Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

“ I see you reached a compromise,” James whispered to Sophia while they stood in the foyer of Kendall House, waiting for the rest of the family to join them.

Sophia smoothed anxious hands down the front of her gaudy yellow gown and then adjusted the strangling ribbon of her matching bonnet. “You think this was my choice?”

“No, I know it wasn’t,” James replied in an apologetic tone, clearly sorry for the dress and the marriage. “Still, at least you don’t resemble some manner of… exotic bird that has flown through a line of similarly exotic laundry.”

Try as she might, Sophia could not stifle a giggle, drawing the sharp attention of the bird in question.

“I will have you know, dear children of mine, that this is the latest fashion in Paris—which is the Capital of fashion. Everyone in England will be wearing this in the next few years, mark my words,” Lydia Kendall, Marchioness of Alderley and mother of the wayward siblings, said with certain confidence.

She had said the same thing for every single ill-judged outfit she had worn for the past two decades. None of them had ended up being as fashionable as she thought, making their way into the gossip rags for all the wrong reasons.

The latest was a combination of fabrics that clashed loudly in purples, blues, cabbage greens, and cherry reds, all interwoven together as if she could not decide between six dresses, so she had worn them all. She topped it off with an impossibly large hat that made Sophia wonder how her mother could pass through doors without an issue.

Another amused voice joined in. “Goodness, Mother. I know this marriage is laughable, but I did not realize we were supposed to dress as clowns.”

“That is enough , Samuel,” their father, Charles, the Marquess of Alderley, chided roughly as he entered from a side hallway. “In truth, I do not want to hear a single word leave your mouth. And if you take umbrage with the marriage, perhaps you might look in the mirror to find the one to blame—the truest clown among us.”

Chastened, Samuel slunk in beside Sophia, his hand still wrapped in a bandage. He made no effort to hide it. Rather, he placed it over his good hand, ready to show it off when the Duke arrived.

“It doesn’t matter what we wear or how we receive them,” Sophia said tightly, all her humor gone. “They will call us barbarians anyway.”

The Marquess scratched his neck, falling into line with the rest of his family. “Maybe so, but we should not give them additional cause.” He grimaced, glancing at his wife. “Lydia, my love, can you loosen the collar? It’s suffocating me.”

The Marchioness laughed and moved to stand in front of him, unfastening the top button. “When was the last time you wore this? At our wedding?”

“It very well might be, my dear.”

She refashioned his cravat to hide the unbuttoned collar. “Couldn’t you wear something more recent, darling?”

“I am afraid I set no coin aside for my wardrobe, dearest, but with all eyes on you and dear Sophia, I may just escape notice,” Charles said softly, unable to resist tucking a lock of his wife’s hair behind her ear.

Samuel snorted, earning a scathing look from his father.

“Better?” Lydia asked.

“Much,” her husband replied, smiling.

Sophia observed them with a warm heart. Throughout her life, she had seen dull marriages, convenient marriages, companionable marriages, unhappy marriages with fights and insults thrown around, and even worse, violent marriages. Not every marriage was one of love, but her mother and father… they were some of the lucky few.

And mine won’t be one of love either .

The last thought wiped the smile off her face almost immediately.

She heard steps from behind her as the last member of the Kendall family joined them in the foyer, putting on his gloves. Her uncle Frederick, the Earl of Lynwood. His height made him the tallest in most rooms he was in and always foreboding. He stood behind everyone, but he was still easily spotted. He wasn’t one to be ignored.

“Are they on time?” he asked in a harsh voice.

Sophia used to be afraid of him when she was younger, and he had only turned rougher around the edges over the years. She never remembered him ever lashing out at her or anyone in the family, but he had lashed out plenty of times at enemies of the family and, most of all, the Pratts. She considered herself fortunate to be on the same side as him.

“They should be arriving any time now,” Charles responded, and appropriately enough, footsteps sounded outside the door. “Speak of the devils…”

Silence fell over the Kendall household as the footsteps outside the door became louder and louder. Sophia took a deep breath. It was time.

The butler, George, went to open the front door, closing the door on Sophia’s final opportunity to escape.

“His Grace, the Duke of Heathcote, and his entourage: the Right Honorable the Viscount Bleasdale; and Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Heathcote,” the butler announced, standing proudly in his fine livery.

They walked into the house in order of their announcements. Sophia felt the temperature drop immediately, as if a devil from the coldest reaches of Hell had stepped inside. But that was the trick of the Duke of Heathcote; he did not look like the devil that he was.

Standing almost as tall as her uncle, with a mane of wavy, silky dark hair and the most striking gray eyes that reminded Sophia of a wolf, Thomas had a tendency to steal away the breath of less-informed ladies. Broad-shouldered, his garments so well-tailored to his athletic physique that they were like a second skin, he nearly snatched Sophia’s breath away too.

Her gaze flitted to his Brummel-style trousers, so tight as to be considered obscene, highlighting powerful thighs and every flexing muscle therein.

And they call us uncivilized?

Her face flushed, and she longed to claw at her throat to stay the feverish heat that rose from her chest.

Thomas approached her and her father, and he bowed in stiff reverence. She bobbed a curtsy in response. As he raised his gaze, their eyes met—probably for the first time in a year or so. There was nothing in those gray eyes—no disgust, no disappointment, no anger, no revulsion, just… emptiness.

