Page 47 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

“I can know that and more from a great many small details. And so can you.”

Sophie lifted her chin defiantly, but she was still frowning. “He said he loved me.”

“And I hope he does. But as a debutante with a large dowry, it is best you know how to spot these things for yourself whenever possible.”

“My brother would never marry me off to a fortune hunter.”

Sybil thought of Keir’s quiet, intense gaze. The set of his jaw at the thought of a lady not being warm enough. “He would not. But wouldn’t you rather know for yourself?”

“I suppose I would.”

“Sometimes, you can’t,” Sybil said. “I’ll be honest about that. Sometimes we get fooled. But why make it easy for them?”

Sophie nodded thoughtfully as they walked through the snow back to the main path. “No one has ever told me anything like this.”

“I know. Perhaps I ought to tell you to talk to your brother or some such thing instead. But the reason fortune hunters can talk girls into eloping—or into other, more unsavory things—is because we insist on treating them like they are dolls.”

“I am not a doll.”

“Then allow me to also tell you that your Mr. Pelham tried to elope with a Miss Aldridge just last month.”

Sophie’s mouth dropped open. “He met me two months ago! In the village near my school.” She huffed out a breath. “Where Miss Aldridge used to attend, by the way.”

“I expect he was in that particular village by design, then.”

Sophie crossed her arms, vexed. Clearly also hurt, but mostly vexed. “That… arse.”

“I am sorry, Sophie. Are you in love with him?”

“I liked him very much, but now I wish equally as much to kick him very hard in the shins.”

“Two things can be true at once.” Sybil smiled. “I can teach you how to kick to best effect without breaking your own toes.”

“Good.” Sophie’s eyes were swimming with tears, but she did not let them fall. “I should like to marry one day. Not him, obviously. I was never going to marry him. But are you saying I cannot? Should not? Ever?”

“Certainly not,” Sybil said. “This isn’t about love or matches made with clear, honest eyes whatever their private agreements might be. This is about power and respect and unscrupulous people. That is all.”

“And you won’t tell my brother?”

“If you’ll promise me you’ll be more careful.” Telling Keir would only result in a row. And several more chaperones, possibly an armed guard. All of which would only have made Sybil dig in her heels and rebel all the harder at the age of sixteen. Sophie might well elope out of spite. “And you will take my suggestions to your friends. I will give you a list of peers to avoid, and their families. Some of those fortune hunters’ mothers are far worse, believe me.”

Sophie smiled grimly. “This is much more useful than any French lessons or my abysmal watercolors.”

Sybil knew what it felt like to be overlooked, to be trapped, to be grateful and happy and not care about what others thought of you while still somehow caring what others thought of you. It was exhausting. Stifling. “Your first lesson?” she asked, gathering snow in her mittens.

“Yes?”

“Practice your aim—you never know when it might come in handy.”

Sybil proceeded to hit her square in the face with the snowball.

Sophie squawked. Snow dripped from her chin. “You…” she sputtered. She shivered when a splatter of water snuck under her scarf. “This means war!”

Sybil laughed. “Make me proud!”

The resulting volleys of snowballs would have made a master gunner proud. Snow flew, as did insults and shouts and screams of laughter. A few passersby sniffed in disdain, but many more smiled. Several children joined the war. Sybil crouched, throwing snowball after snowball until she was breathless with laughter. Sophie finally hid behind a tree, hair damp, smile wide. “I yield!”

But Sybil still had a snowball in her possession. And it was perfect. Soft, well formed, ready to fly. She considered it carefully.