Oliver performed his bow, though with less flourish than he had shown Sophia. “How do you do, Miss Stanton?”
“What a lovely horse.” Miss Stanton gestured at Thunder. “Does he have a name?”
“Thunder.” Oliver held up the carved figure. “Uncle Edward bought him for me at the fair. Sophia helped me name him.”
Miss Stanton’s smile flickered at the familiar use of Sophia’s name. “How nice. Do you enjoy playing with horses?”
“I like all animals.” Oliver’s voice gained enthusiasm. “I want a dog, but Uncle Edward says not yet. Sophia says I have to prove I can take care of Thunder first. She says someday is a very long time from now, but I think if I am very good, someday might come sooner.”
Miss Stanton’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly. “Lady Sophia seems to have many opinions about your upbringing.”
“Sophia is my friend.” Oliver said it simply, as though stating an obvious truth. “She reads me stories and teaches me to paint and tells me about my mama. She knew my mama, you know. They were best friends.”
“How lovely.” Miss Stanton’s tone had cooled. She glanced at Edward. “Children form such strong attachments.”
Edward watched her watching Oliver. Her smile remained in place, but something about it had changed. It was the smile of someone performing a duty rather than experiencing genuine pleasure. The smile of someone counting the minutes until she could politely withdraw. He should know. He wore that same smile at every social function he attended.
He thought of the spring fair. Of Sophia crouching to Oliver’s level, laughing at his stories, teaching him to blow bubbles. Of the way Oliver had clung to her when they parted, declaring it the best day ever.
Miss Stanton was polite. Pleasant. Perfectly appropriate.
Yet…
She was not Sophia.
The thought rose unbidden and unwelcome. Edward pushed it aside. He was here to make a practical choice, not to indulge in comparisons that could only lead to complications.
“Oliver,” he said, “it is time for bed. Say goodnight to our guests.”
Oliver performed his rounds obediently, saving Sophia for last. He hugged her tight, whispered something in her ear that made her smile, and allowed Mrs. Palmer to lead him away.
Edward watched Sophia watch the boy disappear up the stairs. The tenderness in her expression made his chest ache.
He turned back to Miss Stanton and found her studying him with calculating eyes.
“She is quite attached to him,” Miss Stanton observed. “Lady Sophia.”
“She knew his mother.” Edward kept his voice neutral. “It is natural that she would take an interest.”
“Natural.” Miss Stanton smiled again, that polished, perfect smile. “Of course.”
The evening continued. Conversations flowed. Music played. Guests laughed, mingled, and performed the elaborate dance of social interaction.
And Edward stood in the center of it all, watching Sophia from across the room, wondering when exactly finding a suitable bride had become so impossibly complicated.
CHAPTER 21
“You have sent my ball into the rose bushes. Again.” Thomas stood over the offending shrubbery, his mallet dangling from one hand, his expression caught between outrage and amusement.
Beside him, Alice pressed her hand to her mouth, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.
“The rules of Pall Mall do not forbid strategic placement.” Hugo examined his fingernails with exaggerated innocence. “I merely positioned my ball to maximum advantage.”
“You knocked mine fifteen feet off course!”
“Fourteen, at most.”
Sophia watched the exchange from her position near the starting wicket, her own mallet resting against her shoulder. The afternoon sun warmed her face, and the sprawling lawns ofHeatherwell Hall stretched green and inviting around them. It should have been pleasant. It should have been relaxing.
