“Oh, Sophie, that is so wonderful!” Charlotte crowed. “Braddon wasn’t intelligent enough for you. He would never have understood you, and in his own way he is quite strict in his notions, you know. You would have scandalized and terrified him at once. He is a very nice man, of course, but not the right one for you.”

“And who is the right one?” Sophie’s eyes were full of mischief.

Charlotte was prudently silent. If Sophie didn’t want to marry her brother-in-law, that was all there was to it. Never mind that they were perfectly suited to each other, at least to Charlotte’s mind.

“Oh dear,” Sophie said with mock lamentation. “I’m afraid you won’t approve of my new betrothed.”

“Your new betrothed!”

“You couldn’t possibly think that the most talked-about woman in all of London—at least since you’ve become so domestic and stopped making scandals—would settle for being unengaged for a whole twenty-four hours!” Sophie giggled as she danced tiny pirouettes around the sitting room. “Naturally I discarded Braddon only when I had a new applicant in hand.”

Charlotte wrinkled her nose. “Don’t, don’t be so cynical, Sophie! It isn’t like you at all, and I hate it when you put on the airs of a matron twice your age.”

Sophie stopped pirouetting and smiled, acknowledging Charlotte’s rebuke. “I don’t mean to be flippant,” she said, then stopped. It was so embarrassing to admit that she had agreed to marry Patrick after all her protests to the contrary.

So she flew over to Charlotte’s armchair and bent over Sarah. “Oh, look at Sarah’s little ear!”

There was a moment of silence as they both looked at Sarah’s fuzzy round head and Sophie traced a delicate caress with one finger.

But Charlotte looked up, frowning in mock admonishment. “Don’t try to change the subject, Sophie York! You tell me whom you have promised to marry.” Then she looked dismayed. “You didn’t accept Reginald Petersham, did you?”

Sophie laughed. “No. He’s an agreeable man, but the oddest creature! Any other suggestions?”

Charlotte pressed her lips together. She was not, not, going to bring up Patrick’s name again, given that Sophie had so firmly dismissed him as a possible candidate only a few nights before.

“What do you think of the Duke of Siskind?” Sophie asked impudently.

Charlotte looked aghast. “Oh, Sophie, you didn’t! Why, he’s ancient, and he has eight children!”

Sophie stroked Sarah’s head again. “But I love children, Charlotte,” she crooned, hiding her eyes so that Charlotte couldn’t see her merriment.

“No, no,” Charlotte moaned. “He must be sixty-five if he’s a day!”

“I didn’t accept him,” Sophie admitted. “I’d like to have my own children.” Child, she silently corrected herself. “Actually, I decided to take Patrick,” she said carelessly. “He seemed quite insistent.”