“It’s my legacy. And if you think I care two snaps of my finger whether that makes a draper’s son despise the lot of us—”
“That draper’s son is the gentleman you mean me to marry.”
His expression turned mulish. No different from Emily’s when she was in a temper. “It’s the only way. Even with your sister’s dowry—”
Sophie barely managed to suppress a gasp. “What about Emily’s dowry?”
Papa dropped his gaze. “Things have arisen. Necessities for the estate. I owe you no explanation.”
“Is it…is it gone? Did you spend it all?”
“I told you. It doesn’t concern you. Now be off with you, Sophie. I have work to do.”
A heavy blanket of gloom settled over her, snuffing out the last spark of her holiday cheer. “Does Mama know?” she asked softly.
Her father hung his head.
She needed no other answer. She let herself out of his study, shutting the door firmly behind her.
Emily sat at her dressing table, head bowed as Sophie brushed her hair. Their eyes met in the mirror. “I don’t know why you prefer my limited skills to Annie’s,” Sophie said.
“She doesn’t do it as well as you.”
Sophie doubted that very much. Annie had been with them several years and had grown adept at managing their thick tresses. Granted, she was no French lady’s maid with a talent for dazzling coiffures, but she could handle a brush and hairpins well enough. “She’s going to arrange my hair for the ball.”
“How will you wear it?” Emily asked.
Sophie parted her sister’s hair into two sections. “A bandeau bouffant, probably. Or perhaps a crown of plaits.”
“The same as always.”
“It’s easiest. And if it comes unpinned during the dancing, I can repair it myself.”
“Why must you always be so practical?”
“One of us must be.”
“Well, it shan’t be me,” Emily declared. “My hair will be woven with a waterfall of flowers. Just like the picture we saw in Mama’s magazine.”
Sophie nodded. After her father’s revelation, she was determined to indulge her sister. There would be time enough for Emily to learn the truth about her dowry after Christmas. Until then, they could all try and enjoy themselves. “Rolls at each side and three rolls at the back, wasn’t it? It’s going to take a great deal of pins, Emmy. You’ll have a dreadful headache by the time the night is over.”
“I don’t care. As long as it looks as it should. And as long as no one else will arrive with the same coiffure.”
Sophie reached for one of the rats on her sister’s dressing table. Made of hair collected from Emily’s brush each evening, the homemade hairpiece would be used to pad out the rolls and help them keep their shape. “Is there anyone particular you wish to impress?”
Emily pursed her lips. “Possibly.”
“You know you can talk to me.”
“Not about matters of the heart, I can’t. You wouldn’t understand.”
“You’re very harsh.” Sophie finished rolling a section of Emily hair around the rat. She sank in a pin to secure it. “Do you think you’re the only young lady who’s ever developed a tendre for an unsuitable gentleman?”
“How is Mr. Murray unsuitable? He’s as wealthy as Mr. Sharpe. Indeed, he partners with him in all his investments. Besides, I actually like Mr. Murray. He’s not carved from a slab of granite. He’s funny and thoughtful and…he makes me laugh.”
Sophie concentrated on rolling the next section. “That’s all very well, dear, but I thought you wanted to marry a title?”
“Yes, but I didn’t know…I didn’t expect…” Emily exhaled a frustrated breath. “I don’t want to make a mistake.”
“How could you?”
“By doing what I’m told. Or not doing what I’m told. By choosing the wrong gentleman. You can’t comprehend what it’s like to struggle over such decisions, Sophie. You’re too perfect.”
“Perfect?” Sophie caught her sister’s gaze in the mirror. “I’m the furthest thing from perfect, Emmy. I have to struggle every day with doing the right thing.”
“At least you know what the right thing is.”
“Sometimes I don’t. Some days I’m filled with doubt.” She ran the brush through a fresh section of her sister’s hair. “And some days I know what the right thing is and I don’t want to do it. I’d rather be selfish and think only of myself.”