Sophia twirled before her mirror.

Oh but she looked fine, she thought with a satisfied smirk. Surely no one in this silly house party could hold a candle to her even on her worst days. But today...

She grinned.

Nathaniel would take one look at her and forget about that little witch Butterworth.

But the thought of the companion reduced some of her good humour. She was a nuisance. Had she not been here, Sophia would've had that ring on her finger.

She'd decided to keep her pink taffeta for when Nathaniel would announce their nuptials. But it seemed like he'd forgotten the purpose of this house party, she thought bitterly. And so she'd worn her best gown with the most expensive pearls tonight.

The ton would see her for who she was. That Butterworth could try and act as sweet and friendly as she liked, but the moment Sophia turned on her charm, the ton would forget about the inconsequential companion. Of that she was confident.

Soon she'd be the Duchess of Bedford. She would own this mansion and its surrounding lands. She'd have several estates and more money than she could ever spend. She'd be the most sought after woman in London.

Of course, there was the small problem of Nathaniel's mother—he did seem unnecessarily attached to her. But she could remedy that.

Sophia was generous, surely she could spare the dower house to the old crone. She could rusticate there while Sophia attended balls on Nathaniel's arm.

She sighed happily.

Life was just going to get better.

Once she disposed of the companion.

****************

"You look well, tonight," Nate said to Fiona when she appeared for that evening's entertainments. She was wearing some cream coloured confection with a low bodice and he couldn't help but stare at her. Now that he'd realised that he loved her, it had become harder to resist her allure. He wanted to hide her, to keep her all to himself. He didn't want those other gentlemen to chase her.

"So do you," she smiled faintly and Nate found that his face had heated under the influence of her compliment.

Her eyes sparkled with mischief and sadness—he knew that didn't make sense but that was Fiona. For such a talkative woman, she could also convey all of her emotions with her wide eyes. And he knew her, understood her. He also suspected the reasons for her sorrow. It could either be him or Winston that had caused trouble to her mind.

He wanted to erase that world weary look from her face. He wanted her to smile widely, the way she had when he'd reluctantly agreed to hire her for two weeks. Or when he'd told her that her beloved romance novels had arrived. He was also particularly fond of the expression she'd worn just after he'd kissed her—dazed and surprised.

But he had no right to see those wonderful things, they both knew that.

The Dukedom came first, he reminded himself sternly.

And yet he found himself enquiring after things he had no business enquiring after.

"What have you thought about Winston's proposal?"

"I have asked him for some time...as your mother suggested."

Nate wanted to roar his frustration.

"Winston's not an option, Fiona."

"Would you rather I marry someone like Lord Burns who is thrice my age or Sir Percy who is sure to gamble away what is left of his inheritance?" she asked hotly.

"You don't marry at all," he snapped.

Her face closed up immediately and Nate was shocked by the extent of his selfishness.

"I see how much concern you have about my future and it heartens me, your grace. However, I shall have to consider Lord Winston not only because he the best option I have but also because I hold him in high regard," she said before storming off.

She held him in low regard, Nate knew even though she hadn't said it out loud.

Now he'd gone and made things worse. She would probably say yes to Winston just to spite him. He wanted to go after her and say...something. But he knew there was nothing he could do to take back his thoughtless words.

He turned around only to find his nemesis standing before him.

"Good evening, your grace. Have you happened to see Fiona anywhere?" Winston came up to Nate.

"No," he replied stiffly. Nate was tempted to reach out and grab the young man by his neck for even saying her name.

"Tell her I'm looking for her if you see her, will you? She said she'll give me her answer tonight. I'm almost positive she'd say yes," Winston grinned boyishly and rushed off. Nate had tried hard to find something on his face—something that suggested that this was all a game to the man. But all he'd found was sincere hope.

If anything, this only made him feel worse.

What right did he have to stop Fiona from marrying Winston when he was prepared to offer her what Nate couldn't?

A sudden thought struck Nate. What if he did throw caution to the winds and marry the woman he wanted? The woman that he loved...

He dismissed the thought immediately.

He was already betrothed to Sophia for heaven's sake. He couldn't just call it off.

"Nathaniel, I've been looking for you," Sophia called out.

Nate closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them.

Of course, she looked lovely. But he felt nothing, not even a slight admiration. He knew of the effect she had on the other men, but it did absolutely nothing for him.

"Good evening, Sophia."

"Aren't you going to tell me how I look?" she fluttered her fan before her face coyly.

"You look beautiful," he said dutifully. She giggled and Nate thought that if he had to listen to that sound got the rest of his life, he'd probably tear his ears out.

He'd rather listen to Fiona sing.

"I saw Miss Butterworth going off somewhere with Lord Winston. I suppose she's going to accept his proposal," she said, smiling like Fiona and her were old friends.

Nate clenched his teeth.

"Where did they go?"

"I don't know. I couldn't follow them, obviously. I might have interrupted on their private moments," she said conspiratorially and slid closer to his side.

Now he was positive he looked close to exploding.

He was about to go in search of Fiona and that cretin Winston when they heard a commotion coming from above stairs.

Nate raced up the stairs.

On the floor lay his mother, her face twisted in pain and gasping for breath. Some guests surrounded her but looked unsure of how to help her.

Nate picked her up, flinching when she groaned and carried her to her chamber. He asked Winterbottom to call for a physician and stayed by his mother's side.

"How did this happen?" he asked his mother when Fiona entered the chamber, her face creased with worry. But Nate wasn't fooled.