Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

“ H er Grace, the Duchess of Heathcote,” Sophia heard ahead of her, past the terrace doors, and took a deep breath.

Time to be what they expect me to be.

Smoothing down the front of her emerald-green gown, imagining that invisible string that Pietro had talked about, she pulled her shoulders back, elongated her neck, fixed on a smile, and walked out into the garden.

Alone.

In the bronzed glow that signaled the change to true evening, at least a hundred pairs of eyes immediately turned towards her. Gasps and whispers accompanied the stares, mingling into one breeze of gossip.

It was the first time Sophia was being presented with her official title, and she had—as instructed—dressed for the occasion. The gown was the most extravagant thing she had ever worn—emerald silk that whispered across the ground, embellished with glittering beads and hemmed with golden lace, with long golden-hued gloves and a sash of green and gold beneath the bust. Around her neck was a simple green ribbon, and a single teardrop diamond rested in the hollow of her throat.

Harriet had tried to insist on an even more opulent gown, but this had been the compromise.

“You must tell her to oblige me!” the Dowager Duchess had railed at Thomas.

He had shrugged. “It is her choice.”

Sophia had appreciated that—though, of course, she had not said so.

Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, wondering if she should not have worn her hair in such a loose bun, she stared out at the crowd from the garden terrace, searching for a few faces in particular.

There you are…

She smiled at the sight of her parents and her brothers, most of them wearing smiles of their own. The only exception was Samuel. But that came as no surprise.

Just promise me you will behave yourself, she urged silently, hoping he would receive the message.

To make sure, she descended the terrace steps as gracefully as she could and walked through the crowd, occasionally bowing to a lady or a lord, until she finally reached her parents. Her mother dove in first, hugging her with unbridled joy… and perhaps a small amount of relief.

“Sophia! My darling, you look exquisite!” Lydia said tearfully.

Sophia’s father smiled with a hint of sadness in his eyes. “She has always been exquisite, Lydia.”

“Oh, hush, Charles, you know what I meant.”

Sophia pulled back. “Thank you, Mother. Thank you, Father. But, in truth, I do not feel exquisite. I feel as if I can hardly walk for fear of ruining this beautiful gown. I suppose that is the trouble with pretty things—they break so easily.”

Fortunately, Thomas has already approved of the color.

Sophia pressed her lips together to stop a smirk from appearing, for if he dared to so much as tug too hard on the capped sleeves or the seams of this dress, she would flatten him.

James stepped forward, stealing her from their mother to hug her tightly. “I expected to see a wreck of a woman,” he whispered. “Yet, here you are—resplendent and inspiring awe in all who see you. I am very pleasantly surprised.”

“Well, maybe I am stronger than you thought, James,” she teased.

“No. You are stronger than you thought. I told you, you have the heart of a warrior, and I, for one, couldn’t be happier to see that it is still beating ferociously.”

“So, how’s life in the snake’s nest?” asked Samuel, clearly deciding that he didn’t want to be left out of the conversation.

Lydia smacked him lightly on the arm. “Do be quiet, Samuel—we are in public. We can’t let anyone hear us say such things, or you will undo all the obvious progress that our dear Sophia has made.”

“Understood.” Samuel pretended to lock his mouth. “Must not speak the truth under any circumstances.”

Charles shot him a harsher glare that did, in fact, keep him silent.

For the following minutes, the five of them existed amongst each other in a contented bubble, conversing and laughing as if they were not all standing in the gardens of a manor that, until recently, all would have happily watched burn.

Sophia was ecstatic, not merely at seeing her family again, but at watching them be at peace in enemy territory. She had missed them terribly, even the hotheaded mess that was Samuel, and hoped that this might mean they would visit her often at her new home.

“Hold on a minute…” She frowned, realizing there ought to be six of them, not five. “Is Uncle Frederick not here?”

“Sadly, no. He said he had some business to attend to,” Charles responded. “But I can tell he still doesn’t approve of the marriage. I think he figured that he better stay out of it so as not to sour the relations between the families.”

Sophia’s shoulders almost sagged with faint relief, certain that Samuel would behave if Frederick was not there to egg him on. Then, she noticed her mother looking at something behind her, her mouth hanging open.

Sophia turned.

