Page 6 of The Duke’s Cursed Virgin (Cursed Brides #3)

Chapter Five

“ G ood morning,” greeted some of the people strolling with their parasols, to which Sophia could only nod.

Another gathering , she sighed inwardly.

Dressing up was never a problem. She had that dress from Bond Street to make her feel better about her situation, but idle conversation and unpleasant people were never her favorite company. Books and libraries were.

Libraries.

Her face warmed at the thought. They said that time could dull pain and humiliation, but that was not the case with her. She remembered every moment of that encounter.

The late morning sun at least brought back a few pleasant memories. She used to love running in her father’s estate, the cool air whipping at her skirts while her dog Everett ran after her.

That time was gone. All she had loved was gone.

In place of all that was lost was simply a never-ending dread and feelings of desolation.

Sophia adjusted her bonnet while she and Aunt Mary stepped onto the estate’s perfectly manicured lawns.

Blooming roses overwhelmed her senses, but at least they were better than the suffocating perfumes of the people who hated her.

Members of the ton milled about, finding friends to converse with. Some were preening before potential spouses, the air thick with performance and courtship.

It was a dance Sophia had never learned—not properly. Once, she’d thought herself destined for a love like that of her parents, a future filled with warmth and laughter and family.

But that accident cost her everything: her precious father. And beyond that, the ton had marked her—as well as Genevieve and Rosaline—as cursed.

As though it was their fault they’d survived.

And her uncle… Instead of taking her in and protecting her from the ton’s cruelty, he had sent her away. To be forgotten.

Her time in Scotland—her uncle exiling her—had cost her a lot: her place in Society, the easy camaraderie of peers, and even the sound of her own laughter in a crowded room.

Now, she was an ornament at the edge of the ballroom, a shadow draped in silk, haunting a world that had long since moved on without her.

“Smile, dear,” Aunt Mary advised, although she herself wore something closer to a scowl.

“I am smiling,” Sophia insisted.

“That is a grimace, darling,” the Dowager Countess corrected.

Then, she quickly gave her niece a frighteningly genuine-looking smile. That woman was always a few steps ahead of her. She knew that Sophia would point out that she wasn’t smiling either.

Soon, Sophia spotted Anna and Lady Holton among a group of acquaintances. Finally, her face broke into a soft, genuine smile, one that didn’t hurt her cheeks as it often did.

“A garden party,” Aunt Mary sniffed. “So tedious.”

“More tedious than a social visit?” Sophia asked knowingly.

“A social visit that you cannot escape because you are, after all, in your own home? My dear, you are a child after my own heart,” Aunt Mary said dramatically.

“There are worse fates, Auntie,” Sophia said, smiling.

“Indeed.”

This time, it was Aunt Mary’s turn to grimace at everyone when they were close enough to Lady Holton’s little group.

“There you are. I have been waiting for you,” Lady Holton breathed, offering them a warm smile. Apparently, she was friendlier in the daytime than in the nighttime. “I was just telling the other ladies how delightful it is to be out in the sun.”

“Oh, I would not use the word delightful ,” Aunt Mary lamented.

Sophia wanted to laugh at how quickly the tables turned. Ignoring her aunt’s grumbling, she let Anna pull her to the side.

“I must talk to you before the others arrive,” Anna said, looping her arm through Sophia’s.

“The others?” Sophia wrinkled her nose. “Do you mean we are expecting more people?”

“Oh, no. It is a large garden, after all, with several options for seating arrangements.”

“So, what do you want to tell me?” Sophia asked.

“The Marquess of Foxmere and his family are here,” Anna said.

The two stared at each other, and dread spread through Sophia’s body.

“I am simply not ready to see him again,” Sophia mumbled.

“They are right there.” Anna turned and nodded at a woman standing beneath a large tree, with two boys jumping at her sides.

Sophia followed Anna’s gaze. It was difficult to think of Daphne Balfour, the Marchioness of Foxmere, as her aunt. She was very young, for one—twenty-four, the same age as Sophia—and she did not have the same air of snobbishness and malice that surrounded her husband Anthony, who was almost twenty years her senior.

