Sophia remained in the gallery, her gaze drifting from portrait to portrait. She paused before a massive canvas near the center of the wall. A man in formal dress glared down at her, his jaw set, his eyes cold. The brass plaque beneath read:William Gray, Fifth Duke of Heatherwell.
Edward’s father. The man who had disowned Leonard for marrying Jane. The man whose rigid expectations had driven one son away and shaped the other into a fortress of control and duty.
Sophia studied those hard eyes and wondered if this was the reason Edward struggled to show affection. If growing up beneath that gaze had taught him that love was weakness, that emotion was danger, that the only safe path lay in rigid self-control.
She continued down the gallery, searching. Dukes and duchesses, sons and daughters, generations of Grays preserved in oil and canvas. But nowhere did she find what she sought.
There was no portrait of Edward’s mother.
She found her own mother in the small sitting room adjoining her bedchamber, embroidering by the window.
“Mama?” Sophia settled into the chair beside her. “May I ask you something?”
Lady Brimsey set aside her needlework. “Of course, darling.”
“The portrait gallery. I noticed there is no painting of the late duke’s wife. Edward’s mother. Do you know why?”
Her mother’s expression shifted, growing careful. “That is an old story. And a sad one.”
“Tell me?”
Lady Brimsey was quiet for a moment. “The Duchess of Heatherwell went missing many years ago. When His Grace was perhaps ten or eleven, I assume. She simply vanished one night. No note, no explanation.”
Sophia’s breath caught. “Vanished?”
“The ton searched for weeks. There were rumors, of course. There always are.” Her mother picked up her embroidery again, her fingers moving in familiar patterns. “Some said she drowned herself in the lake. Others whispered she ran away with a lover. A musician, some claimed. Or a painter. The stories varied depending on who told them.”
“And the Duke?”
“He never spoke of her again and had anyone who did so punished.” Lady Brimsey’s voice softened. “The ton eventually declared her dead, but no body was ever found, to my knowledge.”
Sophia stared at her hands. She thought of Edward as a boy, losing his mother without warning, forbidden even to speak of her. Thought of the cold portrait of his father, those hard eyes that tolerated no weakness. Thought of the man Edward had become, locked behind walls of duty and control.
No wonder he struggled to connect with Oliver. No wonder he kept everyone at arm’s length. He had learned early that love meant loss, that attachment meant pain.
“How terrible,” she whispered. “For everyone.”
“Yes.” Her mother reached over and squeezed her hand. “It was. And I suspect it still is, for those who remember.”
Sophia sat with her mother as the afternoon light faded, her mind churning with questions she could not ask and answers she was uncertain she wanted to find.
Somewhere in this house, Edward was entertaining guests, playing the role of gracious host, courting a woman who spoke of discipline and duty. Somewhere, Oliver clutched his wooden horse and mourned parents he would never see again.
And somewhere, in a gallery stripped of her image, a duchess had been erased from memory, leaving only silence behind.
CHAPTER 22
“You look as though you are preparing for battle rather than a ball.”
Alice appeared at Sophia’s elbow; her eyes bright with amusement. The ballroom at Heatherwell Hall glittered around them, chandeliers casting warm light across the polished floor, banks of white roses perfuming the air.
Sophia smoothed her skirts. “I am merely observing.”
“You are brooding.” Alice linked their arms. “There is a difference.”
Across the room, Edward moved through the crowd with stiff courtesy. Miss Stanton hovered near his elbow, radiant in cream silk, her hand resting on his arm with easy familiarity. They made a handsome pair. Everyone said so. Lady Blackwell had remarked upon it at dinner and had hinted at an imminent announcement.
Sophia watched them and told herself the ache in her chest meant nothing.
