for you.â The maid held out a parchment.
Another message? Two in one day? Very odd. âThank you very much.â Sophie tore open the parchment.
You will be mine.
She widened her eyes, and her pulse quickened.
âIs anything wrong, my lady?â Hannah asked.
Sophie shook her head, biting her lip. âNo, no. Nothing.â She folded the parchment and laid it on her night table. Most likely it was Mr. NewlandâZachâindicating his hope that she would take the role in the musicale. No need to worry, despite the hairs on her forearms standing on end.
âHannah, please prepare me a bath.â
----
T he next morning , Sophie breathed a relieved sigh to find Ally in the parlor taking a light breakfast.
âWhere are Mother and the earl this morning? And Evan?â she asked.
Ally stopped munching on her scone and swallowed. âEvan and the earl had business to attend to early this morning, and Mother has decided to sleep late. I was planning the same thing, but Junior here kicked me until I woke up.â Ally petted her belly.
Sophie smiled. âOnly about a month and a half to go now. Are you still hoping for a little boy?â
âWell, Evan doesnât have a title to pass to a son, so it doesnât rightly matter what I have. I just want a healthy baby, but I know Evan would adore having a son, so for him, Iâm hoping for a boy.â
âIf I know Evan, heâll be happy with a healthy baby as well,â Sophie said.
Ally smiled. âYouâre probably right.â
Sophieâs cheeks warmed as she gathered her courage to ask Ally the questions sheâd been thinking about since yesterday. She was more confused than ever after reading those excerpts from Monsieur Becklardâs book.
âAllyâ¦â
Ally looked up, continuing to chew on her scone.
âI was wonderingâ¦if I could ask youâ¦a few things.â
Ally swallowed again. âOf course.â
âWell, before you and Evan married, you told me once that you had done a lot ofâ¦reading.â
Allyâs golden eyes gleamed. âDear Sophie, are you finally blossoming?â
âBlossoming? What are you talking about?â
âThe stirrings, my dear. Has a young man caught your fancy?â
Sophie blazed with heat. Yes, a certain man had caught her fancyâand had undressed her yesterday in a hidden alcove on this very estate. Not only that, he had breached her private place, and he had smacked her bum. She heated even further at the memory of those stinging little slaps.
âI have no stirrings, Ally. I am merely curious.â
âWhat do you wish to know?â
âYou know Iâve resigned myself to spinsterhood.â
âPishposh. You just havenât met the right gentleman yet. He will come along.â
Perhaps he had already. âAlly, Iâm four-and-twenty years old. Everyone knows the prime time for marriage for women is ages nineteen to twenty-five. Iâm nearly too old already.â
âFor goodnessâ sake, where did you get such an antiquated idea?â
âFrom a book I found in the libraryâMonsieur Becklardâs Physiology â¦or some such.â
She remembered well the passage:
The proper age to marry, all the world over, is between twenty-five and thirty for men, and nineteen and twenty-five for women; and in fact, previous to the ages of twenty-five and nineteen they are, as a general rule, inadequate to the requirements of matrimonial intercourse.
âBecklard? That French fool? Why, that book is complete rubbish.â
âYouâve read it?â
âYes, a couple of years ago. I found a copy at the dukeâs estate. I couldnât believe what I was reading, but then I found other treatises that were much more accurate.â
âTreatises? Which ones?â
Ally giggled. âNot so much treatises as⦠literature .â
âLiterature? I donât