Daphne looked young and harried. Sophia would have expected her uncle to hire governesses for his children, but it looked like his wife had her hands full with George and Henry.

Not only were the two boys still very young, but they also seemed a handful, running around their mother. One was even pulling at the skirt of her dress while she gently tried to free herself.

“I will talk to her,” Sophia told Anna, after sighing heavily.

While she didn’t like being in the vicinity of her uncle, Daphne had never done anything bad to her.

Sophia wondered if Daphne would have defended her had she been married to her uncle at the time of her father’s death. Would she have fought for her to stay with them? For them to be a family?

It was hopeless, imagining what could have been.

Yet a part of her felt that Daphne would indeed fight for her. That Daphne would at least try to keep her home. And that was a small but comforting thought.

She walked toward Daphne with fierce determination, her head held high and her shoulders squared. As she neared, the Marchioness raised her head and met her eyes.

“Sophia!” Daphne called, pleasure and relief mingling in her voice. “Oh, you don’t know how happy and relieved I am to see you.”

Sophia could guess, of course. For a moment, she felt trapped, but she tried her best not to show it. She smiled politely and walked a little closer.

“It’s good to see you, Lady Foxmere,” she greeted softly.

“You, as well,” Daphne said.

“I wondered if you would be here today.”

Sophia glanced at Daphne’s boys. The two stopped running to stare at her openly.

Oh, what a wonderful thing it was to be a child, so free from the pressures of the ton. So free from life’s sorrows.

“And these are George and Henry?” she asked, with a smile for the two boys.

George, the older of the two, puffed out his chest. “I’m five years old!”

“Oh, what a big boy you are now, George,” Sophia praised, her palms pressed together.

Such charming children. I wish mine ? —

She halted that train of thought, sadness surging through her. She’d never have children of her own. She couldn’t help herself. The boys roused a deep wistfulness within her.

Not to be outdone, Henry shouted, “I’m four!”

“Impressive! You’re a big boy, too,” Sophia remarked with a big grin, crouching to their eye level. “You must keep your mama on her toes.”

The two seemed content with her praise, and they were back to their previous antics, running around their mother in seemingly endless circles.

“They do,” Daphne admitted, letting out a long sigh. “They have so much energy that at night, I don’t know if I would ever get some sleep. I do try my best to tuck them in early so that they have enough hours for their growth.”

“They wake up early?” Sophia asked, straightening up. She tried to follow the boys’ movements with her eyes without getting dizzy.

“They do! Whether they sleep early or not, they wake up before the sun is up. So, I’d rather they sleep early.”

“From what I can see so far, your boys are little angels compared to Aunt Mary’s grandchildren. Not because they are Scottish, mind you. I think they just take after her. A little too much, perhaps,” Sophia said, chuckling.

Daphne laughed, easing some of the tension between them.

But the moment was gone too soon.

“Sophia.”

Sophia’s breath caught. That voice was simply too familiar, and too unwanted. She turned to face her uncle, the new Marquess of Foxmere. He watched her with a gaze that was both assessing and ultimately unreadable. She hoped that he couldn’t read her, either. In his presence, she had the odd feeling that they were playing some kind of game.

“Uncle,” she greeted politely, inclining her head.

She understood her place, and how she should play their strange, quiet game.

Anthony briefly nodded at her. He didn’t seem as eager to torture her with his unkind words. Perhaps it was because his wife was present.

Sophia racked her brain for a time he had shown how much he didn’t like her while Daphne was present.

She didn’t have enough time, though, because Anthony had other plans. He shifted his gaze across the garden, squinted a little, and then smiled when he saw what he was looking for.

“Ah, the Duke of Wolvesley. Your Grace!” he called, raising his right hand.

Sophia froze when she saw the Duke of Wolvesley turn toward him. The man wasn’t imposing in the library only. Here, in the great outdoors, with the sun not hiding one part of him, he looked just as commanding and utterly dashing.

