Russell London Estate, Late Morning
The Russell townhouse was unusually quiet for a place that usually housed one of London's loudest men. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, casting golden squares across the polished floors. A footman led Sophia to the green drawing room where Andrew and Adrian were already taking tea with Viscount Kurt Darlington and Lord Benedict Montgomery.
Four young lords.
Four suspiciously stiff spines.
Sophia stepped inside, her riding habit brushing the doorway. "Good morning, milords."
They all stood at once—far too quickly to be natural.
Andrew cleared his throat. "Sophia. You look… exceptionally well."
She narrowed her eyes. "Thank you, Andrew. Now kindly explain why you all look like boys caught stealing jam."
The four exchanged glances—silent, guilty, synchronized.
Sophia folded her arms. "My aunt Catherine and my mother have been acting strangely. Whispering whenever I enter a room. Sending Beatrice and Victor out at odd times. Refusing to answer simple questions."
Andrew forced a smile. "Strange? Surely not."
Sophia's blue sapphire eyes sharpened.
"Milords," she said slowly, "did something happen at White's?"
Kurt choked on his tea.
Sophia's head snapped toward him. "Kurt."
Kurt sighed in defeat, shoulders slumping.
"Well… milady, it concerns your cousin."
"Beatrice?" she asked, brows lifting.
"No," Kurt murmured. "Victor."
Sophia blinked. "…Victor?"
Benedict rubbed his temples.
Andrew muttered a prayer.
Adrian pretended to inspect a teacup.
Kurt took a steadying breath "You see… Victor went to White's."
Sophia's jaw dropped. "He WHAT—"
"He infiltrated it," Kurt continued helplessly, "despite not being of age. Declared that the Seymours are foolish for severing ties with your family. Loudly."
Adrian whispered, "Very loudly."
Sophia staggered. "Victor said that… in White's?"
Andrew nodded. "With projection worthy of an opera singer."
Kurt continued, "Lord James heard him. Became furious. Victor told him that Lord James is merely heir to a barony while he—Victor—is heir to a dukedom. It nearly escalated into a brawl."
Sophia placed both hands over her face."Oh heavens…"
Benedict cleared his throat gently. "Your uncle arrived before it worsened. Thankfully."
Sophia lowered her hands. "What about this duel I overheard in fragments from Aunt Catherine?"
Silence.
Then Kurt said softly, "Baron Seymour challenged Victor to a duel."
Sophia stared.
"A— a duel? With PISTOLS? Against a FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD?!"
Andrew winced. "Your uncle stopped it through a royal decree. Her Majesty forbade it this dawn."
Sophia's breath came out in a shaky exhale.
"A royal decree. For Victor."
Benedict nodded. "And your uncle offered a compromise: Victor will not enter White's unless he is of age and will be accompanied by Miss Sinclair at all times."
Sophia sank slowly onto the nearest chaise, face pale. "And… why? Why would he do something so—"
Benedict stepped closer, voice calm. "Milady… Victor was defending your honor."
Sophia looked up sharply.
Benedict met her gaze, steady and warm. "Because Margaret insulted you in Almack's. And though you handled it with perfect clarity… Victor wished to speak plainly on your behalf."
Sophia's eyes softened, filled with conflict—irritation and affection dancing dangerously close.
"That foolish boy," she whispered. "He should not risk his life for my sake."
Andrew sat beside her, smiling gently. "He adores you, Sophia. You're his mentor. His hero."
Adrian nodded. "And in his mind, defending you is defending justice."
Sophia sighed, pressing a hand to her chest. "Victor Campbell… oh, I shall wring his neck…"
Kurt added quietly, "He only did what he believed was right."
Sophia closed her eyes. "And I shall wring ALL of yours if you ever hide something like this from me again."
The men stiffened.
Benedict coughed.
Andrew looked at his boots.
Adrian quietly swore never to lie again.
Kurt set his tea down very, very carefully.
Sophia exhaled. "Where is Victor now?"
Andrew smiled. "Under house arrest."
Sophia nodded. "Good. He deserves it."
The servants at Campbell Townhouse stepped aside the moment Lady Sophia Fiennes crossed the threshold, her sapphire-blue cloak swaying with each determined stride. She had left Russell Estate the moment Kurt finished recounting Victor's White's… adventure. Her heartbeat was still drumming with a mixture of alarm, indignation, and a sharp protective instinct she did not often show so plainly.
A footman bowed. "Lady Sophia — Duchess Catherine and Lady Beatrice are in the morning drawing room."
She thanked him and swept inside.
Catherine looked up at once, her expression tightening with guilt the moment she saw her niece.
Beatrice, seated beside her mother, braced herself.
"Aunt Catherine," Sophia said gently — but her tone carried a gravity that made even the Duchess straighten in her chair — "why did no one tell me?"
Catherine set aside her teacup with a careful hand.
"Sophia, darling… we did not wish to worry you."
Sophia blinked. "A duel was threatened over my name. Victor stood at dawn with pistols intended for him. Of course I should worry."
