Taft nodded once. “Then I, as the only true member of Society present, shall keep my ear to the ground and do all I can to brush aside any gossip I may hear.”
“Will that work, do you think?” Larkin queried in an almost offhand manner, watching the man across from him with interest.
As he suspected, Taft leveled a cold glare at him. “How dare you. I have all power in Society. If I say something is so, it is so. If I say something is not so, then it damn well is not so!”
Larkin held up his hands in surrender. “Forgive me, Your Eminence. I bow before your superior knowledge and experience in Society.” He snorted once and began to draw absent patterns on the table before him. “I don’t know how any of this will go, Taft. I may hate every minute and give up my claim for whatever money I can get for it.”
Taft made a long sound of thought. “I wouldn’t quit the field too hastily, Lark. Neither of us were soldiers, but that does not mean we cannot understand the strategy of battle. Exhaust all avenues, eh? Look beyond the obvious, and find any little weakness you can.”
“And if my foe should fight as well as myself?” Larkin asked with a smile.
Taft returned the smile with an almost cocky edge to it. “Then either way the sword falls, my dear chap, I believe I win.”
CHAPTER 6
“Are you sure about this, my lamb? It is so untoward.”
“Oh, I don’t think it is all that untoward, Mrs. Arthur,” Sophia mused as she glanced over her shoulder at the edifice of Rosennor, smiling with a newfound fondness she didn’t quite understand. “What could be less untoward than my living in a place legally decreed as mine?”
“The bachelor who also resides within?” Mr. Arthur remarked, scowling up at the place, turning his hat almost awkwardly in his hands. “Most unconventional, Sophia.”
Sophia smiled fondly at her kind relations, a greater fondness for them than she expected rising within her. “Unconventional is not always a terrible thing, Mr. Arthur. It may only be the beginning of a grand adventure.”
“Or the unfortunate end of something that once held great promise,” he muttered, averting his gaze.
She could only smile more at the burly man’s gruffness. They had come back to Rosennor with her to see her situated and all her belongings, and had stayed just the one night in the only guest room they could make up in that amount of time. The staff were to return today, rather than in advance of their new master and mistress, but Sophia didn’t mind that so much.
She’d never had a houseful of servants in her life, and she was not entirely sure how she would adjust to having one now.
Still, Mr. Arthur hadn’t made a single word complaint and had kept his attentions on accomplishing whatever task he had set his mind to. Anything to see Sophia settled in her new home and ease his reservations, whatever they were.
It was clear to her now that he did not entirely approve of the situation, and, more than likely, of Larkin Roth.
Which made her fonder of him still.
“Dear Mr. Arthur,” Sophia said with a bit of a catch in her voice, holding her hands out to him, which he immediately took, his hold clenching. She swallowed with some difficulty. “Do not fear for me, I beg you. All is quite respectable with Mrs. Roth at hand, though it is atypical. The law is on my side in this, and I shall come to no harm.”
Mr. Arthur shifted uncomfortably where stood, the worn brim of his hat rubbing against Sophia’s palm with the motion. “It is hard to leave you, my dear, with things so uncertain.”
Sophia squeezed his hands gently. “Uncertain does not frighten me, Mr. Arthur. Uncertain brought me into your household, after all. And I am ever so grateful that it did.”
She watched the man’s throat move twice in an attempt to swallow, and found her own eyes burning with unshed tears. Mr. Arthur drew her hands to his lips and kissed them gently, then stepped forward and pressed a fatherly kiss to her brow.
Sophia’s tears fell freely now even as she smiled.
“You are the closest thing I shall ever have to a daughter,” Mr. Arthur told her in a rough voice. “If you ever need to come to us again, for whatever reason, you only need arrive. Any time, no questions asked.”
Touched beyond words, Sophia threw her arms around this man who had been father, uncle, and guardian to her for so many years, and whose comforting presence and gruffness she would miss more than she could admit. She had blubbered shamelessly against him, her emotions reeling, despite never truly having much use for them before.
He patted her back awkwardly. “There, there, Sophia. Come, my child, don’t fret so. If you are so distressed by this, Mrs. Arthur and I will take you back home with us, no harm done.”
Sophia giggled a watery laugh and shook her head, pulling back to wipe at her eyes. “No, no, it is only the unexpected nature of the pain of this departure. I am quite well, I can assure you.” She beamed at him, though she knew her tears were plain upon her face. “I am pleased to be here, but I shall write to you very often.”
He waved a hand in the direction of his wife. “Write to Mrs. Arthur, Sophia. She will have far more time to indulge in such things than I will. No patience for letters, you know that.”
Sophia looked at Mrs. Arthur, who was not without tears herself, and grinned. “Yes, I know that all too well.”
Mrs. Arthur sniffled and opened her arms, which had Sophia rushing into them for a tight squeeze that could have snuffed the life out of her were she less sturdy.
“Stand your ground, my lamb,” Mrs. Arthur whispered fiercely. “You’ve as much right to be here as he has, and don’t you forget it.”
Sophia nodded against her. “Believe me, I intend to.”
Mrs. Arthur pulled back and winked at her, smiling. “I have every confidence in you, Sophia Anson. I’ll expect a letter every week.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sophia replied with a grin.
