Mistletoe and Mayhem: A Regency Holiday Romance Anthology, page 24
“I have several but none of them work.”
“May I?” She brushed by him, shoved back the chair, and bent down, examining the lock.
His quick intake of breath and the chuckle that followed sent hot blood to her cheeks and made her drop to her knees. “Let’s pick the lock, Mr. Lovelace.”
“Call me George.” When she looked up, a small smile curved his lips and his gaze had darkened.
“Not when you look at me that way.” She drew out a pin, and tucked the dislodged lock of hair behind her ear. “Well?”
“By all means. How did you learn your criminal skills?”
“One develops talents when one is kept in the dark.”
“Indeed,” he said, sounding thoughtful.
Shushing him, she put her ear to the lock. His closeness sent her heart pounding and her thoughts straying to that last kiss.
With a deep breath, she steadied her hand.
“Shall I try?” His breath tickled her ear.
“Mr. Lovelace. Please.”
Chuckling, he seated himself, the chair creaking under him, his knees bumping her shoulder.
She froze. George stilled as well. The creaking continued.
Heavy steps thudded across the carpet.
“Cartwright.” George called.
She squeezed herself into the desk’s kneehole and tried not to breathe.
Chapter Ten
“Thought you would have gone up,” George said too loudly.
The guest chair thumped, and George shifted closer. The scents of wood polish and shoe leather filled her nose, and she squeezed back a sneeze.
“Fine library Loughton has here.” The older man’s deep rumble permeated the heavy mahogany. “Thought I might go up, and then I saw your candle moving this way.”
Oh Hades. He’d seen her candle. She’d nearly been caught.
“I see you’ve got the Manchester paper there from last week. I read the piece on the new Stockton and Darlington Railway bill.”
George’s shoe bumped her as he shifted again, and she pressed her cheek to the cool mahogany, holding her breath, barely hearing his murmured reply to Cartwright. The closeness was addling her, and he was fidgeting like Ben did when he was practicing his letters.
When his knee nudged her shoulder, she teetered and reached for the nearest brace—his leg. The solid muscle flinched under her fingers. Breathless again, she pressed her cheek to his knee and swallowed a surge of longing. What would it be like to make love to a man she wanted?
Easing in a breath, she tried to still her racing heart and the temptation threatening to overtake her.
George emitted a strangled cough and cleared his throat. “Cartwright. Tell me more about your interest in the railway.”
“I’ve heard rumors it’s a grand plan. I might want to invest, if you’re selling shares.”
George shifted, and her hand moved of its own accord sliding up the firm muscle, venturing higher to the bend of his knee.
A sharp intake of breath rattled through him.
Cartwright laughed. “I’m not a competitor, I can assure you of that. You think on it and we can talk more in the light of day. Now, perhaps you might tell me what you know of Lady Glanford. Fetching woman, isn’t she? Your mother is pushing hard for her to manage Charlotte’s come-out, but I’m not so sure Lady Glanford won’t be turning heads herself. Not that she’d compete with my Charlotte for offers of marriage of course, but—”
“Cartwright.” George’s chair jerked back taking him with it. “We might as well discuss the railway now. Come, let’s go to the library where the chairs are more comfortable.”
Sophie lolled back and clamped a hand over a mad giggle. She’d rattled the oh-so-sure-of-himself Mr. Lovelace. Who knew he could be such a coward?
Or that she could be so wicked?
No…not wicked. That had been foolish.
When she heard the sharp click of the door, she crawled out and returned to her criminal enterprise.
It was past midnight when Cartwright finally went off to bed and George hastened back to the study hoping Sophie was waiting for him.
Her intentions were clear. The only question to answer was: his bedchamber or hers?
He found her at the desk bent over a letter. Other correspondence sat stacked on each side of the desktop.
He silently closed the door. “What did you find?”
She stood and paced to the fireplace, worrying her hands at her waist.
“Sophie? What did you find, my dear?”
Her fingers rubbed her temples. “It is worse than I feared. I thought I could… I’d hoped…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I must think.”
He went to her and took her hands. “I said I will help you, and I will. We’ll find a way.”
She lifted her chin, but there was no defiance in it, and he couldn’t read the emotion in her eyes.
“You have worries of your own. I will have to find my way to London as soon as possible, after I speak with Fitz.”
“You’re not going with Cartwright.”
She searched his face. “What?”