A towering, imposing, unfairly handsome figure in a tailcoat the same green as Sophia’s gown cut a swathe through the crowd, the guests parting for him without hesitation. His wolf-like eyes were fixed on Sophia, his dark hair tousled as if someone had recently run their fingers through it, the ghost of a smile playing on those infuriatingly kissable lips of his.

“Husband,” she murmured as he halted beside their party.

“Wife,” he replied, before bowing respectfully to Lydia and Charles. “Lord and Lady Alderley. I am delighted you are here.”

Lydia waved off the remark. “The pleasure is all ours, Your Grace.”

“We were… grateful for the invitation,” Charles said more stiffly.

Thomas held out his arm. “I hate to intrude on what I’m sure is a happy reunion, but I should like to borrow my wife for a dance.”

“Now?” Sophia grabbed his arm instinctively, remembering her lessons.

“I could not think of a better time,” he replied.

The Kendalls nodded quietly as Thomas whisked Sophia to the marble piazza that had been transformed into the garden party’s dance floor. She caught her mother waving at her with a worried expression.

But there was no time for that. She had work to do, and she had not spent the past few days, between Pietro’s lessons and this garden party, practicing for nothing.

The performance of a lifetime.

And she had a trick up her sleeve.

Reaching the edge of the piazza, Thomas made a gesture to the orchestra, who immediately slowed to end the previous dance. A few couples frowned in confusion, but as Thomas guided Sophia to the center of the dance floor, they retreated so their hosts could have the attention of the entire party.

Sophia had never felt anticipation like this, anxiety trembling from the pit of her stomach to the base of her throat. Everyone was watching. She could not falter. She would not.

Thomas brought her close to his side, shaping their arms for the beginning promenade of a waltz, feeling thankful that he didn’t have to engage in a tug of war this time.

“Ready?” he asked out of the corner of his mouth.

She nodded in response, and off they went, to the marveling, astonished whispers of the spectators. There was a number there who had only ever heard of a waltz through the rumor mill, and had they been in London, Thomas would not have dared to be so bold. But they were in the countryside, in his own manor—the rules were different, or so he told himself.

“One, two, three, one, ” Thomas whispered to help Sophia along.

“You can stop counting out loud,” she whispered back. “I know what I am doing.”

Thomas fell silent, prepared to leap in again with the count if she faltered. He fully expected her to, if he was being honest with himself, but as they swept into the more complex part of the dance, proceeding into the dizzying spins that brought them intoxicatingly close, it seemed he had underestimated her.

She didn’t falter once.

Pietro had done his job perfectly. Sophia was following the steps with unbelievable grace, her posture elegant and straight, allowing him to lead but never falling behind.

A small wave of relief washed over him.

That’s one thing to take off my mind. Her attire is another.

However, the way the emerald-green silk moved with her like liquid, the turns and the pressure of his hand against the middle of her back revealing a more stirring silhouette, couldn’t be ignored. He didn’t want to take the gown off his mind—he wanted to take it off her entirely.

Perhaps if he took her to his study for an hour, lavished her with all the pleasure she could bear, and came back for another waltz, that would solve the matter that Pietro had mentioned—to convince the crowd that the two of them were utterly besotted with each other.

He was staring at a wavy lock of dark hair that had come loose from her bun, trying not to think too hard about peeling that gown off her freckled skin and counting the precious constellations, when she whispered to command his attention.

“Thomas.”

“Don’t tell me you want to stop already,” he said, snapping out of it. “You remember the rules—no leaving the dance floor until the music is over.”

“No, no such thing.” Her bright smile disarmed him, stirring a twist of wariness in his chest. “I just wanted to tell you something, and I want you to pay attention.”

“All right,” he replied, hearing that note of caution in his voice. “Pray tell.”

What are you up to?

Sophia cleared her throat and paused appropriately. “A woman was once married to a famous mathematician, but they never had any children.” Thomas was immediately confused and intrigued by her words. “One day, she was asked why they had not procreated, and she replied with a weary sigh, ‘ Why, my dear husband is a most excellent mathematician, but the trouble is, he simply cannot multiply! ’”

She suppressed a giggle that split her mouth into a grin, making her nose scrunch up and her eyes shine with mirth he doubted he had seen yet.

“Was… was that a joke?” Thomas asked, befuddled.

“Of course, it was! Wasn’t it funny?”

