“Lord Drakeston.” Sophia’s voice emerged cool, controlled. “We didn’t expect to see you in the country.”
“Life is full of unexpected pleasures.” Drakeston smiled, and Edward felt the temperature in the hall drop several degrees. “I look forward to becoming better acquainted over the weekend.”
He moved on to greet other guests, but Edward’s attention remained fixed on Sophia. The color had drained from her cheeks. Her hands, clasped before her, trembled almost imperceptibly.
What was Drakeston to her? What history lay between them that could produce such a reaction?
Edward filed the observation away for later examination and returned to his duties as host.
Dinner that evening tested the limits of Edward’s patience.
The long table glittered with crystal and silver, candles casting warm light across the assembled guests. Conversation flowed around him, punctuated by laughter and the clink of glasses, while Edward sat at the head of the table and wondered how soon he could reasonably escape.
Miss Stanton occupied the place of honor to his right, her conversation pleasant and informed. She spoke of music andliterature, of her charitable work with foundling hospitals, of her hopes for the coming season. Edward listened and responded and felt nothing beyond mild appreciation.
Sophia sat halfway down the table, between Lord Collingsworth and Lord Guildthorpe. Edward caught himself watching her more often than propriety allowed, noting the way she drew others into conversation, the way she listened with genuine interest, the way her laugh carried across the room and made something in his chest constrict.
He forced his attention back to Miss Stanton.
“Your nephew seems to be settling in well,” Miss Stanton said.
“Oliver is adjusting well.” Edward took a sip of wine. “He has had difficulties, as one might expect given his circumstances, but he improves each day.”
“Children are resilient.” Miss Stanton nodded with confidence. “A firm hand and clear expectations work wonders. My mother always said that discipline shapes character.”
Edward thought of Oliver’s elaborate bow, of the way his face had lit up when Sophia laughed. Discipline had not produced that joy. Something else entirely had.
“Indeed,” he said, and changed the subject.
Further down the table, Sir Edmund Blackwell’s voice rose above the general murmur. “Another engagement announced just last week. Lord Hartington and Miss Cavendish. Rumor has it Lady Fairhart arranged the match.”
Edward’s attention sharpened. He saw Sophia go still with her fork suspended halfway to her mouth.
“Lady Fairhart.” Sir Edmund snorted into his wine. “What a ridiculous business. A shadowy matchmaker pulling strings behind the scenes and manipulating the marriages of her betters. If you ask me, the whole thing is utterly preposterous.”
“I rather think it romantic,” Lady Collingsworth offered. “She helped my husband and me find each other. I will be eternally grateful.”
“Romantic nonsense.” Sir Edmund waved a dismissive hand. “Marriage is a matter of practicality. Bloodlines. Property. Alliances. This Lady Fairhart meddles in affairs she has no business touching. And we don’t even know who she is. For all we know, she could be some merchant’s widow with delusions of grandeur.”
Sophia’s knuckles whitened around her fork. Edward watched her struggle to maintain composure, then watched her open her mouth to speak.
“Lady Fairhart,” Edward cut in, his voice carrying down the table, “has facilitated more successful matches in the past three years than any hostess in London. Her recommendations haveunited families who might never have found each other through conventional means. Whatever her methods, her results speak for themselves.”
Silence fell over the table. Sir Edmund’s face reddened.
“I meant no offense, Your Grace. Merely expressing an opinion.”
“Opinions are best expressed when informed by facts.” Edward returned to his meal, effectively ending the discussion.
He did not look at Sophia. He didn’t need to. He could feel her gaze on him, warm and wondering.
After dinner, the guests gathered in the drawing room while Edward orchestrated a brief introduction between Miss Stanton and Oliver.
Mrs. Palmer had brought the boy down from the nursery at Edward’s request. Oliver stood beside his uncle, scrubbed clean and dressed in fresh clothes, his wooden horse Thunder clutched in one hand.
“Miss Stanton, may I present my nephew, Master Oliver.” Edward placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Oliver, this is Miss Stanton. She is a friend of mine.”
Miss Stanton smiled down at Oliver with practiced warmth. “What a handsome young man. How do you do, Master Oliver?”
