SOPHIE PATTED THE DIAMOND LOCKET around her neck subconsciously as she looked down at her cream silk dress with a scooped neck and lace-trimmed skirt and sleeves. Her dressmaker had boasted that Queen Victoria wore a similar dress of Spitalfields silk to the grand opening of the Great Exhibition.
The Great Exhibition—the whole reason why she had written to her Aunt Bentley; why she had come to London; how she had met Ethan in the park and he took her to see the hydraulic press, the Koh-i-noor diamond, and the watches from Switzerland. From her apprenticeship interviews to her idea for a notification clock. So much had come from that one event, her one wish to catch even a glimpse of a bigger world.
“Ready, my love?” Ethan asked.
Sophie glanced up with a guilty grin. “I was admiring my finery.”
He looked her up and down. “I don’t blame you; there is plenty to admire. I could stare at you for a fortnight … possibly longer.”
Sophie laughed. “Come, we don’t want to be late for a party in your own house.”
Ethan leaned in to kiss her, and she playfully pivoted away from him. “You’ll muss up my hair.”
“I won’t disturb one curl.”
“Liar,” Sophie said, and leaned toward him for a soft kiss.
Ethan gently kissed her lips and then held out his arm. “Shall we, Miss Carter?”
Sophie linked her arm in his. “Yes, indeed, Mr. Miller.”
He led her down the stairs to a large ballroom already full of people. Sophie released Ethan’s arm and walked farther into the room until she saw Mariah, but her sister didn’t notice her, deep in conversation with Charles. Sophie rolled her eyes.
“You cannot roll your eyes already,” Adaline said, suddenly at her side. “The dancing has yet to begin.”
“Adaline! I haven’t seen you in an age.”
Sophie embraced her friend, who was wearing an exquisite dress of scarlet velvet trimmed with black ribbons and worn with black lace undersleeves.
“Your sister seems to have quite captivated Lord Bentley,” Adaline said bluntly. She nodded toward Mariah and Charles, who were talking as if they were the only people in the room.
“He does seem taken with her,” Sophie said thoughtfully.
“If he’d been half as attentive to me,” Adaline teased, “I would have sent for my dressmaker and started fittings for my wedding dress.”
“I’m sorry—” Sophie started, but didn’t know how to finish.
“That he preferred your sister to me?” Adaline said. “Don’t be. I daresay there are other aristocrats to be caught. Although, probably not so young or so handsome.”
“To be married just to be married, I think would be miserable,” Sophie admitted. “Even with a title.”
“Your relationship with Mr. Miller hasn’t made you miserable.”
Sophie couldn’t contain her smile. “Being with him does make me happy. But I also think that I’m happy because I have interests all my own.”
“Do tell,” Adaline said, raising her eyebrows.
“I’ve told you before,” she said. “I’m an inventor.”
“A lady inventor?”
“Yes, and I have my very own clock shop,” Sophie said proudly. “I haven’t invented anything new yet, but I’m learning more and more about mechanisms. I keep experimenting and trying, and someday I know my invention is going to work.”
“And I will be the first one to purchase it,” Adaline stated. “Whatever it is.”
“Thank you. You are a true friend.”
“The truest,” Adaline said with a wink.
Sophie bit back a smile. “You are! And I should hate to see someone I care about who is smart and compassionate and entirely delightful trapped in a loveless marriage for the sake of position.”
“You want me to become a professional spinster?”
Sophie laughed. “No, but I believe you need to find something that brings you joy, whatever it may be. And then when your aristocrat comes along, with his many titles and large estate, you will only be the happier.”
“I see your point, my dear Sophie,” Adaline said. “But the only talent I seem to have is for society gossip.”
Sophie wrinkled her nose in thought and then said, rather more loudly than she meant to, “You could be an authoress.”
“An authoress?”
“Mariah has been reading all sorts of novels written by ladies.”
“I’m sure my parents would not approve.”
Sophie raised her eyebrows in response. “Even better.”
“You’re right,” Adaline said in a conspiratorial whisper. “Their disapproval only makes the prospect more inviting to me.”
“You could publish your works anonymously, and everyone who’s anyone will be all agog to discover who the writer is of your fascinating stories.”
Adaline grinned and fanned herself with her ivory-handle fan. “Sophie, that does sound quite scintillating—perhaps I’ll put my pen to paper and see what comes of it.”
“And if you don’t like writing, you must find some other interest.”
“Yes, yes, enough serious talk,” Adaline said, steering them around a group of older ladies chatting. “Did you hear that Lady Simford is about to become a double duchess?”
“A double duchess?”
“Yes, she is the dowager Duchess of Simford, and the rumor around the city is that she has accepted an offer of marriage from the elderly Duke of Essex, who was her suitor forty years ago. But because of some disagreement they parted, and she married the Duke of Simford.”
“That is exactly the sort of story that would be a great novel.”
Adaline laughed and squeezed her arm. “No more seriousness, Sophie. I’m here to dance.”
They strolled together onto the dance floor, where Adaline was instantly asked to dance by a handsome young man. Sophie had only walked a step farther when Ethan appeared and offered his hand. Once she was in his arms, the familiar comfort and feeling of rightness settled in her chest. Over his shoulder, she saw Lady Watergate leading a very reluctant Sir Thomas to the dance floor. Sophie grinned and leaned in a little closer to Ethan, who tightened his hold on her waist. Together they turned around and around—dancing in perfect synchronization, like the wheels of a clock.