Chapter 11
“Which suitors do you favor?” Lady Carlisle asked as Sophie held her arm out for Betsy to do up the delicate buttons of her white silk gloves.
Sophie laughed. “I don’t think I can claim to have multiple suitors. I am not a diamond, after all.”
Behind her, her mother sighed as if Sophie were being purposefully ignorant. Perhaps she was. “Allow me to rephrase. Which potential match are you most drawn to?”
Staring at her buttons as they disappeared into tiny loops one by one, Sophie pretended to be so absorbed that she hadn’t heard the question.
“Sophie,” her mother prompted.
Sophie grimaced. “I enjoy Mr. Blackwell’s company more than any others, but I’m not certain of his seriousness in courting me.” In fact, she was certain of the opposite, but she could hardly tell her mother that. “I think someone like Baron Sylvestor is a more promising marriage prospect.”
Betsy finished with her gloves and knelt to help Sophie into her silk ballroom slippers.
“I don’t understand,” her mother said. “Mr. Blackwell seems sincere. He has danced with you, called on you, and accompanied you to the musicale. What reason do you have to doubt his intentions?”
Sophie shook her head ever so slightly. “He’s something of a rogue. I don’t think we should read too much into his attention.”
There was a swishing sound, and her mother moved into her peripheral vision.
“If you believe that’s best.” She was quiet for a long moment and then added, “I know it may not seem like it because of the pressure we put on you, but your father and I want you to be happy. If you believe that marriage to Mr. Blackwell would secure your happiness, then I don’t think you should discount him yet. ”
Sophie’s heart hung heavily inside her rib cage. She wanted to cry that it was all pretend and that her mother shouldn’t encourage her to dream of things she wouldn’t get.
“As you say.” She fell silent, hoping that would be the end of the conversation. Thankfully, it was.
Once her shoes were secure, she and Lady Carlisle made their way downstairs. Her father was waiting in the foyer. He wouldn’t be accompanying them, but he wished her luck and kissed her mother’s cheek as he walked them to the door.
The carriage was waiting, and they rode in comfortable quiet to the house of the Duke of Arundel. He and his wife were to be their hosts this evening.
They greeted the somewhat imposing duke as they entered, and Sophie exchanged a few words with the Duchess of Arundel, whom she liked immensely.
Their duties to social obligations complete, they moved on to the ballroom, which was rapidly filling.
High ceilings stretched overhead with crystal chandeliers reflecting the light and glittering like diamonds.
Pink and white flowers adorned the walls and tables, and the air had a faint floral scent.
As she looked around, it quickly became evident that they had beaten Nicholas here.
Sophie also saw no sign of Baron Sylvestor, but Colonel Moore was chatting with the duchess’s brother, a marquess.
When she caught the Colonel’s gaze, he nodded in acknowledgement, but he didn’t end the conversation and ask her to save him a dance.
“Shall we circulate?” her mother asked, apparently reaching the same conclusion as Sophie—that there were no suitors that immediately demanded her attention.
“Perhaps we could wander near the refreshments table,” Sophie suggested, having already noticed the bite-sized strawberry tarts she would very much like to sample.
Lady Carlisle’s lips pursed, but she didn’t make any scathing comments about women who ate too many treats as she might have done a few years ago. Sophie counted that as a success.
Unfortunately, before they made it as far as the refreshments table, Mr. Garfield’s stocky form materialized in their path. He smiled at Sophie—but not as if she was a pretty debutante. Rather, the expression was more like the one Sophie would have given the cake.
She didn’t like it. It didn’t make her too uneasy, but it certainly wasn’t the way she had anticipated being looked at by the gentleman she eventually married.
Mr. Garfield bowed low. “Lady Carlisle, Lady Sophie, it’s a pleasure to see you both. I’ve been reliably informed that a dance will be beginning shortly. Would you do me the honor of joining me, Lady Sophie?”
Reluctantly, Sophie went with him. To his credit, he tried to initiate and maintain a conversation, but he had no idea of her interests, and she got the impression he was more attracted to her position in society than to who she was as a person.
She wasn’t above using her social standing to obtain a husband, but she would only do so if she had already decided she wanted that particular gentleman and he wasn’t amenable to her other charms.
She had no desire to marry Mr. Garfield. None.
