perspective, be forgiving of her husband’s limitations, and continue to guard her heart.
As they waited for the innkeeper to bring their fare, Claxton drank ale and Sophia sipped from a steaming mug of tea.
“So let us see this bee that has been buzzing around Sir Thomas’s nose for all these years.” Claxton scooted his chair toward hers. They sat side by side, two conspirators discreetly examining their plunder. He rested his arm across the back of her chair, bracketing her between his body and the wall. Her skin warmed with awareness. She could see nothing beyond the high wall of his shoulder, cravat, and waistcoat, and an endless sprawl of finely turned male legs.
Sophia slid the fabric binding free and unrolled the little scroll on the table between them. He helped her spread the small rectangle, pinning two corners with long, elegant fingers while she secured the other two. His familiar scent tantalized her, made more complex by the lingering acridity of gunpowder.
Ah, but the quest. At the uppermost corner hovered a charming little bee boasting a wide, toothy smile.
“Oh, your mother.” She did venture a glance at Claxton then, only to have her breath stolen by startling blue eyes, which studied
He agreed faintly, “Hmm, yes, she was.”
Underneath the table, his hand found her knee.
Breathless from that mere touch, Sophia read the quest aloud. “The hungry huntsman clamors for more stew. And look.” She turned the paper so he could see the drawings. “She’s drawn a rather fearsome fellow.”
“The huntsman,” said Claxton.
“You know something about him, just as you did Sir Thomas.”
He nodded. “There’s an old cottage in the forest; in times long past it would have been occupied by the estate huntsman. My brother and I used to play there, and sometimes my mother would accompany us.”
“And make stew?” Sophia leaned toward him, eager to hear more.
With a suddenness that stole her breath, his gaze went to smoldering, and he stared at her lips. His hand, still on her knee, squeezed. “Yes, actually, in an old pot, the ingredients being whatever we gathered. Stones, leaves, and sticks gathered from the forest. It was all very juvenile.”
“And charming.” She eased back in her chair, but he followed, just those few inches, teasing the nape of her neck with an upward brush of his fingertips. “Could we go to the huntsman’s cottage after we leave here?”
“I’d rather go somewhere else first,” he murmured suggestively.
“After we find the next clue.”
“The cottage was in terrible condition then. I’m not sure the roof has not fallen through. Our game may very well come to a disappointing end there. Time may have destroyed what was likely our final quest.”
“I hope not,” Sophia said. “Not when we have come so far.”
A girl brought out their stew, placing two bowls before them, a fragrant, steaming mutton stew. Reluctantly, he removed his hand from where it had crept up Sophia’s shapely thigh. Only after Sophia greeted the girl as Charlotte and made a fuss over her pretty hair did he remember seeing her before.
“Your Grace, the hairpins you gave me must have been magical ones.” The girl touched the neat coil of hair above her nape.
“Oh yes?” said Sophia. “Tell me, why would you say that?”
“I’ve got myself a suitor.” Her lips broke into a shy smile.
Sophia’s face brightened with surprise. “The farmer in the tall boots?”
“No, madam, the chandler with the fine cottage.” The girl’s face filled with color.
They chatted for a short time longer until Mrs. Stone cheerfully shooed the girl away. After the girl had gone, Sophia dazzled him with a happy smile.
“That’s wonderful to hear,” she whispered, her cheeks fetchingly pink, a likely consequence of their proximity to the fire. “I do hope Charlotte finds a happily ever after.”
Vane reached to touch her cheek, his tone solemn. “Happily ever after. A few days ago, I wouldn’t have believed in such a thing. The words sound as if they only belong in a fairy tale, don’t they? Not in the lives of everyday people. But I think I’ve changed my mind.”
Sophia peered steadily back at him. “That’s a wonderful thing to hear you say.”
Vane could not help but think how perfectly Lacenfleet suited Sophia. Having seen her in London, so perfectly at ease with the most elevated members of society, he’d never expected her to take so easily to these simple folk and their quiet way of life.
When they were ready to again be on their way, Vane left coins on the table in payment of their meal, and he followed Sophia toward the door. Only at the center of the room, he impulsively caught her by the sleeve and slowly pulled her back around. Her eyes flew wide at the suddenness of his mouth on hers, but she softened in his arms and with a sigh kissed him back. Then, as if she remembered where they were, she broke away. Yet he refused to release her entirely, and he caught her hand in his.
“It’s all proper,” he said, pointing at the mistletoe above them.
From around the room came cheers of approval and laughter from the patrons.
“You see,” he added. “I think all these good people agree.”
Soon they traveled alongside the frozen river. Sophia leaned out with interest, watching as villagers, mostly young people, glided across the surface. Claxton drew the sledge to a stop. Within moments, he’d lightened his pockets of several shillings and secured temporary possession of two pairs of skates.
He would not have to instruct Sophia as she already knew quite well what to do. A happy memory came to mind of last December as newlyweds in London, when they’d skated on the frozen Serpentine. She secured the blade to the bottom of her boot and left him still working to fasten his.
She executed a graceful turn and shouted, “Hurry.”
Within moments, he joined her. He had not much experience himself with the sport, but being generally hearty and athletic and possessed of a solid natural balance, all such diversions fell well within his capability.
Together they stood side by side on the ice, Sophia peering away from Lacenfleet across the river. In the distance, the faintest outline of the spires and towers of London could be seen.
“We could probably skate all the way to the other side.”
“No, it would be too dangerous. The ice isn’t strong enough all the way across.” Again, just the idea of leaving Lacenfleet sent an undercurrent of trepidation through his blood, as if London, like the Thames, was a fast-flowing river and would tear her from his grasp.
She glanced up at him. “I have never spent a Christmas apart from my family. I know it makes me sound like a child, but the holiday and togetherness became even more important to all of us after Vinson’s and my father’s death.”
“It’s good that you have each other. That you are all so close.” He’d not been so fortunate in later years to have that sort of familial bond.
“It’s not just that.” With a turn of her ankles, she skated a small half circle around him. “As you know, my grandfather has been in ill health. It would ease my mind to see that he is well.”
“I know it would.”
“At the same time,” she said softly, coming to a halt. “I’m not sure, if given the chance, that I would change a thing about being snowbound here. With you.”
“Not a single thing?” he teased, reaching out to take her hand and spin her in a gentle pirouette beneath his arm. “Lord Meltenbourne shooting at us. Waking up to a lunatic woman in our bed. A duel on the front lawn?”
“Well, perhaps just a few things.” She grinned.
She skated off into the center of a group of children, who formed a circle about her. How ironic that the idyllic scene took place on the exact path the barge would take as early as tomorrow, conveying them away from Lacenfleet, to the world they had left behind. A clock ticked off time in his head, growing louder and more threatening with each moment. He could not help but feel that things were disintegrating around him before he was ready, before they were strong enough.
Sophia returned to his side. “The boys appear impatient for the return of their skates.”
Returned to the sledge, they traveled toward Camellia House, but instead of following the indentations in the
