Page 41 of A Stranger’s Gamble

Chapter Fourteen

The day of Lady Seafield’s ball arrived, and Sophie practically chomped at the bit to get out of the house. Even the prospect of being forced to dance with the loathsome Marquess of Monthemer wasn’t enough to make her stay home. Her father had kept her a veritable prisoner. She had been allowed to leave the house only once and that had been in the company of her father, her aunt and Beatrice for church.

If the marquess did not marry her, they were to return home three days hence. Sophie had no intention of returning home without at least one more adventure. She had received no word from Adam. Not that she had really expected to. He couldn’t know why she hadn’t met him the night they were supposed to go to the wharf, and he was too much of a gentleman to simply appear at their door. Still, she had hoped he might send a note to at least ask if she was well. Her only hope of seeing him was if he was in attendance with his master at Lady Seafield’s ball. The chances were slim, she knew. But one never knew.

After dinner, Sophie dressed in a violet-colored muslin dress with darker ribbon around the hem and sleeves. She had to admit the gown was beautiful. Beatrice wore a yellow muslin that complimented her creamy skin to perfection.

“Bea, I would not be the least bit surprised if you had to fight off the suitors,” Sophie told her.

She hid a smile when Beatrice’s cheeks pinked.

“Your father has insisted I come with you, miss. I will not be dancing.”

“Oh, pish, you will dance every dance, just as my father has insisted I must.”

“Two dances with the marquess,” Beatrice said.

Sophie shot her a narrow-eyed look. “I will step on his toes and make myself generally disagreeable.”

“He is handsome,” Beatrice said.

“So you have said. At least a dozen times.”

“You feared he was a snaggle-toothed old man. He is not. He is tall and very handsome.”

“I do not care if he is a Greek god,” Sophie retorted. “I will not marry him.”

“Your father might make you marry someone else who is not so agreeable.”

“Agreeable?” Sophie grimaced. “Nothing about the man is agreeable. I hear he’s difficult, and you remember that gossip about him and Lady Fleming.”

“That is terrible gossip.” Beatrice said.

Sophie couldn’t help but wonder what kind of woman would allow the father of the man she claimed to love lose his fortune like that? Sophie had told her father the story only to find out he knew and didn’t believe the story painted Lord Monthemer in a negative light. That was men for you. They protected one another. Still, Sophie couldn’t prevent a pang of sadness for the marquess. His whole life had been before him. Then, poof! He’d lost everything, his fortune, his father and the woman he loved. That did explain why he wanted to leave Society.

Sophie scooped up her gloves from the bed, then nodded at the other pair still lying on the quilt. “Put on your gloves, Bea. You know how Father hates being late.”

They put on their gloves, and Sophie gave her hair a final look in the mirror. Beatrice had done a beautiful job of arranging Sophie’s hair in a fashionable chignon with soft curls that framed her face. She had tried to do the same for Beatrice, but Bea would only allow a simple chignon at the back of her neck. Still, Sophie privately thought her friend looked more beautiful than she ever had and believed she truly might attract the attention of some young gentleman. They would only be in town another three days, but Beatrice deserved to be worshiped by a lovesick swain.

They went downstairs and found Sophie’s father waiting at the front door for them.

“You look lovely, Sophie,” he said. “Beatrice, you, as well.”

“Thank you, sir,” Beatrice said.

Her father locked eyes with Sophie. “You will dance two dances with the marquess, and you will, above all, behave.”

“Of course, Father.”

“Sophie,” he said in a warning voice. “You will not dance with any other gentleman more than once. Lady Seafield has seen to it that your dance card is full.”

“I will dance with the marquess, but that is all,” Sophie said.

“Let me make myself clear,” her father said. “Your antics here in Edinburgh have proven to me that you need to be settled once and for all. Therefore, if you find a way to ruin your chances with the marquess, when we return home, I will marry you to Robert Barrett.”

Sophie frowned. “The pastor’s son?”

He nodded.