The Rivals of Rosennor Hall (Entangled Inheritance Book 3)

by Rebecca Connolly

  She returned his smile, and did so quite prettily, despite the flashing in her eyes. “I don’t need a saddle.”

  She what?

  His smile vanished and he stared at her for a number of heartbeats. Did she mean to say that she could ride bareback? Skillfully? He had seen her abilities to ride, impressive as they were, but to declare no need for a saddle…

  He would have given his half of Rosennor to see that.

  Well, a room or two, at least.

  “Fine,” he heard himself say, somehow managing to not sound winded, surprised, or resigned.

  Clearly, she hadn’t expected his answer, her brows rising in surprise. “Much obliged,” she murmured, sounding as confused as he had felt just now. She turned to go, still giving him an odd look.

  “Wait,” he said suddenly, leaping to his feet.

  She paused and turned to him again, wary now.

  Larkin wet his lips and pressed his hands into his desk, wobbly and white and feminine though it was. “Sophia, I…” He swallowed and cleared his throat, looking down. “I need to thank you. I want to thank you.” He raised his head and met her eyes. “For how you treated my mother just now. I know it cannot be easy to bear with her… eccentricities, but you…”

  “There is nothing to be thanked for,” she overrode with a gentleness that stopped him. “Who among us does not have some eccentricity in us? Your mother’s happens to be more obvious than others, but why should that be faulted?”

  In truth, Larkin was positive he had never seen anything to compare with Sophia Anson in his entire life at that moment, and he was half tempted to cross the room and kiss her.

  What a horrid thought.

  “Not many would feel that way,” Larkin replied. “In my experience, not many do. There is no denying the ridiculousness in her conversation.”

  “And there is no denying the innocence in it,” Sophia returned, her voice still without spite. Then she grinned, brightening the room, the corridor, and Larkin’s heart. “Aside from when she is trying to drive unfit companions away.”

  “I knew it,” Larkin muttered with a smile himself. He sobered. “It is more than I expected, Sophia, from you or from anyone. And truly, I thank you for it.”

  Sophia tilted her head, her smile softening. “And I say again, there is no need. We all live here, Larkin, and we should all feel at home. You and I may battle for our own amusement, but your mother bears no part in it. She need only feel loved and cared for, and I will do what I can in that.”

  The idea of kissing Sophia returned, and did so without the same disgust and horror it had previously.

  Yet Larkin stood behind his ridiculous desk, staring at this woman without bearing any rancor or spite, and found himself smiling at her as though she were any pretty woman in the world.

  Somehow, she smiled back at him, just as any pretty woman with manners might.

  The clock on the mantle chimed, and Sophia blinked, looking at it, the spell between them breaking. “Heavens. I must make haste for my ride or it will grow late, indeed.” She glanced back at him, her smile turning wry. “And if I tarry any longer, you may curse me for trespassing.”

  A little disappointed, but equally entertained, Larkin shrugged. “Trespassing is an offense, but trespassing on a battlefield may be seen as an offensive maneuver. Shall I fetch a sword to defend my lands?”

  Sophia’s smile spread like a sunrise. “Not today, Larkin. Perhaps next time. I am rather curious to see how you handle a blade.” She quirked her brows and marched away, leaving Larkin grinning outright in his stupidly adorned study.

  Like a damned fool.

  CHAPTER 9

  Mornings at Rosennor were usually a quiet affair, rather idyllic for the countryside, and allowed Sophia time to lay in her bed without disturbance and drift in and out of sleep while her body debated waking. Country hours were lovely, though she hadn’t experienced London hours, as they were, but living with the Arthurs had been a fairly strict experience when it came to hours, meals, and how long one might conceivably stay abed without being feverish.

  Being mistress of Rosennor definitely had its advantages, that was for certain.

  Unfortunately, this morning was not granting her those advantages.

