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‘Sophie!’
Sophie ceased her shoe buffing as Posy hurried into her mother’s room to find her. She immediately jumped to her feet. What had happened? Had she left a speck of dust of one of the Penwood spoons? Was she going to be berated by Araminta later for not finishing the spoons, despite pulling her away from the task to make a start on polishing and restitching hers and Rosamund’s shoe collection?
‘There is a gentleman caller –’ panted Posy.
A gentleman? For her? Why would any gentleman be calling on a maid?
If I cannot know your name or where your live… how ever am I meant to call on you tomorrow?
Could it be? Had he found her? Had he seen the Penwood crest inside the other glove? Is that why he was here to call on –
‘For me!’ Posy squealed happily, bouncing on the balls of her feet, excited as a child about to receive her first piece of cake – and before Rosamund, too. ‘I’m being called on! I have a suitor!’
Sophie smiled to disguise her disappointment that it was not Benedict Bridgerton calling on her. But she was no less pleased for Posy. All of Araminta’s favouring Rosamund, and Posy was the one to receive a caller first and not her big sister. Whoever it was must have discerning taste.
‘That is marvellous,’ said Sophie. ‘Let us tidy your hair so that he can see how beautiful you are.’
‘All right.’
Ten minutes later, the two stepsisters were approaching the drawing room and the unknown caller. Though initially keen as mustard, Posy’s strides grew slower, and her posture tenser, her confidence wavering. Sophie understood her hesitation and could guess her fears. It would not be the first time Rosamund had set Posy up to make her a fool. The day they had arrived at Penwood House, Rosamund had pinched her sister to make her cry so that she would look like the perfect princess, the daughter he never had.
What if they had made a mistake and had really asked for Rosamund as some cruel jest from her older sister? What if she made a fool of herself with Araminta and Rosamund there as chaperone and critic? And when she inevitably blundered would Araminta try and push her suitor towards Rosamund? Was there a gentleman richer, handsome, and more eligible on the marriage market than Benedict Bridgerton? What if the gentleman didn’t like her? She had been known to ramble on.
Posy looked anxiously to Sophie.
‘Breathe,’ Sophie told her calmly.
Posy took a deep steadying breathe and exhaled her fears and doubts. She smiled, a little of her giddy excitement coming back and stepped into the drawing room to meet her suitor, and potential future husband.
‘How do you do?’
Sophie had just started walking away to return to her task of pointlessly polishing a thousand shoes when she heard the voice of Posy’s gentleman caller respond:
‘It is a pleasure to meet you.’
Benedict Bridgerton!
Sophie moved carefully back to the drawing room door, which Posy had left ajar, and peered through the gap. Araminta and Rosamund were seated at the little table, Araminta watching this unlikely pair like a hawk to ensure that Posy didn’t embarrass them, and Rosamund crossed-armed and sulky, wishing that she was the one on the settee opposite Benedict Bridgerton being engaged in conversation that – given her way – would’ve had her engaged by teatime.
He was even more handsome and charismatic without his mask, listening intently to Posy – really listening; no glazed expression or panicked eyes, like a man wrestling with fight or flight instincts. Even his smile was genuine. And why not? Posy was perhaps a little overenthusiastic, but she was certainly a far cry from the “other young ladies” who would talk about their accomplishments, how many children they wanted and pretend to laugh at his jokes, rather than recount her dreams of performing on stage with hands for feet and feet for hands to the laughing audience that had since discouraged her from ever attending theatre again. Her originality was certain to engage his interest.
‘That is enough, Posy,’ cut in Araminta, her tone as motherly as a governess. ‘Mr Bridgerton is not interested in your dreams.’
Sophie saw the back of Posy’s head bow in shame and embarrassment, her shoulders slumped, her smile assuredly snuffed out like a candle.
Having four younger sisters with different interests, and witnessing Portia Featherington treat his new sister-in-law, Penelope, in such a confidence crushing manner over the years, Benedict set aside his cup of tea, his eyes barely leaving Posy’s crestfallen face as he hastened to reassure her, before her sunny demeanour could be eclipsed by the dark cloud of conformity. He would never hear the end of it from Eloise.
