Sophie didn’t know what reaction she had been expecting—but she did know that silence, somehow, felt wrong. She held tightly on to West’s arm as they descended the stairs into her parents’ ballroom, enough of a hush having fallen over the assembled crowd that the faint clunk of West’s cane on the stairs was more audible than it should have been. As they walked, she looked for familiar faces among the guests, and didn’t have to look far—Diana, Jeremy, Jane, and Penvale had evidently wasted little time in seeking out their friends. Her sisters and their husbands, West’s brother and sister-in-law and all of their friends, were gathered near the edge of the stairs, watching their descent. The expressions on their faces ranged from confusion to amusement, as if West and Sophie had just played a grand joke on them all... Until her eyes met James’s. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she raised one in return as she and West st epped off the final st ep into the room. “Would anyone care to explain what, precisely, is going on here?” This came from Diana, who rarely shied from bluntness. “Yes, please!” added Harriet, looking somewhere between flabbergasted and ecstatic. “Sophie, you cannot mean to tell us that you have already married West! But—the double wedding!” She paused, adopting a crestfallen expression that she seemed to consider an appropriate show of grief for the loss of the great— now tragically unfulfilled—joy of the promised double wedding. “Oh, heavens, you’re right,” Sophie said, clutching her chest dramatically. She turned to West. “Is it too late to annul the marriage?” “Rather,” he r eplied, extremely dryly. She turned to Alexandra, who was watching the proceedings thoughtfully, not having spoken yet. “Do you think you might be able to face getting married without me?” Sophie asked, a bit hesitant after their conversation earlier that afternoon. Alexandra smiled. “Considering that Blackford and I have been planning our own small wedding s eparately for the better part of the past month, I do think that we’ll manage somehow.” Now it was Sophie’s turn to gape. “You—but—” “Oh, good lord,” Penvale muttered, and Sophie turned to him, startled. He blinked, apparently not having intended to speak loudly enough for the rest of the group to hear him, but several heads had turned in his direction, and more were following suit. “Well,” he said, a bit she epishly, “aren’t you all rather exhausted by this by now? It’s been a year since Violet took it into her head to convince Audley she was at death’s door, and since then we’ve had Audley threatening to send her to a Swiss mountaintop to commune with goats—” “He did specifically mention the goats,” Violet confirmed. “—and then Diana attempting to force Jeremy to marry the most dreadful young lady I’ve encountered on the marriage mart—” “She’s not on the marriage mart anymore,” Diana said confidingly to Emily. “Did you hear that her brother purchased her a cottage in Sussex?”
“—and then Emily was making frankly absurd threats to Belfry about wanting to appear onstage, and then my own wife”—he spared a dark look for Jane—“tried to haunt me out of my own home, and now this, whatever this actually turns out to be—no doubt you”—he gestured at Alexandra—“are about to inform West and Sophie that you were simply attempting to trick them into marrying, since anyone with eyes has been able to tell for years that they’re still in love with each other!” Alexandra blinked. “Well, yes, actually.” She turned to Blackford. “That’s about the shape of it, wouldn’t you say?” “I believe so,” Blackford agreed affably. “Exactly.” Penvale was breathing rather heavily. “My point is, aren’t you all weary of all of this by now?” “Penvale,” Violet said hesitantly, and then let out a slight cough; the glare he turned on her at this juncture was so fierce that she ceased immediately. “A joke, a joke!” she said hastily. “But,” she added, her tone that of someone attempting to reason with a recalcitrant toddler, “whilst I would never blame you, I do think it worth pointing out that if you hadn’t sent me that note informing me that James was on his deathbed—which he patently was not, I might add—then this entire series of events would never have been kicked into motion.” She smiled brightly at him. “So, when you think of it like that, you’re really the reason we’re all here! Just think, if it weren’t for you, Emily and Belfry might never have met!” “It’s true,” Emily chimed in, beaming. Penvale looked appalled. “I am getting a drink,” he said, and walked away without another word. Jane waved cheerfully after him before turning back to the rest of them and saying, rather eagerly, “Now that we’ve rid ourselves of him, would you please continue explaining what exactly is afoot here?” “I should rather like to know that, too, Sophie darling!” Sophie suppressed a sigh with some difficulty; the voice was that of her mother, and really she ought to be surprised that it had taken a full two minutes for Lady Wexham to make her way across the ballroom. Given the circumstances, Sophie would not have been shocked had her mother spontaneously sprouted wings and swooped down upon them within seconds. West lowered his arm slightly—the one that Sophie was still gripping, perhaps a bit too tightly—but she realized a moment later that he was only doing so in order to take her hand in his. “Lady Wexham,” he said, nodding at her mother. “Lord Wexham,” he added, looking over her mother’s shoulder; her father approached, evidently attempting to appear foreboding but seeming rather delighted instead. “I am sorry that we have not been entirely honest with you for the past week—past month, really,” he amended quickly. Vaguely, from behind her, Sophie heard Mournday announce another arrival, and the inquisitive buzz that had slowly filled the room upon her arrival seemed to turn to the more natural hum of conversation. They were no longer the center of attention.
