Chapter One
London, 1818
Sophie stood in front of the mirror at Mrs Bean’s Magazin des Modes on32 Albemarle Street and sighed. She could not help comparing her figure to the waiflike women of the ton. According to Margot, this modiste was the talk of society. Sophie was here for the season to vie for an unattached gentleman; one that would appreciate her fuller figure and fill her life with passion. Her first step had been a new wardrobe, and it was barely completed in time, following weeks of fittings. The stress and expense felt justified as she tried the outfits on one by one; they slipped over her curves like well-tailored gloves.
Sophie had never had a season as a debutante. Her parents, the Earl and Countess of Stockdon, had arranged her marriage at eight and ten years of age to a duke almost twenty years her senior. She simply went from Sophia Whitelaw to Sophia Westcott. Neither name felt like her true self. She preferred to be called Sophie or Margot’s lifelong moniker for her, 'Soph'. When her parents informed her of her impending marriage, her first thought was that at least her monogrammed accessories could remain the same. It was a marriage of convenience that had lasted six years, followed by one year of mourning. Themourning had seemed to last much longer than the years of marriage and, sinful as it felt, she was ready to start her own life. So much had changed in the last seven years. Her personality, her body, her needs, and her wants were now her own to control. This was the time when Sophie would take her life in her own hands and make choices that gave her pleasure. Like the arts. She wanted to explore, appreciate, and collect beautiful objects of her own.
Sophie ran her hands along the dip of her waist, the Pomona green satin dress she had commissioned by the modiste clung to her curves in flattering lines. She had rejected the current high-waisted trend knowing it did not suit her figure and was pleased she had taken such a bold step. Sophie was excited to display her womanly figure to its fullest potential. Her mother always told her that she had childbearing hips. The irony was that, after years of marriage, she had never been with child. Sophie had designed the dress to accentuate her bust and hips and the soft bulge of her belly, allowing the material to flow from her hips instead of hanging straight down from her bosom.My build is not petite, but by dressing to my shape I am now going to embrace who I am, not try to fit in with society women.
She felt someone watching her, and she looked up to see Margot’s smiling reflection in the mirror. Margot had graciously taken Sophie in for the season, or forever as she kept telling her. They had spent many a late night giggling and talking like silly girls rather than a married mother of two and a widow.
“What is making you smile so?” Sophie asked with an arched brow.
“You are exuding confidence. You look amazing and I love that you know it, Soph,” Margot told her with an excited clap of her hands.
“I feel amazing. I was so uncertain about how these designs would turn out. I have spent so much time comparing myself to others that I forgot to appreciate my own unique self.”
Sophie tried to ignore the taunting voice in her mind telling her to stop being vain. She had been trying to shift the balance in the battle between her inner critic and her inner heroine. It was exhausting at times but with perseverance, her inner heroine had been making great strides in overcoming her self-doubt.
“You have always been beautiful Soph, inside and out.”
“You are my closest friend. You have to say that,” she said with an airy laugh. It was not often anyone called her beautiful, but her inner heroine reminded her to start loving herself for who she was. That included her orange hair and voluptuous figure.
Sophie had shared her plan for this season with Margot. After a year of mourning and years of a loveless marriage, she wanted a moment of unabashed passion.
Sophie could not think ill of her late husband; he hadn’t been cruel. They had just never had a loving connection, a reality of many arranged marriages amongst the peerage. They had slept in separate rooms with weekly conjugal visits. As duchess, she managed their social activities and the staff of the many houses and manors within his dukedom. That responsibility was now for the new heir and his bride. She had no regrets about handing the role over. She was lucky her late husband had left her an inheritance that included her dowry, so she was a wealthy widow in her own right. What she wanted was love, the love she saw between Margot and her husband, Viscount Daniel Stanford. The looks of unadulterated passion they shared when they thought no one was watching filled her with envy. Sophie wanted to feel the completion of the inkling the weekly visits from her husband had only hinted at.
“You are looking so fierce and determined! Pray tell, what you are thinking?” Margot said.
Taking one last look at her figure, she turned to face Margot and a grin spread across her face. This dress was perfect for this evening's soiree, and it must be a sign that it was completed in time for her to wear tonight.
“I am thinking I shall order many more in this style to prepare for my delayed debut.”
Chapter Two
Sinclair Montgomery rubbed his tired eyes. They were dry and itchy and he had forgotten how he hated travelling by godforsaken ship. Throwing his head back, he looked at his surroundings. White's was so comforting. It felt like he had been here the day before with his friends, playing cards, drinking whisky, and trying to one up each other with the sauciest titbit about their latest trysts. That was four years ago. Four long years of travelling. Gambling for the reckless thrill, drinking whisky to drown his sorrows, and tumbling women for moments of bliss so he could briefly forget. Four years ago, he was the younger brother of a future Marquess, content in his role as the second son.
Sinclair had never been as controlled as Andrew and hadn’t needed to be. Andrew was clever and shrewd and was meant to do remarkable things. Life, in its cruel way, determined it was not meant to be. Andrew's life was cut short by a freakish accident and Sinclair had spent the next four years trying to understand why. Why did fate choose Andrew’s horse to buck him off without warning and not Sinclair, the reckless and foolish younger brother? He had watched in horror as the events unfolded, helpless to stop them playing out before his eyes.
Picking up his glass of whisky, Sinclair threw back the liquid in one gulp as he tried to block out the images. He had not wanted to return home but one of his father's letters had finally caught up with him as he traipsed across Europe. Marquess Maxwell Montgomery was unwell and wanted his heir to return home.
Sinclair suspected his father was exaggerating. He was a wily old fox. But the guilt had worked nevertheless, so here he was back in England. He had sent his luggage ahead and sent his best friend Daniel a missive to meet at White's within the hour He hoped to regain his bearings before facing his father. He did not want to be recognised, so he was wearing a heavy coat, a wide brimmed hat pulled low, and a week-old beard. He only revealed his identity to the doorman and found himself one of the dimmer and more private corners of the establishment.
"Look who finished kicking up a lark and came home!" Daniel’s gravelly voice coupled with a slap on the back broke up his melancholy thoughts. Seeing his familiar grin gave Sinclair a sense of comfort he had not realised he needed.
"It is good to see you, Daniel. You look well, apart from some lines across your face and grey hairs,” Sinclair said with a grin. “Marriage treating you well?"
"To be frank, I don't know why I didn't marry sooner. Why were we so against it? Wait till you meet Margot and my boys," he said proudly. "But that isn't news, Sin. I want to hear about you. Why didn't you tell me you were coming? You are in desperate need of a shave. Are you in hiding? Do you need money?" Daniel asked as he took in Sinclair’s appearance.
"No, nothing like that! My father has finally gotten his way. I booked passage and boarded a ship before I had the sense to change my mind. The beard…well, I thought it would be nice to enjoy the last vestiges of neglected nobility. And money?I survived all these years through an ongoing lucky streak of whist."
"Well, I am not ashamed to say I have missed you, Sin. I am really happy to see you. I hope you are home for good?"
"I think I am, as my father claims to be ailing. I will soon find out. I know he wants me to step into Andrew's shoes. Did I do a disservice to his memory, wallowing for so long?" Even though he spoke these words staring into his cup, he could feel Daniel’s empathetic gaze upon him.
"I also looked up to Andrew as a big brother. I still miss him. You are doing the right thing. Last I saw your father, he was doing fine, just lonely. He is going to be so happy you are home."
Daniel stood up, pulling Sin with him.