Beatrice hid her face with a sigh.
Sophia continued, voice firm but not unkind, "Aunt Catherine, I am concerned for Victor's well-being. Deeply so. And while I do not agree with his methods—at all—he is still my cousin. My mentee. I taught him half the authors he quotes and I regret that now more than ever."
Catherine let out a long breath, folding her hands. "My dear child… Victor sees you as larger than life. A heroine out of his history books. When Margaret insulted you at Almack's, his temper overtook his sense. We feared that telling you would only push you into action as rash as his."
Sophia froze. "Aunt Catherine — I would never run into a gentlemen's club with pistols."
Beatrice snorted. "You disguised yourself as a lord two weeks ago to discuss defeating Napoleon at White's."
Sophia's cheeks warmed. "That was… academic."
Catherine gave her the mother stare.
Sophia sighed and took a seat. "I simply want to know the truth. Not to scold him… but to ensure he is safe."
Catherine softened, reaching for her niece's hand.
"That is why we hid it. We know your heart, Sophia — it runs to defend everyone else before yourself. If you had known last night, you might have stormed the Seymour townhouse demanding answers."
Sophia opened her mouth, then shut it.
Beatrice raised a brow. "You considered it just now, did you not?"
"…Perhaps," Sophia admitted.
Catherine exhaled in quiet defeat. "Victor is grounded for a week. He is forbidden from White's, forbidden from political speeches, and forbidden from insulting anyone's rank until further notice."
Sophia rubbed her face. "I should have given him less Rousseau and more common sense."
"No," Beatrice said with a small smile, "if you didn't give him Rousseau, he would still have found trouble — just less eloquently."
Catherine gave Sophia's hand a squeeze. "He adores you. That is why he acted so foolishly."
Sophia lowered her gaze. "And that is why I must speak to him."
Catherine nodded. "He is in the study. Preparing an apology letter. It is… very dramatic."
Sophia stood. "I expect nothing less."
The household was unusually quiet as Sophia followed a footman down the corridor. Morning light filtered through the tall windows, casting long golden strips across the carpet. She paused briefly outside the study door, her gloved hand resting on the brass handle.
Victor was inside.
Her little cousin. Her protégé.
Her miniature menace.
And apparently someone who nearly caused a diplomatic crisis at fourteen.
Sophia inhaled, lifted her chin, and entered.
Victor stood near the writing desk—back straight, hands clasped behind him like a soldier awaiting court-martial. His hair was neatly combed, boots polished, expression intensely solemn.
He looked up the moment she entered.
"Cousin Sophia…" he began dramatically, "…I am prepared to accept my fate."
Sophia blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
Victor stepped forward with grave dignity, lowering his head.
"If I must be exiled to Scotland and forced to herd sheep for bringing dishonor upon our family, I will bear it bravely. A Campbell always protects his kin."
Sophia pressed a hand to her mouth to hide a laugh.
"Oh heavens, Victor—no one is sending you to herd sheep."
He looked up, startled. "They're not?"
"Of course not."
"But I insulted Baron Seymour," Victor said earnestly. "And Lord James. And possibly their entire lineage. Repeatedly."
Sophia exhaled slowly, crossing the room to sit at the small settee by the window. She gestured for him to join her. "Victor. Come here."
He approached with exaggerated reluctance, like a boy approaching the gallows. When he sat, he kept his spine perfectly straight, hands folded tightly in his lap.
Sophia softened. "Victor… why did you feel the need to defend me?"
He frowned, confused. "Because you are my cousin. My family. My—" he hesitated, cheeks flushing, "—mentor."
Sophia blinked as her heart softened further.
"And," Victor added stiffly, "Margaret Seymour insulted you in Almack's. I heard about it. And Uncle Reginald says a man must defend his family, so I did what any sensible future duke would do."
Sophia sighed. "Oh Victor…" She reached over and placed a hand gently on his shoulder.
"I am touched by your loyalty. Truly. It means the world to me that you care so deeply."
Victor puffed up slightly.
"But," she continued firmly, "marching into White's, insulting the Seymours, and nearly provoking a duel at dawn is not defending my honor—it is risking yours. And your father's. And the entire dukedom."
Victor stared at his boots.
Sophia softened her tone even further. "You are brave. But bravery must be guided by judgment. And you must not put yourself in danger for me. Ever."
He swallowed. "But Margaret—"
"I handled Margaret," Sophia said with a small smile. "And I will continue to handle her. You need not fight my battles."
Victor's voice dropped. "But I want to."
"I know." She squeezed his shoulder. "But I want you alive and safe far more than I want you to argue with barons on my behalf."
Victor blinked quickly, as though holding back emotion. "…Am I forgiven?"
Sophia laughed softly and pulled him into a brief, warm embrace. "Of course you are. Just—never do something like this again. Please."
Victor nodded solemnly."I will do my best, Cousin Sophia. But I cannot promise it if someone insults you again."
Sophia groaned. "Victor—"
"But I will attempt to be more discreet," he amended quickly.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "That is… good enough."
For now.