“However,” West continued, and she turned her attention back to him—they hadn’t worked out precisely how they would explain matters to her family, and she realized now that she wasn’t sure what he was going to say. “I have loved your daughter for the past seven years, and when she came to me proposing a feigned betrothal—something she only did out of concern for her sister,” he added, his gaze flicking to Alexandra—“I said yes, because I have never stopped loving her.” He turned to Sophie now, looking down at her as he added softly, “Not for one single moment.” Sophie could not tear her eyes from his. It was still such a luxury, to be able to look at him as much as she wanted—she felt like someone emerging from the desert dying of thirst, now able to take de ep gulps of water. For so many years, her glances at him had been swift, stolen snatches of time—looking in his direction when he was distracted in conversation, never allowing her gaze to linger for too long, lest someone else notice. Lest her expression say everything that she would not put into words—even to herself, as the years went by. “And so,” he said, looking back at her parents, her sisters, their assembled friends, “when we realized that our feelings were mutual—that we did not want to r epeat the same mistakes of the past—we thought it only right to marry as quickly as possible, before anyone else could talk us out of it.” “And I suppose,” came a stern voice from behind them, “that by ‘anyone else,’ you mean me?” Sophie’s shoulders went up before she even turned; she knew that voice all too well. But she would not allow its owner to dictate anything about her life anymore. She lifted her chin, tightened her grip on West’s hand, and turned. “Your Grace,” she said, dropping into a shallow curtsey. The Duke of Dovington was looking... decidedly odd. Not in appearance— he looked much as he ever did in that regard, dressed with the utmost care in black and white evening attire, his cravat knotted elaborately. She supposed she should be honored he’d deigned to put in an appearance this evening at all, and that he’d clearly dressed for the occasion; but then, blatant, obvious disrespect had never been his weapon of choice. He favored more subtle tools. However, despite his immaculate appearance, there was something unsettled about him that Sophie could not recall seeing on any previous occasion. His eyes flicked back and forth between West and Sophie rapidly, and Sophie felt West’s hand tighten on hers. “Father.” He inclined his head. The duke tilted his head. “West.” He turned to look at Sophie, a pause growing heavier with each passing second. “Lady Weston.” Sophie felt, rather than heard, the entire assembled group behind her exhale. “I suppose you thought I was bluffing,” the duke said conversationally, and Sophie bit the inside of her cheek to steady herself for a moment before responding.