  The evening had been cool, so she had left the windows of her room open while she slept, which now magnified any sound coming from out of doors. As it happened, there suddenly happened to be a great deal of sound coming from out of doors compared to other fair mornings, and there was to be no more drifting in and out of sleep for her.

  Loud voices, distinctly of the male persuasion, and common ones at that, reached her ears, and Sophia frowned at the hearing. Her window directly faced the gardens, and there was nothing Mr. George, the master gardener, would need to be fussing with at this hour. And, as far as she knew, he did not have as many assistants as voices she could hear.

  Groaning with the disappointment of the restless weary, Sophia slid from her bed and padded over to the window to glimpse what could possibly bring the sounds of a mob to her hearing this early in the morning.

  A mob it was not, but a cluster of six men it was, which was all the more peculiar. She didn’t recognize any of them, and it was clear to her that not even Mr. George was in their ranks, yet they wandered the gardens freely, eyeing various parts with some discussion among them. Then, to her astonishment, carts were brought round to the entrance of the gardens themselves, and men, timber, and tools were brought out from the back of them. Several quantities of each, and none of the activity was taken up with any stealth, so they must all have had legitimate reasons to be about their business.

  But what was it, and why was Sophia unaware of it?

  She scowled as the obvious thought entered her mind.

  Larkin.

  It was not a particularly difficult thing to imagine, and she was surprised it took her so long to come to the realization. Larkin had been remarkably tame of late, though his usual mischief was still there every time they were in the same room together. Not that it happened often, but on occasion they did so. She would scold him for his lack of manners, he would accuse her of lacking tact, and she would spend an inordinate amount of time imagining flinging food into his face.

  At any rate, this would all be the perfect ruse for Larkin to orchestrate. To be so temperate with his insults and actions, thus lowering her defenses, only to spring a massive project upon her that was destined to offend, irritate, or upset her in some dramatic way.

  It was the most Larkin thing she had ever heard of.

  Rolling her eyes, Sophia reached for the wrap she had draped across her toilette last night after staying up far too late reading a book she had snuck from the library. Larkin’s library, as it was, though she was collecting her own version of a library in the small closet just off of her bedchamber. Cinching the sash and foregoing any slippers, she strode out of her rooms and made her way down the corridor, away from the suites of guest rooms that were still unused, down the stairs, and towards the main of the house where she was sure to cross paths with someone who could give her some insight.

  A pair of eager maids came out of the parlor, giggling to each other, and Sophia hurried her step to catch up. “Excuse me,” she called out.

  They turned together, gasping one right after the other, and bobbing a curtsey to her. “Madam.”

  Sophia bit back a sigh and acknowledged them with a nod. “Could either of you tell me what is occurring out in the gardens? Are you aware of it? There are men out there with tools and timber, and I don’t know…”

  “Oh that!” one of the maids interrupted with another giggle. “Ma’am, it’s the builders for the Cutting of the Roses.”

  If she had said the words in Greek, it would not have made any less sense to her.

  “I beg your pardon?” Sophia asked as politely as possible, wondering what in the world Larkin had gotten the household into.

  The maids looked at each other, smiling, before returning th
eir attention to her. “It’s a tradition, madam,” the younger of the two said. “Every year, the village comes up to Rosennor and the house is opened up to the public. Mr. George oversees the gardens, and the roses he selects are clipped for village families.”

  “And there’s food and drink and dancing,” the other chimed in. “It is everyone’s favorite day of the year, apart from holidays. Cook has been working herself into a frenzy for days preparing.”

  Sophia was sure her toes had accompanied her on the journey from her room to her present position, but at the moment, she could not feel a single one of them. In their places were cubes of ice, and the freeze was rapidly spreading into the rest of her feet.

  “Why… did no one inform me?” she managed, her mouth and tongue devoid of moisture at all.

  The maids looked surprised at that. “Madam, it’s… it’s a tradition. Everyone in the village knows about it. And there isn’t anything you need to worry about. Sir Kentworth never fussed over a thing, he always left it to Mrs. Sexton to manage. He rarely made an appearance towards the end, and nobody seemed to mind at all.”

