“I only want you to see that there are distinct advantages to the situation. A politician’s wife learns to be pragmatic about such things. And you should thank your sister for putting that horrible Miss Newsome in her place.”
“Thank you, Mara,” Sophia dutifully repeated.
Mama could crow all she wanted about becoming the mother of a duchess and enjoy her elevated status, but Sophia did not share her opinion of a positive future. If Mama knew of Sophia’s heated, ugly discussion with Roxboro during the carriage ride, and that it was likely the reason he hadn’t called upon her since, she wouldn’t be so pleased.
Truthfully, Sophia shouldn’t have lost her temper. Nor insulted him. That wasn’t the way to move forward. But his continued insistence that he did not recall her, not even vaguely, reminded Sophia of howutterly forgettableshe’d felt her entire life. Which resulted in blunt, somewhat scathing observations spilling from her lips, or thinly veiled insults.
I really am terrible. I deserve to be wed to a libertine.
“I couldn’t allow her to disparage you.” Mara clasped her hands in her lap, turning her head so that her gorgeous profile was on display. “You are my sister.”
Ugh.Mara must have been practicing before the mirror. She resembled a bloody cameo.
“Lord Damon and the duke will arrive at any moment,” Mama said, gazing with approval at her eldest daughter. “We’ll have a lovely dinner. Unfortunately, Lady Violet and Lady Rose will not be able to join us as they are with Lady Falworth. A house party in the country to which they were committed. But,” Mama clapped her hands. “They’llreturn to London in time for the wedding. I expect you four will become fast friends.”
Doubtful.Sophia had even less in common with Violet and Rose Viceroy than she did with Miss Newsome.
“A house party?” Mara raised her brows. “Oh, Lady Dunkirk’s.” She narrowed her eyes on Sophia. “The one Mama and I had to decline due to…your impending nuptials, Sophia.”
Sophia had also somewhat reluctantly, she suspected, been invited, but would have feigned sickness not to attend. The only thing worse than a ball, in her opinion, was a house party.
“The Marquess of Caster isn’t even in attendance at Lady Dunkirk’s,” Mama reassured Mara. “I have it on good authority. So there’s no worry he might be snatched up. And,” she winked. “Lady Falworth is close friends with the Caster’s mother, the Dowager Marchioness, which is rather lucky. Once we are family, I’ll receive an introduction.”
Good lord. Mamawasa mercenary.
Lady Falworth was her mother’s newest future conquest in society, though the poor woman was completely unaware. She was the sister of Lord Damon’s late wife, May, and had assisted in Violet and Rose’s upbringing since their mother’s death. Mama knew a great deal about the three women, as she did Lord Damon and Roxboro. At this point, she could probably rattle off the entire lineage of the Viceroys, their estates and the names of their servants.
Mama was very thorough.
The previous duke and duchess, Roxboro’s parents, had met tragic ends. Roxboro’s father was murdered. His mother died giving birth to him. Lord Damon, who was barely twenty and newly wed to Lady May, raised Roxboro as their own. Rose and Violet were born a few years later. Perfect young ladies, that is what Mama said of Lord Damon’s daughters, if a bit snobbish.
Sophia had only met them once and was more than happy to wait on furthering the acquaintance as she’d found both young women atad arrogant, which given they were Viceroys, made a great deal of sense. Neither had seemed inclined to speak to Sophia outside of a polite introduction, though Mara flitted around them like a moth around a torch for as long as possible.
Well, I suppose they won’t be able to avoid me now, given I’ll outrank them.
The knowledge brought Sophia little comfort. She didn’t want to be Roxboro’s duchess. Or anyone’s actually. Society had strict expectations of a duchess, none of which Sophia could hope to meet. Ducal behavior. Snootiness. Absolute commanding presence. Splendid clothing. Constant calls paid upon her. Sounded absolutely…. exhausting.
Sophia had always assumed she would wed some moderately attractive gentleman, with wealth and name to match. A scholarly viscount, perhaps, who if he didn’t set her aflame with any great passion—the books she loved always claimed searing fire and flame between the hero and heroine—there would be companionship. A liking for each other.
Not a duke known for his debauchery who couldn’t even recall compromising her.
“Rose and Violet are so elegant,” Mara enthused. “Their gowns are the envy of every lady in theton. Lord Damon brings a modiste from Paris who designs for them exclusively. They are always dressed in the latest fashions well before anyone else in London.” Mara nodded. “Can you imagine?”
“No,” Sophia said. “I cannot.”
“Rose speaks five languages. Violet only three but she is a renowned equestrian.” Mara leaned in. “She sits a horse far better than her cousin.”
I mocked him for that. Which was unkind.
“Pinch your cheeks,” Mara shook her head. “You look like a corpse. It is rather unbecoming.”
Sophia ignored her. As soon as Mara turned to say something toMama, she picked up the embroidery her sister had left tucked behind a cushion, discreetly pulling out two rows of stitches. The basket of roses depicted on the cloth was now ruined. She tossed the hoop behind one of the chairs, feeling much better.
“Perhaps a bit of sun on your cheeks prior to the ceremony would not be remiss.” Mama turned to study her. “Youaremuch too pale. Sit in the sun for a bit tomorrow. Just enough for a hint of color. We don’t want anyone to think you’ve taken ill. The wedding is in two days, after all.”
I should be so fortunate as to contract the plague.
This family dinner was the only event leading up to her ill-fated nuptials. Mama had wanted to host a lavish ball and an even more extravagant dinner party leading up to the wedding. There had also been plans for a wedding breakfast with no less than fifty guests directly after the ceremony.
