“You can always avail yourself here.”

He gave her a half smile. His mother liked nothing better than to have her children close at hand. “I need to get back to my  own lodgings,” he said, leaning down and dropping a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you for finding a position for Sophie.”

“Miss Beckett, you mean?” Violet asked, her lips curving slyly.

“Sophie, Miss Beckett,” Benedict said, feigning indifference. “Whatever you wish to call her.”

When he left, he did not see his mother smiling broadly at his back.

*  *  *

Sophie knew that she should not allow herself to grow too comfortable at Bridgerton House—she would, after all, be leaving just as soon as she could make the arrangements— but as she looked around her room, surely the nicest any servant had  ever been assigned, and she thought about Lady Bridgerton’s friendly manner and easy smile ...

She just couldn’t help wishing that she could stay forever.

But that was impossible. She knew that as well as she knew that her name was Sophia Maria Beckett, not Sophia Maria Gunningworth.

First and foremost, there was always the danger that she’d come into contact with Araminta, especially now that Lady Bridgerton had elevated her from housemaid to lady’s maid. A lady’s maid might, for example, find herself acting as a chaperone or escort on outings outside the house. Outings to places where Araminta and the girls might choose to frequent.

And Sophie had no doubt that Araminta would find a way to make her life a living hell. Araminta hated her in a way that  defied reason, went beyond emotion. If she saw Sophie in London, she would not be content simply to ignore her. Sophie  had no doubt that Araminta would lie, cheat, and steal just to make Sophie’s life more difficult.

She hated Sophie that much.

But if Sophie were to be honest with herself, the true reason she could not remain in London was not Araminta. It was Benedict.

How could she avoid him when she lived in his mother’s household? She was furious with him right now—beyond furious, in  all truth—but she knew, deep down, that anger could only be short-lived. How could she resist him, day in and day out, when the mere sight of him made her weak with longing? Someday soon he’d smile at her, one of those sideways, crooked sorts of smiles, and she’d find herself clutching on to the furniture, just to keep herself from melting into a pathetic pool on the floor.

She’d fallen in love with the wrong man. She could never have him on her terms, and she refused to go to him on his. It was hopeless.

Sophie was saved from any further depressing thoughts by a brisk knock on her door. When she called out, “Yes?” the door opened, and Lady Bridgerton entered the room.

Sophie immediately jumped to her feet and bobbed a curtsy. “Was there anything you needed, my lady?” she asked.

“No, not at all,” Lady Bridgerton replied. “I was merely checking to see if you were getting settled in. Is there anything I  can get for you?”

Sophie blinked. Lady Bridgerton was asking her if she needed anything? Rather the reverse of the usual lady-servant relationship. “Er, no thank you,” Sophie said. “I would be happy to get something for you, though.”

Lady Bridgerton waved her offer way. “No need. You shouldn’t feel you have to do anything for us today. I’d prefer that  you get yourself settled in first so that you do not feel distracted when you begin.”

Sophie cast her eyes toward her small bag. “I don’t have much to unpack. Truly, I should be happy to begin work immediately.”

“Nonsense. It’s already nearly the end of the day, and we are not planning to go out this evening, anyway. The girls  and I have made do with only one lady’s maid for the past week; we shall certainly survive for one more night.” “

But—”

Lady Bridgerton smiled. “No arguments, if you please. One last day free is the least I can do after you saved my son.

“I did very little,” Sophie said. “He would have been fine without me.”

“Nonetheless, you aided him when he needed help, and for that I am in your debt.”

“It was my pleasure,” Sophie replied. “It was the very least I owed him after what he did for me.”

Then, to her great surprise, Lady Bridgerton walked forward and sat down in the chair behind Sophie’s writing desk.

Writing desk! Sophie was still trying fathom that. What maid had ever been blessed with a writing desk?

“So tell me, Sophie,” Lady Bridgerton said with a winning smile—one that instantly reminded her of Benedict’s easy grin. “Where are you from?”

“East Anglia, originally,” Sophie replied, seeing no reason to lie. The Bridgertons were from Kent; it was unlikely that Lady Bridgerton would be familiar with Norfolk, where Sophie had grown up. “Not so very far from Sandringham, if you know where that is.”

“I do indeed,” Lady Bridgerton said. “I haven’t been, but I’ve heard that it is a lovely building.”

Sophie nodded. “It is, quite. Of course, I’ve never been inside. But the exterior is beautiful.”

“Where did your mother work?”

“Blackheath Hall,” Sophie replied, this lie slipping easily off her tongue. She’d been asked that question often enough;  she’d long since settled upon a name for her fictional home. “Are you familiar with it?”

Lady Bridgerton’s brow furrowed. “No, I don’t believe so.”