Page 39 of How to Win a Duke’s Heart

Balston House Drawing Room

Five minutes later

Not quite certain what to expect, Sophronie entered the drawing room to find the rest of the family assembled, including Evan. Except for his crisp neckcloth and shirt, he wore all black in honor of her father’s passing. His severe togs gave him a debonair, dashing, and altogether too handsome appearance.

She had to remind herself he was a dishonest libertine. An opportunist whose machinations had landed him a fortune and a reluctant bride.

He flashed a rakish smile and made directly for her. Her stupid, traitorous heart flip-flopped, and her silly knees went wobbly as warm pudding. Self-disgust pummeled her. How could she still find him attractive when he’d revealed his true character?

Was that a twinkle in his eye?

She’d almost forgotten—almost—that she’d ever believed him glum and taciturn.

Miss Wesleyan, resplendent in a white gown with a holly-berry red ribbon at her trim waist and roses of the same shade embroidered into an overskirt, didn’t bother turning her head upon Sophronie’s entrance. Her white bonnet and spencer, trimmed with the same cheerful shade of red braid, accented her dark hair and pale skin to perfection.

Sophronie would vow the woman had purposefully worn white because she knew Sophronie would be in mourning black and wanted to magnify the difference between the women.

That Miss Wesleyan had the nerve to come to Balston House after what she had done to Papa rubbed Sophronie raw. She’d wished for charges to be brought against Miss Wesleyan, but it would’ve been the heiress’s word against Papa’s. With him dead and with no witnesses, there was no one to corroborate his story.

The question of why he’d been on that side of the house in the first place might never be answered. It haunted Sophronie, but there was nothing she could do about it.

“Thank you, Evan.” She accepted Evan’s extended arm and gave a satisfied inner smile when Miss Wesleyan’s finely plucked eyebrows drew together at Sophronie’s use of his given name.

“Sit here, Sophronie.” Larissa scooted farther to the side, leaving an opening between her and Sarah. Rosalind sat on Sarah’s other side, and their four aunts had wandered to stand behind the burgundy and gold brocade settee. Like protective sentinels, her new aunts stood guard, each ready to defend her should the need arise.

Emotion welled in Sophronie’s chest at their show of solidarity for her.

Evan guided her to the vacant seat then went to stand before the intricately carved walnut mantel. A cozy fire snapped and crackled in the hearth, shooting orange, blue, and crimson flames toward the chimney behind the brass scrolled screen.

Perhaps this afternoon she’d spend a few quiet hours in the gallery. It was a perfect day for reading.

Hands behind his back, Evan faced the room. His grandmothers and mother sat upon the other settee while Miss Wesleyan had claimed an armchair at one end of the rosewood tea table, much like a queen upon her throne, overseeing her minions.

“It is so good of you to join us, Miss Slater.” The smile Miss Wesleyan fashioned didn’t quite reach her blue eyes.

Who did she think she was, acting like she was the hostess?

“I didn’t expect you to inconvenience yourself. I simply came to offer my sincerest condolences at the loss of your father. How unfortunate that he didn’t regain consciousness before passing so that you might’ve said farewell.”

Sophronie sent Evan a private look.

The silence became so deafening, a pin might’ve dropped in the room and reverberated like a cannon’s explosion. Not one of Evan’s relatives disputed Miss Wesleyan though each knew her to be inaccurate.

That was curious. Had Evan cautioned them against saying anything?

Why?

“Trust him,” Larissa whispered as she slid her hand into Sophronie’s, and Sophronie gave her a grateful look.

“It’s no inconvenience, Miss Wesleyan.” Slipping her hand from Larissa’s, Sophronie accepted the steaming cup of tea Anna, now the dowager duchess, offered her. “Papa’s loss will be strongly felt by many for a good while.”

Aware Evan’s blue-gray gaze rested upon her, Sophronie took a sip and damned her nerves to the lowest level of hell. She wished Miss Leah Wesleyan a speedy journey to Hades too, accompanied by a horde of tormenting demons.

Miss Wesleyan gave Evan a coquettish look from beneath her lashes, but he didn’t return her flirtatious smile. A flicker of uncertainty glinted in her eyes for an instant before vanishing behind her perfected mask of feminine confidence.

“I’m sure you are anticipating returning to your home in America,” she said with as much sincerity as a thief apologizing to his robbery victim. “It does so help to be surrounded by familiar and comfortable environs when one is grieving the loss of a loved one.”

“Ye would ken this because ye have experienced such a loss yerself?” Aunt Christina asked, clearly not believing a word of Miss Wesleyan’s insincere diatribe.