A Regency Yuletide

by Sharon Sobel

  What did surprise him was that Sophronia Templeton allowed any of them to court her.

  He was no less surprised, nor was he pleased, that evening when Sophy deliberately snubbed him, choosing the attentions of Humphrey Fotherington as they matched wits at a game of chess in the drawing room. Fotherington had pressed his suit rather strenuously throughout the day, and Sophy had finally succumbed to his insistent requests for her company.

  Two things became clear to Jeremy as he watched them together. The first was that she was every bit as skilled as any of her brothers at winning at chess.

  The second was that it was not Fotherington she wanted to be with so much as she seemed to want to avoid St. Laurent.

  To Jeremy, Fotherington seemed a colossal and arrogant bore hardly worth wasting time on. While the man hadn’t the reputation for chasing ladies, as did so many who passed their days in London, Jeremy wondered how long Sophy could hold Fotherington’s attention with her stories of life on the American frontier.

  Jeremy seized the chance to accentuate his familiarity with her the next morning, when he was fortunate enough to arrive for breakfast just as she did. As he poured chocolate for Sophy, he addressed her in the presence of the trio of men who hastily rose to greet her, noting with satisfaction that they were still forced to address her formally.

  “It’s so lovely to see you again, Sophy,” he ventured, “just like old times. I thought perhaps you and I might take a ride through the countryside to visit some of the places you loved so as a child. You must find it tiresome being confined to the house much of the day with that ankle.”

  “Thank you, Captain St. Laurent, but no,” she declined, her tone polite but cool. “Since Barclay has been so thoughtful as to invite his friends for the holiday, and they have provided me with their kind companionship during my recuperation, I feel I must divide my time evenly among our guests. I do appreciate your offer, my lord, and I am confident there shall be a day during your visit when we shall have the opportunity to pass an afternoon together.”

  Jeremy divided his time that day in separate conversations with Harry and Eddie, the older Templeton brothers, fighting a lingering irritation at Sophy’s cold indifference to his presence. He had been put in his place by a mere slip of a girl who, as a child, had done everything from pulling his hair when she was angry to pushing him off her first pony when he attempted to ride it. This slight was far worse than anything she’d done in their youth. He found himself feeling far too disgruntled as he mulled over her behavior.

  Yet despite her attitude, he was forced to admit the sister of his oldest and dearest friends had grown into a lovely and most desirable young woman. She had managed to retain the warmth and outspokenness she’d displayed in childhood while developing a grace and charm over time. Her obvious sincerity prompted those who knew her to overlook her occasional lapses in tact.

  Unlike other women he had met in society, he conceded with some surprise, she appeared to be a prize worth the risk. Her attitude troubled him until it occurred to him that he must fight fire with fire. Appealing as she was, Sophy Templeton was not the only available young woman at the house party. While Barclay appeared rather smitten with the lovely Arabella Prindle, Jeremy considered her rather young for himself. He suspected Bark would recognize and understand a light flirtation, as he intended it, as another way to Sophy’s heart.

  That settled, Jeremy vowed to try every way possible until he discovered the path that led to winning Sophy’s hand.

  The leisurely pace of the holidays was shattered the next morning when the hall doors burst open. Emily, Eddie and Emma’s daughter, ran sobbing into the drawing room, alarming the adults. Jeremy was among those present, as were the adults in the family, Arabella, and the other suitors. He had been watching Sophy chat with Humphrey Fotherington on the far side of the room.

  “Emily, whatever is wrong?” Emma asked at once, hurrying to her daughter’s side. “Why aren’t you with Teddy and Uncle Bark?”

  “They’re outside,” Emily cried, dropping the wooden pail she carried. “We were pretending to be Jack and Jill. We carried our pails all the way up the hill. Then Teddy tumbled and rolled all the way down until he struck his leg on a rock, and now he can’t walk. And then I came tumbling after.”

  With that Emily burst into tears again. Her mother had no sooner gathered her in her arms than Barclay appeared, holding Teddy. The boy’s small round face was streaked with tears.

