courteously, but that doesn’t mean I’d be content to have a footman as a son-in-law.”
Her ladyship’s brows rose at this. “And what on earth makes you suppose that there is any likelihood of that occurring?”
“Because that confounded daughter of yours can be quite stubbornly headstrong when the mood takes her!” his lordship retorted, irritation surfacing again. “She as good as informed me that nothing would induce her to marry a member of her own social class, and that she would far rather be poor and riveted to some impoverished nobody, would you believe?”
The Countess regarded her husband in silence for a moment, realising suddenly that far more had taken place between father and daughter than she had at first realised. “Why should Sophia imagine that she will ever be poor? She is an heiress. You have agreed to settle a fortune on her.”
For the first time his lordship betrayed clear signs of unease. “Only on condition she marries with my full approval,” he mumbled, already regretting having issued such a threat.
It was only to be expected that a girl accustomed to having most everything her own way almost from the day of her birth would kick over the traces when finding herself harnessed for the very first time. But what choice had he? He had only her best interests at heart. Why in heaven’s name couldn’t the headstrong chit see that!
Feeling suddenly weary, he leaned back in his chair. “Oh, Marissa, I’m at a loss to know what to do for the best. I’m one-and-seventy. I can’t live for ever. I do not doubt for a moment that the boys will go on very well without me, but who will take care of my little Sophia when I’m gone?”
Refusing to become depressed at discussing such a melancholy topic, her ladyship said, “Marcus will, I’m certain, admirably fill your shoes when the time comes. Which I sincerely trust will not be for several years yet.” She clearly heard the faint derisive snort. “You do Marcus a grave injustice, my dear, if you suppose for a moment that he would neglect his responsibilities. He has looked after your estate in the north superbly during these past years. I know that he sometimes seems hard and unapproachable, but beneath that prickly exterior he is a very considerate man. He is very fond of his twin brothers, and of Sophia in particular.”
Much to his intense regret, his lordship had never been able to deal well with his eldest child. None the less, he was fair-minded enough to admit that his wife was right. “But remember, my dear, that Marcus will one day marry himself, and raise a family. He will not then wish to be saddled with the added burden of keeping his eye on his frequently wayward half-sister.”
“She might be wilful on occasions, Thomas,” her ladyship responded, once again finding herself coming to Sophia’s defence, “but she’s no fool. She may still harbour some girlish romantic notions, but I believe she will think long and hard before she ties herself to any man.”
The Earl remained unconvinced, but the Countess had more faith in their daughter’s judgement. “Leave it to me, my dear,” she said in her placid way. “I’ll have a talk with her.”
Final arrangements for the ball kept the Countess occupied for the remainder of the afternoon. Even if this had not been the case she would still have refrained from searching out her daughter and raising the topic of marriage, simply because it could only make the situation worse if Sophia felt that both her parents were intent on her making a superb match before the Season was over.
In fact, nothing could have been further from the truth. Although the Countess could well understand her husband’s concern over their only daughter’s future, and could appreciate, too, even though he had not admitted to it in so many words, that he was eager to keep fortune-hunters at bay, she saw no earthly reason why Sophia should not relax and enjoy her first Season in London. If she did happen to make the acquaintance of some personable gentleman with whom she could happily spend the rest of her life, all well and good; if not…well, there was always next year.
It was in this very understanding mood that the Countess entered her daughter’s bedchamber in time to see the skilful young abigail positioning a spray of silk flowers in Sophia’s beautifully arranged black locks. Unlike her occasionally volatile daughter, her ladyship always kept a tight hold on her emotions, but there was definitely a hint of pride in her grey eyes as she studied her daughter’s faultless appearance.
“My dear, you look utterly charming,” she announced in her quiet way, while nodding dismissal to the maid.
Although Mother Nature had been undoubtedly generous, blessing her with lovely face and figure to match, Sophia was singularly lacking in conceit, as she proved now by glancing at her reflection with scant enthusiasm. “This is a very pretty gown, Mama, and I do like it very well, but I would have preferred to have it made up in dark blue or red. Madame Félice said that, with my colouring, vibrant shades would suit me best.”
“And Madame Félice has earned herself something of a reputation for never being wrong, I know,” the Countess responded. “Nonetheless, I’m still old-fashioned enough to believe that only pastel shades are suitable for young ladies. After you’re married, of course, the wearing of richer colours will be perfectly in order.”
She caught her daughter’s suddenly assessing look in the dressing-table mirror, and smiled. No, she mused, there was precious little wrong with Sophia’s understanding. Nor did she suppose for a moment that her daughter would disgrace herself by eloping with some penniless nobody, providing, of course, pressure was not brought to bear which might induce her to commit such folly.
“No, my dear, I didn’t come to your room with the intention of discussing the subject of marriage,” she assured her, knowing precisely what was going through that pretty little head. “I should imagine you’ve heard more than enough on that particular topic for one day.”
Sophia almost sighed with relief. Her mother, always remarkably composed, was unfailingly sympathetic to the feelings of others. How she wished she could be more like her! Sadly, though, she feared she had inherited the occasionally fiery and frequently stubborn Cleeve temperament.
“I’ve never known Papa to be so unreasonable before. He seems to suppose that only a person of rank and wealth will make me a good husband.”
The Countess, appreciating only too well her poor husband’s dilemma, remained silent. How could a loving father explain to a much beloved daughter that her hand might be sought in marriage for her fortune alone, without hurting her feelings?
“And yet it was he who instilled in us all,” Sophia went on, “that a servant can exhibit just as much nobility as a duke. Perhaps he taught me too well, for I would much rather be married to a good and worthy man, no matter what his position on the social ladder, than marry a titled gentleman simply because by doing so I could continue to live in luxury.” She cast her mother a look of entreaty. “You can understand that, can’t you, Mama?”
“Better than you think, my dear. What you are trying to say is that you wish to marry a man you can love and respect and, moreover, a man who will love and respect you in return.” Seating herself on the chaise-longue, she held out her hand and waited for her daughter to join her before adding, “Your father wants that too. He is only concerned for your happiness, Sophia. He would do everything within his power to ensure that you do not make the mistake that he once made.”
The Earl’s first marriage was a subject that was rarely mentioned—taboo, almost. Sophia had, none the less, learned enough over the years from elderly servants and friends of the family to be certain that her father bitterly regretted marrying the beautiful Danielle.
“Yes, I do understand,”
