An Offer From a Gentleman - Page 63/108

“A bit north of Swaffham.”

Lady Bridgerton shook her head. “No, I do not know it.”

Sophie gave her a gentle smile. “Not many people do.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

Sophie was unused to an employer wanting to know so much about her personal background; usually all they cared about were her employment record and references. “No,” she said. “There was only me.”

“Ah, well, at least you had the company of the girls with whom you shared lessons. That must have been nice for you.”

“It was good fun,” Sophie lied. In all truth, studying with Rosamund and Posy had been sheer torture. She’d much  preferred lessons when she’d been alone with her governess, before they’d come to live at Penwood Park.

“I must say, it was very generous of your mother’s employers—I’m sorry,” Lady Bridgerton interrupted herself, her brow furrowing, “what did you say their name was?”

“Grenville.”

Her forehead wrinkled again. “I’m not familiar with them.”

“They don’t often come to London.”

“Ah, well, that explains it,” Lady Bridgerton said. “But as I was saying, it was very generous of them to allow you to  share in their daughters’ lessons. What did you study?”

Sophie froze, not sure whether she was being interrogated or if Lady Bridgerton were truly interested. No one had ever cared to delve so deeply into the faux background she had created for herself. “Er, the usual subjects,” she hedged. “Arithmetic and literature. History, a bit of mythology. French.”

“French?” Lady Bridgerton asked, looking quite surprised. “How interesting. French tutors can be very dear.”

“The governess spoke French,” Sophie explained. “So it didn’t cost any extra.”

“How is your French?”

Sophie wasn’t about to tell her the truth and say that it was perfect. Or almost perfect. She’d gotten out of practice these past few years and lost a bit of her fluency. “It’s tolerable,” she said. “Good enough to pass for a French maid, if that’s what you desire.”

“Oh, no,” Lady Bridgerton said, laughing merrily. “Heavens, no. I know it is all the rage to have French maids, but I would never ask you to go about your chores trying to remember to speak with a French accent.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” Sophie said, trying not to let her suspicion show on her face. She was sure that Lady  Bridgerton was a nice lady; she’d have to be a nice lady to have raised such a nice family. But this was almost too nice.

“Well, it’s—oh, good day, Eloise. What brings you up here?”

Sophie looked to the doorway and saw what could only be a Bridgerton daughter standing there. Her thick, chestnut hair  was coiled elegantly at the back of her neck, and her mouth was wide and expressive, just like Benedict’s.

“Benedict told me we have a new maid,” Eloise said.

Lady Bridgerton motioned to Sophie. “This is Sophie Beckett. We were just chatting. I think we shall deal famously.”

Eloise gave her mother an odd look—or at least Sophie thought it was an odd look. She supposed that it was possible  that Eloise always looked at her mother with a slightly suspicious, slightly confused, sideways glance. But somehow Sophie  didn’t think so.

“My brother tells me you saved his life,” Eloise said, turning from her mother to Sophie.

“He exaggerates,” Sophie said, a faint smile touching her lips.

Eloise regarded her with an oddly shrewd glance, and Sophie had the distinct impression that Eloise was analyzing her  smile, trying to decide whether or not she was poking fun at Benedict, and if so, whether it was in jest or unkindness.

The moment seemed suspended in time, and then Eloise’s lips curved in a surprisingly sly manner. “I think my mother is correct,” she said. “We shall deal famously.”

Sophie rather thought she had just passed some sort of crucial test.

“Have you met Francesca and Hyacinth?” Eloise asked.

Sophie shook her head, just as Lady Bridgerton said, “They are not at home. Francesca is visiting Daphne, and Hyacinth  is off at the Featheringtons. She and Felicity seem to be over their row and are once again inseparable.”

Eloise chuckled. “Poor Penelope. I think she was enjoying the relative peace and quiet with Hyacinth gone. I know I was enjoying the respite from Felicity.”

Lady Bridgerton turned to Sophie and explained, “My daughter Hyacinth can more often than not be found at the home  of her best friend, Felicity Featherington. And when she is not, then Felicity can be found here.”

Sophie smiled and nodded, wondering once again why they were sharing such tidbits with her. They were treating her  like family, something even her own family had never done.

It was very odd.

Odd and wonderful.

Odd and wonderful and horrible.

Because it could never last.

But maybe she could stay just a little while. Not long. A few weeks—maybe even a month. Just long enough to get her  affairs and thoughts in order. Just long enough to relax and pretend she was more than just a servant.

She knew she could never be a part of the Bridgerton family, but maybe she could be a friend.

And it had been so long since she had been anyone’s friend.

“Is something wrong, Sophie?” Lady Bridgerton asked. “You have a tear in your eye.”

Sophie shook her head. “Just a speck of dust,” she mumbled, pretending to busy herself with the unpacking of her small  bag of possessions. She knew that no one believed her, but she didn’t much care.