An Offer From a Gentleman (Bridgertons 3)

When her father had died, he’d left her nothing. Well, nothing but a roof over her head. His will had ensured that she could not be turned out until she was twenty. There was no way that Araminta would forfeit four thousand pounds a year by giving Sophie the boot.

But that four thousand pounds was Araminta’s, not Sophie’s, and Sophie hadn’t ever seen a penny of it. Gone were the fine clothes she’d used to wear, replaced by the coarse wool of the servants. And she ate what the rest of the maids ate—whatever Araminta, Rosamund, and Posy chose to leave behind.

Sophie’s twentieth birthday, however, had come and gone almost a year earlier, and here she was, still living at Penwood House, still waiting on Araminta hand and foot. For some unknown reason—probably because she didn’t want to train (or pay) a new maid—Araminta had allowed Sophie to remain in her household.

And Sophie had stayed. If Araminta was the devil she knew, then the rest of the world was the devil she didn’t. And Sophie had no idea which would be worse.

“Isn’t that tray getting heavy?”

Sophie blinked her way out of her reverie and focused on Posy, who was reaching for the last biscuit on the tray. Drat. She’d been hoping to snitch it for herself. “Yes,” she murmured. “Yes, it is quite. I should really be getting to the kitchen with it.”

Posy smiled. “I won’t keep you any longer, but when you’re done with that, could you press my pink gown? I’m going to wear it tonight. Oh, and I suppose the matching shoes should be readied as well. I got a bit of dirt on them last time I wore them, and you know how Mother is about shoes. Never mind that you can’t even see them under my skirt. She’ll notice the tiniest speck of dirt the instant I lift my hem to climb a step.”

Sophie nodded, mentally adding Posy’s requests to her daily list of chores.

“I’ll see you later, then!” Biting down on that last biscuit, Posy turned and disappeared into her bedchamber.

And Sophie trudged down to the kitchen.

A few days later, Sophie was on her knees, pins clamped between her teeth as she made last-minute alterations on Araminta’s masquerade costume. The Queen Elizabeth gown had, of course, been delivered from the dressmaker as a perfect fit, but Araminta insisted that it was now a quarter inch too large in the waist.

“How is that?” Sophie asked, speaking through her teeth so the pins wouldn’t fall.

“Too tight.”

Sophie adjusted a few pins. “What about that?”

“Too loose.”

Sophie pulled out a pin and stuck it back in precisely the same spot. “There. How does that feel?”

Araminta twisted this way and that, then finally declared, “It’ll do.”

Sophie smiled to herself as she stood to help Araminta out of the gown.

“I’ll need it done in an hour if we’re to get to the ball on time,” Araminta said.

“Of course,” Sophie murmured. She’d found it easiest just to say “of course” on a regular basis in conversations with Araminta.

“This ball is very important,” Araminta said sharply. “Rosamund must make an advantageous match this year. The new earl—” She shuddered with distaste; she still considered the new earl an interloper, never mind that he was the old earl’s closest living male relative. “Well, he has told me that this is the last year we may use Penwood House in London. The nerve of the man. I am the dowager countess, after all, and Rosamund and Posy are the earl’s daughters.”

Stepdaughters, Sophie silently corrected.

“We have every right to use Penwood House for the season. What he plans to do with the house, I’ll never know.”

“Perhaps he wishes to attend the season and look for a wife,” Sophie suggested. “He’ll be wanting an heir, I’m sure.”

Araminta scowled. “If Rosamund doesn’t marry into money, I don’t know what we’ll do. It is so difficult to find a proper house to rent. And so expensive as well.”

Sophie forbore to point out that at least Araminta didn’t have to pay for a lady’s maid. In fact, until Sophie had turned twenty, she’d received four thousand pounds per year, just for having a lady’s maid.

Araminta snapped her fingers. “Don’t forget that Rosamund will need her hair powdered.”

Rosamund was attending dressed as Marie Antoinette. Sophie had asked if she was planning to put a ring of faux blood around her neck. Rosamund had not been amused.

Araminta pulled on her dressing gown, cinching the sash with swift, tight movements. “And Posy—” Her nose wrinkled. “Well, Posy will need your help in some manner or other, I’m sure.”

“I’m always glad to help Posy,” Sophie replied.

Araminta narrowed her eyes as she tried to figure out if Sophie was being insolent. “Just see that you do,” she finally said, her syllables clipped. She stalked off to the washroom.

Sophie saluted as the door closed behind her.

“Ah, there you are, Sophie,” Rosamund said as she bustled into the room. “I need your help immediately.”

“I’m afraid it’ll have to wait until—”

“I said immediately!” Rosamund snapped.

Sophie squared her shoulders and gave Rosamund a steely look. “Your mother wants me to alter her gown.”

“Just pull the pins out and tell her you pulled it in. She’ll never notice the difference.”

Sophie had been considering the very same thing, and she groaned. If she did as Rosamund asked, Rosamund would tattle on her the very next day, and then Araminta would rant and rage for a week. Now she would definitely have to do the alteration.

“What do you need, Rosamund?”

“There is a tear at the hem of my costume. I have no idea how it happened.”

“Perhaps when you tried it on—”

“Don’t be impertinent!”

Sophie clamped her mouth shut. It was far more difficult to take orders from Rosamund than from Araminta, probably because they’d once been equals, sharing the same schoolroom and governess.

“It must be repaired immediately,” Rosamund said with an affected sniff.

Sophie sighed. “Just bring it in. I’ll do it right after I finish with your moth

er’s. I promise you’ll have it in plenty of time.”

“I won’t be late for this ball,” Rosamund warned. “If I am, I shall have your head on a platter.”

“You won’t be late,” Sophie promised.

Rosamund made a rather huffy sound, then hurried out the door to retrieve her costume.

“Ooof!”

Sophie looked up to see Rosamund crashing into Posy, who was barreling through the door.

“Watch where you’re going, Posy!” Rosamund snapped.

“You could watch where you’re going, too,” Posy pointed out.

“I was watching. It’s impossible to get out of your way, you big oaf.”

Posy’s cheeks stained red, and she stepped aside.

“Did you need something, Posy?” Sophie asked, as soon as Rosamund had disappeared.

Posy nodded. “Could you set aside a little extra time to dress my hair tonight? I found some green ribbons that look a little like seaweed.”

Sophie let out a long breath. The dark green ribbons weren’t likely to show up very well against Posy’s dark hair, but she didn’t have the heart to point that out. “I’ll try, Posy, but I have to mend Rosamund’s dress and alter your mother’s.”

“Oh.” Posy looked crestfallen. It nearly broke Sophie’s heart. Posy was the only person who was even halfway nice to her in Araminta’s household, save for the servants. “Don’t worry,” she assured her. “I’ll make sure your hair is lovely no matter how much time we have.”

“Oh, thank you, Sophie! I—”

“Haven’t you gotten started on my gown yet?” Araminta thundered as she returned from the washroom.

Sophie gulped. “I was talking with Rosamund and Posy. Rosamund tore her gown and—”

“Just get to work!”

“I will. Immediately.” Sophie plopped down on the settee and turned the gown inside out so that she could take in the waist. “Faster than immediately,” she muttered. “Faster than a hummingbird’s wings. Faster than—”

“What are you chattering about?” Araminta demanded.