At the sound of the doorknob jiggling, Reese dove behind the sofa in Singleton’s drawing room and held his breath.
The door creaked as it swung on its hinges, and footsteps shuffled across the hardwood floor. If he had to guess, the utilitarian, brown shoes belonged to a maid, and she hummed softly to herself as she moved about the room.
Reese hoped she didn’t walk to his side of the sofa, but if she did, he was prepared to play the part of a ball guest who’d drunk too much and gone in search of a quiet spot where he could sleep off his excesses.
He’d spent the last hour furtively searching Singleton’s study and bedchamber, but after scouring every shelf, drawer, and closet in both rooms, he still hadn’t found the journal. He’d reasoned that the marquess might have spent time in the drawing room before the ball—and that he might have left the journal out on a table or even stowed it in the desk drawer.
But a thorough check of the room had yielded no sign of it, and now doubts were creeping into Reese’s mind. What if Singleton had hidden the journal in a locked drawer or safe? What if he’d decided to keep it with him, and it was tucked inside the pocket of his bloody evening jacket right now?
Frustrated, he grabbed a fistful of hair and cursed under his breath.
“Is someone there?” the maid called out, her voice threaded with alarm.
Damn it. He quickly debated whether to reveal himself now or to pretend to be passed out. Heaving a sigh, he rose on his haunches and—
“Where have you been, lass?” asked an older female in a scolding tone. “The mistress has been asking for her lorgnette. Can ye not find it?”
“Ah, here it is,” the young maid replied, “hiding beneath a cushion.”
Reese went still as a statue as she leaned over the sofa.
“Hurry along, then.” The older woman clucked her tongue. “Lady S. isn’t a patient sort.”
He waited until he heard the door click shut behind them, then sprang to his feet. The diary wasn’t there in the drawing room—and he was running out of time. To make good on his promise to Sophie, he needed to find out exactly where Singleton had hidden her journal, and soon.
Which meant Reese would have to put in an appearance at the ball—his first in approximately three years. Even worse, he’d have to dance.
For several minutes after Reese left Sophie in the garden, she remained sitting on the bench, perilously close to tears. She’d thought she could set aside her own feelings and desires to help her family. Moreover, she’d thought that she should—that it was the noble and selfless thing to do.
But now she knew differently. Binding herself to Lord Singleton wouldn’t save her family. Only love could do that.
Papa needed to find the strength and support necessary to curb his drinking.
Mama needed to find the backbone to hold Papa accountable for his behavior.
And Mary—well, Mary needed to find a reason to occasionally leave her bedchamber.
Sophie loved her family dearly, but she was not going to fix all their problems by marrying Lord Singleton. They might be granted a temporary reprieve, but, eventually, Papa would accrue more debt, Mama would continue to make excuses for him, and Mary would remain cloistered in her safe, sheltered world.
Meanwhile, Sophie would find herself chained to a man who thought that the wonderful sisterhood she’d created was dangerous and subversive. She’d wake up every morning feeling miserable, knowing she’d thrown away the rare and precious gift that Reese had given her—his unwavering love.
She stood and paced the wide pebbled garden path, trying to imagine that she was in the tailor’s shop with all the familiar faces of her friends circled around her. If she could explain her dilemma to the members of the Debutante Underground and seek their advice, what would they say?
She pictured Sarah and Ivy, Violet and Abigail, and all the others … and she knew precisely what they’d tell her. To be fearless, and to follow her heart.
She knew, because it was the same advice she’d offer anyone else who asked. And now she had to find the fortitude to act upon it. She had to walk back into that ballroom and tell Lord Singleton that she couldn’t marry him.
Feeling more sure of herself than she had in days, she picked up her skirts and ran toward the house. It would be difficult to tell Charles that she’d changed her mind, but she’d be doing both of them a favor in the end. And once she’d officially called off their betrothal, she couldn’t wait to seek out Reese.
She dashed across the terrace, through the French doors, and into the ballroom, breathlessly searching the room for the marquess—and, almost immediately, he appeared at her side.
“There you are, Miss Kendall,” he said slyly. “Would you care to dance?”
“Actually, I hoped we could talk,” she said.
Lord Singleton chuckled and glanced nervously at the small group of people gathered around them. “I’m sure we can converse on the dance floor,” he said.
