Chapter 1
Chapter
One
“The influence of women in forming the manners of men is universally acknowledged.”
Dr. John Gregory, A Father’s Legacy to His Daughters
Sophia was enjoying an early respite in the Moreland breakfast room. She liked to begin her mornings before her aunt and uncle appeared at their fashionably late hour. Occasionally, her cousin Lily joined her, unless they had been up late at a ball the night before.
It had been two days since the Astley ball, but Lily had not yet recovered from the late hours and the frantic schedule of preparations her mother had put her through.
Aunt Christiana was determined to see both her daughter and Sophia married off without delay, this being Lily’s second Season and Sophia’s fourth.
Sophia appreciated her early starts, relishing the cheerful, well-lit room in peace with a cup of tea, a book, and a full plate of eggs, ham, and fruit.
She inhaled the fragrant aroma of the Indian leaves, looking up from her book to sip her tea and take in the surroundings that always lifted her spirits.
The walls were covered in azure damask silk above white wainscoting.
Over the white marble fireplace, a gilt mirror reflected the morning light from the tall sash windows into every corner of the room.
It was a delightful setting, made all the more so by the stillness of the hour.
These quiet moments before the household stirred were her favorite part of the day.
Later, her brother, Cecil, might make an appearance, though it was unlikely. The Morelands were hosting a ball that evening, and Cecil avoided polite events as much as possible, preferring to spend his time gambling and carousing with questionable friends.
It saddened Sophia to see her older brother following in their father’s footsteps.
Cecil seemed to have learned little from their father’s untimely passing years earlier—a tragedy brought about by the strain of high-stakes wagers and excessive indulgences.
Her mother had been devastated by the loss, her health and spirit failing rapidly in the weeks that followed, culminating in a fatal overdose of laudanum.
Sophia’s uncle, now her guardian, was always vague about the details surrounding her mother’s death, which had occurred so soon after her father’s. This lack of clarity often left Sophia wondering whether her mother’s passing had been due to overwhelming grief rather than an unfortunate accident.
It was because of her parents’ deaths, more than ten years earlier, that she and her brother had come to live with Lord Hugh Abbott, her mother’s brother, and his wife, Lady Christiana Abbott, along with their two children.
Her uncle had been generous, taking Cecil in along with Sophia despite the lack of a direct relationship between them.
Cecil, being the child of her father’s first marriage, had still been a boy at school when tragedy struck.
As a young girl, Sophia had vowed never to become her mother. On her first night at the Abbott home, she had solemnly promised Lily that she would never marry a man who gambled. Husbands could fritter away a woman’s wealth and happiness while she had little or no recourse.
Sophia had no desire to fall in love with a man who could not walk away from a wager.
Indeed, she did not wish to fall in love with any man at all.
Love, in her experience, led to heartbreak and abandonment, leaving children reliant on the kindness of relatives for protection from life’s harsh realities.
Only three more Seasons to endure, and then she would inherit the money from her trust directly—without the need for a husband. With her dowry under her control, she could finally begin her real life.
This was why she was spending her morning refreshing herself on Shakespeare’s works in preparation for the Morelands’ ball that evening.
She liked to quote obscure verses to discourage the more ardent bucks who might otherwise be tempted by the allure of her dowry.
Turning a page, she licked a finger and took a sip of tea, savoring the quiet moment.
Her peace was short-lived. Without warning, her aunt strode into the room, her purposeful steps breaking the morning stillness. Sophia’s heart promptly sank. She had hoped to avoid her single-minded Aunt Christiana, who no doubt had courtship and marriage foremost on her mind.
“She is in here, Lord Moreland!”
Sophia’s heart sank further. Cornered, she would now be forced to discuss marriage plans, outnumbered two to one.
Lord Moreland hurried in, his tall frame filling the doorway. He brushed a hand through his thick, graying hair. “Good morning, Sophia. Enjoying your breakfast?”
Sophia offered a resigned smile as her aunt and uncle joined her at the table. The white tablecloth gleamed beneath the morning light, adorned with silverware and cheerful blossoms in tiny vases.
