Masquerade by Sarita Leone Page A

her face and kept her gaze fixed on the edge of the table.
    A tsk-tsk from the cook. “I fear I may never be able to rest until I know just who has put our Rachel into such a dreamy state. Why, yesterday I saw her stitch a pocket on her lavender morning dress closed! Our seamstress would never have been so careless if she didn’t have something quite important in that pretty little head of hers. Don’t you agree?”
    Swallowing her next mouthful in a startled gulp caused the tea to go down the wrong way. Sophie sputtered, setting her cup on its saucer with a clatter. Tears streamed down her cheeks and her nose ran as she tried to catch her breath. The commotion caught her sister’s attention and brought her around the table with grace and speed.
    “Now what did you have to go and do that for? The condition of my lavender dress is not all that important, I assure you.” Rachel frowned, reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a lace-edged cotton handkerchief. She handed it to Sophie, who took it and used it to cover her mouth. “Besides, I fixed the pocket. It was just a matter of taking out a couple of stitches, and putting them elsewhere. It was, truly, just a lapse of concentration, nothing more. Certainly not enough to justify choking!”
    Rachel slapped her hard. The thump sounded loud in the room. It was followed, seconds later, by a second resounding whack. The area between Sophie’s shoulder blades stung from the force, so she twisted away.
    “Stop it! You’re hurting me!” She gasped, and her windpipe cleared long enough for her to catch a solid breath.
    Using the hanky, she blew her nose. Then, she wiped her eyes and cheeks. When Rachel looked poised to slap her yet again, Sophie shook her head. “No, don’t. Please, I am fine. Don’t hit me again.”
    Rachel lowered her arm. “If you are certain you’re all right.”
    “I am.”
    “Well, then…” She sat in the empty chair beside Sophie. Her right hand looked poised to strike at the first sputter or gasp.
    Now that her sister sat in the chair beside her own, Sophie took one of Rachel’s hands. She rubbed a slow finger across her sister’s knuckles.
    They were so like her own—the whole hand was, really—that she could nearly imagine how the gentle touch felt to Rachel.
    She turned and caught Rachel’s gaze. Speaking softly, she asked, “Do tell. We know you have met someone. Honestly, the pocket-sewing incident supports our suspicions. You are such a talented needlewoman that a mistake of that sort is entirely out of character for you. Now, if I had sewn a pocket closed—which, as you very well know, I have done on numerous occasions!—I am afraid no one would raise a breeze over it. But you, dear sister, are not all thumbs with a needle, the way I am, so we all know you were thinking of something other than your lavender morning dress while you were sewing. You were, weren’t you?”
    A deep sigh, so full and drawn-out it sounded pulled from the tips of Rachel’s toes. Then, an almost imperceptible nod. She reclaimed her hand, using it to push a strand of hair off her temple.
    “It’s no use to try to hide the truth, especially from the two of you.” Louisa tsked again, as if to remind them she still took part in the discussion.
    “Why hide anything? We are sisters, and Louisa is family as well. Why keep good news from either of us? It is good news, isn’t it?”
    The only reason Rachel was still available was her tendency to be extremely judicious—not only where men were concerned, but in every regard. It was a trait Sophie was glad her sister’s personality included. With classic good looks, charm, and intelligence, any man might offer to enter the parson’s mousetrap with Rachel. Several had, in fact, made offers, but thus far no suitor had met with the rigorous standards her discerning younger sister held. For this, Sophie was supremely thankful.
    “Actually, I don’t consider it good news at all.” Rachel worried