Sophie closed her eyes as the arrow whipped from her fingers and whispered through the air. Please, please, please . . . Thump! Hope erupted along with the spectators’ enthusiastic applause. Opening her eyes, she held her breath and looked to the target. There, her arrow wobbled, firmly embedded in the white space just outside the bull’s-eye.
The air whooshed from her lungs in one disappointed rush. It was so tantalizingly, tauntingly close! She groaned, dropping the bow to her side as she glared at the game-losing arrow. “I’m so, so sorry. I tried, I really did.”
“Surely you’re not serious,” he said as he came around to her side.
“I swear I did! I’m just no good.”
His eyebrows lifted in disbelief. “What are you talking about? That was incredible. Yes, it wasn’t perfect, but that’s the best shot you’ve ever had. I’m proud of you, Sophie Hood.”
She turned to face him fully, surprised to hear the excitement, the pride, in his voice. But . . . “Evan, I just lost the competition for us.” And she’d lost the promise of hearing him sing. Of the two, she was much more disappointed by the latter.
“Yes, I know,” he said, pausing to wave to the victors. Mr. Wright clasped Charity’s fingers and raised their joined hands above their heads in exuberant victory. He was the least modest vicar Sophie had ever met, but it only served to endear him to her.
Evan rolled his eyes. “Damn pup. Apologies,” he said quickly, offering her a contrite smile. “And we lost. Good thing, too, because I am a terrible winner. Boastful, self-satisfied, exceedingly annoying to be around. Much like the vicar will be, I’m sure.”
Sophie chuckled, shaking her head. “Give him a chance—he’s not as bad as all that. I quite like him, in fact.”
Sighing hugely, he nodded. “Yes, I’m sure I’d like him, too, if he’d steer clear of my sister. The man is too engaging by half.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“For a brother? Absolutely. But I suppose we should go congratulate them anyway.” He offered her his elbow. “Shall we?”
She held up her arm, which still was confined by the brace. “Let me just get these off.” She started tugging at the laces, but Evan brushed her hand aside and set to work loosening the strings for her.
“While I know it’s not Sherwood Forest,” he said, pulling the vambrace free and dropping it beside the bows, “perhaps we may go for a walk by the river after your concert. We can call it our victory lap.”
Sophie only just managed not to gape at him. Purposely spending more time with her, without a bit of prompting from her or anyone else? Pressing her lips together to hold back what was sure to be an enormously gauche grin, she nodded her assent. Time alone with the earl was all the victory she needed.
* * *
Evan didn’t know what he had expected from the concert, but it certainly wasn’t what was unfolding before him.
The vicar had managed to have a small pianoforte delivered to the site, along with the long stringed instrument Miss Bradford referred to as a zither, though it was unlike any zither Evan had ever seen. At the center was Sophie with her little oboe. From the first notes, it was clear this would be a performance unlike any he had ever heard.
The music was utterly unique, but it wasn’t just because of the exotic sound of Miss Bradford’s instrument. It was the way the three instruments blended together. From the silence of those around him, he knew that he wasn’t the only one enchanted by their performance.
Evan recognized the piece as being a variant of Mozart’s Sonata No. 11, but it was by no means a literal interpretation. It was whimsical, mysterious, and charming, all at once. Each of the women brought her own strengths to the piece, but it was Sophie who most held his interest. He loved watching her play, if for no other reason than the fascination of seeing her so focused and solemn.
How had he not paid attention the last time he attended her musicale? She was almost a different person when she was playing. There was no self-consciousness, no laughing, no bubbly words. She exuded serene confidence. He could actually sense all the hours she must have dedicated to practicing. The oboe was notoriously difficult to play, yet she pulled it off with complete capability. She knew her instrument, she knew her part, and by Jove, she was going to make it perfect.
Evan tilted his head, considering that thought. Not perfect, actually. That was the wrong word. More like beautifully and meticulously executed. She took an odd-sounding instrument and made it compelling to listen to.
Not unlike herself.
She was sweet, but at times peculiar, yet she managed to take that part of herself and make it an asset. When he had suggested the walk, it was because of the look on her face when she realized they had lost. It had been wrong of him to suggest the incentive, because it had set the burden of success at her feet, and that had been unfair.