After thirty minutes probing George for information about Sophie, and one man to another, making his interest clear, Cartwright had mentioned he’d travel to London before the New Year.
“You can’t serve as Charlotte’s sponsor.”
She let out a tight breath and pulled her hands away. “He knew I was under the desk.”
Had Cartwright known? “No. He’s…” Looking for a lover. George reached for her hand again, watching annoyance play on her face. “Sophie, I’m not entirely sure his intentions toward you are honorable.”
She scoffed. “Then you are two peas in the same pod.” Her lips pressed together. “I apologize for my earlier forwardness. Be assured I’m not going to London as anyone’s mistress. That sort of business enterprise doesn’t interest me at all.”
He held her gaze deciding whether to laugh or to chastise. She’d just been on her knees in an enterprising position. And the kisses that afternoon and the night before had not been produced by an uninterested woman.
“Do not worry,” she said. “I understand men like Cartwright far better than I do the genteel sort, and if I chaperone Charlotte, I’ll make my intentions clear.”
When she wasn’t hiding under a desk or standing under the mistletoe, Sophie had principles. She wouldn’t take a carte blanche from the man.
Oh hell. The way Cartwright had spoken of her, he might…he might…
His jaw tightened. “He might want marriage.”
“Marriage?”
“Yes.”
“To me?”
“It’s not so outlandish.”
“I don’t wish to marry. I’ve been married, Lovelace. I fulfilled my marriage contract. I did my marital duty, and my duty didn’t end with Glanford’s death. I have children, and tenants, and a community that depend on me.”
“You’re not going to London to seek a husband?”
“Are you daft?” She sniffed his breath. “Or…foxed. You’ve been drinking.”
He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m not drunk, Sophie. I’m…”
I’m in love.
Head spinning, he pulled her into a kiss. He wanted her. She should be his.
She broke the kiss and touched his cheek, and then yanked her hand away. “I have children. You have a railway. We can’t do this.” Her eyes glistened betraying her lie.
“We can.”
Lips trembling, she looked away. “Perhaps one day. Not now. I have responsibilities.”
The longing in her voice stirred his spirits. “One day, then.” Tomorrow, if he had his way. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Now, what did you find?”
“Letters. The stack on the right had been opened.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “The file in the middle contains IOUs. Glanford owed Fitz an ungodly amount.”
She stepped out of his arms and returned to the desk, collecting the opened letters.
“May I read those?” George asked.
“Tomorrow. I need to study them tonight, and I’ll leave them for you in the morning.”
More letters were piled on a corner of the desk. “What is this other correspondence?”
“See for yourself. I’m going up.”
He reached for her, but she shook him off and crossed the carpet.
“We’ll talk again after breakfast,” he said.
“I doubt you’ll be up before I leave.”
“What?”
At the door, she fixed him with a determined gaze. “This won’t continue any longer. I’m going after Fitz, and he will speak to me.”
You will not. “You don’t know where he is.”
“I do, as a matter of fact. Willa has uncovered his location.”
A rebuke froze on his tongue and he watched the door close on her.
The stubborn, headstrong woman. He’d no more let her go off on her own to a gentlemen’s hunting party then…
Dear God. There’d be little or no rest for him tonight.
At the desk, he reviewed the file of Glanford’s unpaid vowels. Sophie had the right of it: it was an ungodly amount. Not impossible, but it would take years and tight purse strings to manage. The loans had begun around the time Father assigned his heir more authority over the Loughton estate.
Fitz had his own small income, but not enough for those loans. Father had handed over the estate management to his eldest, while his second, third, and fourth sons managed investments. Fitz had dipped into the estate funds.
No wonder Fitz was dodging his family. He’d jeopardized Loughton’s financial security. Sophie couldn’t repay him, so he was struggling to pay others.
George swiped a hand through his hair. He or one of his other brothers should have uncovered this.
He reached for the letters and flipped through them. They were all from Sophie to Fitz, the wax on each unbroken. He put them in date order and began cracking the seals one by one.
As the light sputtered, he collected everything and found his way to his mother’s bedchamber. He wouldn’t tell her his plans in a note, even if it meant waking her.
Besides, Mother was never one to hide from the truth. She preferred to know what was going on. She was the strongest woman he knew.
And Sophie was much like her.
Unable to sleep, Sophie rose early and was donning her warmest clothes when someone knocked at her bedchamber door. Willa peeked in from the dressing room.
“You’re up?” the maid asked. “Who’s aknocking at this hour?”
