by Sarita Leone
A second shiver spread warmth in her core. Knowledge of where his fingers might travel, even if only in her mind, brought heat to the cheeks.
Then, her mind returned and she pulled her hand away. She hid it deep in the folds of her skirts. Looking at Colin after his outrageous gesture was out of the question. Sophie could not do it, so she kept her gaze fixed on the altar and prayed the service would begin right away.
Colin did not seem to regret his foolishness. He chuckled, the sound so low and throaty it made her mouth go as dry as the desert. Whatever was he up to? And how could he affect her this way—in church, no less!
He brushed her shoulder with his, and spoke softly near her ear. “I watched you praying when I first came in. The sight was enchanting. You looked so fully engaged in your conversation with the Man above… I cannot help myself. I must know—what you were praying for? What can possibly hold your attention—your heart, soul, and mind—so totally? Tell me, please.”
Nothing prepared her for the intensity of his questions. They probed the very depths of her in a way no one else’s ever had. She whirled to face him so quickly a strand of hair came loose from beneath her bonnet. Colin gently pushed it back into place, the pressure from his fingertip as fleeting as a butterfly’s kiss but much more mesmerizing.
The gaze, which locked hers in its grip, was familiar, one she had seen countless days of her life. It startled her now—or, rather, the feelings it inspired made her somewhat uneasy. Colin had never looked at her this way before, and she had never felt as she did now. It was as if he could see right into her, past the public face and deep into her very being.
Before she could formulate a reply, the door to the rector’s study opened and the service began. Sophie had never been so pleased to see Rector Clancy. And she didn’t care how tedious or long-winded his sermon this morning. Sophie wouldn’t hear one word of it, not as long as Colin’s questions rang in her head.
Seemingly unaffected by his odd behavior, Colin turned his attention to the altar and the rector. She glanced discreetly over at him just as the service began, but he didn’t seem to recall her presence. Colin looked like the only thing on his mind was the church service, and if the small smile playing around the corners of his lips was any indication, he found the event highly enjoyable.
Dash it all! Is there no place for me to find peace? And will my feelings ever be sorted out properly when all around me seem to be losing their minds? Good God, help, please!
****
Refusing to allow Colin to walk her home would have been unthinkable. It would have solved nothing, and the flap it would have caused would have been impossible to live down.
Colin did not ask to accompany her, anyhow. He took it as the natural order of things and, when the service was over, placed a hand beneath Sophie’s elbow and guided her along the center aisle, past the rector, and down the snow-covered stone steps.
They walked in silence for a few minutes, concentrating on avoiding the soggy brown horse droppings dotting the lane. When they were well beyond the carriages waiting in front of the church, they fell into step beside each other. It took no conscious effort. They had walked together so many times their legs seemed to know the drill on their own.
What to say to a man who had recently taken hold of a hand and held it gently enough not to squeeze its fingers but so tenderly it sent her nerve endings into high gear? She wracked her brain, looking for some comment that wouldn’t make her sound as confused as she felt.
It occurred to Sophie that instead of providing answers, as she had so desperately wished it might, morning services had substantially added to the jumble that was her life.
Perhaps she should have stayed in bed, as the rest of the family had done.
Finally, Colin cleared his throat, a sure sign that she could leave off scouring her head for ripe conversation starters.
“The rector’s sermon was quite uplifting, I thought. Don’t you agree?”
It was an ambush, and she knew it. A harmless little house mouse must feel the same way when faced with a chunk of cheddar on a trap.
She had a fifty-fifty chance of being right, so she nodded. “It was. Definitely uplifting.”
At his cocked eyebrow, she knew she had taken the wrong path.
“Which part did you find the most uplifting? Was it the sinners-shoveling-coal-for-eternity portion of his homily or the evildoers-getting-their-comeuppance segment that brought your spirits high? Tell me, Sophie, what element of the rector’s speech did you identify with? Hmm?”
