CHAPTER 22
As Betsy tiedthe laces on the back of Sophie’s dress the following morning, someone knocked on the bedchamber door.
Who on earth would call on her at this hour?
Sophie waited until her dress was secure, intrigued when the person knocked again.
“Am I decent?” she asked Betsy.
Betsy grinned. “As much as you ever are, my lady.”
Sophie snorted inelegantly and went to the door. When she swung it open, her mother stood in the corridor outside.
“How are you this morning?” Lady Carlisle asked, her brow furrowed with uncharacteristic concern. Usually, she didn’t worry about any “moods” or temporary maladies her daughters might have.
But then, Sophie had been very red the night before—not that she could ever tell her mother why that was.
“I’m much better.” She looked down, hoping her cheeks weren’t as pink as they felt. “I’m excited for our outing to Horncastle this morning.”
The women had made plans to travel to the nearest town to enjoy a little shopping while the men hunted. They hadn’tpassed through Horncastle on the way to Nunhaven, so she was eager to see what it looked like. She’d heard the markets there were well worth visiting.
“I am too.” Lady Carlisle smiled, apparently accepting Sophie’s word that she’d recovered. “Are you ready for breakfast?”
“I just need to don my shoes.”
Sophie backtracked into her room, where Betsy was waiting with her walking shoes. While they would be taking carriages into Horncastle, she expected that they would still cover a reasonable distance on foot while looking at the shops.
Betsy helped her into her shoes, and then Sophie and her mother headed to the breakfast room. They each filled a plate and were about to sit at an empty table when Sophie spotted the blond woman—Miss Marianne Bloombury—whom Lady Wembley had claimed was enamored with Baron Sylvestor.
If Sophie intended to withdraw from her unofficial courtship with the baron, what better way to start than by making her position clear to another woman who might wish to marry him?
She didn’t want to hurt the baron by rejecting him. He’d treated her well. Perhaps encouraging Miss Bloombury would help them both.
Setting her jaw, she made for the other woman.
“Do you mind if we join you?” she asked, hovering a short distance from the table.
Miss Bloombury blinked owlishly, as if caught off guard, but she motioned to the chairs. “You’re more than welcome.”
“Thank you.” Sophie sat.
Her mother—who had followed her—gave her a look that said she knew Sophie was up to something, but she wasn’t sure what.
“I’m Lady Sophie,” Sophie said, although she was sureMiss Bloombury already knew that. “This is my mother, Lady Carlisle.”
Miss Bloombury nodded deferentially. “I’m Miss Marianne Bloombury. You may call me either Miss Bloombury or Marianne.”
“Marianne,” Sophie repeated. This time, she was the one caught off guard. Inviting such intimacies was uncommon among new acquaintances. Was Marianne just a very open and friendly sort of person, or did she have an ulterior motive? “You have a lovely name.”
Marianne blushed. “Thank you, Lady Sophie.”
Lady Carlisle set her plate down and sat in another of the empty chairs. “I understand you’re Lady Wembley’s niece.”
“Yes, my lady. My mother is her sister.”
“Are you close with your cousins?” Sophie asked, curious. She would have liked to have cousins, but her father’s brother had joined the military and died at war before marrying, and her mother was an only child.
“We were very close when we were young.” Marianne smiled in memory. “We grew apart as we aged, although we still keep in touch.”