‘I am interested,’ Benedict insisted, surprising Posy. ‘Your dreams are certainly more inventive than any play I’ve seen.’
Posy beamed at him.
Sophie looked on, falling more in love with Mr Bridgerton by his display of kindness, even if it tore at her heart. She sensed rather than saw Alfie appear beside her to see what was happening. She felt him take her hand and she squeezed it.
‘He’s looking for you,’ Alfie whispered smugly.
Sophie shook her head sadly. ‘He asked for Posy.’
Benedict had leaned in towards Posy as she talked about Sophie hardly knew what that had him riveted; all she could focus on was him.
‘Look how kind his is to her.’
Sophie hadn’t believed in fairy tales since she was a little girl, and yet there her Prince Charming sat mere feet away from her. So close and yet so far away.
‘He’s there. Right there in the drawing room.’
‘Go in there,’ encouraged Alfie. ‘Perhaps he will recognise you.’
‘He will not. It was one night. A moment. He does not even know what I look like.’
‘Then tell him.’
Sophie looked as shocked as if he had asked her to declare herself Queen. ‘What?’
‘Go in there and tell him who you are.’ Alfie took both her hands in his. ‘This your chance, Sophie.’
‘Lady Penwood…’ Sophie protested feebly. Araminta would throw her out before she could open her mouth to make any excuse for her interruption. Benedict wouldn’t look twice at her. She was only a maid. Servants were invisible. The maid who had refilled his cup of tea hadn’t even received a glance in her direction. She may as well be part of the furniture.
‘Once he sees you, once you tell him, Lady Penwood will not signify,’ Alfie argued.
Sophie looked at Benedict. He had seen her in a crowd of masks and had been quick to intervene to rescue her from dull Lord Napier just to get an introduction from her. Sophie reached for the doorhandle, but froze, her fingertips inches from the metal.
‘He could be here for any reason, not for me.’
Why was she trying to talk herself out of it? Why must she always try to convince herself that she didn’t deserve it?
Because her own father had proved that she wasn’t worth it when he had left her out of his will. Because her stepmother had proved from the first five seconds of meeting her that no one could love a bastard. Because love and happiness, just like her one glorious night at the masquerade ball, could not last forever. She could not bear to have all her hopes crushed again.
Alfie looked close to tears. ‘He is clearly looking for you,’ he said without a shadow of a doubt. ‘Go in there.’
Sophie wanted to go in there. Every part in her body was screaming to be released from its cage. But then she remembered she was a bastard. A lord’s bastard, but a bastard regardless. An error. No mother would want their son to marry a servant of illegitimate parentage. She couldn’t shatter his dream of the Silver Ingenue, the same as her illusion of her father’s love was shattered.
Sophie took her hand away from the door to a world she could never be a part of.
‘He does not want to find me. He wants to find the lady in the silver gown. And she is not real.’
With one last look at Mr Bridgerton asking Posy to tell him more about herself, Sophie turned away.
‘I have work to do.’
For the first time since he had entered Penwood House, Benedict’s eyes wandered to the door but saw no one but the dark outer hall beyond. But Alfie, hidden behind the door, had seen. As polite and considerate as he was to Miss Posy, part of him knew that she could not be the Lady in Silver. His soul was searching for its soulmate.
Desperate time called for desperate measures.
‘Does that imagination come out in other ways?’ Benedict was saying. ‘In, uh… Well… dressing up, perhaps?’
‘I love dressing up,’ said Posy animatedly. ‘One time when I was a child –’
‘Before we hear more about that,’ Benedict interrupted her before she galloped on, but assuring her that they would circle back to that topic, ‘I would love to hear about the costume you wore for the masquerade.’
‘She was a mermaid,’ said Rosamund in a bored voice indicating that they could’ve saved themselves all this whole mind-numbing conversation if he had just opened with that.
‘Ah. So, you were not wearing silver?’ Benedict noticed Araminta sit up even straighter, her attention caught, and quickly tried to cover his tracks with his line of inquiry, ‘Or purple, perhaps?’
‘No, but I wanted to,’ said Posy. ‘Silver and purple for the scales. But I was told no tail.’