When the dance finished and he escorted her back to her mother, her heart lifted at the sight of a familiar dark-eyed, dark-haired gentleman standing with her.
Nicholas smiled, crinkles forming around his eyes in a way that was endearing and reminded her of laughter and summer days. Beside her, Mr. Garfield stiffened. Perhaps he didn’t like the perceived competition.
As if there were any.
She had no interest in Mr. Garfield.
Alas, the entirety of her interest was reserved for a man who had no desire for a wife.
“I shall speak with you later,” Mr. Garfield said, releasing her arm. “Perhaps we might dance again.”
Sophie’s breath hitched. A second invitation to dance was as good as a declaration of courtship.
She mumbled something incomprehensible, her heart racing.
She was supposed to be making herself more approachable, so she should have expected attentions such as this, but it put her in a difficult position.
If she rejected a relatively likeable fellow out of hand, it would only solidify her reputation for thinking too much of herself.
Nicholas grinned. “You’re popular tonight. Do you still have time for a fool like me?”
She rolled her eyes. “Always, good sir.”
Probably more than was healthy. It was a shame that one could not turn off their finer feelings when the subject of one’s affection did not feel the same.
He held his hand out, palm up, and she laid hers on it, wishing more than anything that the silk barrier of her gloves would disappear so that their skin might brush.
She moved almost instinctively in his arms, allowing him to guide her into the dancing and lead her with the sort of grace she’d always envied.
“Don’t be taken in by Garfield,” he murmured as he spun her.
Her skirt fluttered around her calves and ankles, her heart lighter than it should be given his words. “What do you know?”
“Not much. I simply get the sense you want different things from marriage.”
Sophie inclined her head, understanding more than he said. The situation was likely as she’d thought. Mr. Garfield was interested in her status and, possibly, utilizing her connection with her father and the Duke of Ashford.
“I have no interest in him anyway,” she said quietly. “He’s too… young.”
Nicholas chuckled, his hand skimming her waist as they moved. “You’re young.”
She caught his gaze, and a spark of something passed between them. “Not like he is. Women are expected to mature faster, and we do.”
He tilted his head in acknowledgement, and the conversation dropped off.
For the rest of the dance, she simply enjoyed being in Nicholas’s arms. Holding his hand—even if there was a blasted silk barrier between them. Smelling hints of citrus each time they drew near to each other.
It was both a blessing and a curse to spend time with him like this. She cherished every second together, but it only made her more aware of what she wouldn’t have in the future.
When the dance concluded, she disentangled herself from him and excused herself, hurrying over to the refreshments table.
She needed room to breathe.
She picked up a glass of lemonade and drank half of it in a few gulps, then slowed, checking warily to ensure her mother hadn’t witnessed her unladylike behavior.
A head of blond hair caught her eye. Baron Sylvestor was making his way toward her. His bright eyes locked on hers, and he smiled, baring straight white teeth.
Coming to a stop in front of her, he bowed. “Is your next dance unclaimed, Lady Sophie?”
“It is.” She sipped the lemonade, reluctant to put it down.
“May I have the honor?”
She started to set the glass back on the table, but he waved his hand airily.
“No need to rush,” he said, moving around to stand beside her, facing the dancers. “Feel free to finish your drink first. The next dance will do just as well as this one.”
A genuine smile curved the edges of her mouth. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Think nothing of it, Lady Sophie.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him glance at her.
“Am I to understand that you’ll be attending the Wembleys’ unusual mid-season house party?”
“I intend to,” she replied, her breath catching. She doubted he’d simply heard that as gossip, which meant he must have asked about her. “Will you also attend?”
“Yes. Trevor—that’s Lord Wembley’s oldest son—is one of my former school friends. Since he has no responsibilities in London and prefers the country, I don’t see him as often as I’d like. I’m looking forward to visiting with him.”
“I’m not sure that I’ve met him.” Although if he didn’t come to London, that was hardly surprising. She emptied her glass and set it aside. “Shall we dance?”
Baron Sylvestor took her arm and guided her onto the dance floor. Heat radiated from his body, and she did her best to notice the breadth of his shoulders and the strength of his hands, but no matter how hard she tried, he still stirred absolutely no attraction or romantic interest within her.
How inconvenient.
When Sophie abandoned him and Nicholas found himself abruptly without company, he looked around for any acquaintance he might actually want to speak with.