“At least it’s still. You should make Morelands easily.”
Sophie paused at the bottom of the front steps. “You’re not accompanying us?”
“He is.” St. Just led a big bay horse up to the mounting block. “We took the liberty of having a mount saddled for you, Sindal. It’s a pleasant day for a ride.”
“I’d thought to look over account books with my uncle this morning.”
And the winter day was about as pleasant as the coldest circle of hell by Sophie’s lights.
St. Just smiled a smile sporting more teeth than charm. “To hear your aunt tell it, the account books have languished for years without your attention to them. Surely you’d rather accept our invitation for a short jaunt on this sunny day?”
Valentine and Westhaven rode up, halting their horses on either side of St. Just.
“It’ll clear the cobwebs,” Westhaven said.
“And you can tell us all why you’ve been such a stranger at Morelands these last years,” Valentine added. “Sister, I can take the infant up with me.”
Vim glanced from one brother to the other, something like a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. “I would be pleased to join you, and Kit rides with me.”
He passed Kit to St. Just, gave Sophie a leg up, mounted and retrieved the baby, and then they were moving down the driveway, a silent cavalcade in the sunny, bitter morning.
It took no time at all to reach the curate’s little house beside the church, a mere span of minutes by Sophie’s reckoning, while she tried not to watch Vim holding Kit, occasionally speaking to the child, cradling him close against the brisk air.
Already, she felt an empty place under her heart, a place that ought to be filled with gummy smiles, baby- songs, and a tiny flailing hand intent on capturing the nearest adult nose, chin, or heart.
“Take him for just a moment.” Vim was regarding her with steady blue eyes, while Sophie’s throat closed and her chest began a slow miserable tattoo of impending loss. She shook her head.
“Just while I dismount.” Vim passed the baby over, despite another shake of her head, and then Sophie was cradling Kit close, shutting her eyes to memorize the sweet, baby scent of the child, to block out the sight of a tidy, tired young woman coming from the house in a plaid shawl.
“Sophie.” Vim, standing by her horse, waiting for her to give him the child. “You can come by later and visit with Mrs. Harrad. We should get Kit out of this weather.” He spoke gently, his voice pitched so the others would not hear.
This was why her brothers had impressed Vim into coming with them: so Sophie could hand the child to
She handed Kit down and looked away, off toward the rolling terrain of Morelands just outside the village. She forced herself to take in air, then expel it, take in air, then expel it.
She counted her breaths—four, five, six… while Vim passed the child into the waiting woman’s arms and out of Sophie’s life.
“I’ll ride to the Morelands gates with you.” Vim swung up and shifted his horse so he was alongside Sophie’s mount, but he kept his silence while they rode.
“You’ve made the best decision, Soph.” Valentine shot her a glance that held a world of understanding, and all Sophie could do was nod and stare straight ahead, lest her brother’s compassion destroy her composure. He seemed to comprehend how tenuous her nerves were, because he rode on, joining their brothers in the lead.
“I can tell you it will ease,” Vim said very quietly. “I pray for you that the hurt will ease, Sophie Windham. Some things just take a great deal of time.”
He didn’t castigate her, didn’t try to reason with her or cheer her up, but Sophie was grateful for his presence nonetheless. All too soon, they were at the Morelands gates, the wrought iron wings standing open in welcome.
Vim drew his mount to a halt. “I’ll turn back here and thank you all for both your companionship on the journey and your willingness to provide my relations their first houseguests in quite some time.”
He was leaving her
“Sophie.” Westhaven sounded serious indeed. Val and St. Just looked equally grave. St. Just shook his head subtly, but the message was clear.
She was not to push Morelands hospitality on Baron Sindal.
Vim moved his horse right next to Sophie’s, leaned over, and there—before her three solemn brothers—gave her a lingering kiss on the cheek. “You will send to me if there’s need.” He spoke very quietly, and it was not a question. Then he turned his mount and steered it in the direction of Sidling.
While Sophie watched Vim walk out of her life, her brothers maneuvered so their horses were beside her, Valentine to her immediate right, Westhaven and St. Just to her left.
“Shall we?” St. Just kneed his horse forward, and Sophie’s mount walked on, as well. All too soon, they were ambling up the drive to Morelands, the house sitting in winter splendor just a hundred yards ahead.
“I don’t know how I’ll face Their Graces.”
Sophie realized she’d spoken aloud when all three brothers were looking at her with concern.
“A headache might do,” Westhaven said.
“Fatigue would be convincing,” St. Just added.
Valentine cocked his head, his expression hard to read. “You’re a grown woman. We’ll make your excuses, Soph. Just go to your room and leave orders you’re not to be disturbed until dinner.”
She realized as Val helped her dismount that her brothers had been right to suggest Vim avoid an encounter with Their Graces. Sophie’s parents were perceptive people, and who knew what innuendos and looks they might have picked up on between Sophie and the man who’d made half her wishes come true?
“Back so soon?” Rothgreb surveyed his nephew, not needing spectacles to see the boy was preoccupied.
Not a boy, a man grown, and a handsome—if somewhat thick-witted—man at that. Love made such fools of young people.
Vim slid into the chair across from his uncle’s desk. “The distance we covered wasn’t great. You have the ledger books out?”
“You just let that pretty filly go?”
Vim looked up, and Rothgreb could see him trying to balance respect for his elder with the urge to throttle an interfering old busybody.
“She refused my suit on more than one occasion, Uncle. I don’t suppose you’ve made a list of all the things that have gone missing?”
“Refused your suit! Did you go down on bended knee? Shower her with compliments and pretty baubles? Did you slay dragons for her and ride through drenching thunderstorms?”
“I changed dirty nappies for her, got up and down all night with the child, and offered her the rest of my life.”
“Dirty nappies? Bah! In my day, we knew how to court a woman.”
This provoked a sardonic smile. “In your day, you married for convenience and were free to chase any panniered shirt that caught your eye.”
“Little you know.” Rothgreb tossed his spectacles on the desk. “Your aunt would have had my parts fed to the hogs if I’d done more than the requisite flirting with the dowagers. And she knew better than to share her favors elsewhere too, b’gad.”
“About my aunt.” Vim sat up, his expression grim. “She does not seem in the least vague to me, Uncle. I must conclude your descriptions of her conditions were exaggerated, and I have to wonder for what purpose.”
Damn the boy. Love had made him stupid about some things, but not nearly stupid enough.
“She has good and bad days, and having people around seems to help. She’s particularly glad to see you and glad to see you’ve an interest in the Windham girl.”
