The girl actually smiled then, and Lavinia caught the fleeting spark of it before it disappeared behind composure. She let the moment sit, then turned the conversation in a new direction. "Do you like books?"
"Yes."
"Which kind?"
"The ones with stories."
"All the best ones have stories. Which is your favorite?"
Sophia bent over her page, drawing in tight, anxious strokes. "I like the ones with pirates," she confessed. "But I am not supposed to read them."
"Ah," Lavinia said, nodding as though this were the most natural admission in the world. "Improper reading. My own favorite was The Adventures of Captain Jack and the Spanish Main. I read it eight times. My mother would have fainted if she’d ever opened the cover."
This won a soft laugh, so brief Lavinia was not sure she had heard it.
"If you could do anything in the world, Lady Sophia," Lavinia said, "what would it be? Anything at all. No one here to disapprove."
Sophia's pencil stilled. "I should like to ride a horse. A real one, not a pony."
"Why can't you?"
She kept her eyes on her page. "Father says it is too dangerous."
"I see," Lavinia said, though she did not. "Has your father ever fallen from a horse?"
Sophia shook her head, her expression growing distant. "He says it is his duty to protect me."
"And yet you wish to learn."
Sophia glanced at Lavinia, a look full of longing and fear. "Yes."
"Then perhaps we shall devise a plan," Lavinia said, returning to her sketch.
Sophia colored in the center of her rose, her movements growing less hesitant, and for a long while they worked side by side in companionable quiet. Lavinia offered small, practical advice about shading or the curve of a petal, never once correctingSophia's work. The girl's posture relaxed, her shoulders lowering, her face less pinched with each passing moment.
They had nearly finished their sketches when a sudden shadow fell across the garden path. Lavinia looked up and felt her heart leap in her chest.
The Duke of Evermere stood a few yards away, his arms crossed and his expression forbidding. His eyes were intently on her, then they moved to Sophia, and the angle of his jaw left no doubt as to his displeasure.
"Lady Lavinia," he said, his voice like a blade drawn quietly from its sheath, "I was not aware that my daughter's lessons would be conducted out of doors."
Sophia's back straightened so abruptly her pencil snapped.
Lavinia rose to her feet. "I thought a change of scenery would benefit Lady Sophia. She has made excellent progress this morning."
His eyes narrowed. "Who gave you permission to take her from the house?"
Lavinia matched his gaze, refusing to yield an inch. "I did not realize the gardens were off-limits, Your Grace. If so, I apologize for the oversight."
"You will not apologize to me," Tristan said, stalking forward until he loomed over both women. "You will adhere to protocol. My daughter's safety is not a matter for creative interpretation."
Sophia shrank back, her lower lip caught between her teeth.
Lavinia fought the urge to step in front of the girl, instead maintaining her composure. "Of course, Your Grace. I will remember it in future."
"See that you do," he snapped, before turning on his heel as if to leave.
But Lavinia could not allow the lesson to end in defeat. "If I may, Your Grace," she called, stopping him mid-stride.
