
Emma looked at her, sidelong. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”
Sophie checked to make sure that no one was listening in. “If I were to gain the attention of someone who was, say, a notorious bachelor, then others might wonder what he saw in me.”
“But that bachelor wouldn’t actually be courting you?”
“Exactly. I’d merely ask him to pose as a suitor.”
“Hmm.” Emma bit her lip. “If either of you were to put a foot wrong, it could turn out poorly. Who did you have in mind?”
“Nicholas.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “Nicholas Blackwell? You think he would pretend to court you if you asked?”
Sophie shrugged. “Maybe.”
Nicholas enjoyed mischief, so it wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility. Also, she liked to think they were friends, and friends helped each other.
“Sophie… if you ask this of him, you must be certain you trust him implicitly, or your reputation could end up in tatters.”
“I do.”
After all, he would never want to harm anyone. Nicholas might occasionally make mistakes, but all people did. And yes, he was mischievous, but he didn’t have a malicious bone in his body.
“I hope for your sake that you’re right to do so.” Emma took her hand. “I have faith in you to know what’s right for your future. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Sophie’s heart swelled. She was so lucky to have a sister like Emma.
Later, when they had returned home, Sophie waited until Betsy had undressed her and brushed out her hair, and then she sat at her writing table and penned a letter to Nicholas, asking if she might call upon him at a time when Kate wasn’t present. She didn’t want her friend involved in this.
Lord, it felt scandalous to send a missive to him in such a way. It was almost as if they were lovers arranging an assignation.
She sighed. If only.
What would it be like to actually be scandalous with Nicholas?
What would he do if she ever threw caution to the wind and declared her affection for him?
She didn’t know. And that, unfortunately, was why she couldn’t take the risk.