Page 69 of To Woo and to Wed
“I was too busy trying to make sure that you didn’t throw away a love match out of some misplaced sense of sisterly obligation.”
“A misplaced sense of sisterly obligation—I’m not sure I could have said it better myself.” Alexandra rose. “I’m not a child, Sophie. I’ve wed and been widowed and, I’ll admit, I had a foolish moment there at breakfast that day, but you still could have tried to speak to me—to hash things out like adults. Instead you’ve drawn us all into a farce—let Mama and Papa think that you’re planning a wedding when in fact you have no intention of being married at all. And what if I hadn’t realized what you were about?” she added. “Did you intend to walk to the altar with me and only then inform me that you’d had a change of heart?”
Sophie felt something very close to shame burn within her; for allthe occasional pangs of guilt that she’d experienced over the course of the past month, she hadn’t properly considered just what impact breaking her supposed engagement would have on her family.
“I just wanted you to be happy,” she said quietly, looking at her sister, whose own expression softened in turn.
“I know.” Alexandra reached across to squeeze Sophie’s hand. “But that’s not your responsibility to ensure. And for heaven’s sake, you didn’t need to agree to every single idea I suggested about the wedding—if I hadn’t already worked out that you were feigning your betrothal, I would have thought you’d sustained a head injury.”
Sophie managed a smile at that; Alexandra reached for her gloves, which she’d discarded upon entering, and drew them on as she turned to depart. “I’ll see you tonight, I suppose. You might do us all a favor and spare us the swooning over West, though.”
She swept out of the room; Sophie wished to call after her—to apologize, dispel the slight strain that still lingered between them—but she remained silent.This evening,she promised herself.This evening, it will all be right.
It was a peculiarly tense carriage ride across Mayfair that evening, and West did not entirely understand why. Blackford had offered the use of his carriage, so that the two betrothed couples might arrive at the same time, and West and Sophie had accepted; West had been the last to join the group, and had found Sophie and Alexandra sitting in slightly strained silence upon his entrance. A frown at Blackford had yielded no information other than a shrug, and West had let the matter lie; he had a fair amount on his mind at the moment, after all.
As chance would have it, they arrived right on the heels of Diana, Jeremy, Penvale, and Jane, who had evidently come in one carriage as well.
“It took usagesto get here,” Diana said, as soon as West and Sophie approached. “I thought I’d perish in the carriage. I didn’t realize this was to be the event of the Season.”
“My mother is an… enthusiastic hostess,” Sophie said diplomatically. “I believe she even sent an invitation to the prince regent.”
“Did she really?” Jane looked half-fascinated, half-horrified at this news.
“Hope springs eternal, et cetera,” Alexandra said, joining them. She inclined her head. “Shall we?”
The Wexhams’ house was blazing with light. Flickering torches lined the walkway up to the house, and the double doors were flung open, liveried footmen standing ready to greet each arrival. Lady Wexham had clearly spared no expense; as they stepped into the entryway, they were greeted with the sight and scent of dozens of exquisite bouquets of fresh flowers on every available surface and hanging from the walls in chained pots. Mingled with the flickering candlelight, the effect was near-magical, though West gave a shake of his head at the whimsical thought.
They proceeded into the ballroom in pairs, being announced in turn. The betrothed couples, by unspoken agreement, were left for last. Jane and Penvale directly preceded Alexandra and Blackford; Jane looked rather pale and uneasy, but Penvale glanced down at her with a private, reassuring smile that she met with one of her own. They passed into the ballroom; then West heard: “The Earl of Blackford and Mrs. Brown-Montague,” and Blackford and Alexandra were gone, only a brief glance from Alexandra in Sophie’s direction by way of farewell.
West glanced down at Sophie; while she was not overwhelmingly petite, height had always run in the Audley line, and the top of her head could fit neatly under his chin. From his vantage point, he could see the freshwater pearls studded throughout her hair; he also had a pleasing view directly down the front of her bodice—her gown was a radiant pink silk embroidered with white roses—and, as if sensing the direction of his thoughts, she glanced up at him with a smile of pure, wicked promise.
“Shall we give everyone a shock?” she murmured. “It’s not too late to change your mind, you know.”
“I’m ready,” he said, then leaned forward and had a quick word with the Wexhams’ butler, who was about to announce them. The butler blinked, his gaze flicking back and forth from West to Sophie and back again.
“But—I don’t—”
“We’re going to shake up this betrothal ball a bit, Mournday,” Sophie said lightly, giving the butler a cheerful smile. “I promise you, we’re not in jest.”
“All right,” Mournday said, still looking slightly dubious, and then turned back to the room at large—a room that West knew contained her family, and his, all of their friends, everyone who was anyone in theton—and announced:
“The Marquess and Marchioness of Weston.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
One week earlier
“I thought finally coming tomy senses with my tragic long-lost love would involve a bit more sweeping romance, and a bit less time spent inside a solicitor’s office.”
Sophie shot West a look of tolerant affection as she stepped back, allowing him to open the door and usher her out onto Bond Street, where her solicitor’s office was located. She employed the services of Edwards & Higgins, Esq., as her mother’s family had done for decades now, and Mr. Edwards himself had been happy to make himself available to meet with her for the second time that day—particularly once he realized that she intended to bring a marquess with her to this meeting. He was a small, round man who had had the same shock of disorderly white hair for as long as Sophie could remember, and he had nodded with unquestioning delight when Sophie informed him that she’d taken it into her head to make a real estate acquisition.
“But with the utmost discretion,” she’d informed Mr. Edwards in hushed tones. “It is a rather delicate matter.” She trailed off with a significant look, while West nodded solemnly next to her, and Mr. Edwards did not ask any further questions; he merely looked eager to dotheir bidding, as he so often did, considering the exorbitant fee Sophie paid to retain his services.
That mission accomplished, she found herself blinking in the afternoon sunshine as West handed her up into his phaeton. It was a few hours since she’d left here after her prior meeting with Mr. Edwards; the events of the afternoon had progressed with such rapidity that they’d begun to take on a sort of dreamlike state of unreality. West loved her—she loved him—and they were finally, finally going to be married.
Except…
“I do not want to leave a wedding on horseback!” she burst out as soon as they were settled in the phaeton and West had taken the reins. “That nightmarish dress Alexandra convinced me to order from Madame Blanchet is the least practical frock for riding imaginable, no doubt I’ll muddy it and then Fox will scold me, and in any case, what is wrong with a perfectly good carriage? This is madness.”
