Holly and Hopeful Hearts

by Caroline Warfield

  Sophia hastened to reassure her, but half her attention was on the man, magnificently clad in red and gold, who had just entered the room. “Yes, very sensible.”

  Sophia frowned at Felicity, who was ostentatiously ignoring her from the other side of the room. They had had words, especially when Sophia realized that Felicity had deliberately sought Lord Elfingham out, accosted him in the garden, rejected him for herself, and sent him to Sophia. Sophia was not taking her sister’s leavings, and so she told her. Felicity, of course, claimed that Elfingham wanted Sophia all along, but Sophia did not believe that for a moment.

  Oh, dear. He was coming this way. He stopped to speak to the Persian king, and Sophia took the opportunity to hurry away, putting as many people as possible between herself and her suitor.

  He could not possibly be serious, and besides, she had her life all planned. She would never marry. She would be content with her studies and her work for the disadvantaged. She would be an aunt to Felicity’s children and one day to Hythe’s. If Hythe married someone she did not care for, she had money enough to hire a companion and set up her own establishment. She would be free and independent.

  Why did such a life suddenly sound dreary?

  No. He was coming this way. Sophia glanced from side to side, and then stopped herself from fleeing. How ridiculous she was being. She could not spend the rest of the house party hiding from the man.

  “May I solicit a dance, Lady Sophia?” Lord Elfingham asked, and she took pity on his anxious expression and gave him her hand.

  As they walked through to the next room, she saw Major Whitemann leer at Miranda de Courtenay, saying loudly, to no one in particular, “Wouldn’t mind a taste of what that gel is offering. If I were her brother, though, I’d beat her. Used to beat my wife. She knew her place, did Mrs. Whitemann.”

  “That man makes me so angry,” she blurted as Lord Elfingham led her into the dance pattern.

  “He is a bully,” Elfingham replied. “A man who is a tyrant at home to those with most claim on his respect and his affection cannot be trusted outside of the home.”

  “An unusual view,” Sophia said sharply. “Most men seem to be happy enough to be tyrants at home and defend another man’s right to do as he pleases.”

  Elfingham’s step faltered, and he shot her a searching look. “Not Hythe, surely?”

  “No, of course not. Hythe is the best of brothers, though he can be an idiot when the weight of the earldom wears on him.”

  “Then who? That remark was too heartfelt not to be a personal experience.”

  “Your questions are very personal, Lord Elfingham.”

  Elfingham shook his head, refusing her attempt to deflect the question. “My interest is very personal, Lady Sophia. I want to know everything about you: everything you love, everything you hate, all the forces that formed you as you are. Who was it that taught you men cannot be trusted? The men to whom you were betrothed?”

  “I perceive that you have been listening to gossip, my lord.” To herself, Sophia could not deny that his interest thrilled almost as much as it irritated.

  “That is true. From the day I arrived in London, I have sought out every story about you that I could, but the problem with gossip is one never knows what to believe and what to discount. I look forward to hearing your history from your own lips.”

  “You presume, Lord Elfingham.”

  “I hope, Lady Sophia.”

  She examined his dark eyes. Surely he was laughing at her? If she listened to him, she would lose all sense. She was not the kind of woman that men fell in love with, and if she forgot that fact again, she would be hurt.

  “We shall speak of something else,” she decreed, but was unreasonably disappointed when he obeyed without argument, turning the discussion to the betrothal announced at dinner between Lord Pershore and Lady Anna Wycliff.

  “They seem very happy,” she agreed. But she refused to follow his lead into a discussion of the other courtships in train around the house, instead asking him his view of the news Gren had brought—that Napoleon’s invasion of Russia had been turned back by winter—and she happily sat out the next set with him when the music ended before their dissection of the possible consequences.

  Aldridge asked her to dance next, and then Lord de Courtenay. After that, she was called away to deal with a domestic crisis, since Cedrica was nowhere to be found.