“Shhh. Go back to bed.” She crossed to the door.
Lady Loughton’s abigail curtsied. “Her ladyship wishes you to join her for breakfast in her private parlor.”
“Now?” The delay would set back her plans. She’d hoped to travel to Melton Mowbray and be back by nightfall. She disliked the thought of spending Christmas eve in an inn, away from her boys.
She would do so though, if she must. Now that she’d made up her mind, she wouldn’t turn back.
And she’d be able to ask Lady Loughton in person to keep her boys for the duration of her travels instead of leaving a note. “Let me just finish dressing and I’ll be right along.”
Late the next afternoon…
Once Fitz knew the excuse for George’s late morning rousting, he’d shaken off his hangover, had his horse saddled, and begged a fresh horse for George.
Fitz would be madder than Hades when he discovered the lie, but so be it. Mother would deal with him.
A vigilant groom met them in the drive, and the butler opened the door before their boots touched the first step.
“How is Lady Loughton,” Fitz asked. “Has the doctor been called?”
Biggs blinked.
“Never mind, Biggs.” George tossed his hat and greatcoat, and nudged Fitz toward the stairs. “Seeing her first-born might just be the tonic she needs, despite your two days-worth of beard.”
At the door to Mother’s bedchamber, Fitz turned on him. “How can you make light of this?”
George reached around him, knocked, and turned the latch.
Mother sat at a table near the fire, a little girl on her lap.
“Papa.” Mary jumped off and ran to Fitz.
He swept her up into his arms, his gaze fixed on the older lady. “You are well, Mother?”
“I am now. Or I will be soon.”
“Grandmama and I napped together, and now we are reading a book.”
Fitz frowned and turned a puzzled look on George.
“You must thank George for bringing you home in time for Christmas,” Mother said. “I dare say he’s had a very long day of hard riding. Mary, Uncle George will take you back to the nursery, and your papa will pay you a visit after he has had his dinner.” She pulled over the stack of letters George had given her in the wee hours. “Fitz, you will come and sit down with me.”
“Let me go and change—”
“No. Sit down now, my son. George, have the kitchen send up coffee and a tray.” She called the little girl over for a hug.
Fitz watched them, balking.
“Damn it,” George whispered. “I’ll haul you over and tie you to the chair myself.”
His brother pinned him with a glare. “You’ll pay for this.”
“I’ve had a look at your books. I fear we’ll all pay, and we might as well start facing up to it.”
Mary gave him her hand and chattered to him all the way up the stairs.
“He’s returned,” Willa said, entering Sophie’s bedchamber with the freshly pressed crimson gown.
“He who?”
“Well, the both of them, Mr. Lovelace and Lord Loughton. Did you rest at all, Sophie?”
After her interview with Lady Loughton, she’d spent the day outside with the children, where their equally matched teams of males and females had battled with snowballs, then returned to her bedchamber with the hope of a nap. “No. I finished the embroidery on the handkerchiefs.”
Willa clucked her tongue. “I would’ve done it while you’re having your dinner. I’ve already eaten with the cook. Had a bit of gossip as well. His lordship was in with her ladyship for a godawful time. Two pots of coffee. Raised voices, they say. Hers or his, they didn’t say.” She picked up the stays and smoothed a hand over them. “Only reason he came home was he thought she’d taken ill. Shall we start with the dressing now? I’ve something new in mind for your hair.”
Taken ill?
George had lied to his brother, tempting fate with a claim of illness…or…Lady Loughton had allowed him to offer the lie. Oh, how horrid for her, knowing Fitz wouldn’t return at a mere motherly request.
“All right,” she said. “Have at it. But nothing too complicated I hope.”
“You’ve plans to corner his lordship, I’ll warrant. Let’s give you something to catch his eye.”
“I’m not trying to catch—oh never mind.” She surrendered and handed over her hair brush.
All of the children joined them at table for the boisterous Christmas Eve Dinner, even Fitz’s daughter, Mary, seated at her Papa’s left hand, next to Charlotte, and across from Mr. Cartwright at Lord Loughton’s right.
Thankful to be seated further down, Sophie had been placed next to George, the two of them flanked by her boys. Despite the day’s travel, George had turned out impeccably groomed and attired. Her hand itched to touch his freshly shaved jaw.
Across the table, Edward picked a bit of dough from his bread, rubbing it into a ball, a sly smile growing until he glanced George’s way and popped the morsel into his mouth.
