Kate offered her a glass. “I thought you might like some lemonade.”
Sophie accepted the glass and drank deeply. “Thank you. I needed that.”
She set the glass down, and her attention caught on a head of blond curls coming toward them.
As Baron Sylvestor cut through the crowd, she took a moment to appreciate his attire. Like Nicholas, he had a certain flair. His waistcoat was black and gold, his cravat white and rakishly askew, but with his boyish smile, it was completely impossible to take him seriously as an actual rake. Besides, he was just too polite.
“I am here to claim my dance,” he declared, extending his hand toward her.
Sophie placed her hand on his. “I wasn’t sure you’d remember.”
He grinned. “I would never forget a dance promised to a lady as pretty as you.”
All right, so the flattery was nice. She would never complain about receiving compliments.
He guided her into a waltz, and she was grateful for her years of lessons when her feet fell easily into the movements, freeing her mind to assess Baron Sylvestor more thoroughly.
The man was handsome, no one could deny that. He was kind and had an impeccable reputation. Unfortunately, he didn’t stir any interest in her except as a potential way to keep her mother’s matchmaking efforts at bay for a while longer.
There were no flutters in her belly or tingles where his hands rested on her body. She didn’t become warm from his touch or experience the sudden urge to spend hours in his company.
How disappointing. Her life would be so much easier if amarriage-minded gentleman were able to displace Nicholas as the object of her affections.
By the time the dance ended and he escorted her back to Kate, her mother had joined them. Sophie thanked Baron Sylvestor and watched him walk away a little wistfully.
Perhaps if she tried hard enough, she could persuade herself to see him differently.
“You looked lovely together,” Lady Carlisle murmured, using her fan to hide the smugness of her smile. “What do you think of him?”
Sophie’s chest constricted. As she’d suspected, her mother looked thrilled by the thought of a marriage between them.
“He’s charming,” she said, reluctant to add more lest Lady Carlisle have her married by the end of the month. She needed her mother to believe in the possibility of something happening, but she didn’t want to find herself pushed into a marriage that wouldn’t suit her.
“His manners are most becoming. And his face….” Her mother waved her hand ineffectually. “It is very… cherubic.”
Sophie nodded because that was true enough. She skimmed the throng of guests, unconsciously searching for a tall, lean figure with longish dark hair and that outrageous pink brocade waistcoat Nicholas loved to wear to shock the more conservative members of theton.
Her heart ached. If Nicholas attended events such as this, she would be giddy at the prospect of dancing with him. Why did he always keep his distance? Did he find them tiresome?
The rest of the night dragged on. Sophie danced with several more gentlemen, and Kate danced a time or two as well, although only with men who knew she was happily married.
They dropped Kate off outside Blackwell House on their way home. It was dark outside, the streets lit sporadically by streetlamps with a yellowish glow that was almost eerie. Thecarriage lingered until Kate was safely inside the house before resuming the journey to the Carlisle residence.
Sophie rested her head against the side wall and closed her eyes. Her feet throbbed from her being on them for so long—not to mention that they’d been stepped on a time or two—and she couldn’t wait to collapse in her bed and sleep for hours.
“We’ll speak to your father before retiring for the evening,” Lady Carlisle declared.
Sophie bolted upright, all traces of sleepiness gone in an instant. On nights when her mother accompanied her to functions and her father remained home, they never visited with him upon returning.
“Why?” she demanded, her pulse racing and her stomach knotting because surely any deviation from their usual routine couldn’t be positive.
“You’ll find out soon,” her mother said, her expression deceptively placid.
Had she done something wrong? Misstepped? Usually, she knew if she’d made a mistake like that.
Was something else happening?
Sophie didn’t ask because she knew her mother wouldn’t answer, but her thoughts spun round and round until they arrived home and disembarked from the carriage. She followed Lady Carlisle into the house and to her father’s study. The door was ajar, and light streamed through the gap.
