“Lady Whitby.” Sophia curtsied with practiced grace. “How lovely to see you.”
“Isn’t it a beautiful day?” Lady Whitby’s gaze swept over Sophia’s gown with barely concealed disdain. “I was just telling Lady Clara and Lady Gosling how refreshing it is to see the same familiar faces season after season. Some of us may acquire new gowns and new husbands, but others remain delightfully constant.”
Her companions tittered.
“Constancy is a virtue.” Sophia kept her voice pleasant. “Or so I have always believed.”
“Of course it is.” Lady Whitby’s smile widened. “Though I imagine it must be difficult, watching all your friends marry while you remain unattached. Twenty-five is such a precarious age. One more season and you shall be firmly on the shelf.”
Sophia’s mother stiffened beside her. Sophia squeezed her arm in warning.
“I find the shelf rather comfortable, actually.” Sophia smiled. “The view is excellent, and one avoids the dust of the lower shelves entirely.”
Lady Whitby’s smile flickered. Her companions exchanged uncertain glances.
“Well.” Lady Whitby recovered. “We must be going. So many calls to make. Enjoy your walk, Lady Sophia. And your… ahem… lovely gown.”
They swept away in a rustle of expensive silk. Sophia watched them go, her jaw tight.
“Spiteful creature.” Her mother’s voice trembled with anger. “How dare she speak to you that way?”
“Let it go, Mama.” Sophia resumed walking. “She’s not worth our energy.”
“But—”
“We have had a lovely afternoon. I refuse to let Lady Whitby ruin it.” Sophia patted her mother’s hand. “Now. Tell me more about Papa’s ducks.”
Her mother hesitated, then sighed. “There was one he called Admiral Featherstone. The most pompous mallard you ever saw. Your father was convinced he was plotting a coup against the other ducks.”
Sophia laughed, and the sting of Lady Clarissa’s words faded.
They rounded a bend in the path and nearly collided with a group of gentlemen walking in the opposite direction.
“Lady Brimsey. Lady Sophia.”
The Duke of Heatherwell stood before her, tall and impossibly handsome in the afternoon light. Beside him, the Duke of Thornwaite offered a charming smile, and a third gentleman, older and portly, mopped his brow with a handkerchief.
Sophia’s heart lurched. She had not seen Edward since the ball. Since the balcony. Since the kiss that still invaded her dreams.
“Your Graces.” She curtsied, her voice cool.
Edward bowed. His expression revealed nothing. “Lady Sophia. I trust you are well.”
“Quite well. Thank you.”
The silence stretched, uncomfortable and charged.
Hugo stepped into the breach with practiced ease. “Lady Brimsey, you look radiant as always. May I introduce Lord Renwick? He and Heatherwell have business dealings together.”
Lord Renwick bowed and launched into a detailed explanation of his shipping interests, seemingly delighted to have a new audience. Hugo joined in, steering the conversation toward safe topics. Sophia’s mother responded with polite interest.
Sophia drifted away from the group, her feet carrying her toward a small rise that overlooked the Serpentine. Below, families gathered at the water’s edge. Children threw bread to the ducks while their parents watched. A father lifted his small daughter onto his shoulders. A mother wiped jam from her son’s cheek.
Something ached in Sophia’s chest. She had dreamed of this once. A husband who loved her. Children of her own. A life filled with ordinary joys and small adventures.
Those dreams felt very far away now.
She sensed him before she heard him. A shift in the air. A presence at her shoulder. She turned to find Edward standing a few feet away, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze fixed on the water.
