Fiennes Estate, Grosvenor Square — Morning
Lady Sophia Fiennes fastened the last silver clasp of her navy-blue riding habit, satisfied with the sharp, clean lines of the tailored coat and the subtle glint of the buttons. The color—deep as a midnight storm and just as dramatic—felt like armor.
Her plumed hat rested under her arm.
Her gloves were already on.
Her whip was tucked neatly at her side.
Coriolanus waited in the stables.
Beatrice's suitors awaited scrutiny.
Harmony awaited absolutely no one.
Sophia was halfway down the staircase when her mother intercepted her like a general blocking the door of a battlefield.
"Where are you going, Sophia?"
"To the Campbells, Mama," she said briskly. "I intend to observe Cousin Beatrice's suitors with Victor. He requires guidance."
Marchioness Josephine folded her arms. "You will do no such thing."
Sophia blinked. "I… beg your pardon?"