  Sophia nodded without processing much of the information being shared with her. The estate would be overrun with villagers. The garden’s roses would be clipped to their stems and the lawn would be danced upon by people imbibing freely. The house would be opened up to everyone and anyone who was in attendance, the grandeur observed and judged by those without it.

  The house she and Larkin had been intentionally rearranging specifically to inconvenience and enrage each other.

  Sophia hadn’t made much of an effort to go into the village yet, preferring to spend her time in Rosennor, and she knew Larkin had been absorbing himself with details of his lands, so it was unlikely he had made much headway there either.

  But the entire house knew about this?

  Even Larkin would not be this cruel, and she hadn’t thought he had limits.

  She smiled and nodded at the girls, murmuring some sort of thanks before turning and carefully walking away. When she felt she was a safe distance, she broke into an all-out run for the back stairs and racing up them. “Larkin!” she shrieked as she ascended, taking the stairs two at a time. “LARKIN!”

  Her feet flew along the worn floorboards of the corridors, her hair dancing wildly behind her, whatever loose plait remained from her sleep undoubtedly unravelling. She didn’t care; this was no time for decorum. All-out panic was setting in, and there was only one other person who could possibly comprehend the enormity of that panic.

  “LARKIN!” she screeched, bellowing in distress now as she rounded the corner to the corridor that divided her part from his.

  He was racing to the same spot at the same time, his eyes wide, hair in disarray, his shirt barely tucked into his trousers. “Sophia, what is it? Are you all right? What’s happened?”

  Mildly distracted by the glimpse of heaving, chiseled chest appearing through the rather open neck of his shirt, Sophia coughed breathlessly, fighting for the frantic but intelligible thought she’d just had a moment ago.

  Why was tousled and rumpled Larkin more attractive than a neatly put together one?

  “Sophia!” Larkin said again, reaching out to take her by the upper arms. “What is it?”

  Her mind snapped into place, and she met his eyes, her hands flying to his arms in return. “People are coming.”

  His brow furrowed. “I beg your pardon? Have you had something to drink with my mother?”

  Sophia dug her nails into his arms just enough to elicit a hiss from him. “Larkin! There are men in the garden!”

  The furrows in his brows turned into thunderstorms and fury beyond description lit his features. “I’ll whip their flanks until they never disturb you again. I’ll build damn walls with my bare hands if I have to. So help me, Rosennor will be secure.”

  “Shut up!” Sophia half-laughed, half-yelled. “Listen, you idiot!”

  “What?” he demanded, his hands pressing against her arms now. “Speak coherently, and I just might follow. Very good at following, you know.”

  Sophia grunted and moved one of her hands to press against his mouth. “Shut up!” she insisted.

  He raised a brow, his hands sliding to her elbows, but still holding tight.

  There was a strange comfort in that.

  “There are people in the garden,” she said again, forcing her voice to be calm so her words might be clear. “Men in particular. According to the maids, they are preparing for the Cutting of the Roses, which is apparently an annual event wherein the village of Rosenthal comes up to Rosennor Hall and is treated to a day of festivities, among which is an actual cutting of our roses. The house is opened, food and drink are provided, and those in the house, including its masters, are encouraged to mingle with the locals and extend hospitality and generosity.” She smiled blandly and batted her lashes. “Also, according to the maids, that day is this day.”

  Larkin’s eyes were round, and she could feel his haggard breathing panting unsteadily against the suddenly sensitive palm of her hand.

  Tingles raced from that palm up into her arm, and it wasn’t a pleasant sensation.

  Sophia dropped her hand quickly and tried to step back, but Larkin was frozen, his grip on her tight.

  “What?” he half whispered, the shape of the word more dramatic than the sound of it.

  It would have been comical had Sophia not felt the exact level of horror.

