Carroll cast a quick, speculative glance at Patrick Foakes. Of course, the entire household knew of Foakes’s earlier proposal to Lady Sophie, the one she’d rejected. The whole household also knew that Lady Sophie’s engagement to the Earl of Slaslow had just been celebrated. So what was Foakes doing in the house?

Sophie came down the staircase slowly, trailing her hand on the railing. She was wearing a remarkably demure morning gown with a high neckline trimmed with two rows of fabric roses. In fact, she had worn the dress only once before and then discarded it as too dowdy for words. But this morning, visited by tidal waves of embarrassment, her aim was to show Patrick—and her father!—that she was not one of the muslin company, even though she had acted like one the night before.

For the fortieth time that morning, a wash of rosy color swirled in Sophie’s cheeks. Could she even enter the library? What must her father think of her? Her stomach roiled with nerves. But there was no stopping time, no matter how slowly she descended the stairs. Carroll again opened the library doors. There stood her father.

Reluctantly she met his eyes, and what she saw gave her some courage. George didn’t look as if he was about to throw her out of the house.

“Sophie,” he said gruffly. “It seems you are going to marry Patrick Foakes rather than the Earl of Slaslow.”

She lowered her eyes, her cheeks stained raspberry. “Yes, Papa,” she whispered.

“We’ll have to figure out something to tell your mama.” George sighed. “I won’t have her know the truth, as I’ve just been telling Foakes. She’d vex herself to death over it.”

“Yes, Papa.” Sophie’s throat felt tight.

“Well, I’ll leave you,” George mumbled. “Not for long, mind!” His voice erupted into something of a roar as he met his future son-in-law’s amused eyes. Did nothing overset that fellow? Here he had one eye practically swollen shut, and a distinct bruise forming along his jaw as well, and still Patrick Foakes looked like a buck of the first cut. It was dashed annoying. George got himself out of the room, practically choking with irritation.

Sophie took a deep breath but was too embarrassed to raise her eyes. She heard Patrick walking toward her. When he stopped she could see his boots just before her.

“You look quite lovely this morning, Sophie. A new Sophie, in fact, a modest, bashful …” Patrick let the words trail off suggestively.

Sure enough, Sophie lifted her head and her eyes flashed dangerously. “Don’t make fun of me!”

Patrick’s large hand cupped her chin. “Why not? We won’t be able to survive marriage without making fun of each other, love.”

Just then Sophie realized what she was looking at. “What happened, Patrick?” She reached out and delicately touched the dark swelling around his eye.