  Hythe invited her to the supper dance and escorted her to eat with him, Felicity, and several other young people. Mostly, Sophia thought, to stand between her and Lord Elfingham, who watched them steadily from the place he had taken beside Mr. Halevy. Esther was with them, and she and her suitor were carefully not looking at one another. There was a story there.

  Then the musicians tuned up for the next cotillion. Had Hythe set all these men up to dance with her one after the other? She was no sooner escorted back after one dance than she was solicited for another, and she could almost have laughed at Lord Elfingham’s frustrated look if she had not been so vexed herself.

  In the end, he solved the problem by venturing onto the very dance floor and tapping her partner on the shoulder. A glare from those hawk eyes sent poor Lord Arthur stumbling off in search of a drink, and Lord Elfingham took his place with an apologetic smile.

  “What was I to do? Your brother has you hedged about with alternative suitors.”

  “Those silly boys?” she scoffed. “Hardly suitors. They might do Hythe the favor of dancing with his elderly sister, but that is as far as it goes.”

  “Good,” Lord Elfingham rumbled, before they were separated by the patterns of the dance. He was venturing into dangerous territory again. When they next spoke, she turned the conversation determinedly back to Napoleon, and he acquiesced.

  But he did not dance again that evening, just watched her broodingly from the side of whatever room she was in. And when she took to the floor with Gren for the last dance of the evening, she could not help but be gratified at Lord Elfingham’s barely concealed displeasure. Surely such jealousy signified more than an interest in her family name and connections?

  Chapter 11

  “Is Lord Elfingham within?” The voice was not one James recognized.

  “Aye. With ’is ’orse like ’e always is this time of day.” The groom sounded approving.

  Certainly James felt more welcome in the stable than he did in the house. No. To be fair, most of the guests followed the duchess’s lead and treated him as one of themselves, and the people whose acceptance mattered most were warming to him, with even Hythe exchanging a few words that were not suspicious or insulting.

  He rested his hand on Seistan’s withers and waited to see who wanted him. A footman, by his livery. Someone sent from the house?

  “My lord,” the footman said, “I am to tell you that Lord Andrew Winderfield is here to see you.”

  Drew? Here? It could mean only one thing.

  “We are being fetched, it seems, my Wind from the North,” he murmured to the horse.

  The footman could give him no more news, except that the young lord had ordered his horses rubbed down and fed, but not stabled, for he did not expect to stay beyond a couple of hours. James gave his own orders to prepare Seistan for a journey and crossed the gardens on swift feet to hear the news.

  Drew was waiting in one of the drawing rooms, making polite conversation with the duchess’s companion and Lady Sophia while watching the door.

  James clasped his brother’s hand and pulled him into a hug. “Drew. Is it His Grace? Is he…”

  “Soon, the doctors say. He is sinking fast. Kaka wants you in London.”

  James nodded. “I will make my farewells.”

  “You must take some food before you travel,” Miss Grenford said. “I will order a collation set out in the small dining room.”

  “I must thank the duchess for her hospitality,” he said to Miss Grenford, but his gaze rested on Lady Sophia. “Lady Sophia, may I have a word before I leave?”

&
nbsp; She nodded gravely, and went off with Miss Grenford, presumably to order a collation, whatever that might be.

  “Come on, Drew. You can tell me the news while I pack.”

  There was not much. Most of London was empty, and His Grace their grandfather was as sour and disagreeable as ever, his disposition not in the least improved by having his toes over the edge of eternity.

  “He wants Papa to repudiate us all, marry again and get himself an English heir. He wants Matthew and John to abandon our people and come to England, without their wives, of course. He wants you married and with a son to secure the succession. He says even one of us is preferable to the Weasel, as long as our tainted foreign blood is diluted in the next generation. It’s enough to send a man off to find the darkest, least English, wife he can. A cannibal perhaps.”

  James had to grin. “You are safe enough, fourth son. I am the heir to the heir.”

