The most likely scenario Sophie could imagine was that the footman had delivered the note to her in error. Perhaps it had been intended for Lady Halton, who, like her, was wearing a green silk gown, but who, unlike her, currently had half a dozen men vying for her attention.

Sophie swallowed and turned the paper over in her hand. If it was meant for her, she fervently hoped it was not from Lord Singleton—who had already claimed a dance with her and had been keeping a watchful eye on her ever since.

As she casually walked toward a trio of potted topiaries at the back of the ballroom, she wondered if the person who’d delivered the note was watching her now. Whether he’d be gauging her reaction as she read his words.

She found a quiet spot near a spiral boxwood, carefully unfolded the paper, and read the bold, scrawling script.

Dear Miss Kendall,

I underestimated the power of your tea—and, moreover, you.

Please, meet me in the garden if and when you are able.

Sophie’s fingers tingled. Mr. Peabody had written her a note. Wanted to see her again. Tonight.

She scanned the paper once more before folding it and furtively slipping it into the top of her bodice, tucking it between her breasts in a manner that would have horrified her former headmistress, Miss Haywinkle.

Sophie paused to gather her wits. What on earth was Mr. Peabody doing at Lady Rufflebum’s ball? And why hadn’t she spotted him among the guests?

More to the point, why did the prospect of seeing the growly, sleep-deprived tailor again make her belly turn cartwheels?

Across the room from Sophie, Mama appeared to listen raptly as Mrs. Hartley gossiped and waved her fan demonstratively. Lord Singleton looked as though he were embroiled in some sort of political debate with several older gentlemen. Fiona and Lily still whirled on the dance floor.

Deciding no one would miss her if she took a short stroll in the garden, Sophie smoothed the front of her skirt and glided toward the French doors at the side of the room.

The moment she stepped over the threshold onto the terrace, she felt as though she’d ventured into another realm. The sound of the orchestra’s violins faded into the chirps of crickets and croaks of toads. The scents of beeswax candles and pungent perfume faded into the lush smells of dew-kissed grass and blossoming peonies.

At the rear of the terrace, Sophie followed a winding stone path under an ivy-covered arbor and past a charming stone birdbath nestled in a cluster of hydrangea bushes. Lanterns placed at intervals along the path lit the way and added a soft glow to Lady Rufflebum’s meticulously tended garden.