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took the very largest bite she could manage without embarrassing herself, or choking. Mrs. Summers set down her teacup and waited quite pointedly for a response. And waited…and waited…
    “Eventually, Sophie, you will have to swallow.”
    Sophie made a variety of hand gestures that could have conveyed any number of things. But she knew her companion was right. The topic of Rockeforte couldn’t be avoided forever, and certainly not just because it made her unaccountably jumpy. And the scone had taken on a rather unpleasant consistency.
    She swallowed.
    Then reached for a sip of tea.
    Which was not an act of cowardice. She had, after all, taken that bite without first adding some preserves or even a little butter, and if Mrs. Summers thought differently, well—
    “Thirsty, dear?”
    Sophie realized she had just gulped her entire cup of tea without pausing for breath and was now making unattractive slurping noises. She set her cup down.
    “Very,” she offered lamely.
    “We were speaking of the Duke of Rockeforte.”
    “Were we?”
    “Yes. I had just explained that His Grace might have an interest in you.”
    Damn. Evasive tactics had never worked well on Mrs. Summers. Sophie tried reasoning with her instead. “I think you read far too much into the duke’s behavior,” she argued. “He was merely being polite.”
    “If you say so, dear.”
    Oh, Sophie did, but thought it best to change the subject all the same. “I’d like to visit a dress shop tomorrow.”
    Mrs. Summers eyebrows went up. “Do you want a new ball gown, dear?”
    “No! I mean yes.” She glared at her companion. “I would like to purchase several new dresses, for a number of different occasions.”
    “You detest fittings.”
    “I know,” Sophie groaned, “but I thought it might be best to get them over and done with. When it comes to pain, the anticipation is often worse than the deed.”
    Mrs. Summers smiled at that. “Certainly, we shall have to stop by your father’s solicitors for the funds.”
    “As to that…”
    If Sophie were any other girl, Mrs. Summers never would have believed the story that she had been saving a portion of her pin money for some time and had sent funds in advanceto her own private solicitor in London. But after two decades in Sophie’s company, very little would surprise the worldly Mrs. Summers. If Sophie had told her she had found the money under a rock in the garden, Mrs. Summers wouldn’t have batted an eye.
    The next three days were spent in a whirl of fittings, shopping, and desperately trying to pin down the elusive Lord Loudor. The blasted man was never at home when he should be. The few times Sophie managed to catch him coming in or out of the house, he parried her requests for a few moments of his time with vague references to meetings, business, and appointments. When she demanded outright to know when she might see her father’s ledgers, he mumbled something about a misunderstanding with the solicitor and hurried away.
    He was avoiding her—there was nothing else for it—but he couldn’t keep it up forever. He was, after all, required to escort her to the ball Saturday night. That event required a carriage ride, which would guarantee his undivided attention for a minimum of twenty minutes.
    On Saturday afternoon, one of Sophie’s new ball gowns arrived, and she spent the two hours preceding the grand event under the less-than-gentle ministrations of Penny and Mrs. Summers. She was cinched, pulled, wrapped, curled, primped, and primed. Only at the end of that ordeal was she finally given leave to view the finished product in the bedroom’s cheval mirror.
    Sophie gulped. The gown was gorgeous to be sure, layer upon layer of pale blue silk so lightweight it appeared almost translucent. The cut was simple and elegant without frills or adornments. It was cut with a high waist as fashion demanded, but the design was such that it avoided the appearance of having one’s breasts upon a shelf. It