Sophie grasped Fiona’s shoulders and met her gaze. “I’ll always be your friend. And I can continue working with you on the column and conducting my meetings for two more weeks. At next Friday’s meeting, I’ll announce that I’m stepping down as the chairperson and hope that one of our members will volunteer to continue in my stead.” She tried her best to sound matter-of-fact and optimistic, but she felt the same sense of foreboding as Fiona. Their friendship just wouldn’t be the same once she’d disassociated herself from the projects.

Sophie had no doubt that Fiona and Lily would continue to be warm and supportive and loyal toward her, but it saddened her to think that she’d no longer be involved in the day-to-day workings of the column or participate in their passionate, entertaining conversations.

Instead, she’d open up her copy of the London Hearsay at breakfast on Friday mornings and read the new edition just like every other young woman in the ton. And the thought depressed her terribly.

It seemed her impending marriage to Lord Singleton was already driving a wedge between her and her friends—and she wasn’t even officially engaged.

But that, like everything else, would soon change. In fact, she’d written to the marquess earlier that day and invited him to call on her tomorrow.

She’d procrastinated all week in the hopes that Reese would reach out to her in some way through a visit, a letter, or even a flower delivery. But he had not, which was probably for the best. It had made it easier to write the note to Lord Singleton.

Now that she had, it felt like there was no turning back.

When Lord Singleton called on Sophie the next day, Papa requested a meeting with him in the study. Sophie hoped that her father wasn’t asking for another payment or loan—but rather suspected he was.

When the marquess finally joined Sophie, Mary, and their mother in the drawing room, he greeted Mama first, then turned to Sophie.

“Lord Singleton,” Sophie said as she curtsied and offered him her gloved hand. “What a pleasure.” His dark hair looked like it had been freshly cut, and not even the hint of a beard marred his perfectly sculpted jaw. His cravat, white as a calla lily, was tied in an elaborate knot that must have raised his chin by two inches. Indeed, he could have posed as a model on a gentleman’s fashion plate. He didn’t scowl, and there were no shadows beneath his eyes; he was the picture of vitality and health.

But the sight of him didn’t make her heart beat faster in the slightest.