Page 40

Aunt Katryne said, “We have, ye ken. Our father and brother, and several of us have lost husbands too.”

Miss Wesleyan squirmed on her seat, much like the proverbial canary cornered by a hungry cat. “Not I personally, per se. But I am acquainted with several people who have suffered a tragic loss.”

“No’ the same thing at all,” Grandmother Gordonstone said with a stern look. “If a horse steps on my foot, ye willna feel the pain.”

“Ah, yes. I see your point.” Miss Wesleyan pasted a bright smile on her face and looked expectantly at Sophronie. “Do you sail soon?”

Sophronie would give her credit for persistence. Rather like a rat after of morsel of bread.

She selected a ginger biscuit and took a bite. She’d draw this torment out as long as she could. Miss Leah Wesleyan had thought to become the next Duchess of Waycross, but her devious actions had cost her that coveted position. They’d also cost Sophronie her freedom and her beloved father, and she would enjoy every second of the woman’s discomfort.

“Whyever would I do that, Miss Wesleyan?” Sophronie asked nonchalantly as she sent Evan a radiant smile, hoping he’d comprehend the game she played.

He gallantly responded with a roguish smile and a devilish wink for good measure.

Let Miss Wesleyan stew on that for a bit.

Rosalind snorted, and Sarah giggled behind her hand.

Blinking rather idiotically, Miss Wesleyan looked from person to person.

Evan rubbed his nose, and Sophronie swore his lips twitched.

Warmth infused her.

Yes, he knew exactly what she was about.

“Well, because… Surely you want to go home at the earliest opportunity,” Miss Wesleyan prodded, clumsily crossing from politesse into indiscretion. She was in such a rush to see Sophronie gone from Scotland that she was practically pushing her out the door. A wonder she didn’t offer to pack Sophronie’s trunks, book her passage, and personally escort her to the docks.

Sophronie set her ginger biscuit down and patted her mouth with a serviette.

“But Balston House is my home, Miss Wesleyan.”

Sophronie cast a smile around the room, taking in her new family. Each beamed back at her, and her heart lifted a trifle. These were good people. People she’d like to get to know better and enjoy a relationship with.

Evan might’ve stepped in at any moment and spared Miss Wesleyan her vexation, but apparently, he’d decided to permit Sophronie this triumph. She forgave him a smidge for his part in the plot to save her from unidentified villains in her future by making her his duchess.

She was perfectly capable of looking after herself, thank you very much.

Miss Wesleyan’s winged eyebrows nearly touched as they swooped together in her bewilderment. She focused on Evan’s mother. Leaning forward, she fashioned an affable smile designed to elicit trust. “Please forgive me, but I am somewhat confused, Duchess—”

“Oh, it’s dowager duchess now, Miss Wesleyan.” Eyes alight with mirth, Evan’s mother observed her guest over the rim of her teacup.

Sophronie adored her new mother-in-law at that moment.

“What?” Miss Wesleyan blurted. Utterly flummoxed, she furrowed her forehead in consternation. “I beg your pardon? I misheard you, I’m certain.”

“We are all simply delighted.” Grandmother Larimore hollered before grinning from ear to ear. “Brilliant choice. Positively brilliant.”

“What is brilliant?” Miss Wesleyan asked, searching the older woman’s wrinkled features.

One of the aunts muttered beneath her breath, “That one has always been a brainless beauty.”

“Thick as an oak stump,” another agreed.

“Would someone please explain to me why Miss Slater says Balston House is her home?” Miss Wesleyan asked shrilly, with a thunderous glower toward Evan’s aunts having a bit of fun at her expense.

“Oh, for pity’s sake. Enough of this intelligence-robbing twaddle.” Rosalind threw her hands into the air, and with a shake of her head, speared Miss Wesleyan with an unsympathetic look. “Sophronie and Evan are married. She is the Duchess of Waycross now.”