‘Did someone in silver catch your eye at the masquerade?’ Araminta asked curiously.
‘Oh…’ Benedict doing his upmost to sound casual. The last thing he needed was for word to spread he was looking for a woman who wore silver. The dam of debutantes would burst with ladies of all shapes and sizes and social standings claiming it was them. Never mind looking for a needle in a haystack, he’d been looking for a piece of hay in a forest of nails all trying to look like a piece of hay. ‘I talked to so many people that night. Swans, wood nymphs, Queen Anne, bowls of fruit… I am simply trying to recall who is who.’
Araminta was satisfied as she was amused. ‘Of course.’
Benedict chuckled nervously. ‘So, you two are sisters…?’ he asked Posy and Rosamund, the latter leaning forward, hoping to finally engage him in conversation and use her wiles to charm him, while Benedict was trying to be absolutely certain that the woman he sort wasn’t in or had ever been in Penwood house. The sisters wore the wrong costumes and, unless she was a very good actress with a talent for changing appearance and nature, it was most certainly not Lady Penwood herself. ‘Do you have any cousins or friends of the family who have been staying here? It is always so nice to have company.’
‘It is only us,’ said Araminta, ‘and that is all we need.’
‘Of course.’
But Posy was slowly piecing it all together. Mr Bridgerton came to Penwood House for a reason. If he was not here to court Rosamund and if she herself wasn’t the person he thought she was, then that would mean…
‘It is not just us,’ she said.
‘Posy!’ snapped Araminta.
‘Really?’ said Benedict eagerly.
‘There is no one else!’
‘Yes, there is, Mother. We do not make our own tea. We do not do our own hair. Or dress ourselves. Or polish shoes we’ve never worn.’
‘I’m sorry?’ said Benedict, not sure he was following this.
‘She means the servants,’ said Rosamund. ‘They are not family, Posy.’
‘But they are people. We couldn’t manage without them. The Queen has 142 maids and manservants, They make our privileged world go round. Society without servants? England would fall.’
‘Well said,’ said Benedict.
‘Forgive me. I have lost myself. Mama says it is not polite for a lady to ramble on.’
‘I think you should ramble on a bit more. I believe you have more to offer than anyone in the ton knows.’
‘That servants could ever be society’s equal?’ scoffed Rosamund. ‘Don’t be stupid, Posy. They know their place and should have the good sense not to quit the sphere where they belong.’
That was it. Alfie stooped beside a cabinet and opened the door. He had anticipated that Sophie would backdown, and so had come prepared –
‘Meow?’
‘Out you come, Luci,’ cooed Alfie, making kissing noises.
‘What’re you doing?’ Sophie hissed, hurrying back down the stairs.
Lucifer, the fluffy grey Persian, was Posy’s cat – or rather her secret cat that she had found abandoned in an alley. Her mother never allowed animals that weren’t stuffed to set foot in the house. Luficer was usually hidden in the kitchens where Araminta wouldn’t see, and earned his keep with Imra by eating the mice. Not only was Alfie about to get Posy in trouble, he might ruin her chances with Mr Bridgerton. If he had to choose a daughter of the Penwoods, better someone kind like Posy, then cruel like Rosamund.
‘Letting the cat out of the bag,’ said Alfie, holding Lucifer in his arms.
Before Sophie could stop him, Alfie set Lucifer loose as he streaked into the parlour with a jingle of his collar bell. The cat leapt onto the table, startling Araminta and Rosamund as badly as if an oversized rat had just dropped worse than hairs on their tablecloth, before hopping down and winding itself in and out of a shocked Posy’s legs. She looked worriedly at Mr Bridgerton to see what his reaction would be, but Benedict laughed, smiling broadly at Lucifer as the cat trotted over to greet him.
‘Well, hello there,’ he said as Luficer reared onto its hindlegs to put its front paws on Benedict’s thigh with an endearing ‘mew’ that rewarded him a scratch behind the ears. Benedict pulled him up into his lap and gave him a stroke, provoking a pleasurable pur from Lucifer. ‘And who’s this handsome devil?’
‘Lucifer,’ said Posy faintly.
‘Well! Right off the bat.’