But even though it was her comfort he had been thinking of at the time, he found he was actually looking forward to it. When the last note of the piece came to a close, he clapped along with everyone else, hands outstretched in honest enthusiasm.
From the seat beside him, Julia applauded just as earnestly. “That was extraordinary,” she said, leaning toward him to be heard above the noise. “I feel as though I’ve visited Vienna and the Far East in the very same day.”
He nodded. It was the perfect description of the experience. As the applause quieted, he came to his feet and offered her his hand.
His sister waved him off, smiling up at him. “No, thanks. I think I’ll sit in the shade a little longer.”
“As you wish. I promised Miss Wembley a promenade along the river to soothe the bitterness of defeat.”
“Defeat?” She gave a soft snort. “You do realize that I came in last place, thanks to our terrible shot of a neighbor.” She tilted her head toward Harry, who sat two seats over.
Harry rolled his eyes when he heard her, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t know if you can lay all the blame at my feet. I saw Evan helping Miss Wembley with her form, but you offered no such assistance. A little guidance might have made the difference.”
She lifted an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Don’t expect me to drop everything to help you simply because you’ve not got the skills. Perhaps next time you won’t insist on participating in something you have no business doing.”
“Julia,” Evan said, the single word a warning. “Can you be civilized long enough for me to leave you alone?”
“Yes, of course,” she answered, lifting her chin. “I thrive on being alone.”
Shaking his head, Evan clapped a hand on the baronet’s shoulder. “I believe that’s our cue. Why don’t you go join a card game while I take my walk? I can almost guarantee the company will be more agreeable.”
As they walked together to the makeshift stage, Harry lifted his hat and ran a weary hand through his hair. “I wonder if I shouldn’t find my own way home. I wouldn’t wish to impose my company on her any more today if it distresses her so.”
“No, of course you shouldn’t. Someday she’ll find her manners when it comes to you, but in the meantime you may rely upon mine.”
“Somehow I doubt she will,” Harry replied. “But there are plenty of interesting people here today, and I shall enjoy spending time with them.” With a tip of his hat, he headed off toward the card table, holding his shoulders straight and proud.
Evan shook his head. His sister had best sort her moodiness out, before he sorted it out for her. Turning his attention to the makeshift stage, he watched as Sophie and the other two girls laughed with one another as they finished up tending to the sheet music and instruments.
Cadgwith strolled up beside him and tipped his chin toward the stage. “They’re something to behold, are they not?”
Evan hadn’t realized the man had caught the performance. He had seen him wandering off toward the food tent when the rest of them had been taking their seats. “Very compelling,” Evan answered, offering a relaxed smile. “I’m glad I was able to see them perform. I only just missed it at the Tuesday recital they played.”
Cadgwith smiled, wrinkling the silvery scars along the left side of his temple. “The one and only recital of the series I happened to catch. Can’t say I’m sorry to have missed the others. Speaking of which, are you and your sister planning to attend the gala tomorrow night? Supposed to be quite the event.”
“I hadn’t thought, but it might prove an enjoyable evening. Will you and your betrothed attend?”
The baron gave a half shrug. “Charity is exceedingly excited about it, as are the other two,” he said, nodding to where Miss Effington stood with Miss Bradford and Sophie. “I’ll come to see the famous lamps, but I doubt I’ll make it to the fireworks. Had enough artillery explosions to last me a lifetime in the war.”
Evan slid his gaze to his old friend. Beside the scars at his left temple that stretched down to his neck, there were faint purple circles beneath his eyes. Curiosity flared as to what had happened to him in the war, but Evan wasn’t willing to pry. Too many men had endured far too much during that dark time. Offering a half smile, he said, “I’m sure Julia will love it. Shall we meet there?”
Shooting Evan a wry grin, the baron nodded. “Yes, please. God knows I could use another man to help even the odds.”
They worked out the details, deciding to meet at Sydney House at the eastern edge of the park an hour before sunset. Sophie saw him then and waved. Closing the clasps on her case, she set it aside and walked over to join him. “You survived the concert, I see.”
