An Offer From a Gentleman (Bridgertons 3)

“Your accent is impeccable,” Lady Bridgerton said. “I know you told me that you had lessons with the children your mother worked for, but that doesn’t seem like enough of an explanation to me. Those lessons wouldn’t have started until you were a bit older, six at the very earliest, and your speech patterns would have already been rather set by that point.”

Sophie felt her eyes widen. She’d never seen that particular hole in her story, and she was rather surprised that no one else had until now. But then again, Lady Bridgerton was a good deal smarter than most of the people to whom she had told her fabricated history.

“And you know Latin,” Lady Bridgerton said. “Don’t try to deny it. I heard you muttering under your breath the other day when Hyacinth vexed you.”

Sophie kept her gaze fixed firmly on the window just to Lady Bridgerton’s left. She couldn’t quite bring herself to meet her eyes.

“Thank you for not denying it,” Lady Bridgerton said. And then she waited for Sophie to say something, waited so long that finally Sophie had to fill the interminable silence.

“I’m not a suitable match for your son,” was all she said.

“I see.”

“I really have to go.” She had to get the words out quickly, before she changed her mind.

Lady Bridgerton nodded. “If that is your wish, there is nothing I can do to stop you. Where is it you plan to go?”

“I have relatives in the north,” Sophie lied.

Lady Bridgerton clearly didn’t believe her, but she answered, “You will, of course, use one of our carriages.”

“No, I couldn’t possibly.”

“You can’t think I would permit you to do otherwise. I consider you to be my responsibility—at least for the next few days—and it is far too dangerous for you to leave unescorted. It’s not safe for women alone in this world.”

Sophie couldn’t quite suppress a rueful smile. Lady Bridgerton’s tone might be different, but her words were almost exactly those uttered by Benedict a few weeks earlier. And look where that had gotten her. She would never say that she and Lady Bridgerton were close friends, but she knew her well enough to know that she would not be budged on this issue.

“Very well,” Sophie acceded. “Thank you.” She could have the carriage drop her off somewhere, preferably not too far from a port where she could eventually book passage to America, and then decide where to go from there.

Lady Bridgerton offered her a small, sad smile. “I assume you already have your bags packed?”

Sophie nodded. It didn’t seem necessary to point out that she only had one bag, singular.

“Have you made all of your good-byes?”

Sophie shook her head. “I’d rather not,” she admitted.

Lady Bridgerton stood and nodded. “Sometimes that is best,” she agreed. “Why don’t you await me in the front hall? I will see to having a coach brought ’round.”

Sophie turned and started to walk out, but when she reached the doorway, she stopped and turned around. “Lady Bridgerton, I—”

The older lady’s eyes lit up, as if she were expecting some good news. Or if not good, then at least something different. “Yes?”

Sophie swallowed. “I just wanted to thank you.”

The light in Lady Bridgerton’s eyes dimmed a little. “Whatever for?”

“For having me here, for accepting me, and allowing me to pretend I was a part of your family.”

“Don’t be sil—”

“You didn’t have to let me take tea with you and the girls,” Sophie interrupted. If she didn’t get this all out now, she’d lose her courage. “Most women wouldn’t have done. It was lovely . . . and new . . . and . . .” She gulped. “I will miss you all.”

“You don’t have to go,” Lady Bridgerton said softly.

Sophie tried to smile, but it came out all wobbly, and it tasted like tears. “Yes,” she said, almost choking on the word. “I do.”

Lady Bridgerton stared at her for a very long moment, her pale blue eyes filled with compassion and then maybe a touch of realization. “I see,” she said quietly.

And Sophie feared that she did see.

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” Lady Bridgerton said. Sophie nodded as she stood aside to let the dowager viscountess pass. Lady Bridgerton paused in the hallway, looking down at Sophie’s well-worn bag. “Is that all you have?” she asked.

“Everything in the world.”

Lady Bridgerton swallowed uncomfortably, and her cheeks took on the slightest hue of pink, almost as if she were actually embarrassed by her riches—and Sophie’s lack thereof.

“But that . . .” Sophie said, motioning to the bag, “that’s not what’s important. What you have . . .” She stopped and swallowed, doing battle with the lump in her throat. “I don’t mean what you own . . .”

“I know what you mean, Sophie.” Lady Bridgerton dabbed at her eyes with her fingers. “Thank you.”

Sophie’s shoulders rose and fell in a tiny shrug. “It’s the truth.”

“Let me give you some money before you go, Sophie,” Lady Bridgerton blurted out.

Sophie shook her head. “I couldn’t. I’ve already taken two of the dresses you gave me. I didn’t want to, but—”

“It’s all right,” Lady Bridgerton assured her. “What else could you do? The ones you came with are gone.” She cleared her throat. “But please, let me give you some money.” She saw Sophie open her mouth to protest and said, “Please. It would make me feel better.”

Lady Bridgerton had a way of looking at a person that truly made one want to do as she asked, and besides that, Sophie really did need the money. Lady Bridgerton was a generous lady; she might even give Sophie enough to book third-class passage across the ocean. Sophie found herself saying, “Thank you,” before her conscience had a chance to grapple with the offer.

Lady Bridgerton gave her a brief nod and disappeared down the hall.

Sophie took a long, shaky breath, then picked up her b

ag and walked slowly down the stairs. She waited in the foyer for a moment, then decided she might as well wait outside. It was a fine spring day, and Sophie thought that a bit of sun on her nose might be just the thing to make her feel better. Well, at least a little bit better. Besides, she’d be less likely to run into one of the Bridgerton daughters, and much as she was going to miss them, she just didn’t want to have to say good-bye.

Still clutching her bag in one hand, she pushed open the front door and descended the steps.

It shouldn’t take too long for the coach to be brought around. Five minutes, maybe ten, maybe—

“Sophie Beckett!”

Sophie’s stomach dropped right down to her ankles. Araminta. How could she have forgotten?

Frozen into inaction, she looked around and up the stairs, trying to figure out which way to flee. If she ran back into the Bridgerton house, Araminta would know where to find her, and if she took off on foot—

“Constable!” Araminta shrieked. “I want a constable!”

Sophie dropped her bag and took off running.

“Someone stop her!” Araminta screamed. “Stop thief! Stop thief!”

Sophie kept running, even though she knew it would make her look guilty. She ran with every last fiber in her muscles, with every gulp of air she could force into her lungs. She ran and she ran and she ran . . .

Until someone tackled her, thumping into her back and knocking her to the ground.

“I got her!” the man yelled. “I got her for you!”

Sophie blinked and gasped at the pain. Her head had hit the pavement with a stunning blow, and the man who had caught her was practically sitting on her abdomen.

“There you are!” Araminta crowed as she hurried over. “Sophie Beckett. The nerve!”

Sophie glared at her. Words didn’t exist to express the loathing in her heart. Not to mention that she was in too much pain to speak.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Araminta said, smiling evilly. “Posy told me she’d seen you.”

Sophie closed her eyes for a longer than the usual blink. Oh, Posy. She doubted that she’d meant to give her away, but Posy’s tongue had a way of getting ahead of her mind.