Prudence groaned. “You, my dear sister, are far too cynical. Why must you assume the worst of everyone?”
Sophia turned toward the mirror again to distract herself, pinching her cheeks as hard as she could. “Because I would rather be pleasantly surprised than devastated by disappointment.” She faced her sister again. “Would you not?”
Prudence shrugged. “I would rather be optimistic.” A faint smile touched her lips. “Perhaps you should be, too. Isaac Ellington might have been a fool all those years ago, but he could very well come to his senses now. I know you are still pining for him.”
“I am notpiningfor anyone,” Sophia snapped. She drew a deep breath to steady her nerves.
“Not even Lord Finchley?” Prudence gave her skeptical look.
“Besides him,” Sophia corrected in a quick voice.
Prudence still seemed doubtful, but content to put the subject to rest. It was only fair that Prudence could scrutinize Sophia’s courtship if she was going to do the same to hers. Sophia had never forgotten her father’s words.“There are plenty of men in London who will find you sufficient. There are plenty of men who will love you better than Isaac Ellington ever could.”
There hadn’t beenplenty, but there was Lord Finchley.
He had called upon her earlier that day, and she was relieved to find that he hadn’t held a grudge over her poor dancing.Hopefully he was one of their dinner guests that evening…though he hadn’t mentioned receiving an invitation.
With Prudence at her side, Sophia made her way downstairs to the drawing room. She could hear voices from within, muffled behind the partially closed door. Her stepfather’s laugh was difficult to mistake, booming through the walls of the house. There were no barriers that could contain it.
Sophia paused at the door and listened, steeling herself for the worst. If Percy was there, she would have to spend the evening glued to her sister’s side, playing chaperone while Aunt Hester squinted at poetry through her spectacles.
Apparently vexed by Sophia’s hesitant entry, Prudence brushed past her, pushing the door open with deliberate force.Sophia followed quickly behind, straightening her spine to its full height and surveying the room.
She quickly realized that the sense of dread she had been feeling was not without cause.
Isaac Ellington stood near her stepfather. Her heart fell, and her palms perspired in her gloves. Her lungs felt heavy, and the Persian rug felt like a sheet of ice as she walked deeper into the room.
What on earth was he doing here?
She noticed Percy nearby, and suddenly the invitation made sense. Both men were Stepfather’s new friends, and both were equally dangerous.
As expected, Percy’s focus was on Prudence as she made her confident entrance. Sophia felt like a dog being dragged by a lead, traipsing into the room on Prudence’s heel. She quickly corrected her thoughts, forcing herself to stand straighter. She could not give Isaac the satisfaction of thinking she was intimidated by him.
His eyes met hers. She had no mask, no dim room, no costume. She had never felt a gaze so heavy or tangible as Isaac’s as he took her in—every inch of her—every feature. If only she could read his mind. Was he noticing how old she looked—how altered from the girl he had pretended to love? She was not as young and vibrant as Prudence anymore, though she did make an effort to look after her appearance. Despite feeling Isaac’s rapt attention, she pretended only to notice him in passing. Her heart in her throat, she stopped in front of both gentlemen and offered a curtsy.
Both men bowed, and Sophia took the opportunity to release the tense breath in her lungs. On the outside, she knew how she appeared—composed and quiet. No one would be any the wiser, not even Isaac. She was well-practiced in concealing her true emotions. Some people would call it deceptive, but she calledit wise. No one could make any assumptions about her if they weren’t given any clues.
A few words of greeting passed between Percy and Prudence, leaving Isaac and Sophia in silence. Her stepfather was watching with an expectant expression. It would be strange not to speak to Isaac at all. Her stepfather had no knowledge of their history, and surely not an inkling that any history existed at all. With him observing so closely, she had no choice but to look at Isaac.
“Good evening, Mr. Ellington.” It was a bleak attempt at conversation, but it was still something.
“Good evening, Miss Hale.”
He wore a black jacket and white cravat, hair combed neatly, his jaw freshly shaved. Never had a well-dressed and well-groomed man been so threatening. Did he even realize how harsh he had been? How unfeeling? Panic rose in her throat when her stepfather walked to the door to greet an arriving guest, leaving her alone with Isaac.
“I’m sorry if my presence here upsets you,” he said in a low voice. “When your stepfather invited me to dinner, I didn’t know how to refuse.”
“Why should I be upset?” Sophia interlocked her fingers in front of her. “That was a very long time ago.”
She didn’t have to specify whatthatwas. It encompassed far too many things.
“There is no need to dwell on the past,” she continued in a quick voice. “Let us agree not to speak of it and move forward as new acquaintances.”
“I agree.” Isaac lowered his head in a nod. “Acquaintances would be more suitable than strangers.”
“Yes, much more suitable.” Her voice was so quiet she wondered if he had even heard her. She studied his face for too long. The silence made her anxious, but not a single word cameto her lips. If they agreed not to speak of their past, then what was there to speak of?
Her mind was blank.