Thomas stared at her with his mouth agape. “I… I guess so? I am not very familiar with jokes.”

“Balderdash! Everyone tells jokes. Here’s another one!” He opened his mouth to protest, but she was too fast. “A woman was once doubted about her age, so she called her lifelong companion forward in front of everyone. ‘ Harold, dear, ’ she said, ‘ would you please confirm for these foolish onlookers that I am indeed forty years old? ’ And Harold responded, ‘ I wouldn’t doubt you, my love, for you have said so for the past ten years! ’”

She giggled breathlessly, throwing her head back as they turned through the spins of the waltz, prompting him to hold her tighter as he delighted in the sight of her and the sound of her laughter. Somehow, it made her appear even more graceful than before, her back and neck now curved.

He couldn’t stop himself—he smiled in response, tickled by the atrocious joke, but more tickled by the fact that she was delighted by it.

A second later, he saw her gasp.

“You are smiling!” she said quietly.

He blinked fast in response and hurried to press his lips into something more appropriate.

This has never happened before. What on earth is she doing to me?

“No, why did you stop!” she protested quietly. “That was the point.”

“Sophia, are you well?” he asked in a clipped tone. “A dance floor is for sensible conversation, not the most terrible jokes I have ever had the misfortune to hear.”

She groaned at his words. “We are supposed to look like a happy couple, are we not? Have fun? Isn’t that what Pietro told us? If we can’t be happy in reality, we can just tell silly jokes to each other that will make us laugh.”

“ That’s your idea? It’s almost as awful as your jokes.”

She arched a pointed eyebrow. “You can’t say that, because it did work. You actually smiled there for a second. I haven’t seen you do that once, from your proposal to a few moments ago—smirks and suggestions of smiles, yes, but never a genuine smile like that.”

Thomas paused for a while, hating to think of the possibility that she might be right.

“Nonetheless, it’s improper to tell jokes during a dance,” he scoffed.

“Why? Who’s going to notice?” she scoffed back.

“Now that, that was a proper joke,” he said, readjusting his posture as they moved smoothly into another promenade, their arms in a perfect figure of eight. “They all notice. They all care. Just because your family doesn’t give a fig about Society’s rules, doesn’t mean everyone else is the same.”

Sophia squinted at him, her thoughts a mystery to him.

“You know that if you weren’t forced into this marriage of convenience, you’d have remained a spinster, correct?” he continued.

“That was the plan, yes,” she said, sounding bluntly honest.

Thomas frowned, too curious not to enquire. “You wouldn’t have minded remaining companionless for the rest of your life?”

“Friends and family are all the companions a woman truly needs. Besides, I’d rather be a spinster than pretend to be someone I am not,” she said while they kept dancing around each other, sweeping into another whirling bout of spins. “Isn’t that what you also value? Staying true to one’s self.”

Thomas almost missed a step, covering it quickly so neither Sophia nor the crowd would notice.

Time and time again, they found themselves agreeing where they should have been at odds, and it continued to disarm him, making him think things that he should not.

If we had met any other way… if you didn’t carry the Kendall surname… if we had chosen this of our own volition…

“But some good comes from changing a little,” she observed, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Being able to dance is better than I thought it would be, though I wouldn’t choose the rough awakening or the awful drink Pietro gave me.”

Thomas considered her words as the tune and the waltz wound down to their all-too-soon end . Was something changing a little bit between them? She certainly showed no hatred when she was in the throes of passion, but perhaps that wasn’t an accurate gauge. He had heard from plenty of friends that a couple didn’t have to even like one another to enjoy pleasurable acts. In fact, that anger could make it all the more thrilling.

I can’t tell…

It frustrated him—he always had the answers, and now he had none.

He turned Sophia out for one last spin, to put her in her ending position. She dipped into an elegant curtsey, and he bowed at the waist. As they stood back to their usual height, the crowd suddenly erupted in applause, so loud that it seemed to startle Sophia.

She blushed and smiled, and as Thomas came back to her side to return her to her parents, she leaned into him, resting a possessive hand on his chest. Just as Pietro warned, many people were swooning or fanning themselves, their reactions not at all what Thomas had anticipated.

Either it worked or they are pretending… or something has changed between us.

He didn’t know which explanation unnerved him more.