The imposing breadth of his shoulders made her think of him leaning over her, enveloping her in his arms, and sweeping her far, far away, kissing all the grief, all the pain?—

Focus , she scolded herself.

He seemed slightly annoyed, his eyes narrowed to slits. Despite what appeared to be the sourest of moods, he strode toward them. He took long, confident strides, reaching them in no time.

He looked so composed, but as he neared them, his eyes lit up in recognition. Mischief peeked through his composed exterior.

He remembers.

Of course, he remembered the wanton woman who touched herself sinfully in a library over words on a page.

It made Sophia feel uneasy, her fingers curling into the fabric of her dress. She wondered if he would allude to their scandalous encounter.

“Your Grace,” Anthony said as the Duke joined them. “I’m glad I caught you. I’ve been meaning to discuss a potential business venture with you. A rather profitable one, I believe. I know you’ve shown interest in expanding your holdings, and I’ve been looking into some industries that I think would suit your portfolio perfectly…”

Sophia took a slow, controlled breath, trying her best to ignore the heat from the Duke’s proximity. He had already taken his place beside them, standing with an easy confidence that made Anthony seem small in comparison.

Theo’s gaze swept over Anthony’s face for a moment, an almost imperceptible smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, before his eyes flicked to Sophia. His voice was low but edged with the same quiet command that always seemed to hang in the air around him.

“You haven’t introduced me to the lady beside you, Lord Foxmere.”

The sharpness of his words broke through Anthony’s pitch, making the man hesitate for a split second.

Sophia’s heart skipped a beat as Anthony finally turned to look at her, his expression suddenly turning colder. His eyes narrowed before he forced a tight smile.

“Ah, yes. I—of course, Your Grace. Allow me to introduce my dear niece, Lady Sophia Balfour.”

My dear niece?

Sophia scoffed inwardly. Since when was she dear to him?

The Duke’s lips lifted at the corner. “Lady Sophia. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said in a smooth voice, enunciating the word pleasure far too emphatically for her liking.

She curtseyed, remembering her role and manners. She kept her face neutral and her voice monotonous. “Your Grace.”

The air crackled between them. Sophia could barely breathe, her lungs seizing with the tension.

“Are you enjoying the garden party?” the Duke asked, his gaze too intense even though a small smile played on his lips.

“Greatly,” Sophia deadpanned, raising her eyebrows.

“Is that so?” The Duke seemed hellbent on interrogating her during a garden party.

There was clear amusement on his face, but it was fleeting. Or perhaps she could only see it because they knew about what transpired in Fernwick’s library.

“I would not take you for a woman who listens to idle chatter while surrounded by hedges,” the Duke added. “I suspect it would take a great deal more to… satisfy you.”

Sophia stiffened, but she did not want the Duke to know just how much he was affecting her.

“You presume to know me, Your Grace,” she murmured, ensuring that she kept her tone civil, “when we’ve only just met.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anthony glare at her with wide eyes, but then he quickly put his polite mask back on.

“You must excuse my niece, Your Grace. She has not been in Society for some time,” he said smoothly, offering a polite smile.

The Duke barely spared him a glance, his attention focused solely on Sophia. “Indeed,” he replied with a soft chuckle, “I do not know you, My Lady. Not nearly enough.”

His tone was gentle, but there was something more—something unspoken—beneath his words that made her feel seen.

She stiffened, trying to ignore the way his gaze made her feel.

Then, she smiled carefully, hoping to keep the conversation polite and neutral. “There is little to know, Your Grace. I am hardly a subject of interest.”

The Duke’s lips curled into a slight smile, his dark eyes never leaving hers. “I beg to differ. I have learned over the years that the quietest of people often have the most fascinating minds.”

Sophia’s heart skipped a beat, and she carefully masked the flutter of unease. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, as if he were peeling back layers she hadn’t realized she’d exposed. She couldn’t afford to let him see her so vulnerable.

“I am not certain I would be the one to indulge your curiosity, Your Grace,” she replied in a composed tone, masking the racing thoughts in her mind.