  “Kaka has promised him you will marry a respectable English girl,” Drew said, “and the duke is insisting that our cousin Charlotte will do if your Belvoir has refused you. Or Sarah, he suggests, though he has hopes of a match for her with the Marquis of Egremont. But either cousin would do. They are both nice girls.”

  “Charlotte and Sarah are barely out of the schoolroom!”

  “Twenty-one. The same age as I. They’d be wed long since, I imagine, if they had not been out of circulation mourning their father and then their brother.”

  James shook his head. Their age was not important. He would not be marrying either of them.

  “I have chosen my own bride,” he said, leading the way from his room, his packed saddle bags over one shoulder.

  “She has accepted you? Congratulations. Can we take her with us now? We could get a special license and—”

  “Not yet.” James cut him off in mid flow. “She has not accepted me yet.”

  “But, James, we have no more time. It will have to be one of the cousins.”

  “No. I will wait for Sophia to decide. And, Drew, if she decides against me, I will wait until she changes her mind.”

  “But, James, that might be never, and our father has commanded you to wed now, before our grandfather dies.”

  James stopped, turning to face Drew so he could look him in the eye. “Drew, I owe our father my obedience as father, as head of the family, as kagan of our people. Obedience to him above all others. But my first duty is to God. You agree?”

  “Of course.”

  “God has made this one woman for me, and me for this one woman. I will wait. She holds my heart, Drew, and for me to make promises to another woman while loving this one would make a lie of those promises even as I speak them. Kaka will understand.”

  He hoped. As he led the way downstairs, he hid his doubts from his all too perceptive brother. For whether his father understood or not, James would not be changing his mind.

  * * *

  * * *

  Once they were gone, Sophia came out from behind the curtain that concealed the stairs to the attics, followed by Cedrica. She had come up to deliver a message from the duchess, since Cedrica could certainly not go to a gentleman’s bedroom on her own, and had hidden when she realized how closely the brothers’ talk concerned her.

  Listening to someone else’s conversation was abominable, but resisting was surely beyond the power of human flesh. Beyond her power, certainly. She had urged Cedrica to hide with her behind the curtain.

  “How romantic.” Cedrica sighed. “Oh, Sophia, how I wish…” She trailed off, and Sophia looked back in time to see her blush even as she composed herself. “We did not give the gentlemen the duchess’s message. Shall we follow them down?”

  She agreed. A footman had directed the brothers to a parlor where servants had laid out the food Cedrica had ordered. When Sophia and Cedrica arrived, Lord Andrew was perched on the edge of table, waving a bread roll in the air to emphasize a story he was telling about leaving London before first light. He straightened, looking around for somewhere to put the roll.

  “Her Grace asked me to tell you she will be with you shortly, my lords,” Cedrica told them. Her Grace had been in her bath when Cedrica and Sophia had arrived with their news, and had sent a message by her maid. “Please, Lord Andrew, relax and enjoy your meal.”

  “May I have a word, my lady?” Lord Elfingham asked.

  Sophia let him lead her to a corner, far enough away from the other two for some privacy. “I wish you safe travel, Lord Elfingham,” she said.

  “Lady Sophia, I hope—”

  Sophia interrupted, raising her hand. She needed to tell him that she could not marry him; that he should marry Lady Charlotte and please his grandfather. Charlotte was a nice girl, and would make a good duchess.

  What came from her mouth surprised her. “I cannot give you an answer yet, my lord.”

  His face lit, and he clasped her hand and lifted it to his lips. “You shall have all the time you need, my heart.”

  “You must not call me that.” She shot a glance at Cedrica and his brother, but they had turned their backs and were laughing together at some joke.

  “It is no more than the truth. I go to London, but I leave my heart here.” He made an impatient gesture. “Ack. It sounds so trite, Sophia. Why does my tongue stumble when I am with you? It is apt enough at other times.”

