Page 7 of To Woo and to Wed
Blackford blinked at this remark, which possessed all the subtlety of a hammer. “An admirable sentiment from a sister, I’m sure.”
“Yes.” Sophie heaved a weary sigh. “It is exhausting, you know, having four younger sisters. One does so often find that they will not behave precisely as one would wish. One might even find them being maddeningly stubborn for no apparent reason. It ismostirritating, as I’m certain you can appreciate.”
Blackford raised a brow, and Sophie’s smile widened a touch. “Lady Fitzwilliam, I do believe I hear a waltz starting—I don’t suppose I dare hope that you still have this dance free on your dance card?”
“I do,” Sophie lied cheerfully, with only the slightest apologetic flicker of the eyes in the direction of Audley, to whom she’dactuallypromised this dance. “How positively fortuitous,” she added demurely, and allowed Blackford to lead her to the dance floor with a quick wave of the fingers in the direction of Violet and Audley, who watched this exchange with great interest.
“Why,” said Blackford, as they took their places amid the other couples, “do I feel as though I was just carefully maneuvered?”
“I couldn’t say, I’m sure,” Sophie said innocently. “So, have you spent much time with Alexandra?” If they only had the duration of one waltz, she couldn’t afford to waste time on pleasantries.
“A fair amount.”
“How often do you see her? Weekly? Daily?” She paused delicately. “Nightly?”
To his credit, Blackford took this in stride. “Shall I save us both time and come right out and tell you that I’d like to marry your sister?” Blackford’s voice was amused, and a smile played at the corners of his mouth. Harriet and Betsy were right—hewasquite handsome, with dark hair and vivid blue eyes. She had never heard much about him in the way of gossip—she knew that he’d once been the lover of the widowed Viscountess Dewbury, before she’d gone on to marry her second husband, but beyond that Sophie had merely heard that he always paid his debts on time, and was generally considered an upstanding sort of chap. He was in line to inherit his father’s title, but she believed he and his father were close, and he doubtless hoped that day was still a long way off.
In short, nothing she had ever heard of the man had given her the slightest pause as to his suitability for her sister—which was why she was so perplexed by Alexandra’s reaction at the breakfast table a few mornings earlier.
“I am happy to hear it,” she said cautiously.
“Lady Fitzwilliam, may I be frank?”
“By all means.”
“Well, then I think I ought to inform you that I do not believe your sister will marry me whilst you are still unwed.”
“I’m a widow,” Sophie said automatically.
“But one who has not yet remarried,” Blackford said gently. “And I would never presume to encourage a lady to remarry who does not wish to do so—I gather the widowed state has certain advantages. But I believe that your sister fears for your happiness, and is reluctant to find happiness of her own if she feels that she is… well, leaving you behind, I suppose.”
Blackford looked distinctly uncomfortable—no doubt the poor man was worried he’d cause her to have a fit of the vapors, or some other swooningly female reaction—but Sophie was not offended. Rather, she was feeling quite grim—she’d been hoping that her suspicion at breakfast would prove to be unfounded.
Sisters! Would they never do what she wished them to?
“I am not lonely, Lord Blackford,” she said carefully. “I like my life very much.”
And it was true: Shedidlike her life. Was it all that she had once imagined? Well, no. But it was perfectly satisfactory all the same.
“I am certain you do, Lady Fitzwilliam,” he said, almost gently—and it was this gentleness that, for the first time, allowed the slightest painful pang to reach her chest. It was absurd and ridiculous, but she suddenly felt a bit like weeping over this entire foolish mess Alexandra had created. “And please know that I do not confide this to you out of some desire to persuade you to any course of action. But I thought, if perhaps you could speak to Alex…?”
There was a hopeful note in his voice on this last query, and Sophie nearly smiled to hear it. The thought that this man—heir to one of the oldest estates in England, to an ancient title, rich in family and friends and in every gift a man could receive from birth—should still sound so desperately eager to marry her sister delighted Sophie. And the notion that Alexandra would attempt to ruin both their happiness for Sophie’s sake was very near unbearable. To her astonishment, she realized that she was growing the slightest bitangry.
And, all at once, she was very, very determined to see Alexandra and Blackford wed, no matter what it took.
“I should be happy to speak to her,” she said. Speak. Knock hersister about the head with a serving spoon. Whichever suited, really. “I know we would all be delighted to welcome you to the family—my sisters are quite taken with you.”
“Well, I’m only interested in marrying just the one,” Blackford said, with a quirk of the mouth that made Sophie like him all the more.
Which meant that Sophie needed to speak to her sister. She did not relish the prospect; something about Alexandra’s demeanor at the breakfast table intimated that her sister might choose this exceptionally inconvenient moment to decide to be exceedingly stubborn. It was a family trait that tended to rear its head at the precise moments that one might wish itwouldn’t.
And then, as the waltz came to an end, and she sank into a curtsey before Blackford, her gaze alighted on a familiar pair of broad shoulders. She had caught sight of them out of the corner of her eye while she and Blackford had been dancing, and had determinedly ignored them; their owner was not a man she allowed her thoughts—or eyes—to linger on.
Anymore.
At that precise moment, he turned, his green eyes scanning the room. They landed on her for a split second, catching and holding, and Sophie inhaled sharply.
He looked away first.
