1829
Rosenberg Estate
Mayfair, England
"Did Her Ladyship truly choose such a... conspicuous—yet rather unflattering colour?" asked Sophie with a furrowed brow as she examined the curtain fabric in her hands.
"Indeed, Miss Thomas," replied Mr. Colham with a gleam in his eye. "It has become quite the subject of heated discussion amongst the ton, I daresay."
"A subject of discussion, is it? Come now, Mr. Colham, surely you agree this hue is entirely tasteless," Sophie added, her disbelief plain.
At that, both Mr. Colham and Miss Thistle—a young maid who happened to be passing by—froze mid-step. Miss Thistle leaned in and whispered with alarm, “Miss Thomas… what if Her Ladyship were to hear you?”
Sophie widened her eyes dramatically and dropped her voice into a mocking imitation. "Oh? You dare question my judgement?" she said, impersonating the countess with uncanny flair.
The staff stifled their laughter.
"Do not fret, Miss Thistle. I am quite certain Her Ladyship is elsewhere—undoubtedly occupied with appraising Lady Margaret’s suitors," Sophie added, casting a glance around the corridor for assurance.
Miss Thistle giggled. “Miss Thomas, did you truly compile notes on all the gentlemen?”
“Indeed I did,” Sophie said with a proud smile. “I observe. I listen. I write.”
Mr. Colham and Miss Thistle chuckled knowingly.
“In that case, I wholly agree with your opinion on the curtain,” said Miss Thistle cheerfully.
“Perhaps we might propose a different colour altogether—the one Lady Margaret favoured the other day,” Mr. Colham suggested eagerly.
“An excellent thought. I shall speak to Her Ladyship again. I believe she would be amenable—especially since the earl clearly prefers Lady Margaret’s selection. He does dote on her so,” Sophie said with a hint of excitement.
The household staff were always gladdened by Sophie’s presence. It may well have been why Lady Mary, the Countess of Rosenberg, so often entrusted her with more than what was customary for a governess. Involving her in the planning of her daughter’s debut ball was certainly unusual—but it spoke volumes of the countess’s confidence in her.
Recently, Lady Rosenberg’s temper had grown more volatile, and the servants did their utmost to avoid incurring her ire. Even so, every minor detail seemed to provoke her dissatisfaction. And so, they preferred Sophie’s oversight, though they pitied her for bearing the brunt of Her Ladyship’s moods.
“SOPHIE! Come here at once!” barked the countess’s voice from across the hallway.
The very walls seemed to flinch. Mr. Colham and Miss Thistle scurried back to their tasks. Sophie took a breath, composed herself, and turned to face the summons.
“Yes, my lady,” she said calmly.
“My daughter and I are going to the modiste this afternoon. I expect you to supervise the remainder of the decorations in our absence. Can you manage that?”
“Yes, my lady. I shall see to it that all proceeds according to your instructions.”
Lady Rosenberg gave a terse nod before glancing at her ornate pocket watch, tutting in displeasure as she waited for Margaret to appear.
“Margaret! Must you always be tardy?”
This was hardly the moment to raise the matter of the curtain colour.
At last, Margaret descended the stairs, bonnet in hand. Sophie smiled warmly at her. The girl was radiant in her new dress, and clearly pleased to receive Sophie’s silent approval. The countess, meanwhile, resumed her scolding—Margaret was accustomed to it by now. Sophie could only offer her a sympathetic smile. A friend’s smile—though one the countess must never witness.
“Mother, may Sophie come with us?” Margaret asked with hopeful eyes.
“No. Miss Thomas has her own duties—duties, I might add, for your benefit. Do not embarrass me with such requests.”
Margaret sighed. “Must everything you say drip with doom and gloom, mother?”
Sophie bit her lip to stifle a laugh. Margaret had said it deliberately, of course. As expected, the countess shot her a glare for her amusement. Sophie quickly straightened her expression.
“I wish you both a pleasant outing,” she said with a gentle curtsey.
---
Sophie was three-and-twenty, and yet her past before the orphanage remained a void.