How could she have been so naïve? Colin obviously knew she hadn’t heard a word of the sermon, otherwise he wouldn’t have asked. He was, once more, teasing her and she had fallen right into his web.
Nothing has changed since we were children, she thought with a shake of her head. He still teases, and I am still ensnared by his strange sense of humor.
Thankfully, they were within sight of home. Sophie concentrated on getting there, placing one foot in front of the other with increasing speed. If she could make the front door, she would be able to extricate herself from this web of absurdity. Then, she might be able to somehow begin to sort through her knotted emotions.
“Whose carriage is that by your curb?”
She had been so intent on making the front door, she had completely overlooked the gray barouche parked outside the house. Sophie didn’t recognize the driver lounging near the front wheel.
“I don’t have any idea.” She quickened her step. “We must have visitors.”
****
The chatter in the kitchen filled his head like the sound of a hundred chirping birds. Colin could not believe all the noise came from five women and not a full army of females. How they understood each other was beyond his scope of understanding. They were, nonetheless, amusing to watch.
When they arrived at the house, Sophie was anxious to be rid of him, but her upbringing didn’t allow her to be rude, so he gained entrance by the simple act of looking like he didn’t have anywhere else to go. The ploy worked, and he had thus far eaten brunch with the family and their guest. There seemed to be no great rush to brush him from the place, so he settled back comfortably in his seat beside the fireplace.
Penny appeared at the front door just as brunch ended. She didn’t look surprised to see him at the table. He did notice a glance pass between Rachel and his sister, and made a mental note to question Penny about it later on.
The coach left shortly after they arrived. Once it was agreed that the visitor, a cousin’s close friend whose intended hostess had been unexpectedly delayed and not anticipated to return to London for another week, was to stay with the Teasdales, the hired vehicle had been dismissed.
Wendy Wentworth was the sort of woman Colin called—only in his mind, of course—frivolous. Merry and relaxed, with a thousand anecdotes to share and a playful laugh, she seemed not to have a care in the world to occupy her thoughts. She punctuated her exclamations—for they were all exclamations!—with shrill giggles and so much head bouncing, it was a wonder her tightly wound blond curls did not come undone a million times over.
She would look like a yellow-haired doll if the bouncing ever caught up with her curls.
Just watching Wendy giggle, joke, and toss her head was amusement enough. Watching the other women react to their visitor was even greater enjoyment.
Miss Wentworth was not the kind of woman Colin could ever take seriously. That didn’t mean he couldn’t find joy in being near such a carefree soul. Other men might look for more, but he had no use for any female other than the one he set his cap on having. Why mess with the rest, when he’d already chosen the best?
“Oh, you would have laughed yourself sick if you had been in the audience that night! It was pure fun, with everyone as merry as grigs. Why, I thought my side might never give up the laughing stitch it took.” Wendy giggled and then wiggled her hips to demonstrate the humorous dance move. “What a sight it was—all those dancers shimmying one way w
hile that one Long Meg kicked her endless legs higher than her shoulders and went out the far door! So funny—oh, I suppose you had to be there to truly see the humor in it!”
Penny and Rachel glanced at each other, and he saw open amusement in the look. Although they were younger than Wendy was, they saw the sheer folly in the young woman’s account and began to laugh.
“The other side? You mean she went out one way while the others went another?” Rachel demanded clarification between bursts of laughter. “Are you sure?”
“I saw it with my own eyes—” Wendy rounded her eyes and pointed to them. “I used these bluer-than-blue eyes and witnessed the entire spectacle. She went right out the other side while the rest of the dance troupe exited a different way. It was a lark!”
Miss Wentworth had brought along a large bag of peanuts. She proposed they make peanut brittle, in order to speed the snowy afternoon, and the suggestion was met with enthusiasm. Now she, Penny, Rachel, and Sophie sat around the kitchen table shelling the nuts. He had declined their invitation to shell, declaring he was sure to get into trouble by eating most of the nuts if pressed into service. They had shooed him to the chair by the fire, a position that afforded him an unobstructed view of the process.
