fiance chapter 16

People constantly compared Solid and Anita, criticizing the Woodridge family’s shortsightedness. “Will anyone even glance her way when she’s beside a Medesia? I think the Woodridges have effectively relegated themselves to the shadows.”

Miss Anita Woodridge wasn’t considered a beauty by any standard, always clad in dark, high-necked dresses. She resembled a governess more than a debutante.

“Is this the Woodridge family’s choice, or Miss Woodridge’s own stubbornness?” people wondered.

Sophia had wondered the same thing. Why did Miss Woodridge wear such dull, unfashionable dresses? She’d even felt a pang of pity, thinking perhaps they couldn’t afford better.

However, after hearing the story from Solid, Sophia felt a flicker of anger towards Anita. “I think she came here to be my flaw. Do you think we wouldn’t buy her a decent dress? They’re afraid people will think we’re impoverished too. They’re already questioning our family’s generosity and kindness. But, oh! It’s not true! We’re always trying our best to persuade her. I think she harbors a dark, viscous anger inside. Directed at her parents, our family, and even me. I can feel it!”

Sophia could still vividly recall Solid’s outburst that day, her voice strained with frustration as she condemned Anita.

And yet, Anita was still here with Solid. Even as she politely greeted them, Sophia couldn’t shake her bewilderment.

“Is the Viscount away?” Anita inquired.

It was a perfectly acceptable question from a guest, but Sophia felt a sudden surge of displeasure, as if Anita were presumptuously interested in Felix.

“My brother has gone to meet the Duke.”

“Ah.” Anita let out a short, ambiguous sound. Sophia couldn’t decipher its meaning, then realized she’d mentioned the Duke too readily.

By the time she understood her misstep, both Solid and Anita wore enigmatic expressions. Faces feigning ignorance, though their curiosity was evident.

Sophia always found such expectant gazes a little uncomfortable. They made her feel indebted. She wanted to blurt out, “Yes! Something’s going on between the Duke and me!” But there was nothing to tell.

It was true that the Duke spent a lot of time with her family. He discussed politics with her father, poetry with her mother, and history and the world’s secrets with Felix. But he rarely spoke to Sophia directly. He never initiated conversation.

He’d said, “You should like me,” and then seemed to leave everything in her hands. He only offered a painted smile when their eyes occasionally met.

Sophia interpreted the Duke’s behavior as arrogance rather than consideration. His apparent patience felt more like an unshakeable confidence that she would inevitably fall in love with him.

Once, he approached her as she played the piano. His hand rested on the instrument’s polished surface. Being so tall, he easily commanded her field of vision.

Sophia, attempting a difficult piece, kept her eyes on the sheet music, acutely aware of his presence. She felt his gaze on the side of her face. She longed to know how he saw her, but she didn’t lift her head to meet his eyes.

She simply imagined it. The Duke’s face, a flawless composition of golden hair, blue eyes, and the most elegant lines imaginable, smiling at her.

“What do you think?” she’d asked when the piece ended. But the Duke wasn’t looking at her. He was looking elsewhere, his head tilted slightly. Only at her bold question did he finally turn to face her.

“What about it?”

Sophia deliberately puffed out her cheeks, as she sometimes did in social settings. “My playing. Was it bad? I suppose it wasn’t to your liking, Your Grace.”

The Duke offered a vague smile, then made an unexpected confession. “I don’t much care for music.”

“What?”

“Whether it’s a random burst of noise or a carefully constructed harmony, the difference doesn’t seem particularly significant to me.”

Sophia stared at him, dumbfounded. She’d never met anyone who could declare such a lack of refinement with such composure.

“Do you… do you deny the beauty of art, Cal?”

The Duke’s lips curved into an alluring smile. He always smiled like that when she called him “Cal.” He’d told her to use it, yet he seemed amused every time she did.

“I suppose not.” The beautiful smile was followed by a dismissive reply. But Sophia instinctively knew he didn’t hold art in high regard.

Or rather, he seemed indifferent to all human endeavors, to history itself. He seemed to drift through life, devoid of ambition or affection, simply enduring its tedium.