There were other, more emotional implications, too. She’d never give her freedom, her very life, to a man again. But how did one make a woman like Helena, with everything she could wish for, understand that?
‘I do not think dancing with Taunton is a good idea.’ He was exactly the sort of man the matchmaking mamas coveted for their own daughters: handsome, well-mannered, pleasant and titled. They would hate her especially for taking up the attentions of such a specimen. To make her point, Sofia pulled out another pin, feeling the coiffure loosen.
Helena speared her with a stern look that said she was done cajoling. This was serious now. ‘If not Taunton, who? When? It’s been three years, Sofia. Surely, you don’t mean to entomb yourself for the rest of your life?’ Helena’s eyes flashed, reminiscent of the tenacity that had won her a duke’s heir.
‘Surely, I do mean just that and the sooner you accept it, the sooner we can move past this,’ Sofia replied with the determination that had seen her through four years of a finishing school that had thought a country gentleman’s daughter beneath them and ten years of a marriage marked by darkness.
Helena softened. ‘You’re too young for such absolutes, my dear friend. You’re also too young to be alone. You should remarry and start again.’
‘Not with a man like Taunton. He can’t afford me.’ They both knew she didn’t mean the reference monetarily. A titled Englishman with any ambition socially, politically, couldn’t afford the scandals that came with her.
Helena averted her gaze and fussed with her skirts. Even Helena couldn’t deny the truth in that. Perhaps there was a quiet country widower out there who could take her on without damaging the back half of his life overmuch, if she was ever interested in marriage. But a titled man? No. Helena didn’t go down easy, however. ‘Taunton isn’t much for town. He’s only up a few weeks a year to look after paperwork. He much prefers country life at the family seat.’
‘He’s inherited the title now, that’s bound to change whether he wills it or not.’ Sofia turned aside Helena’s subtle riposte.
‘Taunton is a man not easily swayed in his convictions.’
A knock at the door interrupted whatever offensive manoeuvre Helena was mounting. ‘Guests are arriving, my lady,’ a footman informed through the door.
Helena gave her appearance a final look. ‘It’s sure to be a girl this time. I’m carrying high, unlike the boys, and I’m so much bigger than usual for six months.’ She held out a hand to Sofia. ‘It’s the very last of the wedding festivities and my last outing for a while. After tonight, I’ll shall be too large to escape notice. Please come, dear friend.’ She gave a soft, irresistible smile. ‘You and I have nothing to lose, not when we stand together.’
Sofia felt her resolve weaken. She’d never been able to refuse Helena anything. ‘All right, I’ll come for just a bit. Let me fix my hair and put my necklace on.’ She would go and support Helena against the gossips who were bound to say she should have retired from society weeks ago. And why not? If she’d meant to baulk, she should have baulked far sooner than this. She’d let things get out of hand. She should not have accepted Helena’s invitation to play the companion during the weeks leading up to the wedding, to attend the wedding, to stay with the family and now to dance at the honeymoon ball before Ferris and his bride set sail for a few months in the Greek isles.
Helena smiled her victory. ‘Try to have a good time tonight.’ Sofia fastened the necklace, hearing the unspoken message. It was the last thing Helena could do for her for quite some time. She should make the most of it before she returned to the anonymity of her Chelsea row house and its middle-class neighbours. She’d not been home in a while and she missed it. No one in Chelsea really knew who she was and they didn’t care. She’d found a bit of happiness there, rebuilding and reshaping her life. She had her work behind the façade of Barnham and she had the charity work allotted to women as well. She helped at the orphanage and at a small school. It was a start towards her larger dreams.
Ready at last, Sofia looped her arm through Helena’s and leaned close as they headed out on to the landing. ‘You’ve been the very best of fairy godmothers to me, Helena, and I do know it.’
But tonight at midnight, the fairy tale of belonging to Cowden’s exclusive world would end. She’d always known it would. Like so much else, it had been an illusion only and a thin one at that. There’d been no illusion about the reception she’d receive and she’d not been wrong. The only surprise had been her reaction to Taunton. But she had herself well in hand and he would not sneak past her guard again with his looks or with his kindnesses.
He had to stop being surprised by her beauty. Conall had seen her three times now, twice in a crowd with plenty to distract, yet he’d failed to be distracted. Each time she took his breath away. Even here, amid the sumptuous glitter of the Cowden ballroom, surrounded by London’s most beautiful women and a most elegant setting, she claimed all his attention the moment she entered the ballroom, her arm tucked through Helena’s. ‘Stunning,’ Conall murmured, hardly aware he’d spoken aloud until Frederick chuckled beside him.
‘Yes, indeed. I didn’t think Helena would persuade her.’ Frederick leaned against the satin-swathed pillar and joined him in watching the two women across the room, his gaze riveted on his wife.
Conall cleared his throat to cover his slip. ‘Yes, of course, an absolute coup on Helena’s part,’ he said rather too enthusiastically.
Frederick wasn’t fooled. ‘Oh, you mean her, as in “Sofia is stunning”. Hmm,’ Frederick mused, a studied eye fixed on him before returning to peruse Sofia’s blue ball gown. ‘Yes, I suppose she is if you like the blonde, dazzling sort.’ He laughed good-naturedly. ‘And do you? Do you like the blonde, dazzling sort?’ Frederick relieved a passing footman of two glasses of champagne. He handed Conall one. ‘Cheers, old chap. It was good to have you here this week. We don’t see enough of you.’ He nodded to the two women making their way towards them. ‘Do you think that might change?’
‘I’ll have my father’s seat in the House of Lords to look after,’ Conall replied, obliquely pushing aside Frederick’s none-too-subtle fishing expedition.
‘That’s not what I meant.’ Frederick sipped at his champagne thoughtfully before adding, ‘She doesn’t care for town much either.’ Frederick slanted him a look and it occurred to Conall that Frederick could easily oblige him on the account of solving the mysteries of the Marchesa di Cremona. It was certainly a temptation to take the easy route and one he could justify on the basis of the potential of doing business with her. There would be instant gratification, but such a temptation had the reek of gossip about it. Conall had always believed if one wanted to know another, one should ask that person instead of gathering information from secondary sources, even sources as reliable as Cowden’s heir.
Conall took a swallow of his champagne. ‘It’s purely business.’
‘It’s all business right now.’ Frederick finished the rest of his drink and passed off his glass. ‘You could change that, to the benefit of you both. I think she’s a person very much alone in the world, not unlike yourself,’ Frederick said pointedly. ‘Your father’s death has changed you. You’ve set yourself apart.’
Conall shook his head. ‘I am not alone. Besides, I have my family: Mother, Cecilia and Freddie.’
‘Again, that’s not what I meant.’ Frederick raised an eyebrow. ‘We are