‘Though I’ve tried to change it by calling him Luci. Despite his given name, he’s an angel, really.’
‘Takes after its owner.’
‘Posy,’ said Araminta, his voice hard as nails. ‘What is the meaning of this?’
‘Well, I believe it’s called a cat, Lady Penwood,’ quipped Benedict. ‘And a purebred.’
‘The Penwood’s do not have pets. We have never had pets. And we are not going to start now. So what is this creature doing in my house, Posy?’
‘I… I…’ Posy stammered, looking like a goldfish gulping for air.
‘Lost for words, are we? That’s a first. Is it too hard a question? Or are you actually stupid? A simple one then: why must you always be such a disappointment to me?’
Posy looked close to tears, her cheeks flushed. Lucifer squirmed in Mr Bridgerton’s arms. Benedict released him to allow the cat to leap into Posy’s lap to comfort her, where she promtly cuddled him as Hyacinth used to clutch her teddy bear.
‘You’re being awfully harsh, Lady Penwood,’ he said, frowning at her lack of compassion. ‘I’m sure she meant no harm.’
‘I’m her mother, Mr Bridgerton. And I shall decide how harsh or otherwise to treat my daughters. You will understand when you have children of your own.’
‘I have seven brothers and sisters. And a mother who was harsh when necessary, and loved us for who we are; flaws, peculiarities and passions. How you have managed to raise someone as sweet, kind and unique as Miss Posy, I cannot fathom. Since I have entered this house, I have not heard one single positive thing about Posy – or to Posy – my entire visit. Do you realise that?’
‘Your concern is touching. But Posy understands, as Rosamund does, that everything I do is out of love.’
‘Oh, I think it’s very clear where all your love is bestowed and who is left wanting.’
Lady Penwood’s eyes narrowed. ‘You will be taking your leave, then?’
‘I think it’ll be best. Thank you for your warmth and hospitality,’ said Benedict cooly. He offered his hand to Posy, who took it, rising to her feet. ‘Thank you, Miss Posy. This has certainly been the most sintilating tea I have ever had. You have a good heart. Don’t ever lose that.’
He kissed her hand and Posy curtsied.
‘Lucifer.’
He shook his paw, like a fellow gentleman, inducing a weak smile from Posy at his whimsy.
‘You are certain you do not wish to become acquainted with my daughter, Rosamund, Mr Bridgerton?’ prompted Araminta.
Rosamund stood up in eagerness. Sophie was surpised she didn’t fling herself at him.
‘Please accept my deepest apologies, Miss Rosamund,’ said Benedict, looking faintly ill at the idea. ‘The first time on Rotten Row was a mistake. A second would be complete torture. Spare yourself.’
That wiped the smile off Rosamund’s face.
‘Regardless, I hope you find happiness.’
‘I do not care about being happy. I care about being a Bridgerton!’ stomped Rosamund, like the spoiled child that she was.
‘Then in disappointment we are perfectly matched.’
There was the unmistakable sound of cloth tearing. Lucifer had wriggled free of Posy’s arms and had run his sharp claws through Araminta’s black mourning dress like a pair of curtains, ripping a hole in it.
‘My dress, you evil –’
Lucifer hissed at her, his fur sticking up on end.
‘You!’ Araminta turned on Posy who had brought this vicious beast into her home. ‘No more balls! No more soirees! No more promenarde! No dowry! How dare you bring this monster into my –’
‘It was me!’ Sophie burst into the drawing room. ‘Lucifer’s mine! He belongs to me! Posy was just covering for me.’
Time seemed frozen as everyone stared at Sophie, momentarily stunned by her sudden interuption.
‘I thought you said there were no other relatives were staying with you?’ said Benedict, noting her Asian decent. And there was a striking resemblance of the late Lord Penwood in her face. And something… familiar.
‘She is no relation of ours,’ said Araminta contemptuously. ‘She is our former maid.’
Sophie knew she would be dismissed, but in her rush of adrenaline she couldn’t begin to care about anything than rescuing Posy.
‘How did you think you could keep this from me? Did you think I wouldn’t notice?’
‘Well, you’ve never noticed before. And Lucifer’s been here for two years,’ said Sophie calmly.
SMACK!