“Well, we must be on the road before it gets to be too late,” Mr. Arthur announced before the farewells could grow more emotional. He gestured to the waiting carriage. “Mrs. Arthur?”
Mrs. Arthur nodded, still holding Sophia’s hand tightly. “Yes, Mr. Arthur.” She exhaled through her nose, smiling with all the motherly tenderness in the world. “Goodbye, Sophia.”
Sophia released her hand and watched as the Arthurs walked to their carriage, waving as they both turned back to look at her. She smiled in reassurance, hoping some of what she was trying to convey would sink into her bones and strengthen her spine, if not her quivering knees. She was happy to be here. She did want to start her life at Rosennor. She could do this.
But part of her wanted to get into the carriage and ride back to the comfort she had known.
The past held nothing for her, she reminded herself. She had only the future now, and therein lay infinite possibilities.
Mr. Arthur nodded at her quite firmly, though whether it was for her sake or his own, she couldn’t say. Then he loaded himself into the carriage, and the reins were snapped.
Sophia raised her arm in a wave, smiling broadly for them though she felt a mighty crack making its way through her heart.
That was all that remained of her family. All she knew.
The last image they had of her must be one of joy, excitement, and confidence.
She continued to wave until she could no longer hear the wheels of the carriage.
Then a sob welled up in her throat, and she choked it back, tears welling once more, before slowly turning back to the house.
She had gotten no further than five paces within when the footsteps from hell itself sprang into her notice.
“Ah, my dwelling mate for the rest of our foreseeable future,” Larkin’s voice oozed from somewhere nearby. “And thus, we begin what promises to be the most entertaining time of… Good heavenly horrors, what the devil is wrong with you?”
Sophia sniffled, meaning for the sound to be discrete and modest, though it could have trumpeted down the walls of Jericho. She whirled, ha
lf blind, towards where she thought he was, and caught the shape of him on the stairs from his wing. “Is nothing sacred to you?” she cried, her voice breaking with the roar of her words.
“Is nothing…?” He shifted slightly and his image came into better view as she blinked. His brow furrowed and he leaned against the railing of the stairs. “Of course, some things are. What’s wrong?”
She barked a laugh and shook her head, eyes still streaming. “Not that it will mean anything to you, but I’ve just said farewell to the only remaining family I have. I could have remained with them until the end of my days, and they would never have uttered a word of complaint or anything remotely impolite about it. They took me in without any expectation on my part, and without any document declaring they should, when I had nothing to my name and no possible benefit for them.”
She felt another sob welling up in her throat, and almost choked with the pain of it. She blinked up at the ceilings, unable to make out the carvings and moldings now. “Now I have something to my name, and no need of their generosity, but it is still family that has just departed from me. My heart is breaking all over again with the loss of people I love, which may seem idiotic to you, as they are alive, well and whole, and may visit at any time. But nothing will ever be as it was, and surely that is reason enough to mourn.”
The stairs creaked. “Sophia…”
“I can’t!” She inhaled shakily and held a hand out to stop him, whatever he was about to do. “I can’t bear combating your condescension, your irreverence, or your mockery right now. Not when I am still tempted to run after the carriage and beg them to take me home. Don’t get your hopes up for that eventuality either, for I am determined to remain, and by God, I will do it.”
Her words echoed in the expanse of the entryway, and Larkin, shockingly, had no response to enrage her with. Or, if he did, he was wise enough to contain it for the present.
Which was unnerving, to say the least.
She glanced over at him, already feeling her eyes swell with the tears she had and would continue to shed, suspicion tugging somewhere in her chest where the pain of the Arthurs’ departure had not completely taken over. “Well?”
Larkin was staring at her without much by way of expression, which was a change, and then, slowly, he nodded. “I only wanted to inform you that I’ve received word that the majority of the staff are expected to arrive at four this afternoon. I thought I would give them an hour or so to settle in and then we could meet them together here. If you agree, of course.”
Sophia frowned a little at the courtesy in his tone, wondering what sort of plot this was on his part. She wasn’t particularly in the mood to probe it, but letting the unknown designs of her enemy hover above her head was worrisome.
Still, examining his features as best as she could from her present position did not reveal any clues.
Could he be genuine? Was that in his nature? She had significant doubts, but she had no course but to proceed based on his behavior only. “I do agree. I will be here.”
Larkin nodded, and, impossibly, seemed to smile. “Would you like a tray? I can have one sent…”
Now that was too far.
Sophia sniffed again and shook her head. “I am not taking to my sickbed, Larkin Roth, I only need a good cry and a rest. And I am mistress here, I can send for my own tray, thank you very much.”
With a swish of her skirts that would make any indignant woman anywhere proud, she stormed out of the entryway towards her wing of the house, taking care to avoid any room or hallway that could possibly be construed as his.
Don’t be ridiculous.
Larkin straightened his shoulders and exhaled, keeping his hands clasped firmly behind his back. His first day as master of Rosennor, and he was already having to remind himself not to be ridiculous. But, strangely enough, not related to anything about being master of Rosennor.