  Her grip on him intensified as the weight of the forthcoming settled, the burden now shared but no less heavy.

  “What do we do?” Sophia whispered, her heart quivering within her chest, somehow drawing matching quivers in her knees.

  He shook his head. “Why the bloody hell are you asking me? That’s a question for a damsel, and you are no damsel.”

  Sophia exhaled the smallest of laughs. “Too right. I don’t expect you to have the answers, but like it or not, we are in this together. So. How do we face this?”

  His fingers absently stroked against the fabric of her arms, his eyes far away as thought clouded them over. “Haven’t the… Did you say they come into the house?”

  “I think that’s what they said,” she answered with a half nod.

  Larkin swore very softly. “I need to put the artwork back on your side.”

  “Lord, your study!” Sophia exclaimed with a groan.

  “And I should replace the rugs in your parlors,” he admitted with a wince.

  “The tapestries on your side ought to be taken down,” she conceded.

  “The music room.”

  “The orangery.”

  Larkin gave her a strange look. “The orangery? What did you do to the orangery?”

  Sophia blushed slightly. “I removed all of the furniture but one chair, and it is an eyesore. You didn’t see it?”

  One side of his mouth curved up. “I confess, I am not in the habit of sitting in the orangery for my own pleasure, but if you’re going to put so much effort into the room, I shall be sure to do so in the future.”

  That made her smile in return, then she bit her lip. “What about the gazebo? Have you seen it?”

  Larkin made a face. “I have, and walked in and around the thing as well. There isn’t enough time to remedy it, and I cannot foresee anyone spending a deal of time there today. It shall have to stand as is.”

  Sophia was afraid of that, but she knew it was true. Still, it was a touch embarrassing to have such a thing on their grounds when there would be so many about.

  “How much time do you think we have?” Larkin inquired, his features shifting to a look of determination.

  “I’m not sure,” Sophia told him, shaking her head slowly. “The maids did not give me any indication. It is still early in the day, and the workers only just arrived. We should have time.”

  Time for what, she did not say, nor did she know.

  But she suspected Larkin did not know either.

  He dropped one of his hands and rubbed it over
his face. “Remind me to interrogate our staff about the lack of communication about our hosting duties.”

  “Why should you get to have all the fun?” she replied without much energy.

  Larkin gave her a look, then sighed. “Right, we should both get dressed, as it seems neither of us are.” He looked at himself, then at her, and seemed to look at her a bit longer.

  Her cheeks flamed, but there wasn’t time to examine that. After all, she had looked at him as well.

  Thoroughly.

  “Step one,” she retorted defensively, more at herself than at him. “Good. And then?”

  That seemed to shake him from his looking, thankfully. “I’ll see to the gardens if you will see to the kitchens.”

  “Fair enough.” She lifted her chin, the fluttering of her heart steadying somewhat. “I will also see to the returning of Rosennor itself to something we would not be embarrassed to have the village see. Perhaps you might speak with Shaw and Mrs. Sexton about the traditions and what we might expect? I’d rather not be taken by surprise in the midst of the melee.”

  “Nor I,” Larkin admitted ruefully, scratching at his chin, still covered with some rather attractive scruff. “Damn, this is a deuce of a mess. If I did not already have some investment in Rosennor, this might actually set me off the place entirely.”

  “Don’t give me hope now,” Sophia retorted with a smirk, though she did not have the same sort of spite to the thing.

  He grinned at her. “Might, Sophia. And if, I said. No such luck for you.”

  “More’s the pity.” She shrugged and glanced at her hands, still loosely clinging to his arms. She dropped them quickly, and he did the same with her. “Well, we have our marching orders, I suppose.”

  He widened his eyes meaningfully, his grin turning a bit bewildered. “May we survive the day unscathed and without offending our tenants and neighbors.”

  “Amen.” Sophia nodded and turned to go, her feet still cold, but at least possessing some feeling, which must be an improvement.

  Her hands, on the other hand…