  “It appears someone felt such sympathy for his Aunt Sophy,” Barclay said, “that he decided to copy her by twisting his own ankle.”

  “Ow, my knee hurts,” Teddy cried as Barclay handed him over to his father.

  “What have you done to yourself, little one?” Eddie demanded gently, drawing his son close with a sigh. “At least you didn’t break your crown like Jack did. Perhaps just your leg. Never mind, we shall summon the doctor so he can have a look. In the meantime, young Master Edward, it’s up to bed with you.”

  “Dear Teddy, poor sweet,” the Dowager Lady Fairfax murmured, rising to stroke her grandson’s cheek. “We simply don’t do well with legs. It would appear all three generations of our family are prone to leg injuries.”

  Jeremy saw her glance furtively at Harry’s leg, shortened in battle, flushing as she realized how insensitive she must sound to her eldest son. Barclay rushed to relieve her with humor.

  “That’s why we must get Sophy leg-shackled as soon as possible,” he teased, glancing at his sister, “before she does so much damage to herself she is unable to walk down the aisle.”

  “And it is quite a fine leg to be shackled to,” Sampson Hodge added quietly from his corner of the room.

  Jeremy wondered darkly how Hodge could have any idea how fine Sophy’s leg was, though he did not doubt it was true. He could not repress a grin as Sophy, her cheeks coloring, adjusted her skirts discreetly about her ankles before she responded in kind.

  “For that, Barclay,” she retorted, “you shall carry me upstairs. Take me to Teddy’s room, for it is there I shall await the arrival of Doctor Evans.”

  Staying until they were certain Teddy had suffered no serious harm, Prindle, Hodge, and Fotherington excused themselves discreetly. Jeremy noticed Arabella Prindle hesitated but lingered at Barclay’s urging. Jeremy lingered as well, anxious to be of help. He seized the opportunity to insinuate himself into the conversation politely but poignantly.

  “Miss Prindle, might I escort you outdoors while the family is otherwise occupied?” he asked, offering his arm to Arabella who accepted it dutifully. “It’s a lovely day, if a bit cool, but I’ve no doubt we shall manage to find ways to keep warm.”

  Giving her an attentive smile, he gazed at Arabella until she blushed and returned his smile. Jeremy nodded to Sophy, noting with satisfaction the concern that darkened her brow as he left arm in arm with Arabella.

  Sophy watched the pair depart, indefinable emotions tugging at her. They seemed a most unlikely pair. Jeremy St. Laurent was a man of substance, serious and introspective by nature, while Arabella, though pleasant enough, lacked the depth of one even of Sophy’s own twenty-four years.

  Before they went upstairs to wait for the doctor, her thoughts still on Jeremy and Arabella, she requested, in a voice sterner than she intended, that Emily set aside the pair of wooden pails she had dropped on the drawing room carpet. It was hardly fair to blame Riggs for delivering them, she knew. While she did not question the honorable intentions of her mother’s tenant farmer who lived with his wife in a cottage a half-mile from Deervale Hall, she was not sure she could say the same of Captain St. Laurent, who had looked rather pleased with himself when he left with Miss Prindle.

  She set aside what was surely a silly resentment to focus on Teddy’s troubles. While Eddie carried his son upstairs, Sophy allowed Barclay to carry her to Teddy’s room as well.

 
“What was that about?” she demanded.

  “What was what about?” Barclay sounded slightly out of breath as he struggled to balance her on the staircase.

  “Captain St. Laurent and Miss Prindle.”

  Barclay shrugged as best he could under her weight. “Dunno. Being discreet, I suppose, so the doctor might see Teddy in private.”

  Or so they might see each other in private, Sophy suspected.

  “They’ll be cold very shortly, if they remain outdoors too long,” she declared, “for the doctor won’t arrive for some time.”

  Then she remembered an earlier conversation with Barclay. Fearing competition from Hodge and Fotherington, he had reminded her she wasn’t the only available female at the house party.