The baron nodded to them both and went to join Miss Effington. Evan turned his full attention to Sophie and smiled. “Quite. It was very different. Refreshing. I know I’ve heard you play before, but somehow I had no idea just how talented you are.”
She ducked her head as if embarrassed. “Charity is the one who made it all work. She rewrote the parts of the piece in a way that made us all sound good. Quite an accomplishment, really.”
He gestured toward the river path, and they started walking together. “And she did a lovely job, but she had nothing to do with your talent. You should be proud.”
“Charity is talented. May is talented. I merely practice within an inch of my life and simply try to keep up.”
“All the more impressive, then.” Natural talent was one thing, but to train oneself to be as accomplished as Sophie was when it didn’t come naturally was something to be admired.
Her cheeks bloomed with a hint of soft color as she bit back a smile. “You, sir, are too easily impressed.”
“I’m not, actually. I’m a great lover of music, so I know when something falls short. Take Miss Harmon, for example.”
“I’d rather not,” she replied, wrinkling her nose.
He laughed, cutting an amused glance her way. “Bear with me. Miss Harmon is not a natural talent. She is accomplished, but her music is calculated and cold. If I were to guess, I’d say she has much more interest in being accomplished than she does in the music itself.”
It was bad form to speak of her this way, but after the way she had treated Sophie at the ball last week, she deserved that from him and more. “You, on the other hand, are accomplished as well, but more importantly, you manage to be engaging when you play. You are invested in the music, and you therefore pull your audience in as well.”
“I can scarce imagine more lovely praise—it nearly makes the eight million hours of practice worth it,” she said with a wink. “However, I think we have reached the compliment quota of the day. Should you go forth, I fear I shall get a terribly big head, and with hair as wild as mine, I’d best not chance looking like an ogre.”
“Ah. Excellent point.” He laughed out loud when she grimaced. “What? If I had said ‘terrible point,’ you would have accused me of complimenting your lovely hair.”
“I would have done no such thing. I am well enough acquainted with my hair to know that any such compliment would purely be Spanish coin,” she said, her tone full of wry humor. “Now then, allow me to thank you for your excellent tutelage today, so the deficit of flattery may be righted.”
“Deficit of flattery? Are we supposed to be keeping count?” He made a face. “I despise mathematics, just so you know. The only tallies I’ll be keeping are the ones in the estate’s ledgers. Blood—er, dreadfully dull business, that.”
A breeze from the river gusted over them, and she rubbed her arms idly. “How can one despise mathematics? It’s neat and orderly and utterly predictable. Much like music, it is the universal language.”
He sent her a disgusted look. “If you tell me that you are accomplished at numbers as well, I may very well have to escort you back to your mother.”
She held up her hands. “Fine, fine, I won’t say another thing . . . except that you look very handsome in that color jacket, and that is it. We’re even now and I won’t say another word.” The sentences ran together in a blur, ending with a definitive slash of her hand.
He chuckled, shaking his head as they followed the curve of the path where it ran alongside the riverbank. She was damn good company, he’d give her that. They continued along in silence for a while. The trees lining the path provided shelter from the afternoon sun and, with the breeze blowing up from the river, it made for a pleasant excursion.
When they’d gone a few minutes in silence, she suddenly blew out a pent-up breath. “I fear there is something you must know about me, my lord.”
Evan slowed. That sounded rather ominous. “All right,” he said, his curiosity piqued.
“The truth is, I am a talker. A terrible gabster, in fact. So much so that my father says in a race between my mouth and my mind, my mouth would win by a mile every time, and truly, I can’t say I disagree.”
Certainly not what he might have expected her to say. “I see. And you’re telling me this because . . . ?”
“Because long silences and I don’t get along well. And I feel as though I’ve been lying to you by keeping my mouth shut. Well, at first it was because I was too nervous to talk to you, and then because I was afraid I would make an even worse fool of myself around you than I already had, but now I feel as though the truth must come out.” She inhaled and exhaled in short succession as though relieved to have it out.
He stopped, turning in order to face her. Her smile was sheepish, apologetic even. “What on earth would you have to be nervous about around me? I make a point of being nice to all the young ladies at the events I attend.”
