Sophie nodded but couldn’t imagine she’d ever be truly happy again. Not without Reese. But perhaps she’d have peace of mind—the kind that came from knowing her family’s future was secured. She’d be comfortable and content, which, she reminded herself, was not a terrible trade-off for happiness.

“Now that it’s decided, I think we should move ahead as quickly as possible,” she said firmly.

“Agreed.” Lord Singleton—Charles, that is—slapped his hands on his knees. “But an engagement is a momentous event and must be celebrated in the proper way.”

Sophie shrugged. “I could ask Mama if we have a bottle of champagne,” she said, knowing full well that their wine cellar was almost dry.

“No,” he said excitedly. “We can do better than that. I shall host a ball—two weeks from now—and we shall announce our betrothal there.”

Sophie suddenly felt as though someone were mercilessly yanking on the laces of her corset, tightening them inch by inch. “Excellent,” she managed. “You must let me know what I can do to help.”

Charles waved away the offer. “My staff will see to the preparations. All you must do is find a gorgeous gown, so that when you glide into my ballroom, the other guests will be stunned by your beauty.”

“Is that all?” Sophie said with a hollow laugh. She felt oddly detached from her body—as though she were simply an actress performing a part onstage.

“I have every confidence in you, my dear.” Charles stood, pressed a perfunctory kiss to the back of her hand, and arched a dark brow as he met her gaze. “I shall see you in a fortnight.”

Reese stood on the Conroys’ doorstep, a potent mix of guilt, fear, and grief churning in his gut. But he needed to fulfill his promise to the man he’d fought alongside. To his friend.

He’d brought a bouquet from his and Sophie’s garden, where he spent a couple of hours each day sweating in the sun, working in the dirt, and exorcising his demons. The flowers, hollyhocks—he’d looked them up—had come from the best part of the garden, hidden in the back, behind the rotunda. Reese had surmised that the lush, tranquil area was meant to represent Elysium—the part of the Underworld reserved for the worthiest of souls.

In other words, not him.

But it was the area of the garden with the most potential, so he’d spent the last several days there, doing his best to restore it to its original state. He’d found at least a dozen different kinds of flowers hidden among the weeds and overgrowth, but he suspected Sophie would have loved the hollyhocks’ tall stalks and bell-shaped blooms in every shade of pink.