After dancing with the baron, another gentleman requested a dance. He was young, with a surly expression,and he didn’t try to get to know her, so Sophie was a little unsure why he wanted to dance at all.
That dance was followed by one with the baby-faced Mr. Garfield and another with Mr. Jonathan Adair, which she sadly hadn’t been able to avoid.
When she was finally allowed to rest her feet, she fetched a glass of lemonade from the refreshments table and joined Emma and Vaughan.
“What on earth was that about?” she asked, confused why a string of gentlemen would want to dance with her. Usually, she danced a few times at balls, but she’d never been in such demand before.
Emma pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I think perhaps the younger set took interest because Ashford—who’s a duke and known to dance rarely, and Baron Sylvestor—who’s popular and well-thought-of, danced with you in succession.”
Sophie nodded. “That makes sense.”
It echoed her earlier sentiment about how men could be sheep, following the example of those they admired.
Glancing around, she scowled upon seeing Baron Sylvestor talking once more with the same blonde woman he’d been engaged with earlier.
Competition, perhaps?
How could she maneuver the situation so that she would be viewed favorably when competing against those whom anyone could see were more beautiful than she?
She tapped her chin, possibilities whirling around her brain. “Do you think,” she began, still working through the idea as she gave voice to it, “that if I had an impressive suitor, other gentlemen would see me as a more appealing marriage prospect?”
Emma frowned. “Possibly. But if you had a suitor you genuinely liked, why would you need other options?”
Sighing, Sophie replied, “Because it wouldn’t be real.”
Emma looked at her, sidelong. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”
Sophie checked to make sure that no one was listening in. “If I were to gain the attention of someone who was, say, a notorious bachelor, then others might wonder what he saw in me.”
“But that bachelor wouldn’t actually be courting you?”
“Exactly. I’d merely ask him to pose as a suitor.”
“Hmm.” Emma bit her lip. “If either of you were to put a foot wrong, it could turn out poorly. Who did you have in mind?”
“Nicholas.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “Nicholas Blackwell? You think he would pretend to court you if you asked?”
Sophie shrugged. “Maybe.”
Nicholas enjoyed mischief, so it wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility. Also, she liked to think they were friends, and friends helped each other.
“Sophie… if you ask this of him, you must be certain you trust him implicitly, or your reputation could end up in tatters.”
“I do.”
After all, he would never want to harm anyone. Nicholas might occasionally make mistakes, but all people did. And yes, he was mischievous, but he didn’t have a malicious bone in his body.
“I hope for your sake that you’re right to do so.” Emma took her hand. “I have faith in you to know what’s right for your future. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Sophie’s heart swelled. She was so lucky to have a sister like Emma.
Later, when they had returned home, Sophie waited until Betsy had undressed her and brushed out her hair, and then she sat at her writing table and penned a letter to Nicholas, asking if she might call upon him at a time when Kate wasn’t present. She didn’t want her friend involved in this.
Lord, it felt scandalous to send a missive to him in such a way. It was almost as if they were lovers arranging an assignation.
She sighed. If only.
