“I’ll do my best to ensure she isn’t ruined,” Nicholas said.
Kate nodded, and her expression cleared. “Would you like to see the painting I’m currently working on?”
“I’d love to.”
She led him down the stairs and to the parlor she used as her studio while in London. Apparently it had the best light, not that Nicholas knew anything about that.
As usual, the easel was positioned in front of the window, and as they drew near, Nicholas realized that it wasn’t a landscape painting as Kate often did but a portrait. One of Sophie.
In the portrait, Sophie sat behind a piano, her elegant fingers on the keys, her hair in shades of red and gold that spilled in curls around her shoulders, and she had that same little furrow between her brows that he’d noticed only a short time earlier.
“It’s beautiful,” he breathed, dragging his eyes away from the figure to the half completed surroundings. He didn’t recognize the room she was in, so either Kate had invented it or it was a room he hadn’t seen in Carlisle House.
Kate smiled softly. “I’m proud of how it’s coming out.”
“You should be.” She’d managed to capture that elusive spark that made Sophie so vibrant. There was something about her eyes and the position of her mouth that made it clear this was no wilting society lady.
If he didn’t know Sophie, and he’d come across this painting, he’d certainly want to meet her.
“It helps that I have a lovely subject,” she said.
He turned toward her again. Her eyes were shining with an amusement he rarely found in them. “I can see how that would be helpful.”
Her lips twitched. “So, you agree?”
Oh, was that what this was about?
He rolled his eyes. “Only an idiot wouldn’t see how attractive Lady Sophie Carlisle is, and I may have plenty of flaws, but I’m no fool.”
She cocked her head. “Perhaps not. Have you given further thought to attending my ball?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. Had he been this frustrating when he’d been trying to urge Theo to consider remarrying? Was this his divine retribution?
“My answer remains as it was,” he gritted out. “Please excuse me. I have a letter to write.”
CHAPTER 11
“Which suitors do you favor?”Lady Carlisle asked as Sophie held her arm out for Betsy to do up the delicate buttons of her white silk gloves.
Sophie laughed. “I don’t think I can claim to have multiple suitors. I am not a diamond, after all.”
Behind her, her mother sighed as if Sophie were being purposefully ignorant. Perhaps she was. “Allow me to rephrase. Which potential match are you most drawn to?”
Staring at her buttons as they disappeared into tiny loops one by one, Sophie pretended to be so absorbed that she hadn’t heard the question.
“Sophie,” her mother prompted.
Sophie grimaced. “I enjoy Mr. Blackwell’s company more than any others, but I’m not certain of his seriousness in courting me.” In fact, she was certain of the opposite, but she could hardly tell her mother that. “I think someone like Baron Sylvestor is a more promising marriage prospect.”
Betsy finished with her gloves and knelt to help Sophie into her silk ballroom slippers.
“I don’t understand,” her mother said. “Mr. Blackwell seems sincere. He has danced with you, called on you, andaccompanied you to the musicale. What reason do you have to doubt his intentions?”
Sophie shook her head ever so slightly. “He’s something of a rogue. I don’t think we should read too much into his attention.”
There was a swishing sound, and her mother moved into her peripheral vision. “If you believe that’s best.” She was quiet for a long moment and then added, “I know it may not seem like it because of the pressure we put on you, but your father and I want you to be happy. If you believe that marriage to Mr. Blackwell would secure your happiness, then I don’t think you should discount him yet.”
Sophie’s heart hung heavily inside her rib cage. She wanted to cry that it was all pretend and that her mother shouldn’t encourage her to dream of things she wouldn’t get.
