“My weapon,” Vic corrected.

Sophia raised her eyebrows just a tick.

“She gave the rapier to me on her deathbed.”

“A passing of the torch?”

Vic shrugged. “She told me to remember where I came from when it was my turn to assume the title.”

“But she knew you couldn’t inherit on your own.”

“She believed I’d be the next modern duchess. She thought I could . . . It doesn’t matter. I hadn’t come out yet. She didn’t know the real me.”

“Vic, she knew you.” Sophia cupped her chin in her hand and turned her face away from the sword until their eyes met. “She knew your character when she handed you that sword. It’s your birthright, and you have every right to use it against anyone who tries to take it from you.”

She managed a strangled laugh around the lump of emotion forming in her throat. “You tried to take it from me.”

Sophia’s expression turned coy once more. “And I learned my lesson. I swear on a stack of Bibles never to come between you and that sword or anything it implies ever again.”

Her mouth went dry and her head swam at the myriad of implications in that statement, but before she could pick any single one to try to parse out, the door to the library opened, and a page stuck her head out.

“Ms. LeBlanc, we’re ready for you.”

Sophia’s smile turned to a grimace.

“Go,” Vic said, her voice soft but clearer than she feared. “I’ll be right in.”

“Vic?”

“You heard the woman. They’re ready for you.” Vic regained enough of her composure to be convincing before silently adding that she couldn’t yet claim the same.

••••

“That’s a wrap.” The words still echoed through Sophia’s ears with the same emotions they’d sparked nearly an hour ago. Relief at being done with Brian and his bullshit angles and condescending notes mingled with the burn of knowing deep down that he hadn’t gotten the right shot. Would he even notice, in which case she’d be right back in that cripplingly heavy dress tomorrow, or would he simply run with a substandard cut? Neither option offered her anything to feel good about, and as much as she’d been looking forward to the bubble bath Vic promised, she wanted to slip into those suds with a clear mind and conscience.

Instead she’d stewed all the way through their post-production meeting, and the scheduling meeting, and the long, arduous process of stripping off her elaborate wardrobe and heavy makeup. The shift lifted the physical burden from her skin and shoulders but did nothing to lift the mental weight she carried back into the residence with her.