Two footmen stepped forward with precise movements, serving the viscount and his wife tea in delicate china cups. The warm scent of freshly brewed leaves drifted through the air, mingling with the quiet clink of porcelain.
Sophia dearly loved her adopted family, but they were frightfully conventional.
Lord Moreland, ever the protective patriarch, believed the best way to secure her future was to marry her off to a safe and proper gentleman.
Lady Moreland, by contrast, was singularly focused on ensuring that both her niece and daughter secured matches with impeccable connections.
Being cornered alone with the two of them meant there was no escaping The Conversation. It was a ritual at the start of every Season, growing lengthier and more urgent each year as Aunt Christiana’s desperation mounted.
Sophia sighed inwardly. She should have finished her meal and retreated to another room before they arrived.
Thoughtless move, Sophia—not predicting your aunt would choose the morning of the Moreland grand ball to confront you!
Her aunt sipped her tea, arching an elegant brow in her husband’s direction—a silent command.
Uncle Hugh cleared his throat. It seemed he had been chosen to lead the charge.
Stay calm, Sophia. Do not show any reaction. Take your time responding to guide the conversation to your desired outcome.
With that reminder firmly in mind, she closed her leather-bound tome with deliberate care and set it aside. Then, she turned her gaze to her uncle, her expression expectant.
“Now, see here, Sophia. It is high time we saw you settled in marriage, with a household of your own to manage.”
The words had a rehearsed quality, and Sophia suppressed a smile. No doubt her aunt had made him practice precisely what to say.
She parried with practiced ease. “Why, Uncle … am I no longer welcome in the Abbott household?” She widened her eyes in mock dismay, letting her lower lip quiver ever so slightly.
Hugh Abbott’s square, kind face immediately softened, his brow creasing in distress. “Never—no, never, my dear niece. You are always welcome here. We love you as though you were our own …”
Uncle Hugh fell silent, his hand coming up to rub his jaw as he groped for words to repair the unintended slight. A panicked expression crossed his face as he glanced helplessly at his wife.
Sophia watched the exchange, careful to keep any trace of smugness from her expression. The first point might belong to her aunt for cornering her so early in the day, but the second point was hers alone for deftly turning the tables.
Her uncle was thoroughly floundering now, leaving Aunt Christiana to take the reins. His guilt over possibly hurting his beloved niece’s feelings had effectively removed him as a useful ally for his wife.
Such sentiment, however, was not a weakness Aunt Christiana shared. An elegant woman in her forties, she was a formidable opponent despite her lack of intellectual inclinations. Sophia had long since learned not to underestimate her aunt’s tenacity.
Politely, Sophia turned her gaze to her aunt, who was now scowling in displeasure at her husband. No doubt she was lamenting his easy manipulation. Squaring her jaw and visibly regrouping, Aunt Christiana turned back to face her niece with renewed determination.
“Sophia, at the Astleys’ the other night, Lord Saunton asked you to dance but then promptly returned you to me. I know he is searching for a wife, and he admires intelligent women like yourself. He is ever so wealthy. I hear his estates are thriving, and he never gambles. You must make an effort?—”
“No!”
Sophia and her aunt both turned, startled by her uncle’s unexpected interjection. His face was a thundercloud of undisguised ire. “The earl is a scoundrel, and he will not lay a finger on anyone under my protection. How could you allow them to be introduced, Christiana?”
It was clear her aunt and uncle had not sufficiently prepared for The Conversation.
While Lady Moreland hissed a sharp response to her husband’s accusations, Sophia seized the opportunity.
Grabbing her toast and book, she pushed her chair back and slipped away before they could redirect their attention to her.
The handsome young footman, Thomas, stationed near the door, pressed his lips together to suppress a smile as she passed. Throwing him a quick, saucy wink was instinctive, and his quiet snort of laughter betrayed his amusement.
He raised a hand to his mouth, feigning a sneeze, as Sophia disappeared into the corridor, a flurry of embroidered white skirts marking her brisk exit. Her aunt would have to pursue her plans another day.
Richard had concluded it was finally time for him to become a real man.
Nay, a gentleman.