Araminta had struck Sophie across the face.
‘Lady Penwood!’ shouted Benedict.
‘You dare answer back to me, you wretch! Am I not mistress of this house?’
‘The new Lord Penwood is master of this house. And when he marries, his new wife will be mistress of this house –’
SMACK!
Sophie hit the floor under Araminta’s second strike.
‘Mother, please, stop!’ cried Posy.
Alfie and Imra burst in.
‘The first one forward will be the first one dismissed without reference. And the other will follow. You will never work in Mayfair again.’
It was only Sophie’s shake of the head that held her friends back from unemployment. Or prison judging by how angry Alfie looked.
‘You forget yourself,’ Araminta whispered to Sophie, staring at her like she was dirt on her shoe. ‘And your place. I gave you protection all these years, and this is how you repay me?’
‘You made me a slave in my own home.’
‘This was never your home! You are a mistake that should’ve died at birth!’
Araminta raised her hand again, only to have her wrist seized and twisted by a furious Benedict. Her sadism put Lord Cavender to shame.
‘That is enough!’
‘How dare – Unhand me, sir! I am a countess!’
Give or take a few letters.
‘She is only a maid!’
At this Benedict Bridgerton flew into a passion. ‘APOLOGISE TO HER!’ he bellowed.
For the first time Araminta showed true fear. ‘I… I apologise,’ she whispered, her words directed at Mr Bridgerton, not to Sophie.
‘Treat anyone, whatever their rank, in such a manner ever again,’ said Benedict in a deadly voice, ‘and I will personally ensure you never return to society.’
Araminta shook her head. Benedict released her. Then he turned to Sophie, who was touching her inflamed cheek.
‘Are you all right?’ Benedict offered her his hand.
Sophie nodded, her eyes on the ground as she took it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. She felt Benedict feeling her hand with his, the unconscious memory of having held it before.
‘What is your name?’
‘Nobody important,’ said Rosamund, filling in for her mother’s disain for Sophie while she was still in shock from Benedict’s restraint.
‘Really? Well then, I must have an introduction. I do not think I have ever met anyone who was not important,’ said Benedict, half glancing at Posy. ‘But clearly she must be important to provoke such ire in you both.’
‘Sophie Baek, Mr Birdgerton,’ said Sophie demurly.
‘Benedict.’
Sophie looked up in surprise that he should drop formalities within two minutes of meeting (to him) a stranger. And a maid. Even Benedict was surprised at himself to insist on first name basis. Then he realised he had not introduced himself to her as Mr Bridgerton. So how did she know his name?
You are just as Whistledown describes, both in appearance and nature.
‘You were dismissed, Sophie,’ said Rosamund imperiously. ‘Leave. And take your mangey cat with you. And never darken our doorstep again.’
Lucifer climbed up onto Sophie’s shoulders, his fluffy tail curling round her head, covering her eyes and half her face.
Benedict’s heart lurched, his eyes focused on Sophie’s lips; her small mouth, raised in a small amsued smile as she attempted to push Lucifer’s tail away. He knew that smile. He had dreamed of that smile. He had almost started to forget the shape.
‘Have we met?’ asked Benedict.
‘How can we, Sir? I am only a maid. We do not swim in the same waters.’
Sometimes it is easier to stay in shallow water.
‘Presently, you are no one’s maid. Will you not wade out deeper with me?’
Slowly, Sophie lowered Lucifer’s fluffy tail and found herself hypnotised by his soulful green eyes, gazing at her intently. She didn’t even feel the cat leap into Posy’s arms.
‘Who are you?’
‘Who do you want me to be?’ said Sophie.
‘Who you really are.’
Sophie’s eyes prickled. ‘What if who I really am isn’t enough?’
‘Can I not decide that for myself?’
‘I’m a maid.’
Benedict shrugged as if her lower station was of no consequence to him. ‘I’m the spare. What has that to do with anything?’
‘It is not only that. I –’
‘She’s a bastard!’ shouted Rosamund. ‘She’s the child of a whore!’
‘Her father was Lord Penwood,’ piped up Posy. ‘Richard Gun.’
‘Posy!’