  Her heart turned over as she wondered if that was how Jeremy St. Laurent suddenly viewed the situation.

  “He’ll do the gentlemanly thing, I s’pose, and use his cloak to keep her warm. Or he might put his arm around her. She’s a young woman of marriageable age. St. Laurent can do as he pleases,” Barclay muttered, irritation creeping into his voice, “but he’d damn well better not if he knows what’s good for him.”

  Sophy was glad when he deposited her in Teddy’s room at last. Since this unexpected call would give him a chance to evaluate her ankle and report on its progress, Doctor Evans’s visit held as much suspense for her as it did for Teddy.

  But first they must tend to Teddy’s knee and determine the severity of his injury. She tried to thrust Jeremy and Arabella from her mind until Doctor Evans arrived over an hour later. He was as prompt as possible considering the amount of snow through which his barouche had to travel, though it seemed an eternity.

  Her nerves on edge, Sophy waited silently, her impatience showing only in the steady rocking of her chair. With her mother sitting opposite her, Emma and Eddie stood on opposite sides of Teddy’s bed as Doctor Evans pulled down the covers to inspect their son’s knee.

  “It appears your son has a bad sprain,” he announced after a painstaking and lengthy examination, “It should cause no permanent damage in a lad as young as this.” At this he ruffled Teddy’s already tousled brown locks.

  “Oh, thank you, Doctor,” Emma said with relief.

  “At most it will hamper him for a week or two,” the doctor continued. “But this sprain is nowhere as severe as his aunt’s.”

  Sophy’s throat went dry as Doctor Evans turned to her. “Perhaps I should look at your ankle while I’m here. It’s been about a week since your accident. Let’s check your progress, shall we?”

  Sophy tried to read his expectations in his voice but could not. She lifted her skirts at his approach, as Eddie moved an upholstered footstool close enough for her to rest her ankle.

  “You have not put pressure on this foot yet, I trust?”

  The doubt in Doctor Evans’s voice insulted her, but Sophy remained humble for her mother’s sake. Perhaps it would earn her some sympathy from the doctor. Teddy saved her from answering.

  “She hasn’t, Doctor,” he said earnestly. “Aunt Sophy has been the bestest patient. The visiting gentlemen have rigged up a fancy chair for her. They carry her wherever she wants to go.”

  “A bestest patient? That’s something I have yet to see.” Doctor Evans grinned at both of his patients as Teddy giggled. “I’m delighted to hear it. It sounds as if your aunt is in most capable hands as she gives her ankle the time it needs to heal.”

  Of course her ankle would heal properly, Sophy told herself. There wasn’t the remotest possibility it wouldn’t, for she could not face the possibility of having to abandon her mission work.

  She tried to steady her nerves as the doctor examined the ankle. He was silent for an agonizingly long time, pressing on the tender bones, squeezing her ankle and lower leg, turning her foot over in his hand. It could practically have healed, she thought in exasperation, in the time he spent examining it.

  “Well,” Doctor Evans said slowly as he replaced her foot on the stool, “these things work out in their own time, of course, but that ankle still has a fair amount of tenderness.”

  “It really feels much better,” Sophy objected weakly.

  “Not well enough that I’d recommend putting pressure on it yet. You reacted with pain when I examined it. You’ll get better. It just takes time and patience.”

  And time, she thought miserably, is the one thing I don’t have. She saw sympathy in his face as he gazed down at her.

  “Keep up your spirits, Miss Templeton,” he encouraged with a gentleness that surprised her. “The holidays are nearly upon us. Be grateful for the love of your family. It will go far to cheer you.”

  Sophy managed a smile. He was so kind it was difficult to keep the tears from her eyes. She wanted healing, not sympathy. She needed to know she would be aboard the ship that would set sail for America at the end of January.

  But she was not to hear those words today.

  By late afternoon the stress of his visit had done her in, and she could not face the strain of trying to be pleasant with gentlemen callers who would be strangers after their visit ended.

