Page 63 of To Woo and to Wed
“About your… hips.” Sophie sounded unconvinced.
“About my hips,” Alexandra confirmed.
“I do not believe this is a portion of your anatomy I am supposed to believe even exists,” Blackford observed, to no one in particular.
Sophie and Alexandra appeared to take no notice of him, their eyes still fixed upon each other, some sort of silent conversation occurring.
“West has promised to take me on a wedding trip!” Sophie announced, without preamble.
West, who had a glass of claret halfway to his mouth, froze for a moment, then set said wineglass down carefully on the table. “I have?” he inquired mildly. Sophie looked at him sternly. “Ihave,” he amended, offering Alexandra a bland smile. Sensing that a bit more was expected of him, he added, “The thought of seeing my beloved in the bright sunshine of—” He looked inquiringly at Sophie.
“Italy,” Sophie reminded him.
“Italy,” he agreed smoothly, “was too tempting a prospect to ignore.” He was gripped by a sudden image of Sophie, sun-kissed and tousle-haired, sitting on a balcony in some warm Continental city, glancing invitingly over her shoulder at him, and he was pierced by a pang of longing.
“What a charming idea,” Alexandra said brightly, her stare still unblinking upon Sophie. “So terriblyromantic. You must tell me the itinerary you’ve planned, so that Blackford and I might take inspiration forourwedding trip.”
Blackford blinked. “Arewe going on a wedding trip?”
“We are now,” Alexandra informed him. She looked back at her sister. “I don’t suppose you recall the precise sites you plan to visit, on this entirely well-planned wedding trip?”
“I should have to consult my notes at home,” Sophie said through gritted teeth.
“Naturally, naturally.” Alexandra waved her hand. “I shall call on you tomorrow, then?”
“I did not think you such an avid traveler, Alexandra,” Sophie said, watching her sister with a narrow-eyed expression.
“Funny,” Alexandra said sharply. “I was just thinking the same thing ofyou.”
Blackford was looking at West in silent inquiry, which West ignored. Mercifully, the next course arrived, disrupting whatever alarming, unspoken battle of wills Sophie and her sister were presently engaged in, and together Blackford and West were able to steer the conversation into less openly combative territory.
He wasted no time, however, on the carriage ride home.
“Would you care to explain to me precisely what you and your sister were doing at dinner?” he asked conversationally, the moment the carriage door had shut behind them.
Sophie turned to him indignantly. “She suspects something! Can’t you tell?”
“Even if she does, I fail to see how concocting an elaborate Continental holiday was the best diversionary tactic.”
“That is because you don’t have sisters,” Sophie said with a dismissive wave. “She was trying togoadme into admitting something! As if I would be so easily cowed! Younger sisters might think that they have certain tricks up their sleeves, but they should know better than to attempt to outwit an elder sister of superior wisdom and experience.” She flicked an invisible speck of dust off her sleeve, looking quite pleased with herself.
“This is absurd.” West crossed his arms over his chest, watching her narrowly. “Have you given any thought to how we are going toextract ourselves from this supposed betrothal, now that we’ve tangled ourselves up so deeply?”
“As a matter of fact, I thought we might stage an argument at the betrothal ball.”
“The ball that your mother is going to considerable effort to host, and that your sister is evidently looking forward to with great anticipation, designed to celebrate what is supposed to be one of the happiest events of her life?”
Sophie leaned forward, frowning. “I’m not suggesting we quarrel on the ballroom floor in front of all the guests, but if we can arrange for Alexandra to stumble upon us mid-argument, later in the evening, then she won’t be entirely surprised when we announce the end of our betrothal shortly after—but by that point,shewill be too publicly committed to Blackford for her to call offtheirwedding.”
“I see.” He leaned back in his seat, still watching her carefully. “Have you—as part of your careful plan—considered what our supposed quarrel is to be about?”
She looked away now, her fingers worrying at the beading on her reticule. “I don’t see why we couldn’t use the truth of the issues between us, to some extent—the fact that your position, your family, make it impossible for us to marry.”
“Ah.” He paused briefly. “You wish to lie, then.”
Her gaze shot back to his, startled. “It’s not a lie!”
“No.” His tone was firm. “It’s the story you’ve concocted for yourself, in your head, because you’ve decided that I’m too much trouble to take on—but it’s nottrue.” He pressed his lips together. “I will suffer much for you, but I do have to draw the line at allowing you to believe a fiction—though you were perfectly content to allow me to do so, for the better part of seven years.”