‘Sophie was Lord Penwood’s ward, right up until his death. Before Mother made her live as a servant. She is of noble blood.’
‘Half noble – she’ll still be a disgrace! You deserve to be with me!’
‘I deserve to be with the woman I love,’ siad Benedict coldly. ‘I will settle for no one less. And if I hear another offensive word from you, Miss Rosamund, I’ll make your Mary Antoinette costume more historically accurate.’
Rosamund held her tongue, less she lost her head.
‘Love?’ whispered Sophie. He couldn’t love her. He didn’t even know her. It was calf love, not True Love.
‘I fell in love with the woman behind the mask. And, unless I’m completely mad, I think she did too. I’ve been to six balls, seven soirees and have made trenches promonarding up and down Rotten Row trying to find her. Do you think I would do that if I thought she was unworthy? The real question is… am I worthy of her? Am I sophie? Do you think she could she love me?’
‘She would be a fool not to,’ said Sophie.
‘You know of whom I speak?’
Sophie nodded. ‘The lady in the silver gown.’
‘She was listening at the door!’ screamed Rosamund, finding her voice again. She would not have Sophie steal her prize. ‘She must’ve heard you saying it to Posy!’
‘The silver ingenue,’ Sophie added.
Benedict’s eyes lit up hopefully. He absolutely hadn’t mentioned that in front of the Penwoods. ‘And my character?’
‘Her dance instructor.’
‘Where was this?’
‘The private terrace.’
Sophie bowed. Benedict bowed automatically in return. She took his hands, closed her eyes and boxstepped with a spellbound Mr Bridgerton in circles in the middle of the parlour. She never thought she would dance with him again. Not in the waking world. Every night she would replay that moment on the terrace in her mind until it slipped into her dreams.
‘One, two, three…’ she muttered as they waltzed, trying to boost the memory of his touch, his smell, how he made her heart race. ‘One, two, three… One, two, three… One, t-two…’
Sophie’s throat tightened as she stopped, still with her eyes closed. She never wanted this moment to end. Not again.
‘Look at me,’ said Benedict’s voice quietly.
‘I cannot.’
‘Please.’
‘If I open my eyes this will all be a dream. And you’ll be gone.’
She felt him remove his hand from her back to lift up her chin, tilting her face towards him. ‘Open your eyes. I’m here. This is real.’
Sophie opened her wet eyes and found Benedict’s watery own looking back into hers, looking as if he had found the Holy Grail.
‘I’ve found you.’
‘She’s lying!’ said Rosamund. ‘She cannot dress like a proper lady! She doesn’t even own a frock! Unless she’s a thief – Yes! She’s a theif! She stole from us!’
Alfie stepped forward, holding the silver mask. ‘I can attest, Sir, that the silver dress belonged to the late Lord Penwood’s sister. I retrieved it myself from the attic. With shoes to match. Just as I finished the sewing on the mask Sophie spent two hours making for Miss Rosamund.’
‘I did her makeup,’ said Imra.
Sophie pulled the silver glove out of her apron pocket and showed Benedict the Penwood crest and her grandmother’s initials inside.
Benedict smiled. ‘You know the best thing about gloves?’ He pulled out the other glove from his jacket pocket. ‘They come as a pair.’
There was no denying it was Sophie now.
‘You wore my shoes,’ said Araminta, her worst fears realised. ‘That scuff on the heel. You marked them – You went to the ball in my shoes!’
‘And had a glorious evening,’ said Sophie boldly. ‘You never wore them anyway.’ She was already dismissed and Benedict had just told her he loved her. What more could they do to her?
‘Lady Penwood, I believe our business here is finished,’ said Benedict. ‘Am I to assume that your daughter is no longer welcome in your house?’
‘She is no daughter of mine! Take her, then! And may the Ton spurn you and your family like a pack of rabid dogs!’
‘Beautifully put, Countess. But I was refering to Miss Posy.’ Benedict turned to his future stepsister-in-law. ‘Miss Posy, we are due to quit london at the end of the season. Would you do us the honour of accompanying us for an extended stay in Kent. The gentlemen there are most agreeable. And I believe Lord Barnaby will be quitting for Kent, also.’