“A formal dinner with so many children,” Sophie murmured. “Your mother is very brave.”
“You have no idea,” he said.
Actually, she had a very clear idea of Lady Loughton’s strength of character.
“Thank you for bringing him back,” she said.
She’d hoped to speak to George before dinner, but he’d arrived just in time to escort her in.
“I thought it best I make the journey instead of you. You said you’re not much of a rider.” His gaze swept over her in a trail of heat ending at her bosom. “You look stunning in red.”
“Your mother has been loaning me these magnificent gowns.” She picked up her wineglass and choked on a sip, suspicion kindling.
Could Lady Loughton be matchmaking? And if so, who did she mean as a match for Sophie?
“But you’re wearing a ribbon again. Where is the garnet cross you were wearing the night I arrived?”
Heat raced into her cheeks. The whereabouts of the cross was none of his business. As for the ribbon…
She touched a hand to her neck. “This serves better to cover…a bruise here.”
George had the cheek to smile, the bounder.
She hadn’t come to Loughton Manor for matchmaking, or to celebrate the Yuletide, nor even to seek a position as a chaperone. She’d come to confront Fitz.
“He’s avoiding my eye, I believe,” she murmured again.
“No doubt. We’ll corner him after he lights the Yule log.”
She blinked back sudden moisture. He still proposed to help her.
Under the table, he squeezed her hand and held on, sending her heart soaring.
“If need be, we’ll bring Mother into it. And then you and I must speak. There’s something I would discuss with you.”
“What?”
His smile drained all the joy from her, and she shook her head. “No. I cannot.”
One dark eyebrow shot up. “Would you be like Fitz and not even hear me out?” Dropping her hand, he turned to respond to a comment from Artie.
How was she to sit through a boisterous meal, the parlor festivities, the discussion with Fitz and then an indecent proposal?
George’s elbow brushed hers and he winked.
“Fustian,” she hissed, reminding herself that he was merely a distraction from her true mission.
He squeezed her hand again. “Arthur, tell me about your lands and holdings.”
With one ear tuned to Arthur’s answer—she’d made sure the new Earl of Glanford knew his responsibilities—she helped Ben manage his peas and his pudding and watched the slow advance of the ormolu clock’s minute hand.
“May I?” She brushed by him, shoved back the chair, and bent down, examining the lock.
His quick intake of breath and the chuckle that followed sent hot blood to her cheeks and made her drop to her knees. “Let’s pick the lock, Mr. Lovelace.”
“Call me George.” When she looked up, a small smile curved his lips and his gaze had darkened.
“Not when you look at me that way.” She drew out a pin, and tucked the dislodged lock of hair behind her ear. “Well?”
“By all means. How did you learn your criminal skills?”
“One develops talents when one is kept in the dark.”
“Indeed,” he said, sounding thoughtful.
Shushing him, she put her ear to the lock. His closeness sent her heart pounding and her thoughts straying to that last kiss.
With a deep breath, she steadied her hand.
“Shall I try?” His breath tickled her ear.
“Mr. Lovelace. Please.”
Chuckling, he seated himself, the chair creaking under him, his knees bumping her shoulder.
She froze. George stilled as well. The creaking continued.
Heavy steps thudded across the carpet.
“Cartwright.” George called.
She squeezed herself into the desk’s kneehole and tried not to breathe.
Chapter Ten
“Thought you would have gone up,” George said too loudly.
The guest chair thumped, and George shifted closer. The scents of wood polish and shoe leather filled her nose, and she squeezed back a sneeze.
“Fine library Loughton has here.” The older man’s deep rumble permeated the heavy mahogany. “Thought I might go up, and then I saw your candle moving this way.”
Oh Hades. He’d seen her candle. She’d nearly been caught.
“I see you’ve got the Manchester paper there from last week. I read the piece on the new Stockton and Darlington Railway bill.”
George’s shoe bumped her as he shifted again, and she pressed her cheek to the cool mahogany, holding her breath, barely hearing his murmured reply to Cartwright. The closeness was addling her, and he was fidgeting like Ben did when he was practicing his letters.
When his knee nudged her shoulder, she teetered and reached for the nearest brace—his leg. The solid muscle flinched under her fingers. Breathless again, she pressed her cheek to his knee and swallowed a surge of longing. What would it be like to make love to a man she wanted?
Easing in a breath, she tried to still her racing heart and the temptation threatening to overtake her.
