Page 30 of A Duchess for his Family

“For Miss Norton,” the maid declared, bobbing a curtsy. “It came by messenger from Rivermere Hall.”

Sophia’s heart gave an entirely unreasonable leap.

Jenny set the box on the bed, then brought the note to Sophia. “His Grace’s seal, miss.”

Sophia accepted it with fingers that felt suddenly clumsy. She broke the wax carefully. The handwriting within was strong, dark, and very plain.

Miss Norton,

Lady Briarwood has issued invitations for a small assembly next Thursday evening, and it could be the first occasion upon which we may attend together since our engagement became generally known. It seems a suitable opportunity to accustom society to what is already settled between our families.

I have taken the liberty of sending a gown which I believe may be appropriate for the evening. If it displeases you, you are of course under no obligation to wear it. If it pleases you, I shall consider myself fortunate to see you in it.

Your obedient servant,

Benedict Langley, the Duke of Rivermere

Sophia read the note twice.

If it pleases you.

There was nothing extravagant in the words. Nothing that any censorious person could call improper. Yet her pulse behaved foolishly over them, lingering especially upon that last sentence until she folded the paper with more haste than care.

“What does His Grace say?” Jenny asked, though her eyes already strayed to the box with open curiosity.

“He has sent something for the ball.”

Jenny’s brows lifted. “A gown?”

“So it appears.”

Sophia stood and approached the bed with considerable caution, as though the box might contain not silk but consequence. Jenny untied the ribbon. The lid lifted with a soft sigh of tissue paper.

They both went still. The gown lay within like moonlight gathered and folded. It was not gaudy. That was almost the trouble. Had it been heavy with jewels, stiff with gold, or vulgar in its expense, Sophia might have rejected it with ease.

Instead, it was simple in the most devastating manner: silk of the palest pearl, so fine it seemed to hold the morning light on its surface. The bodice was delicately shaped, modest yet graceful, with tiny seed pearls sewn along the neckline like drops of dew. The sleeves were sheer and soft, caught with narrow bands of silver thread. Along the hem, almost invisible until the fabric moved, ran embroidery of pale blue forget-me-nots and little green leaves, so subtle that one had to look closely to see how exquisite it was.

Jenny gasped, pressing a hand to her lips. “Oh, miss.”

Sophia could not speak. Jenny lifted one sleeve with reverent hands. The silk fell over her fingers like water.

“I have never seen anything so beautiful.”

Neither had Sophia. That was precisely why she felt frightened. She imagined wearing it into Lady Briarwood’s rooms. She imagined every eye turning, every whisper sharpening.

“No,” she said suddenly. “I cannot accept this.”

Jenny looked up. “Miss?”

“It is far too grand.”

Jenny’s mouth twitched, but she wisely lowered her gaze.

Sophia stepped back from the bed. “No… no, I cannot accept it.”

“But His Grace sent it for you.”

“That is exactly why I cannot accept it.”