“Do you make a point of being handsome, too?” As soon as the words were out, she slapped her hand over her mouth and groaned. Dropping her hand, she widened her eyes at him. “Do you see why I thought it best to keep my mouth shut? A lady does not say the first thing that pops into her head.”
“I wouldn’t say that. Before she died, my grandmother was quite a plainspoken woman. Everyone knew exactly what she thought of them. As the Dowager Countess of Evansleigh, she was most definitely a lady.”
She glanced heavenward as though he had completely missed the point. “Yes, an old lady. Such things are permitted among the elderly. They’ve quite given up on worrying what others think of them, I believe.” She gave a little half-shouldered shrug. “Try as I might to practice restraint, I shall always be adept at ending up with my foot in my mouth. I suppose that means for the next thirty or so years, I have to get used to being uncouth until such time I can be labeled eccentric.”
They were all just keeping up appearances, weren’t they? Saying and doing all the correct things so society wouldn’t brand them unfit to be part of their stratum. Sometimes it seemed to Evan as though all he ever did was pander to social correctness. Go to so many parties, dance with the proper number of women, spend an adequate amount of time at the club—all in the name of avoiding the roving eye of the ton, ensuring that no one narrowed their eyes and noticed that things were not as they seemed. He couldn’t risk anyone seeing past his cultivated façade.
He and Sophie had more in common than she probably realized. “Well, you may always count on me to ask you to dance, couth or not.”
Sighing, she shook her head. “You shan’t have to worry about asking me to dance after next week. Mama and I will be on our way back home to Appleton by then.”
An unexpected pang of disappointment thumped in his chest. “Ah, so the decision to return has been finalized. I had hoped you’d be able to stay long enough to attend the opera with me.”
She pushed a wayward curl back from her temple, her gaze flitting out over the water. “Sadly, no. I fear I don’t know when we might see each other again after the week is out.”
He dipped his head, catching her eye and offering a small grin. “Not just talkative, but dramatic, too, I see. You forget that there will be opportunities aplenty during the Season, especially now that we are such great friends.”
It was nice, knowing that she’d be there. Someone with whom he could shed a bit of his mask and simply enjoy the company. No ulterior motives, no pretenses, just friendship and mutual regard.
But she didn’t return his smile as he expected. Instead, her humor slipped away even more. “I’m not making myself clear,” she said quietly, glancing down at her hands. When she looked back up, the regret in her eyes made his heart sink. “There will be no more Seasons for me, I’m afraid. When I go home, it will be for good.”
He blinked, caught off guard by the announcement. “I don’t know what to say. Has something . . . happened?”
In his experience there was only one reason that a debutante would step away from the matchmaking frenzy that was the Season: marriage. He swallowed, unable to believe that could be the case.
Had she accepted a proposal that he was unaware of? If she had, she sure as hell didn’t seem happy about it. A forced match, then? The idea of her sweetness being soured by an unwanted marriage made his fists tighten at his sides.
Her chin ticked up a notch, proud but not haughty. “Yes. Let us just say that my family’s situation has changed.”
Ah. Christ, now he felt like a proper jackass. He knew her family was purse-pinched, but he hadn’t realized they no longer had a feather to fly with. Damn tactless of him to even inquire. All the joy seemed to have leached out of her, leaving her cheeks pale and her eyes lacking their usual spark. She didn’t hold his gaze, instead peering out over the swiftly moving water.
Damn it all, he had asked her here to make her happy, not to make things worse for her. “In that case, I think some allowances can be made.”
She looked up sharply, her brows pinched together. “Allowances? But I’m not asking for anything.”
“Stop pestering me, or I’ll change my mind,” he teased, knowing full well he was confusing her. She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her with a raised hand. “Fine, fine, you’ve talked me into it.”
“Talked you into what?” she asked, completely at a loss now. At least there was a spark of interest lighting her dark eyes. That little glimmer within her that made her so unique in his circle of acquaintances.
“Were it not for the wind, you and I both would have had perfect scores in the last round. Therefore, since you put up such a convincing argument, I shall make good on my promised enticement, Sophie Hood, and sing for you.”