Sophie hesitated. Now that she’d made her decision, it felt rather hypocritical to waltz with him. But she didn’t wish to humiliate him either.
“Very well,” she said, accepting the arm he’d offered. “But I’d like to talk with you afterward.”
He gave her hand a patronizing pat and escorted her to the dance floor, where he swept her into a line of couples twirling in time to the music.
“What was it you wished to talk about, my dear?” he asked smoothly.
Sophie raised her chin so that she could meet his eyes. “I think it best to broach the subject after this set—in private.”
“That could be rather difficult. I am the host of this ball, after all,” he said, deftly spinning her underneath his raised arm. “And it’s less than an hour till midnight, when we shall toast our engagement. Perhaps I could call on you tomorrow morning and we could have a proper conversation then.”
Her heart kicked into a gallop. “This cannot wait,” she said firmly.
He narrowed his eyes as, hands raised above their heads, they moved toward each other, then apart. “I do hope you’re not having second thoughts.”
Blast. She hadn’t wanted to tell him like this … but there was no help for it. “I’m afraid I am. I cannot marry you, Charles.”
For several beats of the music, he said nothing; then he shrugged. “I suspect it’s perfectly normal to feel anxious prior to announcing one’s engagement. I’ll fetch you a glass of champagne after this set. It will calm your nerves.”
“I’m not suffering from a case of nerves,” she whispered. “And I’m truly sorry I didn’t tell you how I felt before now. I thought I could be a dutiful wife, that I could make our relationship work … but I can’t.” She glanced around to make sure no one could overhear them and blinked at a new couple on the dance floor. The woman looked like Lily and the man looked like … heavens, Sophie clearly needed spectacles because the man looked like Reese.
Charles steered her away to a less crowded spot and leaned toward her ear. “I think I know what this is about.”
Sophie gulped. “You do?”
“You’ve had strange ideas put into your head by that awful column. And the Debutante Underground.”
Sweet Jesus. She looked directly into his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do,” he said, his tone menacing. “And I have the proof right here.” He released her waist so that he could tap his chest—where she could make out the rectangular outline of her journal.
“You’re speaking in riddles, Charles,” she countered, even as heat rose up her chest and neck.
“Then allow me to make myself very clear. I have invested a great deal of time, effort, and money into this arrangement—an arrangement that obviously benefits your father. We will announce our engagement tonight. And if you are foolish enough to cry off, not only will you be throwing your family to the lions, but you will force me to expose this secret society of yours. I’ll publish the name of every last member in the London Hearsay.”
Oh God. The women of the Debutante Underground had placed their trust in her, and now she was letting them down. The room started to tilt and her ears began to buzz. The silk-lined walls closed in on her like the cold stone of a Newgate jail cell. The corners of her vision turned gray, and her knees wobbled.
“Please … let me explain,” she mumbled, but her tongue was thick and uncooperative. “I—”
Bam. Before she could finish her sentence or properly swoon, another couple slammed into her and Charles, knocking her off her feet with a teeth-jarring jolt.
“Sophie!” called a familiar feminine voice. A soft but surprisingly strong arm circled her waist. Green eyes gazed down at her with concern. Lily propped Sophie against her side while Charles and Reese gained their footing.
“Forgive my clumsiness,” Reese was saying, giving Charles a good-natured slap on the shoulder. “My dancing skills are sorely out of practice.”
“I’ll say.” Charles scowled as he straightened his cravat.
Turning to Lily, Reese said, “Are you all right, Your Grace?”
“I am fine,” Lily replied, her shrewd eyes assessing. “But I am concerned about my friend. I’m going to escort Sophie to the terrace so she can take a bit of fresh air.”
“Thank you,” Charles said stiffly. Turning to Sophie, he said, “Miss Kendall, I trust that you’ll be feeling much improved in time for our midnight toast.”
Sophie blinked back tears of frustration and rage. “I doubt that I shall, my lord.”
“Please, accept my apologies,” Reese said. He placed a hand over his heart as the women left the dance floor and cast Sophie a furtive, reassuring smile.
She tried to smile back but faltered. Nothing was all right. Charles had the means to destroy the reputations and lives of dozens of her friends. And the only way Sophie could protect them was to deny her own heart and marry him.