Sophie's Seduction. KIM LAWRENCE
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aroma of coffee was her first impression; the second was the lovely and clever use of texture and colour in the soft furnishing. It was clearly a showroom of sorts, though there were no price tags on either the beautifully displayed individual pieces of modern art or the equally fine antique items.
Sophie was both impressed and daunted, as this was a far cry from her little work room at the Balfour gatehouse with her drawing board, colour charts and wallpaper samples.
She brushed her fingertips along a beautiful vibrant-coloured kilim that had been draped over a leather chesterfield and struggled to see herself working here.
‘Hello?’ she called out again.
She was standing there feeling like a spare part and wondering what to do next when she heard the sound of voices; the noise was coming from the far end of the room, but she couldn’t see anyone. With a puzzled frown drawing her feathery brows into a straight line, she moved towards the sound of the voices when she realised that what she had assumed was a wall was actually a portable screen.
The voices were the other side and as she aproached they got louder.
She peered through a gap in the screen and saw another area laid out beyond, lit by a pair of stunning chandeliers. This time the style was strongly Gustavian; pale and deceptively simple, the light airy feel was further enhanced by a stunning antique mirror in an ornate carved white-painted frame that took centre stage.
The building was clearly a great deal larger than it looked from the outside.
She opened her mouth to speak, caught the word Balfour, and closed it again, revealing herself now might cause embarrassment to the people on the other side of the screen. Two women, by the sound of their voices, though all Sophie could see were the tops of their heads above the high back of a wooden bench.
She was about to move to the opposite side of the room when she heard the person who hadn’t yet spoken exclaim, ‘One of the Balfour girls—you’ve got to be kidding! Work here! Do they work? And risk breaking a nail, surely not.’
‘Miaow…if you were a society heiress to a fortune, would you work, darling?’
‘Let me see…’
Sophie heard both girls laugh.
‘But you’d have to share the fortune with…how many sisters are there?’
‘Are we including the one they’ve just discovered?’
Normally a pretty placid person Sophie felt her face flush with anger at this mocking reference—anger she felt on behalf of her half-sister Mia, who was the result of an affair their father had many years ago.
Oscar had welcomed the daughter he hadn’t known about into the family and despite the fact she hadn’t known her for long Sophie felt a special closeness to her beautiful half-Italian sister.
‘And then Zoe Balfour isn’t really a Balfour at all…maybe she’s the one that’s coming here?’ one of the voices speculated.
There was a certain malicious amusement in the voice that responded. ‘Yeah, maybe Daddy’s cut her off now he knows she’s not his. I do wish I could have been a fly on the wall at the 100th Balfour Charity Ball!’
Sophie’s hands clenched into fists at her side as she bit her tongue, longing to set the record straight, but she was hampered by the fact that she couldn’t, without revealing that she’d been eavesdropping.
Sure Zoe had been outed as illegitimate at the Balfour Ball and the ensuing scandal had caused their father’s serious overhaul of his parental style but as far as he and all of them were concerned Zoe was a Balfour no matter what her genetic parentage was.
‘So how many are there?’
‘Six, seven, who knows…but what wouldn’t I give to have their looks and money!’ came the wistful response.
Eight, thought Sophie, silently amending their total, and she seconded their wish, at least for the looks part anyway. The money part had never been a problem for her in that she didn’t have expensive tastes, but what the Balfour name gave her was the luxury of following her instincts.
And Sophie’s instincts drew her like a homing pigeon back to Balfour, where her mother lived in the gatehouse since the tragic death of her second husband. Sophie’s eyes misted as her thoughts touched on the man who had been a second father to his wife’s three daughters.
For a short time Sri Lanka had been home for Sophie but now the Balfour estate in Buckinghamshire was the one place she really felt she belonged, it was the place where there was no pressure to be something she wasn’t.
Unlike her sisters, she wasn’t an instantly recognisable face except to the people who worked on the Balfour estate and the locals in the village.
‘I have never provided you girls with challenges,’ Oscar Balfour had lamented. ‘Children need to be pushed, but it is never too late. I have been a negligent father, but I mean to make amends. Independence, Sophie,’ he’d said, indicating the rule that she would find most valuable, though he warned it would not be easy for her to learn. ‘A member of the Balfour family must strive to develop themselves and not rely on the family name to get them through life.’
‘Which ever one it is you can be sure that we’ll end up stuck with her work and ours.’
Listening to the grunt of assent from the second girl Sophie gritted her teeth and thought she’d show them that this Balfour was not just a pretty face—actually, not a pretty face at all, but that she couldn’t do anything about.
However, she did have a work ethic and she would show them that she wasn’t afraid of hard work.
‘What was Amber thinking, taking her on?’
Sophie, unashamedly eavesdropping now, strained to hear as the other girl lowered her voice to a confidential undertone.
‘You know that diamond bracelet that Amber wears…?’
There was a pause when presumably the other girl had nodded. ‘Well, that was a little parting gift from Oscar Balfour.’
‘Amber and Oscar Balfour…wow! Why didn’t I know that?’
‘It was years ago, and it didn’t last long.’
‘Oscar Balfour…he’s quite attractive for an older man, isn’t he? Actually, quite sexy and he looks like he knows…’
Grimacing, Sophie had no desire to hear the women discussing her father in that sort of detail and covered her ears. When she uncovered them again one girl was saying, ‘And let’s face it—a Balfour girl working here…God, you couldn’t pay for that sort of advertising.’
‘That twin…Bella, the skinny one…?’
‘The impossibly gorgeous one?’
‘All right, the gorgeous one. Do you remember that time she was pictured wearing a dress from that charity shop and the shelves emptied overnight.’
Sophie did remember. She remembered when the subject had been raised during a family dinner.
Zoe had joked that she didn’t know what all the fuss was about. Sophie, she said, had been wearing charity-shop clothes for years.
Sophie had joined in the laughter, even inviting further hilarity by comparing the practicality and comfort of the sports bras she favoured with push ups that consisted of a few scraps of lace. But later in her own room she had looked at her wardrobe, filled with the sorts of clothes—or tents in boring colours, as Annie had once described her style—that made her glamorous sisters despair, and she hadn’t smiled.
The tent situation was not accidental, but her taller, slimmer sisters who did not have breasts that made men snigger and stare would not have understand her decision to hide her ample bosom under voluminous tops.
In a family famed for beauty, grace and wit—the