Chapter Twelve
Sophia’s fingers moved swiftly over the keys of the pianoforte, racing through what was supposed to be a thoughtful, slow melody. She had told herself she would play it five times before ending her practice for the day. Her chest felt hollow, her mind numb. She no longer had to focus on the notes in front of her. She had memorized where her hands should go, and they moved precisely as they were trained to. The performance was flawless, if not a little dull. She had always been able to hear a pianist’s heart in their music, but hers was not here today. It was far away.
She pounded the keys harder as she finished the song. At least her performance wasn’t lacking enthusiasm. She had forced her frustrations out onto the keys, and when the song ended, the drawing room was heavy with silence. The monotony of London, of attending balls and theaters and galleries, of walking each day in Hyde Park, of being on her best behavior—it was all exhausting.
Stepfather asked her each evening if Lord Finchley had called upon her that day, and how their interactions had gone. She knew that he was writing to Mama to inform her that her eldest daughter might soon be saved from potential spinsterhood byan earl. But despite how hard Sophia had worked to reach this point, she felt nothing but dread in her chest. Isaac would ruin everything for her, just as he had the first time. He had already made Lord Finchley look like a pickled eel. How could she spend the rest of her life with a pickled eel?
She leaned her head forward until it rested on the keys. If Lord Finchley would finally propose, she could be done with all of this. If she was engaged, and her wedding was planned, then her heart might finally stop whispering nonsense in her ears.
“Miss Hale?” A footman stood in the open doorway, making her jump. “Mr. Ellington is here. Shall I send him in?”
She scrambled out from behind the pianoforte, smoothing the wrinkles from her lavender skirts. Her heart raced. “Which Mr. Ellington?”
“Mr. Isaac Ellington.”
“Oh.” Her stomach twisted with nerves, and her body reacted by sending a burst of heat to the back of her neck. Why did she allow him to make her so blasted nervous? She examined the room, quickly adjusting a tasseled pillow. She straightened her posture with a quick nod. “Yes, do send him in.”
The footman disappeared but was quickly replaced with Isaac in the doorway. She hadn’t seen him since the day of the picnic. In her mind, she had expected all of their interactions to be in public, at gatherings that they both happened to attend. But now he was here, at her house…and they were certainly not in public.
Aunt Hester and Prudence had taken a trip to the modiste, and Stepfather was somewhere else in Town. Sophia had been looking forward to a quiet afternoon of painting before dinner, but now Isaac had delayed her. He smiled as he met her gaze. Her disobedient heart leaped.
“Mr. Ellington.” She lowered her gaze as she declined her head.
His long strides carried him into the room, and he stopped a few feet away with a bow. “Sophia.”
She looked up, her heart leaping at the sound of her name. He had always beenIsaacin her mind, but never aloud. Never. The last time she had lowered her guard enough to call him that, she had grown far too close to him. She chose to ignore his choice of address. “What brings you here?”
He was silent for a moment, his coffee-brown eyes studying her. She felt completely vulnerable, her heart in her throat. He had no idea that she had spent the better part of the past few days thinking of him and wishing to see him again.
And despising herself for it.
“We never had the chance to discuss the progress of our sabotage.” His lips curved in a genuine smile, and the sight sent a flutter through her stomach.
She cast him a curious look. “I thought you didn’t want to call it that.”
“After speaking with my cousin today, I’m no longer opposed.”
“What happened?”
Isaac glanced around the room, walking toward a portrait of the previous Lord and Lady Blackstone, Stepfather’s parents. He studied the portrait as he spoke, hands interlocked behind his back. “First, Percy confronted me for my part in revealing his hatred of dogs, and then he seemed certain that Prudence would forgive him. Do you think that’s true?”
Sophia took a few tentative steps forward, joining him in front of the portrait. “She was distraught for a day, but then she began justifying his behavior. She is always so determined to see the good in everyone and forget the bad.” She sighed. “I don’t think what we’ve done is enough. I think she would still readily accept his proposal.”
Isaac’s features turned grim. “He already obtained permission from Blackstone.”
Sophia’s brows shot up. “When does he plan to propose?”
“I don’t know. Soon.”
A heavy sense of dread accompanied his words. As of that morning, Prudence had already seemed bewitched by Mr. Ellington again, claiming that Flora and Thistle were charming enough to win his affection and change his mind about animals. Sophia had tried to convince her not to overlook his folly, but she, of course, hadn’t listened.
“Are you attending Lady Strathmore’s ball tomorrow evening?” Sophia asked.
Isaac hesitated. “I did receive an invitation.”
“Will you attend? Percy might be planning his proposal for the ball.”
A crease appeared in Isaac’s brow. “I didn’t consider that. Can you think of anything that might ensure Prudence rejects his proposal?”
