House parties bring out the other side of people. Proposals happen. Scandals break out.
“You could host a house party.”
Edward stared at her as though she had suggested he set fire to Parliament.
“A house party.”
“At your country estate.” Sophia warmed to the idea as she spoke. “Invite Miss Stanton and her family. A small gathering, perhaps a week or two. You would see her in informal settings. Morning walks. Dinners. Picnics on the grounds. And you could arrange for her to spend time with Oliver. Watch how she speaks to him, how she responds when he is difficult or upset.”
“I despise house parties.”
“You despise most social gatherings.” Sophia tilted her chin. “But you are seeking a wife who will become Oliver’s mother. Surely that warrants some discomfort.”
He was silent for a long moment. His jaw worked. His hands flexed at his sides.
“Who would I invite?” The question emerged reluctantly, as though dragged from him against his will.
“Miss Stanton and her parents, obviously. The Duke of Thornwaite, to keep you from brooding in corners.” She ticked off names on her fingers. “Perhaps one or two other families to round out the numbers. And you would need a hostess to manage the arrangements.”
“I do not have a hostess.”
“Then you will need to find one. An aunt, perhaps. A cousin. Someone to oversee the domestic details so you can focus on Miss Stanton.”
Edward’s gaze sharpened. “You will need to attend.”
Sophia’s heart stuttered. “I beg your pardon?”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You know Oliver. You know what I am looking for in a bride. You could observe Miss Stanton and give me your honest assessment. And your presence would reassure Oliver. He is always calmer when you are near.”
The afternoon sun beat down on Sophia’s shoulders. The fair swirled around them, laughter and music and the cries of vendors, but it all faded to a distant hum. She stood in a bubble of silence with Edward, his blue eyes fixed on her face, waiting for her answer.
Spend a week in his home. Watch him court another woman. Help him choose a bride.
The thought made her chest ache.
“I would need to bring my mother,” she heard herself say. “For propriety.”
“Of course.” Something flickered in his expression. Relief, perhaps. Or something else entirely. “Lady Brimsey would be most welcome.”
“Sophia!” Oliver’s voice cut through the moment. He came running toward them, his face alight with excitement. “The beetle climbed all the way up the stick! I named him Sir Reginald!”
Sophia laughed, the tension of the conversation dissolving as Oliver launched into a detailed account of Sir Reginald’s adventures. Edward listened with an expression of bemused tolerance that looked almost fond.
Her mother and Mrs. Palmer rejoined them as the sun began its descent toward the horizon. The fair was winding down, vendors calling out last offers, and families gathering their tired children.
“We should return home,” her mother said. “It has been a lovely afternoon.”
Oliver’s face crumpled. “Already?”
“We have been here for hours, darling.” Sophia crouched to his level. “And Thunder needs his rest. He has had a very exciting day.”
Oliver looked at the carved horse in his hand. His protest faded into a yawn that seemed to swallow his entire face.
“I suppose,” he conceded. Then he flung his arms around Sophia’s neck, nearly knocking her off balance. “Thank you for the fair. It was the best day ever.”
Sophia hugged him tight, breathing in the scent of honeyed nuts and sunshine and little boy. “You are very welcome, sweetheart.”
She released him and rose to find Edward watching them. His expression had gone unreadable again, that careful mask slipping back into place.
