Sophie turned, and her heart immediately lifted at the sight of her favorite sister. “So do you, Emma.”
Emma embraced her, keeping it brief and light so as not to rumple Sophie’s gown. Her tall, dark husband, the Duke of Ashford, loomed behind her, his countenance not inviting conversation even though Sophie knew he was a kind, caring man. He just wasn’t one for social gatherings.
“Nice to see you,” he said, speaking to both her and her mother, who paused her conversation with Lady Wembley to exchange greetings.
“Why do you look so despondent?” Emma asked quietly once no one was paying attention to them.
“Mother has said I must marry this season.” She briefly explained the conversation they’d had—and its conclusion. “I’d hoped that Colonel Moore might be stunned by mybeauty and fall at my feet, but, alas, he’s scarcely noticed my existence.”
One side of Emma’s mouth hitched up. “I doubt both that you thought any such thing or that he failed to notice you. There is simply no way to overlook you in that gown.”
A pang ricocheted through Sophie’s chest. “Thank you.”
It meant a lot to hear it even if it was her own sister saying the words rather than a good-looking gentleman.
Emma moved closer. “It isn’t right of them to press the matter like this. Just know that you’ll always have a place with us. If you wish to delay marriage, Ashford would welcome you into our home.”
Sophie swallowed. “That’s very generous of you.”
She didn’t want to be dependent on her sister, though, nor become a drain on her. It would be best if she fixed this some other way.
Emma’s eyes narrowed and then turned on her husband. “Darling, will you dance with Sophie? She needs to be cheered up.”
Sophie waved her hand rapidly. “No, no, that’s not necessary.”
How pathetic must she appear that her sister had to order her husband to dance with her?
“I insist.” Emma’s tone didn’t brook any argument. It was at times like this that it was impossible to forget that, for all her quiet sweetness, Emma was a duchess, and people gave duchesses what they wanted.
Vaughan smiled fondly at her and offered Sophie his hand. “Come along. It’ll be easier if we do as she says.”
She went with him, allowing herself to be drawn into a lively dance. His movements weren’t as practiced as the gentlemen she was accustomed to dancing with, but he kept up well and didn’t step on her feet.
As they twirled, her skirt swishing around her legs, the silk rustling each time they brushed against each other, sheasked him about his favorite topic other than his wife: their children.
He relaxed as he told her about the progress Lilian was making on learning her letters and how Teddy had started running and was creating havoc for their nanny.
Sophie’s heart warmed. She loved how deeply Vaughan cared for his family.
Was it selfish for her to want that for herself?
After the dance, she and Vaughan joined Emma near the refreshments table, where her sweet-toothed sister was in the process of eating a small, pink-frosted cake.
Sophie considered eating a cake of her own but didn’t have the chance to select one from the platter before Baron Sylvestor appeared in front of her.
He bowed, his golden hair flopping about as he straightened. “Lady Sophie. I saw that your dance had ended. Do say you’ll grace me with another?”
Fighting the urge to look about for the girl he’d seemed smitten with earlier, Sophie moved toward him with a smile pinned in place. “Of course, sir.”
“Excellent. I believe the next dance is a waltz. Does that suit?”
“A waltz would be lovely.”
The first strains of music played as they joined the other dancers. The baron held her closer than Vaughan had, and she couldn’t help but notice that he had a broad chest. Not as wide as Nicholas’s, but still pleasingly masculine.
If only his chest had the same effect on her that Nicholas’s did.
They chatted, but the subjects were superficial, not deep enough to be interesting. At least he wasn’t a bore. He laughed easily and tried to make her laugh in return. That was something.