The Duke raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “I’m not so sure. There is an air about you… one that suggests there is more beneath the surface.”

She resisted the urge to squirm under his gaze, reminding herself to remain guarded, especially with her uncle standing right there.

Before she could muster a response, Anthony cut in smoothly, unaware of the underlying tension between them. “Your Grace, we must not keep you from your duties. I am sure you have more pressing matters to attend to. Though I promise we shall converse later about the business venture I mentioned earlier.”

The Duke glanced briefly at Anthony before turning his full attention back to Sophia. “It seems my curiosity must be deferred for the time being.” He inclined his head to her, his smile widening ever so slightly. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Sophia. I trust we shall meet again soon.”

Sophia remained still, watching as the Duke walked away, her mind swirling. She hadn’t expected the exchange to elicit such a reaction from her. The encounter had left her feeling both intrigued and unsettled, and she couldn’t quite decide which one was the more dangerous feeling to indulge.

Suddenly, Aunt Mary appeared at her side, seized her arm, and pulled her aside. And thankfully, away from Anthony.

“What was that?” her aunt demanded in a stage whisper.

“What was what, Auntie?” Sophia asked, feigning ignorance.

She blinked, but it was not just for effect. She still felt slightly dazed.

“Do not play the innocent with me, young lady,” Aunt Mary warned, looking positively irritated. “You knew that man before your uncle introduced the two of you. When he came closer, you looked like you’d seen a ghost. Meanwhile, the Wolf Duke was looking at you as if he wanted to eat you alive.”

“Oh, that is not the case at all, Auntie,” Sophia protested, but she knew that her cheeks were red with embarrassment.

“The Wolf Duke does not give young women that much attention—not publicly. Rumor has it that he has a mistress or mistresses, and each one of them is a widow.”

“Then it is not possible that he was watching me the way you said he was,” Sophia argued, although her voice had become weaker.

What was he doing, talking to her like that?

Apparently, he has a mistress or two…

Somehow, that knowledge made her stomach sink.

“My dear, you looked irritable when you were talking with him. So, you must have noticed his attention,” Aunt Mary all but accused.

“It must be the heat, Auntie,” Sophia quipped. “Perhaps I was feeling a bit too hot. What you saw was me being uncomfortable.”

Aunt Mary stared at her.

Sophia knew that her aunt didn’t believe her one bit. She loved the outdoors. She was not the sort who used parasols, and she had never been the fainting type.

Her aunt pursed her lips, made a disgruntled sound, and somehow let the matter go for now.

Throughout the rest of the morning, though, Sophia could feel her aunt’s eyes following her as she interacted with Daphne, the boys, Anna, and other guests.

Later, Anna found a way to pull her friend away from the rest. She was bouncing with excitement, her face flushed.

“It was him. The man your uncle introduced you to was the Wolf Duke, was it not?”

There was no use in pretending.

Sophia sighed and admitted, “That was him.”

“Oh, Sophia. It does indeed sound like a romance novel. You and the mysterious Duke meeting again! Did it surprise you to see him here of all places?” Anna prattled on.

“Must you compare us to characters in your romance novels?” Sophia complained.

“To what else should I compare you two? He is a handsome and brooding duke. You are a lovely, mysterious young woman who was in exile because of tragedy. Sophia, it is thrilling! Don’t you feel it?”

Sophia only groaned and shook her head at her friend’s enthusiasm. “Has anyone told you that you have an overactive imagination, Anna?”

“Perhaps,” Anna said with an unrepentant grin. “But I wager that you have been thinking of the Wolf Duke, too.”

Sophia wanted to protest. The Wolf Duke was not thinking about her, nor was she thinking about him.

Even as she opened her mouth to deny it, she wasn’t certain she would be telling her friend the truth. So, she stared off into the distance.

There was no sign of the Duke. He’d left as quickly as he came, as if he were a mere specter of her imagination. She was annoyed that no matter how much she tried to forget him, he had taken residence in her thoughts.