LITMIR.BIZ

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even recalling the times John was so charming to her. She didn’t miss him one bit.

      “But I daresay we’ll be hearing an announcement soon?” Mrs. Cleverly said.

      If Sophia said anything other than, “I don’t know,” the news would be all over London, at least the part of it that mattered most to her. She gave a wan smile. “We found we didn’t suit. I believe he has found a position elsewhere.”

      Enough of a hint to suggest the fault was on his side. As much as she dared, anyway.

      Mrs. Cleverly’s carefully penciled brows rose a fraction. “I thought you were almost declaring for each other.”

      Sophia shook her head. “We never took matters that far.”

      Another lady, a younger one, and the wife of one of London’s most daring investors, said, “But what about that handsome marquess?”

      Immediately Sophia’s thoughts flew to the Marquess of Devereaux, and inwardly she groaned. He barely noticed her, probably didn’t know her name. “He is my father’s business associate. I admit he is handsome, but City and County don’t mix, do they? More tea?” She lifted the pot, shaking it a little to make sure there was enough left.

      She’d noticed him from the moment his tall, lean form entered the banqueting hall at the Guildhall, at the formal dinner she was attending with her father. He’d made her feel underdressed and inconspicuous, but not from anything he did. He was punctiliously polite. He had exchanged a few innocuous words with her and moved on, leaving her gaping at his sheer masculine beauty and his elegance.

      He probably wouldn’t remember her name if she met him again. Or perhaps his impeccable manners had led him to commit it to memory. Sophia wasn’t fooled, though. He’d only spoken to her because he was courting her father. No gleam of interest sparked his astonishing green eyes, no warm words or a request to visit her home. Not that he could, because Sophia had done away with chaperones a year ago and firmly declared herself perfectly able to run her own affairs.

      More fool she. If she’d allowed her tedious aunt to stay, she wouldn’t have got into the pickle with John.

      Half an hour later, she closed the door on the last guest with a weary sigh.

      She picked up the silver snuffers, extinguished the candles in the sconces, crossed to the table, and extinguished the others. The fire and the moonlight glimmering through the gap in the window shutters produced the only remaining light. Unearthly, it streaked across the room to cast the portrait of her mother in a silvery glimmer.

      If Sophia were superstitious, the ethereal light would worry her, but she’d seen that effect more than once. Merely a product of the situation of the portrait and the way the moonlight hit it. Instead of running screaming, she stared at the painting of the lovely woman who’d died six years ago.

      She smiled up at her mother. Lady Mary Howard was depicted at the height of her beauty, holding a fan in her satin-clad lap. Although Sophia shared her mother’s coloring, she didn’t otherwise resemble her much. Nor her father. Perhaps she looked like her grandparents, but since both her mother and her father’s parents had died before she could properly remember them, she could only speculate.

      The door opened. A figure stood shadowed against the light from the hall. “Sophia, are you all right in here with no lights?”

      “I was just putting them out, Papa. The servants will bring their own once they come to clear up. No sense wasting best beeswax when there’s nobody in here.”

      “Ever the housekeeper. Sophia my dear, come and talk to me. I have some news for you.”

      She couldn’t see his smile, but she could hear it in his voice. She couldn’t pull her watch from her pocket to check the time in this light, but she was tempted to depress the repeater to hear it chime the hour. Her father would hear it too, so she resisted. “Father, it must be ten o’clock. I thought you’d gone up to bed.”

      “I have some news for you, and I don’t wish to wait. Come.”

      Unusual for him to be so uncharacteristically impatient. Sophia followed her father out of the dining room and downstairs to his study. Her father conducted some of his business from here.

      She knew it well, from the legal documents tied with red tape to the tall account books he kept here. With fire a constant threat, her father always had two copies of every important document written out. The original for the office, one for here, and another for the house in the country. Somehow Sophia doubted London would see another Great Fire, but as he often said, “You never know.”

      The familiarity gave her assurance. Wait—he’d left to sign the agreement with the marquess earlier today. Had the deal gone awry?

      Her heart in her mouth, she waited for him to say that the contract was null. She’d labored long hours copying out that document. She’d hate it to go to waste.

      He took a seat, leaned back in his chair, and motioned to the one on the other side of his huge desk, the one she customarily used.

      Sophia smoothed her skirts and sat, finding it mildly uncomfortable to be here in her evening silks and not her daytime wool and linen.

      He didn’t appear put out, no trace of a frown between his brows. “My daughter, you are well?”

      That was more than a courteous inquiry after her health. John’s behavior had distressed her, and although she’d tried not to reveal the level of her distress, her father had discerned it. “Very, thank you, Father.”

      “I am extremely pleased to hear it.” He glanced down at the papers before him, picked up his gold-rimmed glasses, and propped them on the high bridge of his nose. “I have some news that affects you directly. You recall I was signing the contract with the Marquess of Devereaux today?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “That went without a hitch. We discussed a few small matters, which I would request you add to our copy tomorrow, but nothing that materially alters the agreement.”

      A sigh of relief escaped her lips. “I’m glad. That will benefit us considerably.” And the employees of her father’s company.

      “Indeed. I’m glad to have it done. But we discussed another matter.” He regarded her in silence for a moment before speaking again. “You are four and twenty and a considerable heiress.”

      “I am aware of that, Papa.”

      The ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “Until recently, I had ignored the implications of those simple facts. However, it was borne on me recently that I should pay serious attention to the matter.”

      Sophia repressed a shudder. “I am fine, Papa.”

      “A society lady would have had a companion or a chaperone.”

      With a curl of her lip, she replied, “I am not a society lady. You provide me with a footman to protect me outside the house, and indoors I need nobody. Neither am I a girl fresh from the schoolroom.” Her father had seen that she learned what she needed, but her training in account-keeping went far beyond maintaining the household records.

      He harrumphed. “You are not. But you are ready to wed.”

      What was this? Although startled, Sophia knew better than to deny his assertion. Opposing her father wasn’t the best way to make him see reason. He would dig his feet in and insist, and then there’d be no budging him. She would find another way to avoid her father’s concerns.

      He had meant for her to marry John, and she’d been happy to comply, especially after John’s careful courtship, but that had of course come to nothing. She had thought herself safe for a year or two at least.

      Distracting him with business usually worked best. Preparing to listen, she folded her hands in her lap and pasted an expression of mild interest on to her face. “Some women don’t marry until they’re nearly thirty, Papa.”

      “I spoke

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