Louisa stirred a big pot of hot syrup on the stove. The sweet scent coming from the pot made Colin’s stomach rumble appreciatively.
His belly may have been waiting for the confection, but his mind was on the eldest Teasdale sister. Since their arrival home, Sophie avoided looking directly at him. Even when he asked her a question, she managed to answer without having to meet his gaze.
There was no denying his spur-of-the-moment handholding had unsettled her. It hadn’t been planned. The opportunity presented itself and he hadn’t thought to resist. How could he? He was, after all, human—and a man. And she, sitting beside him, looked lovely with wind-pinked cheeks, curls twining at the nape of her neck, and the delicious scent of lavender wafting off her with every shake of her head.
“What do you think, Mr. Randolph?”
He had been so deep in thought that he had lost track of the conversation. Now Miss Wentworth stood beside him, so close to his chair she was nearly on top of him.
“Pardon me? What do I think of what, Miss Wentworth?”
All eyes were upon him. Even Louisa had left off stirring and stared his way.
What the devil could she have asked? And why did she have to ask it now, just when I was enjoying such a particularly wonderful memory?
The young woman bent over so low it was nearly scandalous. She wore a morning dress with a fashionably low-cut bodice. Although she had a lacy fichu covering the slope of her chest he still concentrated on keeping his gaze on her face. Accidents happened, and he did not want to be accused of ungentlemanly behavior. Smaller lapses in propriety had led bachelors to Gretna Green at rifle point. Colin had no intention of allowing that tragedy to befall him!
“My eyes, Mr. Randolph!” A giggle, and then, “I said they have always served me well. I have never had any problem whatsoever with them.” Miss Wentworth leaned still closer, sending Colin instinctively back against his chair. His shoulders pressed into the wood behind them. “Do you see any problem in these eyes, Mr. Randolph? And please, do not be hasty. Take a good long look and tell me what you see.”
Forward women were not entirely unfamiliar, but Colin rarely had such close contact with one. In Miss Wentworth’s defense, he could not on such short notice decide whether she was merely friendly or was, in fact, saucier than most females.
The room was deadly quiet. Conversation appeared to hinge on his reply, so he inhaled deeply, pulling a whiff of gardenia perfume into his lungs, and stared into the eyes just inches from his own. They were a most becoming hue, reminding him of a field of flowers.
“Forget-me-nots,” Colin said without thinking. Then, he could have slapped himself.
Fortunately the first thing that happened was Miss Wentworth’s retreat. She stood, giggling as if he had just exited out the wrong door with his legs kicking.
Louisa snorted and returned to stirring the contents of her pot.
“Forget-me-nots? Good heavens, dear brother, what are you talking about?” Penny cast a concerned glance around to the other woman and asked, “Is he sitting too close to that fire? Rachel, is he burning up or has he taken leave of his senses?”
Rachel bit back a laugh as she shook her head. “I am sure I cannot vouch for the validity of Colin’s senses. After all, he is your brother. But while I cannot say for sure what he means by forget-me-nots, I am fairly certain he is not about to spontaneously combust. He is far enough from the fire to be safe, I assure you.”
For the first time since they had been in church, Sophie met his gaze. Instantly he wished she hadn’t. He saw his own foolishness reflected in her withering stare.
Her voice dripped sarcasm, something he did not often hear from her. It froze his heart, and made him wish he had gone home after the meal.
“What Colin is saying is that Wendy’s eyes remind him of forget-me-nots. He apparently feels like looking into Miss Wentworth’s eyes is akin to falling into a patch of wildflowers. That is it, isn’t it, Colin?”
His voice turned traitor and fled. He stared into Sophie’s eyes, wishing he could just grab her and kiss every idiotic question from her mind. Unfortunately, the option wasn’t open to him so he just stared—and felt the rebuke in her familiar gaze.
Chapter 9
“Are you certain you don’t mind delivering the soup to Mr. Randolph, dear? It’s a cold day and you are sure to get wet feet. I could go myself if you don’t feel up to going.”