George emitted a strangled cough and cleared his throat. “Cartwright. Tell me more about your interest in the railway.”
“I’ve heard rumors it’s a grand plan. I might want to invest, if you’re selling shares.”
George shifted, and her hand moved of its own accord sliding up the firm muscle, venturing higher to the bend of his knee.
A sharp intake of breath rattled through him.
Cartwright laughed. “I’m not a competitor, I can assure you of that. You think on it and we can talk more in the light of day. Now, perhaps you might tell me what you know of Lady Glanford. Fetching woman, isn’t she? Your mother is pushing hard for her to manage Charlotte’s come-out, but I’m not so sure Lady Glanford won’t be turning heads herself. Not that she’d compete with my Charlotte for offers of marriage of course, but—”
“Cartwright.” George’s chair jerked back taking him with it. “We might as well discuss the railway now. Come, let’s go to the library where the chairs are more comfortable.”
Sophie lolled back and clamped a hand over a mad giggle. She’d rattled the oh-so-sure-of-himself Mr. Lovelace. Who knew he could be such a coward?
Or that she could be so wicked?
No…not wicked. That had been foolish.
When she heard the sharp click of the door, she crawled out and returned to her criminal enterprise.
It was past midnight when Cartwright finally went off to bed and George hastened back to the study hoping Sophie was waiting for him.
Her intentions were clear. The only question to answer was: his bedchamber or hers?
He found her at the desk bent over a letter. Other correspondence sat stacked on each side of the desktop.
He silently closed the door. “What did you find?”
She stood and paced to the fireplace, worrying her hands at her waist.
“Sophie? What did you find, my dear?”
Her fingers rubbed her temples. “It is worse than I feared. I thought I could… I’d hoped…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I must think.”
He went to her and took her hands. “I said I will help you, and I will. We’ll find a way.”
She lifted her chin, but there was no defiance in it, and he couldn’t read the emotion in her eyes.
“You have worries of your own. I will have to find my way to London as soon as possible, after I speak with Fitz.”
“You’re not going with Cartwright.”
She searched his face. “What?”
After thirty minutes probing George for information about Sophie, and one man to another, making his interest clear, Cartwright had mentioned he’d travel to London before the New Year.
“You can’t serve as Charlotte’s sponsor.”
She let out a tight breath and pulled her hands away. “He knew I was under the desk.”
Had Cartwright known? “No. He’s…” Looking for a lover. George reached for her hand again, watching annoyance play on her face. “Sophie, I’m not entirely sure his intentions toward you are honorable.”
She scoffed. “Then you are two peas in the same pod.” Her lips pressed together. “I apologize for my earlier forwardness. Be assured I’m not going to London as anyone’s mistress. That sort of business enterprise doesn’t interest me at all.”
He held her gaze deciding whether to laugh or to chastise. She’d just been on her knees in an enterprising position. And the kisses that afternoon and the night before had not been produced by an uninterested woman.
“Do not worry,” she said. “I understand men like Cartwright far better than I do the genteel sort, and if I chaperone Charlotte, I’ll make my intentions clear.”
When she wasn’t hiding under a desk or standing under the mistletoe, Sophie had principles. She wouldn’t take a carte blanche from the man.
Oh hell. The way Cartwright had spoken of her, he might…he might…
His jaw tightened. “He might want marriage.”
“Marriage?”
“Yes.”
“To me?”
“It’s not so outlandish.”
“I don’t wish to marry. I’ve been married, Lovelace. I fulfilled my marriage contract. I did my marital duty, and my duty didn’t end with Glanford’s death. I have children, and tenants, and a community that depend on me.”
“You’re not going to London to seek a husband?”
“Are you daft?” She sniffed his breath. “Or…foxed. You’ve been drinking.”
He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m not drunk, Sophie. I’m…”
I’m in love.
Head spinning, he pulled her into a kiss. He wanted her. She should be his.
She broke the kiss and touched his cheek, and then yanked her hand away. “I have children. You have a railway. We can’t do this.” Her eyes glistened betraying her lie.
“We can.”
Lips trembling, she looked away. “Perhaps one day. Not now. I have responsibilities.”
The longing in her voice stirred his spirits. “One day, then.” Tomorrow, if he had his way. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Now, what did you find?”
“Letters. The stack on the right had been opened.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “The file in the middle contains IOUs. Glanford owed Fitz an ungodly amount.”
