“Oh, no you don’t, Will,” Sophie said, seeing his intent. She nimbly turned out of his arms and pushed the heavy brocade curtain aside. “We had our kiss in Kensington, remember? Oh, surely you didn’t forget, Will?” She pouted slightly, her eyes glinting. Will’s groin tightened. He didn’t think he’d ever meet such an alluring pair of women as Charlotte and Sophie, this side of the demimonde, that is. Sophie twinkled at him, and slipped into the ballroom.

Lord Holland stood for a moment, braced against the balcony. If Charlotte and Sophie were so lovely, why did they jointly make him feel like such an idiot? And more important, how was he going to get one of them to marry him? He knew in the pit of his stomach that he had to have one of these girls. Even if they had been poor. But luckily they weren’t, he remembered cheerfully.

Sophie paused on the other side of the balcony curtain. Charlotte was just to her left, talking to her mama and a group of dowagers. Sophie smiled. Charlotte needed rescuing again. She drifted gracefully toward the group.

“Charlotte,” she said in dulcet tones.

“Excuse me, Mama,” replied her friend, turning gratefully toward Sophie.

“I feel a trifle déshabillé” Sophie complained, waving her fan before her perfectly arranged hair. “It’s so hot in here, don’t you think, Your Grace?” She smiled at Charlotte’s mother.

Adelaide smiled back in spite of herself. Sophie’s smile was entrancing, even though Adelaide wasn’t entirely pleased with Charlotte’s new friendship. She wasn’t quite sure why. Sophie was perhaps a trifle wild, but everyone knew that she would never really step beyond the bounds of propriety. It was just that she seemed so unlike her serious, nonfrivolous daughter. But then, what was her daughter like? In the last few weeks Charlotte had become the toast of London. From being someone who had received eight offers of marriage in three years, she received more than that last week alone.

“Oh, Sophie,” Charlotte laughingly chided. “You shouldn’t say you feel déshabillé: That means you’re only half dressed, doesn’t it, Mama?”

Adelaide nodded. That comment was just the kind of thing that made her wonder about Lady Sophie. She knew for a fact that Sophie’s French was flawless, given that her mother was French and she had had a French nanny. Whatever was the girl doing, suggesting she felt undressed? Really! Her sense of humor … it was a little outré, a little improper.

And Charlotte and Sophie went everywhere together now. The sight of Charlotte’s shining black curls bent close to Sophie’s strawberry-blond locks was common in Hyde Park; even more astonishing, Charlotte was actually painting Sophie: her first life portrait. Perhaps I am a little jealous, Adelaide thought.