Chapter Five
The baby’s cries woke Sophie up at 2:33 a.m. She yawned and pushed herself out of bed. She didn’t want the rest of the household to wake up. Slipping on her robe, Sophie hurried to the adjoining nursery. As soon as she pushed the door open, cold air hit her. She hugged herself, rubbing her arms for a moment.
“That’s strange,” Sophie whispered. Her room had been warm, and the heat was running. She could hear it, but this room was as frigid as a tomb.
She shivered at the comparison. The scent of roses filled the small space. It was strange. There were no roses here, but in her room, and she had barely noticed their fragrance this evening.
Her teeth chattering, Sophie made her way to the crib. The baby was wrapped up tightly. As least Maya wasn’t cold.
She took the baby from the crib, made up her formula, and warmed it with the bottle warmer in the nursery. John had seen to all the conveniences, and for that, Sophie was grateful.
The baby ate with eyes closed, and Sophie smiled down at her. The cold in the room eased off after a few moments. It was strange that the temperature differed so much for seemingly no reason from one room to the next.
The baby dozed off, milk trickling from her mouth when the bottle was nearly finished. Sophie tucked her carefully back into the crib, making sure she had an extra blanket in case the temperature blocked again. She was about the leave the room when she heard whispers in the hallway.
One of the voices was clearly Carla’s—low and feminine. The other, she couldn’t make out—John, Evan, or someone else talking? The two conversed for a few minutes. Carla laughed teasingly. Then footsteps went in different directions. Why on earth was anyone up at this hour who didn’t have to be?
Sophie stood still, torn. She wanted to look out the door to see who was walking away, but she feared being seen.
“Please, John. Please don’t let it have been you,” she whispered, sighing heavily as she opened the adjoining door that led to her own bedroom. Did it really matter if it was John or what he was up to with Carla? Theirs would be a marriage of convenience anyway, and Carla had rejected him—or so she said.
* * * *
Carla was with the baby the next morning, and John had either left the house early or not come down for breakfast. Sophie decided to take a walk around the grounds to clear her head. She’d noticed little about the estate on the drive in, other than the house itself, but there was quite a bit of land up on the hill it was situated on, from what she understood.
She donned her brown wool coat and walked out the front door and around to the left side of the house. A dormant garden lay near the backside of the house, and she noticed the greenhouse as well. The thought of flowers kept warm and flourishing despite the cold winters cheered her, and Sophie wondered if the roses in her room came from there. She found the door to the greenhouse easily. It wasn’t locked, so she went inside. It was humid here, and all kinds of flowers bloomed in a wild riot of lavender, hot pink, orange, yellow, white, and red—dahlias, tulips, orchids, and many others she couldn’t name. And roses, too, of the kinds she had in her bedroom. So, they had come from here.
“Hello? Are you a lover of flowers?” A voice made her jump.
“Evan?”
“Yes, it’s me. Why are you here?” He appeared near her from behind a fern, wearing gloves. He had a clipping of some type of green plant in his hands, and he was as handsome as he had been the night before. Perhaps he was more so with the evidence of life around him that he had grown by his own sweat.
“Just looking around the grounds. I got restless inside.” Sophie tried to sound nonchalant. “Is this your greenhouse, then?” She asked, feeling like an intruder.
“I guess so, or it might as well be. It was built by my grandfather, but I spend the most time in here. No one else cares much for growing things in this house.” He laughed harshly.
“I see. You have beautiful flowers here.” Sophie pretended to admire the roses she was already so familiar with. “I suppose you had a hand in having these put in my bedroom?”
He frowned, putting the plant clipping down on the workbench in front of him. “What?”
“The roses. There are dozens in my bedroom. I’m not sure who had them put there, but they’re lovely.”
Evan’s face blanched. “Roses? These roses?”
“Yes, I suppose so. They’re of the same varieties, I think.” Sophie watched him. He seemed very upset for some reason.
“These are my mother’s roses. No one usually touches them. John didn’t tell you that?” Evan asked, looking angry.
“No, perhaps he didn’t realize it.”
“The bastard. He probably had them put in your room. He knew it would upset me!” Evan brought his fist down on the workbench and winced.
“Why would he do that? He already told me he didn’t anyway. I don’t think he would lie about something so silly.” Sophie’s head was spinning, and she regretted ever coming out here to explore.
“Because he’s twisted. He plays games, and it’s not silly.” Evan frowned fiercely at her.
Sophie threw up her hands and shook her head. “I don’t want to get involved in this. Forget I asked about the roses. They are lovely, and I appreciate the gesture from whoever made it,” Sophie said, backing away toward the door.
“I’m sorry. I’m being rude,” Evan said, flashing her a smile that was all