  To avoid having to make the attempt she retired to the library for a quiet moment. Sylvan must have had the same idea, for as she opened the library door, assisted into the room with the help of a servant, the dog merely lifted his head and gave her a thump of his tail before returning to sleep in his favorite spot. The bottom shelf of the bookcase nearest the fire had been his chosen spot ever since he was a pup.

  She was irritated when a knock on the door disturbed her peace after only a few minutes. She hoped Barclay’s friends had not discovered her hiding spot.

  “Come in,” she invited, somewhat crossly.

  She was startled to see Jeremy St. Laurent in the doorway, closing the heavy oak door softly behind him.

  Chapter Four

  “GOOD AFTERNOON,” he said in a formal tone. “Might I join you? I had hoped to keep you company, even though you seem to prefer solitude these days.”

  Sophy kept her eyes on the fire before her, setting aside the book she had not yet opened. “You may suit yourself as you wish, Captain. Guests are always welcome in our library.”

  That included other visitors as well, she reflected. If Jeremy intended to remain, she hoped one of them might interrupt so she was not forced to deal with the viscount alone.

  “Thank you.” Jeremy seated himself opposite her, close to the fire, smiling with a familiarity that did not put her at ease. “I believe your suitors prefer the comfort of the drawing room after their forays outdoors this week. Perhaps they had enough snow during the children’s snowball fight.”

  She remained silent as he gazed at her, studying her so long it made her uncomfortable. When she didn’t reply he continued.

  “Did you hope to discourage them by keeping them in the cold?” he asked lightly. “Hodge is from Cornwall, not used to this weather. I believe Prindle’s from the south coast also. Not a bad sort, but not accustomed to cold. Fotherington, now he’s a Londoner. Used to snow, but also used to more society.”

  “And your point, my lord?” Sitting back in her seat, Sophy absently began to fold her legs under her as she might have done when they were children. Suddenly self-conscious, she kept her feet on the floor, remembering her place.

  “My point, my dear Sophy,” he said boldly, “is that we have much to discuss, and it has nothing to do with Prindle, Hodge, or Fotherington.”

  “Has it anything to do with Miss Prindle?” she shot back.

  “Why would it?” He stared quizzically until recognition hit, and his face softened. “Can we not pick up where we left off?”

  She tightened her lips in annoyance. If he were willing to venture into the past, she would join him. “Very well, my lord.”

  “It’s Jeremy,” he cut her off.
“It has not been that many years that you can have forgotten.”

  “Very well, Jeremy,” she resumed stiffly. “Be warned, however, that my memory is as good as yours. It seems to me we left off with Charles Ferris.”

  “Ah, yes, Charles,” Jeremy said, “the notorious Earl of Dunstreet. I knew he had a tendre for you.”

  He laughed softly, a laugh she knew so well it was etched in her heart. At this moment his laugh had an awkward ring to it.

  “You know,” he admitted, “after I entered the war I assumed some other lucky man had married you. It was only upon my return six months ago I learned that was not the case.”

  “And once you assumed I was married you never asked again,” she said, her tone sarcastic. “You stopped caring.”

  His shoulders were hunched with tension. “Why would I after I’d learned you’d returned to Charles?”

  “You seemed to find the Earl of Dunstreet notorious, though I found nothing notorious about him,” she retorted.

  “Since the noble among us strive to protect those of the delicate gender, perhaps you know little of his private life.” Rising, Jeremy walked to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of brandy before returning to his seat. “If you’d spent time in London, as your brothers did, you would have been well aware—shocked even—by Dunstreet’s exploits. He was what those in our class refer to as a bounder. A womanizer. Surely you experienced some of that firsthand. Am I correct?”

  He turned to stare at her, his eyes challenging her and filling her with uncomfortable warmth. This feeling, one she’d never experienced, had nothing to do with the fireplace before them that made her jump with its crackling.

  “I had every right to be angry with you for disrupting our relationship.” She attempted to explain rather than accuse. “I lost my chance with Charles because of you. Had you not suggested he court Isabella Wallingford, I might have married him.”