Discovered unconscious at the door of St. Luke's Orphanage eleven years prior, she suffered from an elusive, severe form of memory loss. Though she often grasped at fleeting fragments, her recollections never formed a complete picture. She had once hoped to consult Dr. Lawson again—the physician who treated her during her stay at the Thaddenburg Estate—but her current obligations left little room for such pursuits.
It had been Lady Alexandria Thaddenburg, sister to the Earl of Rosenberg and Countess of Thaddenburg, who had taken her in. Struck by Sophie’s beauty and intelligence despite her frailty, the countess nurtured and educated her, intending she be trained as a governess. Sophie was eventually sent to the Rosenbergs, where she took charge of Lady Margaret—who had exhausted a long line of tutors.
Though many in the ton viewed her with disdain, suspecting her rise a calculated ploy to win favour from a childless countess, Sophie proved herself. Under her guidance, Margaret had grown from a spirited and unruly girl into a graceful and thoughtful young lady.
Countess Thaddenburg loved Sophie as a daughter. She had once wished to host a ball in Sophie’s honour, hoping to find her a worthy match—but Sophie refused. Spinsterhood suited her fine, she said. She hoped instead to remain Margaret’s governess or retire to a quiet life in the countryside.
Margaret, for her part, adored Sophie as a sister—perhaps because the loss of her own, the late Lady Maria, still lingered. Maria had shared her father’s red hair and her mother’s pale blue eyes. She was elegant, stern, but kind. Sophie had known her briefly before she died tragically in childbirth, leaving behind two young children and a devastated husband—the Marquess of Lucille.
The marquess never remarried. He visited the Rosenberg estate often with his children, and Sophie and Margaret would play with them both. Yet Margaret still missed Maria, and in that absence, her bond with Sophie had only deepened.
“Please, Sophie, you must attend the ball…” Margaret pleaded one afternoon.
“I cannot,” Sophie replied gently. “Her Ladyship has expressly forbidden it.”
“But it’s my first season,” Margaret sighed. “And who knows—you might fall in love.”
Sophie gave a dry smile. “Highly unlikely. Your suitors are drawn from noble houses. I am merely your companion.”
“The Earl has invited so many gentlemen! Even the marquess suggested a few—though he and Thornton seem to have abandoned me.”
“They are both occupied. You know of the marquess’s land disputes. And your brother’s studies in Austria—”
“Don’t defend him! Thornton said he would be here. Clearly, the ladies of Austria have distracted him,” Margaret huffed.
“But have you opened the gift he sent?”
“Yes, it was lovely. But still... he is my only brother. And I wish Maria were here. She would have let me choose my own dresses.”
Sophie squeezed her hand gently. Margaret closed her eyes and offered a quiet prayer for her sister, then chuckled.
“If an Austrian nobleman swept me off my feet, I would not mind eloping.”
Sophie gasped. “Margaret! The countess would faint from horror—”
“Oh, I jest,” Margaret grinned wickedly. “Or do I?”
“Margaret…” Sophie sighed, shaking her head with a smile.
After a moment, Margaret grew quiet. She paced, then asked softly, “Must my suitor be a nobleman? What about Danny?”
Sophie’s heart sank. “Margaret, you know your parents would never consent to that match.”
Danny was a butler at the Thaddenburg estate—a kind-hearted Irish man close in age to Margaret. Their friendship had blossomed into something more, but when Lady Rosenberg discovered the truth, she forbade all contact. Danny, under pressure, ceased correspondence to protect his family.
“I know…” Margaret murmured, her shoulders slumping. “I only wish things were different.”
Sophie sat beside her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“There are noblemen who are kind, respectable, and honourable. You will find one. And your parents will be pleased.”
Margaret stared at her reflection, watching Sophie braid her hair.
“I’ll do it… for you. And for Maria. Not for mother. Not even for Danny.”
Sophie’s smile wavered, but her pride in Margaret shone through.
But just as she felt victorious, Margaret dealt the final blow:
“I shall do my duty at the ball… if you promise to stay by my side.”
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