‘This is ridiculous! Posy! Mr Bridgerton and his mistress want to take you away from your home and your family and see you married to the likes of bumbling Barnaby! What do you say?’
Posy looked from her mother and Rosamund to Mr Bridgerton and her sister. ‘Can I bring Luci?’
‘Raow?’ mewed Lucifer at the mention of his name.
Benedict grinned. ‘Hyacinth will be devestated if you didn’t. And I hear Eloise has become fond of talking to animals of late.’
‘Posy,’ said Araminta sternly. ‘If you walk out of this house now, do not ever come back. And if you do, I suggest you bring a bucket. Because the only way I will be letting you back into this house is to clean out the comodes. Go then. At least I have your sister.’
‘Goodbye Mama,’ said Posy, before moving to stand with Sophie, who hugged her..
‘Bring all you wish to take with you,’ said Benedict. ‘We leave in ten minutes. Footman –’
‘Alfie,’ prompted Sophie. ‘And Imra.’
‘Alfred. As I suspect you, Imra, and any of the other servants who favour my fiancée will be facing a redundancy issue in the next few moments, might I invite you to join us at Bridgerton House? I’m sure we can find you all employment at any one of our properties.’
‘It would be an honour, Mr Bridgerton,’ said Alfie.
‘You are most kind, Sir,’ said Imra.
Araminta glared at Sophie. Because of her she had lost her daughter, her staff and she had ruined Rosamund’s prospects at a advantageous match. ‘Feel better now?’
‘No.’ Sophie let go of Posy, squared up to her stepmother and planted her fist squarelyinto her left eye, sending her sprawling. ‘Better now. That is for not loving your daughters equally. You’re an evil witch –’ Give or take a letter. To Rosamund she said, ‘And you’re a spoilt cow. There’s a special place in hell for mother-child dyads like you.’
Ten minutes later Sophie, Posy with Lucifer on a lead, Alfie and Imra were packed and leaving Penwood House with Benedict Bridgerton bound for their new life on Grosvenor Square. Sophie saw Posy tucking an official looking piece of paper in her bag.
‘What is that?’ asked Sophie. ‘Is that father’s will?’
Posy blushed at her theft. ‘Best to open it inside. Mother will skin us if she knew I’d been in her jewellery box.’
Sophie looked up at Bridgerton House. What future awaited her in there?
‘Everything all right?’ asked Benedict. ‘Sophie? Are you well?’
‘I do not know what I’m feeling,’ Sophie confessed. ‘It all feels too good to be true. What if your mother doesn’t approve of me?’
‘She’s already accepted a former rake, a retired spinster, and a gossip writer into her bosom. Why should a maid be any different?’
‘I’m illegitamate.’
‘You’re the daughter of a nobleman.’
‘Lady Penwood will spread the story faster than Whistledown. She’ll ruin your family.’
‘Our family has endured worse scandals, as you’ve well read. And we’re more popular than the Penwoods. Mother will love you. How can anyone not? You’ve convinced her second eldest son to want to marry – she’d marry you herself with gratitude.’
‘Ought we not get to know each other better before declaring we are engaged? It was one night. One moment.’
‘Sometimes it takes a moment to change everything. And I’m very much looking forward to getting to know the lady behind the mask.’
‘Mr Bridgerton –’
‘Benedict,’ Benedict corrected her again. ‘We’re past the formalities.’ Then he registered her nervousness. ‘What is it?’ he said gently.
‘Seven years I’ve served as a maid in my own home. I’ve never entered into high society until the masquerade ball. Now my mask is off… What if I do not fit in?’
‘Fit in? If you fit in, you would never have stood out. If anyone’s a bumbling bunch of oddballs, it’s the Bridgertons. Now, if we had a second chance of that moment on the terrace, what would you choose?’
Sophie smiled. ‘For this moment to last forever.’
‘Me too. Shall we?’
‘Benedict.’
Benedict looked back.
‘Thank you. For rescuing me.’
‘You rescued yourself. You and that excellent strong arm. Such a lethal weapon in your arsenal, Mr Mondrich had better watch out.’
Benedict held out the crook of his arm and Sophie looped hers through it.
‘Let us face it all together.’