She stepped out of his arms and returned to the desk, collecting the opened letters.
“May I read those?” George asked.
“Tomorrow. I need to study them tonight, and I’ll leave them for you in the morning.”
More letters were piled on a corner of the desk. “What is this other correspondence?”
“See for yourself. I’m going up.”
He reached for her, but she shook him off and crossed the carpet.
“We’ll talk again after breakfast,” he said.
“I doubt you’ll be up before I leave.”
“What?”
At the door, she fixed him with a determined gaze. “This won’t continue any longer. I’m going after Fitz, and he will speak to me.”
You will not. “You don’t know where he is.”
“I do, as a matter of fact. Willa has uncovered his location.”
A rebuke froze on his tongue and he watched the door close on her.
The stubborn, headstrong woman. He’d no more let her go off on her own to a gentlemen’s hunting party then…
Dear God. There’d be little or no rest for him tonight.
At the desk, he reviewed the file of Glanford’s unpaid vowels. Sophie had the right of it: it was an ungodly amount. Not impossible, but it would take years and tight purse strings to manage. The loans had begun around the time Father assigned his heir more authority over the Loughton estate.
Fitz had his own small income, but not enough for those loans. Father had handed over the estate management to his eldest, while his second, third, and fourth sons managed investments. Fitz had dipped into the estate funds.
No wonder Fitz was dodging his family. He’d jeopardized Loughton’s financial security. Sophie couldn’t repay him, so he was struggling to pay others.
George swiped a hand through his hair. He or one of his other brothers should have uncovered this.
He reached for the letters and flipped through them. They were all from Sophie to Fitz, the wax on each unbroken. He put them in date order and began cracking the seals one by one.
As the light sputtered, he collected everything and found his way to his mother’s bedchamber. He wouldn’t tell her his plans in a note, even if it meant waking her.
Besides, Mother was never one to hide from the truth. She preferred to know what was going on. She was the strongest woman he knew.
And Sophie was much like her.
Unable to sleep, Sophie rose early and was donning her warmest clothes when someone knocked at her bedchamber door. Willa peeked in from the dressing room.
“You’re up?” the maid asked. “Who’s aknocking at this hour?”
“Shhh. Go back to bed.” She crossed to the door.
Lady Loughton’s abigail curtsied. “Her ladyship wishes you to join her for breakfast in her private parlor.”
“Now?” The delay would set back her plans. She’d hoped to travel to Melton Mowbray and be back by nightfall. She disliked the thought of spending Christmas eve in an inn, away from her boys.
She would do so though, if she must. Now that she’d made up her mind, she wouldn’t turn back.
And she’d be able to ask Lady Loughton in person to keep her boys for the duration of her travels instead of leaving a note. “Let me just finish dressing and I’ll be right along.”
Late the next afternoon…
Once Fitz knew the excuse for George’s late morning rousting, he’d shaken off his hangover, had his horse saddled, and begged a fresh horse for George.
Fitz would be madder than Hades when he discovered the lie, but so be it. Mother would deal with him.
A vigilant groom met them in the drive, and the butler opened the door before their boots touched the first step.
“How is Lady Loughton,” Fitz asked. “Has the doctor been called?”
Biggs blinked.
“Never mind, Biggs.” George tossed his hat and greatcoat, and nudged Fitz toward the stairs. “Seeing her first-born might just be the tonic she needs, despite your two days-worth of beard.”
At the door to Mother’s bedchamber, Fitz turned on him. “How can you make light of this?”
George reached around him, knocked, and turned the latch.
Mother sat at a table near the fire, a little girl on her lap.
“Papa.” Mary jumped off and ran to Fitz.
He swept her up into his arms, his gaze fixed on the older lady. “You are well, Mother?”
“I am now. Or I will be soon.”
“Grandmama and I napped together, and now we are reading a book.”
Fitz frowned and turned a puzzled look on George.
“You must thank George for bringing you home in time for Christmas,” Mother said. “I dare say he’s had a very long day of hard riding. Mary, Uncle George will take you back to the nursery, and your papa will pay you a visit after he has had his dinner.” She pulled over the stack of letters George had given her in the wee hours. “Fitz, you will come and sit down with me.”
“Let me go and change—”
“No. Sit down now, my son. George, have the kitchen send up coffee and a tray.” She called the little girl over for a hug.
Fitz watched them, balking.
“Damn it,” George whispered. “I’ll haul you over and tie you to the chair myself.”
