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“Yes,” Papa said. “You have questioned Mr. Price’s calls. When we arrived in town, I put a request to him. I asked, against all hope, that he conduct his own research into our family line. Your mother and I did not believe him, at first, when he brought news of Mr. Penworthy.”

“The pair of you didn’t tell me?” Sophie spoke as much to the room as to them, her thoughts swirling.

“Your mother thought it best to get matters in order first. The alterations Mr. Price recommended making to my will were little more than possibilities before we spoke with Mr. Penworthy himself. Indeed, the man is most amenable to the idea of an entail.”

“Amenable to the idea!” Sophie didn’t care if the whole house heard her shout. “You mean to say you have spoken to the man?” She whipped in Mama’s direction. “And I knew, didn’t I, that something was afoot with all Mr. Price’s visits, and yet you lied—”

Protests erupted from each of her parents.

“No, you lied to me!”

Her words hung in the air, pungent and absolute. She panted for breath, put a hand to her side, and laughed. “What has my sacrifice been for? Ever since Edmund’s death I have assumed this responsibility, I have cast aside all hopes I ever had for my own happiness, and all the while the pair of you scheme behind my back?”

“Now Sophie,” Papa said, his voice dipping into the register from which he’d scolded her as a child. “You know better than to speak so. Think of your mother.”

As if on command, Mama began talking over his last words. “We did not overstate your responsibilities, dear. They are only … different, that is all! You see, now, why you must marry a man of title and property, yes? If all your father’s possessions pass to Mr. Penworthy, you must find a husband who has considerable means of his own to maintain the lifestyle your father has afforded you. As wife to Lord Hansbury, you shall want for nothing, not note the loss of Belmaine Hall even for a day!”

The temptation to crumble to the carpet was immense. One of Sophie’s hands palmed her face, and the other searched, blindly, until she found a chairback to lean against.

“No. No, I don’t see.” Her nails scraped down her cheek. “If I am to marry, it will be to one man and one man only.” She no longer needed the chair for support; she stood to full height, her hands open and relaxed against her sides. “Mr. Rafe Balfour. I love him.”

“You cannot be serious!” Lady St. Quinton’s voice darkened several shades. “That merchant’s son? The one who, as of this very morning, is the talk of the town for having disgraced the Penneys?”

“Everything being written is fabricated. What they say of him is not true, and even if it were, you would not stand in support. You have been against him from the very first mention of his name.”

“Why, yes, I have been, because he is beneath you!” Lady St. Quinton shrieked. “He is a different breed of fortune hunter, after connection rather than wealth. I am sure you find him handsome, and perhaps even charming, but in time, you would see—”

“I have had time with him.” At some point, Sophie had started pacing the room, showing her parents her back. Now she spun. “I have spent a good many hours with him. In the utter absence of guidance and companionship, I have found my own way.”

Lady St. Quinton gasped.

“Papa, if you would send for Mr. Price? I should like these arrangements settled.”

He raised a brow.

“Entail to Penworthy, just as you wish. But the old cottage shall be my home, and my dowry my own. I don’t need a grand estate or endless sums to live peacefully, no matter what the pair of you think.”

Her parents looked at each other, a guilty flicker in her father’s eyes.

Sophie’s breath caught. “What?”

“I suppose there’s no better way to test the resolve of your words,” Papa said slowly, clutching at his dressing robe’s belt again. “Your dowry is not as large as it once was, Sophie. When we had to replace the windows in the east wing—”

“‘Had to’ nothing,” Sophie cut in. “You wanted sash windows with colored glass.”

Papa’s lips twitched. “The venture was a bit more expensive than anticipated, and a portion of your dowry was used to cover the tax.”

Tightlacing her stays would have been preferable to this feeling. “How much? How much is left?”

“If it was put into investments, you could live quite averagely.” Her father’s swallow was audible. “But there would be no allowance for frivolity. None of the shopping you’re accustomed to, and certainly not a full staff.”

“Call Mr. Price.”

Papa’s head lifted. The satisfied smirk on her mother’s face morphed into an expression of outrage.

“You heard me. Unless you object to restoring your daughter’s happiness and the longevity of your title?”

“This—is—unconscionable!” Mama abbreviated the words between violent sniffles.