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“Sophia?”

At the sound of her voice, Sophia’s head turned but she did not smile. She simply nodded at her.

“Ruth. You look well. I am pleased to see it.” Her gaze traveled to the wooden box in Ruth’s hand.

She took a careful step toward her sister, noticing the pile of books on the chaise beside Sophia.

She is attempting to distract herself with her favorite things. Books, embroidery – sweetmeats.

A plate full of barley leaf candies and marzipan was on the table before her sister, one square-shaped piece showing teeth marks as if it had been enjoyed for a moment before finding itself discarded back on the plate, having displeased its intended recipient.

Ruth stopped in front of the chaise, hoping Sophia would remove the books so she might seat herself beside her. She did not. Instead, she raised her gaze at Ruth, staring at her for one moment, before looking toward the chair by the fire.

Ruth swallowed. If she intended to speak to her sister, the seat by the fire was the closest she could get unless she broke through her sister’s wall of books. She let out a sigh, quietly enough so her sister did not hear, and slowly set off toward the chair.

“Heaven forwent,” Sophia grumbled just as Ruth arrived at the dreaded seat. “Come, sit here.” She grabbed a stack of books and in one swift motion, transferred them from the couch to the table before her, setting them down with such force the plate containing the sweetmeats bounced briefly in the air. “I cannot stand to see you so fearful; you remind me of the doe Lord Cragshade shot the other day when we went hunting.”

Ruth strutted toward the chaise with much more confidence now that she did not have to face down her constant foe – the fire.

“You went on a hunt with Lord Cragshade?”

Sophia sat back, shoulders so far back that her small chest stuck out.

“Yes. He invited me, and thus I went. Do not look so alarmed. Her Grace was with us, and so were several others. It is not only you who can make connections here, you know. And Lord Rotham is not the only eligible man, either.”

“But surely not Lord Cragshade.” Ruth’s voice was full of disappointment which did nothing at all but set her sister’s bristles up further.

“I never said a word about him. But perhaps I ought to consider him. Just because he is not among the nobility at this present moment, does not mean he never will be.”

Ruth swallowed, the indignation in her sister’s voice was startling. It seemed the influence of the Duchess was still running through her sister’s veins like blood, as well as that of Lord Cragshade.

Does she not know I suspect him of pushing me down the stairs? Does she not care? Surely, she does. She was at my side when I was in bed for all of those days following the fall.

“You understand he will never be Duke… And besides, last we spoke, you were very intent on finding a husband who might be of a higher rank, a Marquess or a Duke. I know Papa will find a suitable man for you.”

“Do not pity me, I beg of you. It does nothing but hurt me. Of course, I know the chances of Lord Cragshade ever being Duke are low. I do not share in his fantasies. And I know Papa will find me a husband, but can you blame me for holding onto my hurt, my anger? You have hurt me so much more than I ever thought anyone could.”

Ruth’s heart ached as the dagger in the shape of her sister’s words pierced her chest.

“I did not mean to. I cannot help that I fell in love. Neither can he.”

Sophia shook her head. “I know it. I have had time to think, to reflect. It has done little to help me let go of my anger. You understand that each time I see the two of you together, happy, it is like a slap to my face?”

Ruth’s lips parted. “What can I do?”

Sophia shrugged. “Nothing. Papa tells me I must get past my anger if I want to have any chance of happiness myself. He worries I am poisoning my soul by holding onto my rage. I do not know if it is true. Perhaps it is. Others tell me otherwise. In any case, seeing Lord Rotham at your bedside, tending to you, and holding your hand as you slept was almost more than I could manage.”

“But you were there, I saw you. You read to me.”

Sophia looked away, her eyes canvassing the room. “I am no monster. You are my sister, and you could have died. I wanted to be there for you. I still love you, even though I am hurt.” She paused and pursed her lips, blinking as she looked her way again. “Have you not wondered why your scar is not dry? Who do you think applied the salve to your face each night?”

Ruth’s hand traveled to her face. Indeed, the skin over her scar was smooth, as it often was when the salve was applied regularly. She’d done it herself the past few days but even a day or two missed usually resulted in the leathery skin to dry, making it difficult to move that side of her face.

To know her sister had tended to this for her made her hopeful once more.

“I have done you wrong. Perhaps I should have told you sooner how much I was growing fond of Lord Rotham.”

Sophia shrugged but said nothing once more.