Sophie removed her shawl from a hook beside the front door and draped it around her shoulders. She held out her arms and took the yellow crock of hot soup from her mother. Holding it with mittened hands, she didn’t burn her fingers. The warmth seeping through the crockery was a comfort.
“The sky is clear, at least, so I will not be snowed upon. My bonnet and shawl will keep me warm enough, and if my shoes get wet they will dry before the hearth. My feet, as well, will survive even if they do become damp. They have done so before, you know.” She smiled at her mother and was pleased to see the lightness of the conversation smoothed the worry lines from the familiar face. It would be a cold day indeed before she would allow her mother to brave the elements while she lounged at home.
“I suppose you’re right. It is just that I worry about you girls. It is, after all, a mother’s job.”
“One you do marvelously,” Sophie said as she brushed her mother’s cheek with a fast kiss.
When she moved toward the front door, her mother’s words stopped her.
“Do not tarry at the Randolph’s, dear. Poor Mr. Randolph, his cold is severe and his cough, from what Louisa says, is harsh. It would be terrible if anyone else caught his chill. As it is, this appears to be the same ill-health that sent Colin to bed just last week.”
Winter infirmities, especially those that fell after the holiday season, were to be avoided at all cost. The long, dreary weeks before spring were an opportune time for germs to spread. With windows tightly closed against the elements, the slightest sniffle might grow to epic proportions. There had been years when there were more lives lost to late-winter disease than any one illness during the other three seasons combined.
“Colin—oh, I could shake him for this!”
Her mother stared at her in astonishment. Then, putting her hands on her hips, she asked, “Why would you want to shake poor Colin? What in the world did he do to deserve such treatment?”
Speaking ill of either Colin or Penny was akin to throwing stones at one of Mrs. Teasdale’s own children. Sophie knew her words had limits where the Randolphs were concerned. If she pushed too strenuously her mother might rush to Colin’s defense.
Still, she could not keep her tongue from forming the words in her head.
“I cannot believe you refer to him as ‘poor Colin’—goodness gracious, Mot
her. If he had an ounce of sense his father wouldn’t be ill, and would certainly not require chicken soup from Louisa’s kitchen. Don’t misunderstand. I don’t mind delivering the soup and I pray Mr. Randolph recovers quickly, but I cannot stand here and listen to you talk about ‘poor Colin’ as if he’s a saint.”
The forget-me-not blue incident that took place yesterday afternoon had kept Sophie staring at her ceiling most of the night. Her own eyes burned from lack of sleep. Her disposition made a porcupine look like a housecat.
While she couldn’t understand why it mattered so much what Colin thought of their guest’s eyes—or anything else about the still-slumbering Wendy Wentworth—she took umbrage with his ludicrous behavior. He had been so obviously befuddled by the silly laughter, fluttering eyelashes, brainless chatter, and flirting blond visitor it made her ill. They had both—Colin and Wendy—been so transparent. It was absolutely appalling.
Unquestionably, she was all in favor of Colin finding a woman to marry—someday. It was not that she wanted him to be a bachelor all his life—certainly not! And she didn’t mind his being taken with someone—as long as that someone had more wit than hair. Which their uninvited guest didn’t seem to possess.
Sometime during the night she’d stopped counting how many times she reminded herself Colin was free to choose any available woman. It wasn’t up to her to decide whether his choice was appropriate or not.
Sophie knew all that, but still she couldn’t shake the annoyance clinging to her mood as stubbornly as an unpleasant smell.
“You hold Colin responsible for his father’s cold?”
“I do.” She didn’t meet her mother’s gaze when she gave a fast nod, knowing full well the censure she would find in the eyes fixed on her. “If he had worn his coat on New Year’s morning, no one in that house would be sick today. He caught a chill and now it is being passed around like an unwelcome guest. Had he worn his coat, Mr. Randolph might be well today instead of lying in bed coughing and sneezing.”