And time for her to tidy up Valentine’s room, because surely her brothers would be arriving tomorrow, and surely she did not want them asking any more awkward questions than necessary.
“They will honor my confidences,” she said to the baby as she carried him to the parlor. “I will explain I needed solitude. Westhaven hid in his business endeavors, Valentine at the piano, and Devlin in the stables, but where was I to hide when I needed peace and quiet? Where was I to have any privacy? Taking tea with Her Grace? Shopping with my sisters? Parading about Town on the arm of my papa?”
Good heavens, she sounded almost… angry.
She sat on the sofa with the baby in her lap.
A lady never showed strong emotion, except she had shown strong emotion, with Vim… Weeping had been the least of it.
A bump sounded from the direction of the kitchen, making her jump, suggesting she’d spent the entire day half listening for just such a sound.
A sound suggesting Vim had once again returned?
Another bump, and the muted sound of voices.
She put Kit in his cradle. “I will be back momentarily. Behave.” She put his hand up to his mouth, and he obligingly slipped two fingers between his lips. “Good baby.”
Closing the parlor door behind her, Sophie hurried to the kitchen, only to find her three brothers stomping snowy boots, muttering, and bringing in the damp and cold as they shed outer garments.
“Sophie!” Val spotted her first and abandoned all ceremony to wrap his arms around her. “Sophie Windham, I have missed you and missed you.” He held her tightly, so tightly Sophie could hide her face against his shoulder and swallow back the lump abruptly forming in her throat.
“I have a new etude for you to listen to. It’s based on parallel sixths and contrary motion—it’s quite good fun.” He stepped back, his smile so dear Sophie wanted to hug him all over again, but St. Just elbowed Val aside.
“Long lost sister, where have you been?” His hug was gentler but no less welcome. “I’ve traveled half the length of England to see you, you know.” He kissed her cheek, and Sophie felt a blush creeping up her neck.
“You did not. You’ve come south because Emmie said you must, and you want to check on your ladies out in Surrey.”
Westhaven waited until St. Just had released her. “I wanted to check on you.” His hug was the gentlest of all. “But you were not where you were supposed to be, Sophie. You have some explaining to do if we’re to get the story straight before we face Her Grace.”
The simple fact of his support undid her. Sophie pressed her face to his shoulder and felt a tear leak from her eye. “I have missed you so, missed all of you so much.”
Westhaven patted her back while Valentine stuffed a cold, wrinkled handkerchief into her hand.
“We’ve made her cry.” St. Just did not sound happy.
“I’m just…” Sophie stepped away from Westhaven and dabbed at her eyes. “I’m a little fatigued is all. I’ve been doing some baking, and the holidays are never without some challenges, and then there’s the baby—”
“What baby?” All three men spoke—shouted, more nearly—as one.
“Keep your voices down, please,” Sophie hissed. “Kit isn’t used to strangers, and if he’s overset, I’ll be all night dealing with him.”
“And behold, a virgin shall conceive,” Val muttered as Sophie passed him back his handkerchief.
St. Just shoved him on the shoulder. “That isn’t helping.”
Westhaven went to the stove and took the kettle from the hob. “What baby, Sophie? And perhaps you might share some of this baking you’ve been doing. The day was long and cold, and our brothers grow testy if denied their victuals too long.”
He sent her a smile, an it-will-be-all-right smile that had comforted her on many an occasion. Westhaven was sensible. It was his surpassing gift to be sensible, but Sophie found no solace from it now.
She had not been sensible, and worse yet, she did not regret the lapse. She would, however, regret very much if the lapse did not remain private.
“The tweenie was anticipating an interesting event, wasn’t she?” Westhaven asked as he assembled a tea tray. While Sophie took a seat at the table, St. Just hiked himself onto a counter, and Val took the other bench.
“Joleen,” Sophie said. “Her interesting event is six months old, a thriving healthy child named… Westhaven, what are you doing?”
“He’s making sure he gets something to eat under the guise of looking after his siblings,” St. Just said, pushing off the counter. “Next, he’ll fetch the cream from the window box while I make us some sandwiches. Valentine find us a cloth for the table.”
“At once, Colonel.” Val snapped a salute and sauntered off in the direction of the butler’s pantry, while Westhaven headed for the colder reaches of the back hallway.
“You look a bit fatigued, Sophie.” St. Just studied her with a brooding frown, all hint of teasing gone. His brows knit further as his gaze went to the hearth. “Is that a pair of my favorite socks set out to dry? They’re a bit large for you, aren’t they?”
Westhaven emerged from the back hallway, a small box in his hand. “Somebody has decimated my stash of marzipan. If His Grace has given up creme cakes for German chocolate, I’ll be naming my seconds.”
Valentine returned from the corridor. “Somebody left my favorite mug in the linen closet. I thought you favored more delicate crockery, Sophie.”
In the ensuing moment of silence, Sophie was casting around desperately for plausible reasons why all this evidence of Vim’s presence in the house was yet on hand, when the back door opened and slammed shut.
“Sophie, love! I’m back. Come here and let me kiss you senseless, and then, by God, we’re going to talk.”
Oh dear.
Oh, good heavens.
Vim emerged from the darkness looking weary, handsome, and very pleased—until his gaze traveled to each of the three men glowering at him.
“Who the hell are you?” Westhaven’s voice was soft, but he did not sound sensible in the least.
“And what makes you think you’re going to be kissing my sister?” St. Just added, hands on his hips.
“And what on earth could you have to speak with Lady Sophia about?” Valentine asked, crossing his arms.
Three things penetrated the surprise Vim felt at seeing Sophie in company with three large, undeniably attractive men.
First, they resembled her, each in a slightly different way. Around the eyes, for the darkest one; something about the chin in the one with lighter hair; and the shape of the nose for the leanest one. And green eyes. All four had green eyes.
Brothers. These were her brothers. The thought brought relief and resentment too: where had these stout fellows been when Sophie had been stranded here, trying to cope with a baby and a snowstorm and a stranger under her roof ?
The second realization was that the mews had shown a number of hoofprints in the snow. He’d handed his horse off to Higgins and not remarked all the stable traffic. Had he paid attention, he might have been warned that Sophie was no longer alone.
But then the third realization sank into his brain:
“Your horse started off sound enough,” he said, addressing her directly and ignoring the glowering idiots cluttering up her kitchen. “The farther I got from the river though, the more he felt off. Not lame, exactly, but not sound, either. I did not want to leave him to the indifferent care of a coaching inn or livery, so I brought him back. Whatever the difficulty, he seemed to work out of it as we approached Town. How fares Kit?”
The teakettle started to whistle, but Vim kept his gaze locked on Sophie.
