“May I offer you something? And you, Lady Sophia?”
Lady Brimsey requested a candied apple. Sophia hesitated, then pointed to a small cake with pink icing.
“Those were my favorite as a girl,” she admitted. “My father always bought me one. I haven’t had one in years.”
Edward bought two.
He watched her take a bite, watched her eyes close in pleasure, and watched a crumb of pink icing cling to the corner of her mouth. The urge to reach out and brush it away with his thumb rose up so strongly that he had to clench his fist at his side.
She opened her eyes and caught him staring again. This time, neither of them looked away.
“Uncle Edward!” Oliver’s voice broke the spell. “Look! A man with dogs!”
They followed Oliver to where a performer had set up a small ring. Three terriers in tiny waistcoats leaped through hoops, walked on their hind legs, and performed tricks that seemed to defy the natural order of canine behavior.
Oliver was transfixed. He clutched Thunder the horse in one hand and his bag of honeyed nuts in the other, his eyes never leaving the dogs.
Edward stood beside Sophia, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. The afternoon had slipped away without his noticing. The sun hung lower now, casting long golden shadows across the green. He had lost track of time entirely.
“Thank you.” The words emerged before he could stop them.
Sophia glanced at him. “For what?”
“For this.” He gestured at Oliver, at the fair, at the afternoon that had somehow transformed from obligation to something approaching pleasure. “I would not have known how to do this without you.”
Something softened in her expression. “You did it yourself, Your Grace. I merely pointed the way.”
“Edward.”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“My name.” He kept his gaze on the performing dogs. “You may use it. When we’re not in formal company.”
A pause stretched between them. When she spoke, her voice had gone soft.
“Edward.”
His name on her lips did something dangerous to his resolve. He turned to look at her, found her watching him with an expression he couldn’t read, and felt the careful walls he had built crack.
“Sophia.”
She smiled. It was not the polished smile she wore in ballrooms, the careful mask of propriety. This smile reached her eyes, warmed her entire face, and Edward realized with sudden, startling clarity that he was in far deeper trouble than he had ever imagined.
Oliver chose that moment to tug at his coat.
“Uncle Edward. Can we get a dog?”
“No.”
“But—”
“Absolutely not.”
Oliver’s face crumpled, ready to protest. Sophia crouched beside him.
“Perhaps,” she said, “you might practice by taking excellent care of Thunder first. Show your uncle how responsible you can be. And then, someday, you can discuss a dog again.”
Oliver considered this. He looked at the carved horse in his hand. Then he nodded, his disappointment fading into determination.
