“Reese,” Sophie whispered hoarsely. “I didn’t mean for the evening to go like this. I’m sorry that the news about Edmund upset you, but Violet doesn’t deserve your anger … nor do I.”

Guilt, sharp and fierce, stabbed him like a bayonet, and some of his fury bled out. He stalked to the reflecting pool and stared into the water. Darkness stared back. “You’re right.”

The rage and hurt still swirled inside him, but the truth was that neither Sophie nor Violet was to blame.

He reached down in the flowerbed near the water and plucked a purple flower with daisy-like petals. His heart in his throat, he handed it to her. “Forgive me, Soph.”

With trembling fingers she took the flower by the stem and lifted it to her nose. “An aster,” she said.

“A peace offering,” he replied, forcing a smile. “I will think about all you’ve said.” Just not now. He was fighting the urge to flee even as he spoke. He couldn’t remain there and hear one more word against his brother. Not when he was already reeling from losing Sophie.

“I understand,” she said calmly. She stood in the garden against a backdrop of lush greenery, colorful blossoms, and sparkling water, but none of it could compare to her beauty, strength, and goodness. “I know you, Reese. And I believe in you. I always have.”

“I need to go,” he choked out. “Would you like to come inside to wait for the coach?”

“No. I’ll stay here for a little while and meet the coach out front.” She sighed wistfully. “I’m going to miss this place. But mostly I’m going to miss you.”

Not trusting himself to speak, Reese slipped the aster from her fingers and tucked it behind her ear, where the violet petals shimmered like amethysts in her pale blond hair. Slowly, he brushed his thumb across her lower lip, and when she opened her mouth slightly, he kissed her—slowly, madly, passionately—until he couldn’t bear it any longer.

Gasping, he broke off the kiss, turned, and strode away.

“How are plans for the ball coming along?” Fiona asked.

“Hmm?” Sophie looked up from the stack of sketches she’d been sifting through, hoping to find one suitable for next week’s column.

Lily set down her pen and glided across her sister’s studio, her green eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Your engagement ball,” she said, arching a dark brow. “In case you’ve forgotten, it’s only a week away.”

Sophie pretended to study a lovely drawing of a couple picnicking in the countryside in order to avoid looking directly at either Lily or Fiona, who were both far too perceptive. “I haven’t forgotten. Lord Singleton—er, Charles—is attending to the details. I think he wishes to surprise me.”

“How romantic,” Fiona said kindly, clearly trying to summon enthusiasm for the event and, moreover, Sophie’s impending betrothal.