But if her parents had their way, she wouldn’t be for long. Her father had squandered his modest fortune, leaving the family in rather dire straits. Sophie’s sweet, meek mother refused to acknowledge Papa’s habit of drinking to excess. Last week, when he’d passed out at the dinner table, landing face-first in a plate of roast beef and gravy, Mama rushed to his aid and exclaimed that he’d obviously been working himself far too hard. Sophie and her older sister, Mary, had blinked at each other across the table and refrained from comment, for Mama wouldn’t tolerate a hint of criticism directed at Papa.

But even Mama knew they couldn’t continue on as they were. One of her daughters needed to marry well—and fast. Given that Mary was the oldest, the burden would have fallen on her if she hadn’t nearly succumbed to scarlet fever as a child.

Even now, fear gripped Sophie’s heart as she remembered the morning she’d stood helplessly in the doorway of her sister’s darkened room. Papa had sobbed and Mama had knelt beside the bed, her voice hoarse as she whispered the same prayer over and over: that her daughter might live to see her twelfth birthday.

Miraculously, Mary had.

In the months that followed, Mary had slowly recovered, thank heaven. But even now she remained frail and peaked, which meant her parents were taking no chances where her health was concerned. No invigorating walks, no horseback riding, no crowded balls … and no opportunity to meet single gentlemen.

Leaving the family’s fate squarely in Sophie’s hands.

She wasn’t opposed to the idea of marrying. On the contrary, she craved a deep and lasting connection to another person. She longed for someone to talk to at breakfast each morning and someone to lie next to each night. But she’d always harbored romantic notions of falling in love before becoming engaged. Unfortunately, marrying for love was a luxury that she and her family quite literally could not afford.

So Papa and Mama had determined that she should wed Lord Singleton at the end of the season. She and the handsome, well-to-do marquess weren’t officially betrothed yet. The last time he’d come to call, Sophie had locked herself in her bedchamber and pleaded a headache. On the occasion before that, she’d slipped out the back door and gone on a two-hour stroll through the woods. The mild case of poison oak she’d contracted had been a small price to pay.

She knew she was behaving poorly and didn’t intend to shirk her duty to her family forever. She only wanted the rest of this season to herself.

One more season to continue hosting meetings of the Debutante Underground.

One more season to dance and flirt with dashing gentlemen.

One more season to feel young and free.