“On the contrary, Your Grace,” she said, offering him a demure smile. “I would never suspect a man such as yourself of being capable of such a thing.” He held her gaze, and she willed herself not to blink. She was not going to let this man intimidate her anymore—because, like it or not, he was now her fatherin-law, and she supposed she’d better get used to him. His eyes narrowed slightly. “I’ve had interest in the property, you know,” he said, his eyes flicking back to West. “Somehow word got out that I was thinking of selling and I’ve had someone in touch with an offer. A very good offer, I might add.” “How nice,” West said blandly. “Please let me know if the prospective owner needs any information from me, beyond the account books I’ve already sent you. I hope you received them?” he added politely. “The carriage stuffed full of them was rather hard to miss,” the duke said, his gaze locked on his son’s. “If you think that you are playing a game of poker with me, West, then I would remind you that I don’t play games I don’t know I can win.” West inclined his head. “On the contrary, Father—I look forward to doing anything that I can to assist with the sale of Rosemere to its new owner.” He smiled at his father; when, Sophie wondered, was the last time he’d had cause to do that? “I don’t think this is the time or place for such a discussion, but I’d be happy to continue it later. But”—and here, his smile vanished, and he took two st eps closer to his father—“I wish to make it perfectly clear to you that if Rosemere is the price I must pay for my marriage, then I would pay it a thousand times over. Indeed, I am happy to pay it, if it means that you no longer have any leverage over me.” He st epped back again, reaching behind him, and Sophie slipped her hand into his once more. West turned slightly, so that he and Sophie were no longer facing his father directly, but rather were including the group at large. “I’m sorry that we have doubly deceived all of you, but I hope you will wish us both happy—and perhaps we can now turn our attention to where it belongs.” He nodded at Alexandra and Blackford, then turned to Sophie’s mother. “Lady Wexham, would you do me the honor of saving a waltz for me?” This simple question somehow broke the dam, and in short order Lady Wexham had swooped down upon them both, raining kisses on cheeks and shedding a few discreet tears into the handkerchief that West handed her. Their siblings and friends followed suit, and for some time there was little sense to be had from anyone amid the melee of well-wishes and joyful exclamations. At one point, Sophie found herself back at West’s side, and she turned to him. “My cheeks hurt,” she said, raising a hand to her face, where a helpless smile seemed to have been permanently stuck. West leaned down and—mindless of the impropriety in volved—pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “I would see that smile on your face every day for the rest of my life.” Sophie, in that moment, did not think this would be a difficult wish to fulfill. It was later, when Sophie was enjoying a brief respite from dancing and had left West chatting amiably with Blackford and Belfry and their brother-in-law, the Earl of Risedale, that Alexandra found her. Sophie had just acc epted a flute of champagne from a passing footman and had ducked behind a potted palm to enjoy it—not
entirely out of sight, but just hidden enough that one would have to be properly looking for her to spot her— when her sister appeared beside her. Alexandra looked very pretty this evening, her dark hair gleaming in the candlelight, wearing a gown of bright yellow that somehow made her skin glow radiantly, though a similar shade would no doubt have made Sophie look sallow. “I just es caped a five-minute lecture from Maria about how I was very wrong to taunt you with threats of a double wedding and leaving the church on horseback,” Alexandra said, not sounding remotely apologetic. “I’m surprised she was so defensive of my tender sensibilities,” Sophie said, taking a sip of champagne. “Oh, she’s not,” Alexandra said cheerfully. “I’ve no doubt your own lecture will be forthcoming.” “I’ll look forward to that,” Sophie said wryly, though Maria had pressed her hand and wished her happy with obvious sincerity, and the satisfied air of someone who felt that a great wrong had been corrected. Alexandra craned her head around. “Do you think it would draw attention to our hiding place if I were to summon a footman to a bit of greenery? I’m parched.” Not waiting for an answer, she hissed, “Pssst!” The footman she was attempting to summon, standing about ten feet away, paused, then glanced around, as if suspecting someone had let a snake into the ballroom. “Psssst!” Alexandra hissed, a bit louder this time, and when he at last turned she waved him frantically over, relieving him of two glasses from his tray before sending him on his way. “I do not think the War Office will be recruiting you for intelligence work,” Sophie said. Alexandra ignored her, taking a hearty gulp of champagne. A silence descended between them as they both leaned against the wall, one that Sophie was slightly hesitant to break. But this was Alexandra—her sister, yes, but also, these past few years, her very dearest friend. She could not bear this slightly strained note that now existed between them. “I’m sorry, you know,” Sophie said, turning her head toward her sister without lifting it away from the wall. Alexandra mirrored the movement. “So am I.” Sophie hesitated. “West