“Don’t be a fool.” She looked at her reflection in the window. She had been schooling her heart to obey her, but it was headstrong in its determination to trust Isaac again.
He had helped her save Prudence.
That was no small thing.
He had hinted that he still had feelings for her—that he might have regretted his choice. She thought of their dance, of his hand on her waist, his teasing smile. She was weak, and she hated herself for it. How daft would she feel if she trusted Isaac again, only to be hurt a second time?
She had a perfectly stable courtship underway with Lord Finchley. It had been progressing perfectly. Giving that up for a wild, nonsensical romance from her youth would be a grave error, indeed. She would end up like Prudence, alternating her hours between crying and playing dreadful tunes on the pianoforte. She had certainly been there before.
So at the auction, she would give Lord Finchley her full attention. She would behave with as much elegance as would be expected of a future countess. She would give society nothing to gossip about besides how lovely a match she would make for the earl.
Her maid helped her into her blue gown trimmed with white lace, taking great care with her hair. Sophia inspected her reflection as her maid pinched her cheeks. She didn’t feel fit to be a countess. When she looked at herself in the mirror in recent days, she hadn’t been able to envision that future. Despite her neat hair, clear complexion, and well-fitted gown, she felt like an imposter. Her mind had been on the sea, on Isaac, and the freckles that had long since faded from her cheekbones.
Lord Finchley rested one hand on the front of his plaid waistcoat as he helped Sophia out of the carriage. “What do you think of the yellow? Do I look like a dandy?”
“Not in the slightest.” Sophia gave him a reassuring smile. Her performance was underway already. Even as she set foot on the cobblestones, a group of passing ladies glanced in her direction. One whispered to her companion behind her gloved fingers.
Sophia gulped. Her heart thrummed fast in her chest. Her stays felt tight beneath her gown—tighter than usual. Rain sprinkled lightly from the sky, marking Lord Finchley’s tan jacket with dark dots.
“Oh, blast it.” He looked toward the sky, hurrying Sophia toward the front door of Christie’s. She held his arm, keeping her head held high as they followed the other attendees into the gallery. The contributors to the auction were given reservedseating at the front of the room. Aunt Hester struggled to keep up, but she managed to remain at Sophia’s other side as Lord Finchley rushed them toward an empty space on one of the front rows.
Sophia glanced to her left, noting a few familiar faces from theton.An auction like this provided the wealthy an opportunity to be seen as they donated a fraction of their money in exchange for a painting that might adorn their already crowded walls.
Sophia was simply glad to have her painting displayed somewhere besides her own home.
If she hadn’t been connected to Lord Blackstone, her art might have never been seen so publicly. Lady Strathmore’s interest in the painting was what had led Sophia here. A swirl of nerves entered her stomach. What if no one liked her work? She could already imagine the silence following the auctioneer’s voice. It might fetch a few guineas if she was lucky. She straightened her spine, forcing a pleasant smile to her face as she observed the crowd.
Lord Blackstone arrived a few minutes later, taking the seat beside Sophia. “A pleasant day, is it not, Finchley?” He leaned forward with a grin.
“Pleasant, indeed.”
Stepfather glanced up at the display of art on the walls in front of them. Sophia’s painting was near the bottom, small in comparison to some of the others. It certainly didn’t stand out. The auctioneer took his place behind the wooden podium, arranging a few documents in front of him.
“Do you have your eye on anything in particular?” Stepfather asked Lord Finchley.
“I do.” His gaze slid in Sophia’s direction.
Stepfather looked far too pleased with that answer. He straightened his jacket, crossing his legs in front of him. “Capital.”
Did Lord Finchley plan to bid on her painting? It was an obvious way he could publicize his attachment to her. Sitting near the front of the room, with so many onlookers, his display would be sure to draw gossip. If there was any speculation about whether or not he intended to marry her, it would be swiftly silenced. Sophia’s throat was dry. Was she prepared for that? She had to be.
The auctioneer lifted one hand, silencing the prattle of the crowd. Sophia stared up at the pastel-green walls, roughly counting at least thirty frames.
Her back ached as she sat for several minutes, politely applauding each time a painting was sold. The average sale was around twenty guineas. Most of the artists were relatively unheard of, though the work was lovely. Sophia’s palms began to sweat as the auctioneer read the details of her painting.
“A landscape of Zennor, by Miss Sophia Hale. Shall we open at eight guineas?” The man looked up from his paper, eyes peering into the crowd expectantly.
Sophia held her breath.
Without wasting a moment, Lord Finchley raised his hand. “Ten.” He gave a pale smile as his gaze surveyed the rows of people around them.
The murmurs of the crowd were impossible to miss. Sophia felt them from behind, washing over her in waves.
“Fifteen.” A deep voice from the back of the room made her freeze. Her heart picked up speed. She didn’t dare turn around.
What was Isaac doing here?
She had withheld the details of the auction from him on purpose. She recalled his words in the drawing room.I need that painting.