His brother pinned him with a glare. “You’ll pay for this.”
“I’ve had a look at your books. I fear we’ll all pay, and we might as well start facing up to it.”
Mary gave him her hand and chattered to him all the way up the stairs.
“He’s returned,” Willa said, entering Sophie’s bedchamber with the freshly pressed crimson gown.
“He who?”
“Well, the both of them, Mr. Lovelace and Lord Loughton. Did you rest at all, Sophie?”
After her interview with Lady Loughton, she’d spent the day outside with the children, where their equally matched teams of males and females had battled with snowballs, then returned to her bedchamber with the hope of a nap. “No. I finished the embroidery on the handkerchiefs.”
Willa clucked her tongue. “I would’ve done it while you’re having your dinner. I’ve already eaten with the cook. Had a bit of gossip as well. His lordship was in with her ladyship for a godawful time. Two pots of coffee. Raised voices, they say. Hers or his, they didn’t say.” She picked up the stays and smoothed a hand over them. “Only reason he came home was he thought she’d taken ill. Shall we start with the dressing now? I’ve something new in mind for your hair.”
Taken ill?
George had lied to his brother, tempting fate with a claim of illness…or…Lady Loughton had allowed him to offer the lie. Oh, how horrid for her, knowing Fitz wouldn’t return at a mere motherly request.
“All right,” she said. “Have at it. But nothing too complicated I hope.”
“You’ve plans to corner his lordship, I’ll warrant. Let’s give you something to catch his eye.”
“I’m not trying to catch—oh never mind.” She surrendered and handed over her hair brush.
All of the children joined them at table for the boisterous Christmas Eve Dinner, even Fitz’s daughter, Mary, seated at her Papa’s left hand, next to Charlotte, and across from Mr. Cartwright at Lord Loughton’s right.
Thankful to be seated further down, Sophie had been placed next to George, the two of them flanked by her boys. Despite the day’s travel, George had turned out impeccably groomed and attired. Her hand itched to touch his freshly shaved jaw.
Across the table, Edward picked a bit of dough from his bread, rubbing it into a ball, a sly smile growing until he glanced George’s way and popped the morsel into his mouth.
“A formal dinner with so many children,” Sophie murmured. “Your mother is very brave.”
“You have no idea,” he said.
Actually, she had a very clear idea of Lady Loughton’s strength of character.
“Thank you for bringing him back,” she said.
She’d hoped to speak to George before dinner, but he’d arrived just in time to escort her in.
“I thought it best I make the journey instead of you. You said you’re not much of a rider.” His gaze swept over her in a trail of heat ending at her bosom. “You look stunning in red.”
“Your mother has been loaning me these magnificent gowns.” She picked up her wineglass and choked on a sip, suspicion kindling.
Could Lady Loughton be matchmaking? And if so, who did she mean as a match for Sophie?
“But you’re wearing a ribbon again. Where is the garnet cross you were wearing the night I arrived?”
Heat raced into her cheeks. The whereabouts of the cross was none of his business. As for the ribbon…
She touched a hand to her neck. “This serves better to cover…a bruise here.”
George had the cheek to smile, the bounder.
She hadn’t come to Loughton Manor for matchmaking, or to celebrate the Yuletide, nor even to seek a position as a chaperone. She’d come to confront Fitz.
“He’s avoiding my eye, I believe,” she murmured again.
“No doubt. We’ll corner him after he lights the Yule log.”
She blinked back sudden moisture. He still proposed to help her.
Under the table, he squeezed her hand and held on, sending her heart soaring.
“If need be, we’ll bring Mother into it. And then you and I must speak. There’s something I would discuss with you.”
“What?”
His smile drained all the joy from her, and she shook her head. “No. I cannot.”
One dark eyebrow shot up. “Would you be like Fitz and not even hear me out?” Dropping her hand, he turned to respond to a comment from Artie.
How was she to sit through a boisterous meal, the parlor festivities, the discussion with Fitz and then an indecent proposal?
George’s elbow brushed hers and he winked.
“Fustian,” she hissed, reminding herself that he was merely a distraction from her true mission.
He squeezed her hand again. “Arthur, tell me about your lands and holdings.”
With one ear tuned to Arthur’s answer—she’d made sure the new Earl of Glanford knew his responsibilities—she helped Ben manage his peas and his pudding and watched the slow advance of the ormolu clock’s minute hand.