  Could it really be true? Men lied, Sophia knew. Berringer had sworn he had broken off with his mistress and would be a faithful husband. Michael had sworn he would come back safely, to make her his bride.

  “Your grandfather wishes you to marry your cousin.”

  “I will not marry my cousin, Sophia. I will not marry either of my cousins.”

  “You need to wed before your grandfather dies.” She felt the ready color rise in her face. “I have been listening to gossip, but it is true, is it not?”

  James shrugged. “A wife who is accepted by the ton would ease our way, but we shall contrive. I do not intend to tie myself for life to the wrong woman, just to silence a few sharp tongues. I fell in love with you that day on the London road, and love you more as each day passes, and if I have to wait for you, then what are a few months measured against a lifetime in one another’s arms?”

  His eyes were dark pools into which she fell forever, and somehow he had possessed himself of both her hands, sending delicious shivers up her arms to tingle in her breasts and settle in her… In lower regions.

  He sounded sincere, but…

  “I cannot come with you, James. I need time. I had no idea… You must give me time.”

  He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed the clasped knuckles, scattering her thoughts still further. “You shall have all the time you need. I ask only that you trust yourself, as I trust you.” His tone turned stern. “I think poorly of those who have led you to discount yourself, my heart.”

  She could not think. She could barely even breathe. For a moment, she had wild ideas of scrambling into her riding habit and leaving immediately for London with James and his brother.

  But Lord Andrew spoke, and the spell was broken.

  “James, I am sorry, but the roads are treacherous, and we must leave soon if we are to reach London before nightfall.”

  After that, there was no more time. The duchess and Lord Aldridge arrived to farewell their guest just in time to escort the brothers to the front door. Aunt Eleanor commanded James’s attention, sending messages to her friends, James’s aunts, and to the Earl of Sutton, his father.

  Aldridge admired the string of horses that had been brought up from the stables—Seistan and more of the same long-backed, narrow-headed breed, all with the same metallic sheen to their coat, though their colors varied.

  “You’ll not use post horses I take it?” he asked Lord Andrew.

  “We have a mount and a couple of spares each,” Lord Andrew confirmed. “We’ll change off twice between here and London, perhaps three times. They have the stamina for it. The mud is not what they’re used to, but they have great heart
.”

  The two men said their farewells and mounted, their spare horses left to run free beside them. Lord Andrew lifted a hand and put heel to horse, but James hesitated and caught Sophia’s gaze. Again, she felt the quiver through her body, impelling her down two or three steps and out onto the carriageway.

  James bent to take the hand she lifted to him.

  “Safe journey, my lord,” she said.

  He lifted her hand to his lips, turned it over, and placed a kiss in the palm. “James. Call me James, my heart, as you did a moment ago.”

  Sophia blushed. “Safe journey, James,” she conceded.

  “And safe return?”

  “And safe return,” she whispered.

  The moment stretched, broken when Lord Andrew kneed his horse into a swift trot. James let Sophia’s hand go, she stepped back, and he was gone, following his brother and the other mounts across the bridge and down the causeway to the road that led to London.

  Chapter 12

  Death waited in the room. James could almost see him hovering over the bed as surely as Ruth, his sister, who had a gift for healing and had been apprenticed to the physician at home.

  Downstairs, the sisters and cousins made an effort at decorating for Christmas, no doubt assisted by the younger Winderfield brothers. No Christmas had been allowed to enter the duke’s massive bedroom, where all the rich scents of furniture polish and pot pourri could not disguise the smells of the old, sick man. In the midst of the gloom and splendor, the Duke of Winshire clung tenaciously to a life that had been a burden to him before his rejected son and unwanted grandchildren landed on these shores.

  Or perhaps death itself was reluctant to take so poisonous a morsel, a man without a kind word in his mouth or, as far as James had seen, a kind thought in his mind. The only time James had seen him smile was when he heard that the Duke of Haverford had been taken ill and had removed to Margate to convalesce, yet those two men had once been allies, even friends, by all accounts.