“You. Bastard.” Singleton spun on his boot heel, punched the plaster wall, and moaned, cradling his limp hand against his abdomen. Mary rushed to his side, eager to play nursemaid, while Sophie did her very best to refrain from rolling her eyes.

“As luck would have it,” Reese said, nonchalant, “there’s an obvious solution to this dilemma—one that should be satisfactory to all of us.”

“Damn it, man,” Singleton cried, “it’s two minutes to midnight.”

Reese grinned. “Then we’d better not waste any more time.”

As the grandfather clock outside the ballroom began to chime, footmen weaved through the crowd, flourishing trays of fizzy champagne. Sophie slipped into the room through the main entrance, with Mary by her side. The air buzzed with speculation about the marquess’s impending toast. Most guests predicted that Lord Singleton would announce his engagement, but there was endless speculation as to who his fiancée would be.

Behind Sophie, a group of rowdy gentlemen placed wagers. Apparently, a fresh-faced debutante named Lady Arabella was the favorite, with odds of five to one. Sophie was mentioned as the dark horse; it seemed the dance floor spectacle she’d been involved in earlier had made her even more of a long shot.

“I’m so sorry, Sophie,” Mary whispered.

“I know. But the blame isn’t all yours. I’ve been keeping secrets too.”

Mary nodded soberly. “Are you nervous?”

“Yes,” Sophie admitted. “My heart’s beating so loudly, it’s a wonder you can’t hear it.” She craned her neck, looking for Charles and Reese, whom they’d left in the library only minutes ago.

Mary lifted her chin in the direction of the doors leading to the terrace. “There they are now.” The men sauntered into the ballroom as though they’d simply stepped outside to sneak a cigar. Reese hung back while Charles smoothed his jacket and headed toward the dais where the orchestra sat, resting their instruments and awaiting the toast.

Sophie swallowed a knot the size of a goose egg. “We’d better make our way to the front.” As they did, she spotted their parents near the refreshment table. Papa’s glazed, bloodshot eyes could have been from too much drink, or not enough. Mama’s thin, drawn lips and creased forehead betrayed her anxiousness. They all knew this was the final round of a high-stakes game, where a win would give their family peace of mind and prosperity, but a loss would mean complete ruin.

But Sophie had gambled even more—her heart, happiness, and soul.

Across the room, standing beside their dashing husbands on the perimeter of the dance floor, Fiona and Lily smiled encouragingly at Sophie. She adored them for their valiant attempts to support her, but she could see the underlying sadness in their eyes as they watched Charles step onto the dais. They’d wanted more for Sophie.