“Very well.” She extended her hand. “We have an agreement.”
He stared at her hand for a long moment. Then he took it. His grip was warm, firm, and unsettling.
“The Bancroft garden party is next week.” He released her. “We begin there.”
Sophia nodded. She turned and walked away, her mind spinning with the absurdity of it all.
She had just agreed to find a bride for the most infuriating man in London.
God help them both.
CHAPTER 4
“Lady Sophia! What a delightful surprise to see you here.”
The voice dripped honey laced with arsenic. Sophia turned to find Lady Clarissa Whitby bearing down on her, resplendent in pale pink muslin that probably cost more than Sophia’s entire wardrobe.
The Viscountess Whitby had been Clarissa Pennington during their debut season, a year younger than Sophia and half as clever. Now she was married, titled, and insufferably smug about both.
“Lady Whitby.” Sophia dipped into a curtsy. “How lovely to see you.”
“Is it not the most glorious afternoon?” Lady Whitby fanned herself, her gaze sweeping over Sophia’s gown with barely concealed disdain. “Though I must say, I admire your courage inwearing that shade of green again. It takes a certain confidence to repeat a dress so many times. Not all of us could manage it.”
Sophia felt her mother stiffen beside her. She kept her smile fixed in place. “How kind of you to notice. I find comfort in familiar things.”
“And you remain so wonderfully unchanged yourself.” Lady Whitby’s eyes glittered. “Still unmarried after all these years. Such dedication to spinsterhood. Though I suppose at twenty-five, one must accept one’s lot in life.”
Sophia’s fingers tightened around her fan. She thought of a dozen cutting responses, each more satisfying than the last. But her mother stood beside her, fragile and trembling from last week’s encounter with Drakeston. She would not add to her burdens.
“I am content with my circumstances, Lady Whitby. I hope you can say the same of yours.”
Something flickered in the viscountess’s eyes. A crack in the smugness.
Then she laughed, bright and false. “Oh, I certainly can. Lord Whitby is everything a woman could desire. But then, not everyone is fortunate enough to make such a match.” She patted Sophia’s arm with patronizing sympathy. “Do enjoy the party, Lady Sophia. And give my regards to your father. I hear he remains…” She paused, selecting her words like daggers. “Indisposed.”
She swept away before Sophia could respond, her pink skirts swishing with triumph.
“That wretched creature.” Alice’s voice cut through the fog of Sophia’s composure. Her friend appeared at her elbow, Thomas in tow, her face flushed with indignation. “I saw the whole thing. The nerve of that woman.”
“Alice, please.” Sophia touched her arm. “Not here.”
Thomas moved to engage Sophia’s mother in conversation, gently steering her toward a nearby bench where they might sit in the shade. Alice watched Lady Whitby’s retreating figure with murder in her eyes.
“Do you know who matched her with Lord Whitby?” Alice hissed. “Lady Fairhart. That woman owes her entire happiness to you, and she repays you with cruelty.”
“She doesn’t know that.” Sophia’s voice remained steady, though her heart ached. “And I do not care about the ton’s opinion. Let them think what they wish.”
Alice took her arm. “Walk with me. You need air, and I need to resist the urge to trip Lady Whitby into the ornamental pond.”
They strolled along the gravel path that wound through Lord Bancroft’s magnificent gardens. Roses bloomed in riotous profusion on either side, their perfume heavy in the afternoonwarmth. Sophia breathed deep, letting the beauty soothe her battered pride.
“I must tell you something.” She glanced around to ensure they were not overheard. “I have made an arrangement with the Duke of Heatherwell.”
Alice stopped walking. “An arrangement? What sort of arrangement?”
“He knows I am Lady Fairhart.” Sophia kept her voice low. “He overheard me speaking with Mr. Colborne. In exchange for his silence, and for permission to visit Oliver, I’ve agreed to help him find a bride.”
Alice’s jaw dropped. “Sophia. Are you mad? What if he exposes you anyway?”
