Prudence’s sharp inhale reflected what Sophia felt. Only a month had passed since Isaac had demonstrated his cruel ways to another poor young woman. Sophia hadn’t been special atall. She may have been the first to wrongfully trust him, but she hadn’t been the last.
“Do you know why he changed his mind?” Sophia asked. Her voice sounded strange to her own ears. A distant echo.
“He didn’t say,” Miss Baker answered faintly.
The array of emotions inside her collided into distinct, potent anger. Sophia would wager that Miss Baker’s dowry was small—smaller than he had expected.
“I—I’m sorry you were so mistreated,” Sophia said in a quiet voice. “I hope your reputation hasn’t suffered.”
“Thankfully no. The people of London have much more exciting things to gossip about than my disappointed hopes.” She leaned in and beckoned Prudence and Sophia closer. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “My brother blackballed him from White’s and Brook’s. His reputation took a greater hit than mine, I daresay.” Her lips curved. “I do relish the revenge a little more than I should.”
Sophia’s mouth grew slack.
That must have been why Isaac had applied to Stepfather’s club—and why he had been forbidden to court his stepdaughters.
She straightened her spine as the realization washed over her. Isaac Ellington could not be trusted with something so fragile as a heart. Sheknewthat, but now she had been thoroughly reminded. It hurt. It hurt so badly she couldn’t breathe.
Like a toad on a pond full of lily pads.
Sherefused to be a landing place for him. She would much rather see him sink and disappear from her life forever.Hot tears sprung to her eyes, but she blinked them away in a flash. Isaac was not worth her tears. He was a pest that she had carried with her for four years. And there was only one way to cut him free.
While Prudence relayed every detail of Percy’s deceit to Miss Baker, Sophia waited nearby. Numb. Shattered.
But determined.
The moment they returned home, she picked up her quill and wrote a letter to Lord Finchley.
Chapter Seventeen
The Right Honorable the Earl of Finchley requests the honor of Mr. Ellington’s company at dinner this Thursday, at seven o’clock in the evening at his residence, No. 14 Berkeley Square.
Isaac dropped the invitation on the tea table with a grimace. He had received it two days prior, which was not a great deal of notice at all. It seemed to be an afterthought, as if Isaac hadn’t been on the original list of guests. Which wasn’t surprising in the slightest.
But why had Lord Finchley invited him at all? The question had been rankling him since the moment he received the invitation. After Isaac had outbid him for the painting, this invitation couldn’t be anything but an opportunity for retaliation.
What did the earl have up his sleeve?
Isaac eyed the clock with misgiving. Whatever it was, he would soon find out.
He was only going because Sophia would be there. He hadn’t seen her since the auction, and she hadn’t been as receptive ashe would have hoped to his romantic gesture. Perhaps his efforts were futile. Sophia might have had feelings for him, but her feelings had never been able to triumph over her ambitions.
Perhaps Lord Finchley had sent the invitation in order to prove to his peers that he didn’t harbor animosity for Isaac’s actions at the auction. He might have wanted to prove that the two men weren’t actually battling for Sophia’s affections. Without any evidence besides Isaac’s behavior at the auction, Lord Finchley might be able to discredit any rumors.
Unless Isaac provided more evidence tonight.
However impossible it seemed, he needed to speak with Sophia alone. He needed to break the rules they had set for themselves and speak of the day she had left Cornwall. If he had the courage, he needed to obtain an answer to the question he had asked her during their dance at Lady Strathmore’s ball. Did he have any chance against Lord Finchley?
When he had seen her at the auction, she had seemed angry and flustered—but also overwhelmed. Should he have taken a different approach? He had the sense, deep in his chest, that he was running out of time.
His heart ached, his limbs tense with dread as he set off in his carriage toward Berkeley Square. He leaned back into his seat and closed his eyes, but he couldn’t seem to banish his sense of dread. Why did he feel like he was walking into a trap? Lord Finchley was not his friend—therefore his intentions for inviting Isaac to his house could not have been of a friendly nature.
Isaac opened his eyes as the carriage began to slow. The cream stone of Lord Finchley’s Palladian townhouse came into view, candlelight spilling from every window that faced the tree-lined street. The sun had nearly retired for the day, glowing faintly enough to light Isaac’s way to the wide double doors. His chest tightened at the memory of his nightmare, when Sophia had walked down the staircase on Lord Finchley’s arm.
He calmed his nerves, putting on the bold facade he had worn at the auction. If he could display the same confidence he had felt that day, then nothing could rattle him. Lord Finchley’s attempts to showcase his wealth and status—his superiority—would not keep Isaac from trying one last time to tell Sophia how he felt. How he had never stopped loving her.
The butler ushered Isaac inside and directed him to the drawing room. Voices drifted through the corridor. The walnut-paneled walls were lined with ancestral portraits of all the previous Lord and Lady Finchleys. Once again, Isaac was relieved to find no sign of taxidermy, though his stomach was still unsettled as he walked into the drawing room.
The party was larger than Isaac had expected, confirming his suspicion that his own invitation must have been sent much later than the others. A gathering of this size would not have been thrown together two days in advance. Lord Finchley’s dining table must have been sizeable, equipped to seat at least sixteen guests.