Somehow, she would have preferred disgust over that blank expression, as if he were not even alive.

He does not want this either…

“Thank you for accepting us into your house, Lord Alderley,” Thomas said, interrupting her thoughts. He did not look at her again.

Charles breathed heavily and got ready to respond?—

“You are only welcome in the house in the physical sense, Your Grace,” Frederick butted in, all attention immediately on him. “The matter of whether you will be accepted as part of the family is still left to be seen.”

“My Lord Earl ,” replied Thomas, his expression locked into a sneer, “I should say that rather negates the welcome. No matter. I expected nothing less. Shall we proceed to the dining room?”

Sophia held her breath, not daring to glance back at her uncle. He was not accustomed to other men refusing to back down, always the most powerful voice in a room, and she feared that there might be bloodshed before they had even had a spoonful of watercress soup.

He is not afraid, she noted, squinting at Thomas. Why is he not? Is he addled?

Thomas continued to hold her uncle’s gaze in a silent battle of wills, everyone else jittering around them, no doubt fearing the same thing as Sophia.

“That we shall.” This time, it was Charles. There was a hint of warning in his voice, though Sophia did not know who the threat was directed at. “Follow us, if you so please.”

The luncheon, thankfully, proceeded without any significant trouble. It was silent, mostly because everyone’s mouths were full, but Sophia sensed that everyone used the arduous seven-course meal as an excuse to avoid conflict. Still, the prospect of a fight lingered in the air like the smoke of a hidden fire that might devour them all.

The drawing room was now full of the two families, neither side engaging with the other, their military lines scratched into the parquet.

From her corner of the room, where she sat with her uncharacteristically mute mother, Sophia lifted her eyes from the contents of her teacup. A shiver ran through her as her eyes met his —the wolfish grays of her future husband. She felt her grip on the teacup weaken.

His eyes are so… unusual. So intense.

She felt them piercing through her, appraising her like a piece of furniture or livestock. But had she not done the same when she had stared at those… astonishing trousers—rather, the thighs underneath?

Lowering her gaze again, she had a feeling that the teatime was about to get a lot more heated.

Soon enough, it did, with Thomas the first to talk.

“Standing around like statues isn’t going to get us anywhere. So, if it pleases you, Lord Alderley, I would like to discuss the terms of the marriage, as I do not intend to sit through another luncheon with nothing to show for it.”

Once again, Charles got ready to answer, but he got interrupted.

“Oh, is that so, boy? And what makes you think we will accept your proposal?” Frederick replied immediately, and Sophia felt her ears heat up with tension.

She recognized the change in her uncle’s demeanor, aware of his tendency to escalate things. Samuel had taken after him, unfortunately, rather than their more reasonable father. And the two would only rile each other up.

But, surprisingly, Thomas gave a measured, cold smile. “I am sorry… I seem to be mistaken. I was under the impression that Lord Alderley was Sophia’s father, not you, Lord Lynwood.”

The room bristled with anticipation, irritation crackling between the Duke of Heathcote and Sophia’s uncle.

What is he doing?

Sophia was panicking, her hand trembling on her teacup.

“You may have a tyrannical regime over there at the Pratt residence, but over here, we address problems all together—as a family,” Frederick shot back. “Head on as a united front.”

“If that is the case,” Sophia heard James pipe up from behind, surprising her and probably everyone else in the room, “would you be willing to put the matter of the marriage to a vote, Uncle Frederick? Since you are such an advocate of democracy and all.” He smirked, and Frederick sneered at him.

Frederick opened his mouth to respond, but Charles raised a calm hand.

“Frederick, please, you are not helping,” he said and turned his attention to Thomas. “I am indeed the father of the bride-to-be. I will speak for her.”

Glad they figured out who gets to be my voice. It’s not like I matter, I am only a pawn in their game. No one ever cares what the instrument thinks.

She clamped the flesh of her cheek between her teeth to hide her bitterness.

“She can’t speak for herself?” Thomas said. Sophia’s head whipped towards him to ensure she had heard him correctly. “This afternoon is full of mysteries, it seems.”

Sophia kept staring at him, bewildered. Of all people, why was he the one pointing out the obvious—that it ought to be her choice, that her opinions ought to be voiced, that she could speak for herself? Was it some new trick?

Breathless, ready to seize her moment, she braced to speak, but her father cut in.

“We all agree that this deadly feud has been the bane of our families’ lives and one that we both want to put an end to, correct?” Charles stated.

“Agreed, Lord Alderley,” Thomas replied. “I think we can all agree that it’s in both of our interests to join the families in marriage, but it evidently warrants repeating to some individuals.”

Frederick bristled, but Thomas ignored him.

“Indeed, I think it’s important to bring this wedding forward to avoid any further bloodshed,” he continued.

Charles nodded effusively. “I could not agree more. Goodness knows how much blood has been spilled already. I would see it end here, with us.”

Frederick laughed. Loudly . Making sure it would be heard. As loud as a pistol shot and just as deadly for everyone in the room.

“I will do it!” Sophia gasped, desperate to hold off what was coming. “I will do it.”

But her soft voice was drowned out by her uncle’s harsh laughter, and the mocking laughter that joined it, from Samuel and her father. Even when it mattered, no one would listen to her. Even when it could save them, they preferred her silence.

I will do it.

The choice had been made the moment she got down from the saddle. Her choice, if they had just bothered to ask.