An Ideal Husband?

‘I thought you always wanted me to marry by special licence.’

‘Only if the man is suitable for you.’ Her stepmother gave a long sigh. ‘I don’t know what is wrong with me. This morning when Lord Bingfield was here, I was transported with happiness for you, but I have spent all afternoon staring at Mr Ravel’s portrait and wondering—is this the sort of man your father would have approved of? Is being in the aristocracy worth your ultimate happiness?’

Sophie concentrated on her bare hands, rather than looking at her stepmother’s face. Her stepmother only ever spent time talking to her father’s portrait when she felt overwhelmed. It was tempting to confide in her, but the arrangement would only make her more agitated. And could she trust her stepmother to keep it a secret? Her stepmother had the habit of gossiping with friends. It was far more important to catch Sir Vincent and destroy him. She’d confess later. Her stepmother would understand. Far better to beg forgiveness, than request permission in this case.

Sophie glanced at her stepmother’s kindly face and swallowed. Or at least she hoped her stepmother would understand.

‘I know what I am doing. And it was in all the papers, Stepmother. You know what happened to the Neville girl. She was banned from court and that was fifteen years ago. Once the gutter press get hold of you, they do not let go.’