It was about his co-beneficiary. The mistress of Rosennor who was not directly tied to him in any way, shape, or form beyond their mutual relative.
The single reason he couldn’t claim the whole of the estate for himself.
He tried to think of her with the same spite he would have managed only this morning, but there was something about how she had appeared earlier that left him without any vindictive fodder.
Larkin wanted to anger, irritate, and enrage Sophia Anson.
He had no desire to make her cry.
He wasn’t particularly inclined to make anyone cry.
Tears made him uncomfortable on any level, and being so suddenly confronted with such a display of them had left him completely weaponless.
If he’d even wanted a weapon.
He was not so sentimental as to desire to wipe her tears away or embrace her or make right whatever should have been wrong; that was too much of a chance for any creation to make without a divine intervention or insurmountable disaster. All he could say was that he did not feel the desire to fight, poke, prod, disturb, or even rouse Sophia Anson when she was seen like that.
His words had been true; he had meant to tell her about the arrival of the servants and to suggest they meet them together, but the phrasing he would have used was of an entirely different sort. He had every intention, after all, of maintaining the glory of battle at every opportunity where she was concerned.
Except that one.
He didn’t like seeing her in tears. He did not like it one bit.
And he could not, in whatever conscience he had, for good or ill, make things worse.
So, he had reverted to the polite man he had been once upon a time, which had been easier to take up again than he would have thought, and simply made the suggestion he had intended. He saw her disbelief and her suspicion, which was absolutely right to have, and it gave him a small thrill of pleasure to be able to surprise and unsettle her even when he was being polite.
And, despite her snapping at him about it, he had only had the best of intentions when he had suggested a tray. He hadn’t intended to imply that she could not do the same, only that he was willing to do so if she would have preferred it. The gesture was a bit extreme for him, but the politeness had carried him into such excesses.
Truly, he’d meant no harm by it.
Her fiery response had shocked him, much as he should have expected it, and he had watched her go with some strange twinge of concern until he had come to his senses. Then he’d smirked to himself with some satisfaction.
She really was more beautiful when she was in high dudgeon.
Larkin might not like her in a romantic sense, but he was enough of a man to appreciate moments of feminine beauty.
Now, several hours later, he felt awkward standing alone in anticipation of greeting the staff. He’d opted to wait out of view while the servants gathered and arranged themselves accordingly, and was assured from the only servant he had met, the butler, that he would be fetched when they were ready.
If he could have remembered the butler’s name, he would have felt much better about the whole affair.
It should have been simple enough, given he hadn’t met anyone else associated with the estate as yet, as all of those visits were due to follow in the coming days, but the name escaped him entirely.
Barnes? Bates? Berkley? He kept coming back to surnames beginning with B, but there was a nagging feeling at the back of his neck that wanted to randomly interject something Scottish like McDougal.
Larkin rubbed at his brow with a sigh. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered aloud. “That’s it. One life rule, one code to live by, and still you can’t manage it.” He thumped the nearby wall with an open palm. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I hardly think we can expect that, no need to place undue pressure upon yourself.”
The clipped voice brought an instant smile to his face, both familiar in tone and disdained in nature, and he turned to face its owner, one brow raised in silent query.
Sophia showed no sign of the tears that had plagued her previously, and was
the picture of stunning beauty in a simple gown of palest blue. Hardly any adornments in her hair or on her person, and, truth be told, she needed none. Her gold hair, intricately plaited for an informal evening at home, was adornment enough.
She matched his raised brow with one of her own, her bare hands folding neatly at her waist. “I’ve never known you to be anything but ridiculous, Larkin. The sooner you accept the fact, the better.”
Larkin’s smile curved to one side and he gave her a half bow. “I bow before your observations, Sophia, distorted though they are.” He straightened and made a show of looking her over. “Well, it is a pleasure to see you so well recovered. However did you get the splotches from your cheeks? Upon my honor, you cannot even tell that you were crimson in places.”
Her glower would have set flame to any lesser man, and even he, robust as he was, felt a tingling at the base of his spine. “It is indelicate and impolite to refer at any time to a woman’s distress, Larkin. Particularly if she looks a fright.”
“I’m afraid I’ve never managed delicacy,” Larkin admitted with a wrinkle to his nose. “And rarely politeness, so I do beg your pardon there. But you did look a fright, and as your cohabitant…”
“Stop,” she begged, turning her head just enough to avert her eyes without technically averting her face, which, oddly enough, had the profoundly similar effect of holding out a silencing hand. “Don’t pretend to have a care for my person or my feelings. I’d say it was beneath you, but I fear it is right at your level. I was in distress, you were good enough not to plague me then, kindly let the subject pass now as the distress has also passed.”
Had it? Had it truly?
He was an astute man, and an observant one, names of butlers aside. There was a distinct strain to her neck and jaw, as well as an almost pinched turn to her lips. Her eyes, however, were just as impossibly clear and blue as they had ever been.
Unnervingly so.
Larkin cleared his throat and nodded, seeing no real need to continue in this particular attack. “We’re to wait here until the servants have prepared themselves accordingly to meet us.”
The Rivals of Rosennor Hall (Entangled Inheritance Book 3) Page 7