Chapter Text
Sophie Baek’s seventeenth birthday wish had been simple. She wanted to see London. She remembered being brought there by her father once—when she was very, very small—so small that she wasn’t sure it was a proper memory, just little flashes of things she half remembered and possible half imagined. The impression of height lingered most clearly: tall buildings that seemed to lean in over the streets, shadows broken by noise and movement, the sense that the world there was always awake. Busy with people. She simply wanted to walk down the street; preferably unnoticed.
In Darthwick, people looked at her strangely. Not openly, not always unkindly, but with a pause that lingered a second too long. Because she was the ward. The bastard. That was the word she knew they all used for her, even if it was never spoken in her presence. It was whisper amongst busybodies, in the careful way conversations stopped when she entered a room or passed a group of people.
Earl Penwood, having a meeting scheduled with his solicitor, agreed easily enough. He did not see what harm it could do; they would travel down, the girl could go for a walk, and the following morning they would return to Penwood Park as planned. Sophie’s wish seemed small enough to grant.
He did not notice his wife’s displeasure when she was told of the plan; or if he did, he chose not to question it. He had not thought she would want to go for one night. He assumed she would rather stay at home with Rosamund and Posy, surrounded by familiar comforts and routines. They would come to London in the height of the summer season without the children anyway—when appearances mattered, and Sophie’s presence would not be required.
Sophie had been watching out the window for the better part of an hour, her chin resting against the cool glass as her dark eyes focused on the north end of Berkeley Square. Outside, carriages rolled steadily up and down, wheels rattling against stone, drivers calling out to one another as footmen leapt down to open doors. She watched errand boys weaving fearlessly through the traffic and maids hurrying along with baskets looped over their arms.
She marvelled at the ladies already out in the Ton, even at this early hour—fine dresses brushing the pavement, gloved hands lifting skirts just enough to avoid the dirt. She had never seen so many people gathered in one place, never felt so surrounded by movement and sound. In one way, she longed to be among them, to disappear into the crowd and feel what it might be like to belong to the city rather than observe it. And yet, at the same time, she felt much safer in her own bedroom, behind glass and lace curtains, unseen and unremarkable.
She was seventeen and no fool. She knew she was different. Even if she had not always felt it herself, Araminta had made sure it was understood—through tone, through omission, through the careful distinctions drawn between Sophie and her daughters. She was no young lady. She had no prospects. Her father waved off her future as if it were a thing too distant, too abstract to be worth concern, but Sophie thought of it often.
Where would she end up in a decade’s time? The question followed her into quiet moments, settled beside her at night when the house was asleep. She could not imagine herself remaining at Penwood Park forever, nor could she picture a life beyond it. The uncertainty frightened her more than any sharp cruelty ever had.
She could never compare herself to other ladies; of course she could sew neatly enough, and she played the piano—until Rosamund declared the instrument hers, and Sophie was no longer permitted to touch it. She could not dance, no matter how quick she was on her feet when moving through corridors or up staircases. Dancing required instruction, encouragement, patience—all things that had never been offered to her.
And Sophie did not suppose many people would be interested in intellect. Who would be interested in a lady who spoke French, Latin, and Korean, who could recite Shakespeare by heart, who learned quickly and remembered everything? Those talents were curiosities at best, inconveniences at worst. They had never earned her praise. They had only marked her as odd.
“My Sophie?”
Sophie turned from her window seat as Irma entered with a tray balanced expertly in her hands.
“Is it time for dinner already?” Sophie asked, surprised. Had she truly lost that much time to watching the street below? The sun was not yet ready to set, its light still strong against the façades opposite, but perhaps an early night was required with an early start planned for the following morning.
“A light supper tonight,” Irma replied. Sophie studied her then. There was a smile on her face - the particular kind Irma wore when she was not telling Sophie she had made her favourite sweets for dessert, or when some small kindness was being carefully kept secret.
“Why?” Sophie asked, placing her hands neatly in her lap, bracing herself for an explanation.
“There is a masquerade ball tonight,” Irma said calmly. “And you are going to go.”
“Irma! No!” Sophie’s reply was immediate, instinctive. She could not. How could she possibly?
“You are going to eat, and then we will get you ready,” Irma continued, entirely unruffled. “Lord Penwood is at his club. He will not return until late. It will be the perfect birthday present for you.” She patted Sophie’s cheek gently before taking her by the arm and drawing her to her feet.
“But I will not know anyone. I do not have a chaperone. I cannot dance. It will be a disaster,” Sophie protested, her thoughts tumbling out faster than she could contain them. The image in her mind was already overwhelming—crowds, music, eyes everywhere.
“No one will know anyone,” Irma said firmly. “Everyone will be wearing a mask. You only have to pretend.”
Sophie hesitated. She thought of a ballroom lit by hundreds of candles, of music swelling beneath a painted ceiling, of colours and movement and laughter. She imagined the rustle of silk, the anonymity of a mask resting against her skin. Perhaps, for one night, she could be someone else.
Perhaps she could pretend. Be Lady Sophia Baek for a few hours. Who knew if she would ever get another chance?