“It might be a fair number,” Sophia explained. “His lordship has an idea in mind. He is quite the champion to our cause.”
“Is he? That is very generous of him. You are lucky indeed to have such a busy man turn his thoughts to your advancement.”
For a moment, Sophia imagined a flicker of suspicion in her father’s eyes. Could he possibly think Lord Howell wouldbe interested in her for anything beyond poetry? Her thoughts drifted down to her imperfect legs, and the illness that had wrought them so. No, her father had nothing to fear. No viscount would want her for a bride. However, Lord Howell had obviously given her condition some thought. She voiced as much to her father.
“He even considers the difficulty of my physical situation in the event he has planned.”
“Event? What event?” The first tendril of opposition curled into the conversation.
“See for yourself.” Sophia, too anxious to read the words aloud, thrust the letter at her father.
He perused the contents, lifting his head after a few lines to ask, “A poetry reading? He cannot possibly expect you to travel to that mausoleum of a house. You will catch your death of cold, even if every fire in every hearth were lit!”
“Read on,” she urged. “He has taken that into account.”
Mr. Grant grumbled under his breath but finished the letter. “I see,” he remarked, though he frowned as he said it. “He suggests we host it here. He will be in attendance. And he will advertise this formal gathering among his learned associates. Exactly how many people are we talking about, Sophia?”
“I believe, not counting the household, one might expect at least…thirty?”
“Thirty strangers in my house!”
“Thirtysupporters, Papa. It is only for the afternoon. And his lordship will be here. From what I understand, he is no more an enthusiast of such gatherings than we are. And yet he will do this for me, whom he does not even know beyond what I have written. Canyoubear it, Papa, for me, your daughter?”
A multitude of emotions flitted across her father’s face. Sophia dug her nails into her palms. She had played the only two cards she had. Her father was as great a friend to her careeras he was an enemy of her freedom. Having denied her the one, he would be hard-pressed to deny the other as well. As for the viscount, he was a difficult man to saynoto. If his presence necessitated the attendance of countless others… Well, it would be a close call.
“We…We could arrange it for a Monday. Then you would not have to endure it.” It was a last, desperate attempt to convince her father. Her fingers dug deeper into her palms. And then…
“Don’t be ridiculous! Of course I will be there. What sort of father do you think I am?”
Sophia was so elated at his response that it was easy to ignore his question. She flung her arms around his shoulders, almost toppling from her chair as she did so.
“Oh, thank you, Papa! Thank you! A thousand times thank you! You have no idea how much this means to me.”
Her father stood and carefully settled her back in her seat. “It would be impossible not to know,” he said matter-of-factly. “You have nearly thrown yourself upon the floor with enthusiasm. Sometimes I wonder if you are so very different to Adr—”
He cut himself off. The air filled with unspoken thoughts.
“Papa…” Sophia reached her hand across to his arm. He ignored it, sitting down and returning his attention to his crumpet.
“I assume his lordship will only invite the sort of people with whom he would be willing to spend time,” he said stiffly. “I will not stand to be a curiosity for idle gossip.”
“No, Papa.” Dread descended upon her at the thought of Miss Sangford. Surely, she would be on her best behavior if she hoped to snag the earl? Sophia had no choice but to hope it was so.
“Two weeks,” her father pondered aloud. “It seems a little rushed. Then again, I imagine the viscount has few openings in his schedule.”
“Cook need only prepare some light refreshment,” Sophia reassured him. “It should not place any undue pressure on her. And no one is spending the night, so there is little to be done by way of readying rooms. Honestly, Papa, now that I know it is really happening, I am grateful it will be soon. I already feel my nerves beginning to tremble.”
Turning to face her, her father cupped her hand in his. Sophia looked at the protective fingers curled around her own, then up into his eyes. They were filled with such compassion that she had to look away. He really did love her. And yet…
One day, she would have to stand her ground. Tell him what the darker side of his love—his ferocious attachment—was doing to the family. Today, she had been a little brave. But it would take far more courage to broach the topic of marriage.
At least Miss Sangford could be held at bay a while longer. Two more Mondays with Tobias were granted her. Sophia bloomed at the thought. She felt the echo of his lips against her neck, a soft, lingering heat creeping into her cheeks.
“Are you all right?” her father asked. “You are looking a little flushed. If this gathering is going to cause you further strain, we shall call it off at once.”
“No!” Sophia cried in alarm. “Er… I mean, there is no need for that. It is a little excitement, and nothing else. I will settle soon. After breakfast, I will select the poems for the reading. Once I have a task to focus on, the apprehension will fade.”
Her father’s worried gaze softened. “I suppose I should attend to my own duties also, most important of which is the letter to the printers. Once you have won the hearts of your audience at the reading, we must make sure they are not disappointed when they seek your book for themselves.”