says... he says that I worry too much over you.” Alexandra lifted her champagne flute in salute. “For that reason alone, I should toast your marriage. If he can finally make you see sense, then I am even fonder of him than I already was.” Sophie gave a wavering smile. “It is just—for so long, I worried so much about you—about all of you. As the eldest, it was my job to marry well, to ease the way for the rest of you.” “Our father is a viscount, Soph, and thanks to Mama, we are positively rolling in money.” Sophie was shocked into a laugh, which had no doubt been her sister’s intent in speaking so bluntly. “I do not think we would have found our paths unduly difficult—so long as we had the good sense not to fall in love with the heirs to dukedoms who had fathers with giant sticks up their—” “Thank you, point taken,” Sophie interrupted hastily, laughing again. “I suppose my experience with the duke did make me overly concerned for the rest of you. But I hadn’t really taken, you know, in my first two
Seasons, before I met West. All of the gentlemen who were highest in the inst ep didn’t want to marry the daughter of some upstart viscount with a fortune from trade.” “But would you want to marry any of them?” Alexandra pressed. “I—I suppose not,” Sophie said, rather startled. “Then why were you so concerned about what they’d think of the rest of us? Do you think Mama and Papa so obsessed with rank that they’d set their sights on some appalling snob, just so that they could say their daughter married an earl? Even Maria settled for a second son, after that disaster with Sandworth, and if anyone among us would care about such things, it would be her.” “Well... no.” Sophie sighed. “Being the eldest, though, I think I’ve always considered it my responsibility to worry over the rest of you.” “That’s why we have parents,” Alexandra pointed out. “They worried over us plenty, if you’ll recall. It’s not as though we grew up in an orphanage trying to elbow our way to the front of the line for a bowl of porridge. And even if there was cause for concern, we’re all well-settled now—you’re allowed to care for yourself, you know.” “But you were the one who wasn’t going to marry if I was unwed!” Sophie pointed out, half-laughing, half-exasperated. It was a bit galling to be criticized for the same behavior that Alexandra had employed herself. “As a matter of fact,” Alexandra said carelessly, “that’s not actually true, which you’d know if you’d bothered to ask me, instead of taking matters into your own hands. I tried to tell you as much this afternoon.” “I—you—” “I was hesitating, yes, for all the reasons Blackford told you,” Alexandra said, “but I was hoping to discuss it with you at some point, without Harriet and Betsy present. I was worried that you and West would never work things out, that you’d never be happy, but you’ve always gone so stubbornly silent whenever anyone mentions his name that I wasn’t certain how to raise the subject. So you can imagine my surprise,” she added, “when you suddenly informed me that you were engaged.” Sophie rubbed a hand over her face, and drained the rest of her champagne. “Did you smell a rat immediately?” “More or less,” Alexandra said. “And once Blackford told me about the conversation he’d had with you, I was fairly certain I knew what you were about.” “You might have spared me the torment of the double wedding planning,” Sophie said severely. “I wanted to see how far you’d be willing to take this ruse.” Alexandra sounded quite pleased with herself. “And then I grew annoyed with you, and k ept making things more and more ludicrous, to see if you’d just admit that you were lying. But the more I watched you and West together, the more convinced I became that you were still in love—and the more irritated I was that you continued agreeing to all my plans, which I knew
you wouldn’t do if you’d really intended to marry him.” She shook her head. “It all grew a bit mixed up in my head, I’ll admit. But whilst Blackford and I were planning our own, much smaller wedding all the while, I promise you that I would have walked down the aisle in something utterly horrifying and d eparted on a white horse, if that was what it took to see you and West married.” “Fortunately, a special license was actually all it took.” Sophie attempted a stern look at her sister, but couldn’t quite manage it; how could she be annoyed, when Alexandra was essentially doing precisely what she’d done to her for years? “Did Harriet and Betsy know?” “Oh no, I knew I couldn’t possibly trust them with this,” Alexandra said. “Though that has been troubling in its own way, as it means they’ve been sincere in their enthusiasm for every one of my unhinged ideas.” She frowned. “Should we be concerned about their mental states?” “We shall simply blame Betsy’s on the baby, and Harriet’s on the allconsuming fervor of her rivalry with Hyacinth Montmorency.” Sophie smiled, and Alexandra smiled back at her. “We’re allowed to worry for you, Soph,” Alexandra said a bit tentatively, and Sophie swallowed. “Just because you’re the eldest doesn’t mean that you’re the only one who cares for us. We love you—we want you to be happy. And I would have welcomed anyone who made you happy, but... well, I’m just so glad that it’s West.” Sophie’s smile wavered at this point, and her lower lip was a bit unsure of itself, but she blinked away the tears that threatened to blur her vision and took the extra glass of champagne from her sister’s hand. She lifted it to Alexandra’s glass in a toast. “So am I.”