What changed his mind?
Sophia attempted to clear her throat, but was unsuccessful in her efforts. “Larkin,” she managed to say around the congestion in her throat.
He looked over at her, and, as she expected, he was not surprised at all.
Curious. What was he up to?
He ambled towards her without any hint of embarrassment or chagrin. And why would he? This was, after all, his room in his house.
Their house. He did not own the whole of it.
She tended to forget that from time to time in her angst.
Lifting her chin, she swallowed. “What are you doing here?”
Larkin shrugged his slender shoulders as he continued towards her. “I was bored.”
Sophia waited for a better answer. When it didn’t come, she blinked. “That’s it?”
Again came Larkin’s shrug. “That’s it, I’m afraid. I’ve been drowning in ledgers from Maxwell about the bloody farms, and it’s enough to drive a man to madness. I couldn’t take another moment, and I recalled I gave you permission to come in here.” He looked around once more, as if truly seeing the place for the first time. “It’s nice, this. Plenty of light.”
“Indeed,” Sophia remarked slowly, her fingers rubbing together as though she rolled a pencil between them. “That’s… why I like to come here. Particularly when I’m unable to go out of doors. The light is enough that I can draw no matter what.”
Larkin’s head tilted and he paused, still a few paces from her. “Do you like to draw, Sophia?” His brow furrowed as he asked the question. “That’s rather stupid of me, isn’t it? Considering you’re in here drawing…”
She smiled in response, but didn’t give him any other answer.
He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry, it’s just…” He exhaled roughly, almost raggedly, then looked at her again. “I realized the other day, Sophia, that I… I don’t really know you at all.”
The thought struck her with just as much force and reverberation as a bell.
He didn’t know her, did he? And she didn’t know him. Not really. She knew he was clever, conniving, attractive, and in possession of a decent sense of humor when it wasn’t being used at her expense. He rode well, cared deeply about his mother, and was capable of quite remarkable wit.
Beyond that, Larkin Roth was a mystery.
“I never thought of that,” Sophia murmured, mostly to herself. “We don’t know each other, do we?”
Larkin smiled in his usual way, without reserve or restraint. “Not a bit. Our opinions were formed from the moment we sat in Tuttle-Kirk’s office and that blasted will was read out.” He chuckled and ambled over to lean against the tree nearest her. “All I could think about was how infuriating it was to not have an entire estate to myself.”
“All I could think was that I finally had something of value to my name,” Sophia said, smiling as she recollected the euphoria that had filled her. She blinked and her smile turned mischievous. “That and how infuriating the oaf opposite was.”
The insult was met with a bow of acknowledgement, but Larkin didn’t manage his token lightheartedness in it. “Something of value?” he repeated. “How do you mean?”
Sophia set aside her drawing and clasped her hands in her lap. “Without Rosennor, I am completely penniless. I have been living with the Arthurs for the last several years because they were the only relation willing to take me in after my parents died. They are not especially well off, and while I believe they would do what they could for me, they cannot manage anything remotely resembling a dowry and nor would I wish them to.”
The furrows in Larkin’s brow returned. “Your father left you nothing?”
Once upon a time, those words from that mouth would have had her towering in an almighty fury, raging in defense of her father and their life. But time and experience had taught her that there was no shame in admitting the truth of her situation, particularly when it was so evident.
She smiled with a sadness she knew well. “My father was many things, predominantly of which was a dreamer. He was always after some scheme that would make us rich and successful, none of which led him there. I never wanted for affection in my childhood, but we wanted for much in the temporal sense.” She shook her head just a little. “A child does not understand such things, so I thought it was simply our way of life to be always moving about here and there. I didn’t know one usually had possessions beyond what a carpet bag could contain. It was quite an experience for me when my parents died, and I learned a great deal in a very short amount of time.”
“I’m sorry,” Larkin murmured with more sincerity than Sophia had heard from him in some time. “I had no idea.”
“Exactly,” Sophia replied, smiling again for effect. “No need to apologize when you did not know.”
He nodded his thanks, his lips curving. “One would never suspect, you know. It’s not as though you want for any obvious accomplishment.”
Sophia laughed once. “Obvious being the key point. I am no artist nor musician, and I dance only tolerably well. Close examination of my faults would prove me quite a disgrace as a woman of Society.”
“Who examines a young lady expressly for faults?” Larkin scoffed loudly, the idea clearly ludicrous. “No reason anyone should know that you aren’t up to snuff with the rest.” He leaned forward and whispered, “And I won’t tell.”
Grinning, Sophia leaned forward where she sat and whispered back, “Thank you.” She resumed her upright position and sighed. “Truth be told, Larkin, I don’t know that I actually want Rosennor at all.”
Larkin jerked where he stood, and Sophia winced at such a sign of surprise. Was it wise to admit such a thing to him? Likely not, but the thing was done. “You don’t?” he asked, his tone hushed as though the stones of Rosennor would crumble about them with the slightest provocation.
“I am grateful,” she insisted with what was undoubtedly a weak sentiment. “Very much so. But what am I to do with half an estate? Realistically, there is nothing.” She straightened her shoulders and met Larkin’s stunned gaze squarely. “If I could find a husband with a secure fortune, not necessarily a great one, but a secure one, I would be willing to sell my shares in Rosennor to you. For a reasonable price, mind, so as to provide myself with a dowry, and perhaps retain some of the funds in my own name for the future.”
Larkin had not moved since his outburst, and he only stared at her in shock. For a moment, Sophia feared he would rage at her about the outrage it was to learn such a thing after all she had put him through. That she could have spared them both all this annoyance and inconvenience. That he’d get her a husband straightaway and take the rest of his estate presently.
But none of that happened.
“You’d rather not be half an heiress?” he finally asked, teasing entering his voice. “Not many ladies can say such a thing.”
Relief washed over Sophia, and she shrugged her shoulders. “I cannot imagine any husband enjoying living in half of Rosennor, can you? And your wife would hate having to ask my permission to come into the breakfast room.”
“This is true,” Larkin replied, nodding, the teasing light still in his eyes. Then he sighed with what seemed to be a real weight. “Truth be told, Sophia, I’m not sure I have the funds to pay you for Rosennor just yet. My own finances are moderate at best, thanks to the poor management of my father, and I had no property to my name when I came into Rosennor. We could, perhaps, make an arrangement with Tuttle-Kirk and Associates that would suit us both, but in the meantime, I am just as poor a prospect as you seem to think yourself.”
She hadn’t considered that, but she supposed it must be true. After all, he only had half of an estate himself, and if he had no independent means of his own…
“What a pair Sir Kentworth left his estate to,” Sophia murmured, her hands moving to the bench beneath her, her fingers drumming an absent pattern.
“We may be able to help each other.”
&nbs
p; Sophia jerked her gaze back up to Larkin, startled. “We may what?”
He chuckled and folded his arms. “I know, it is already far-fetched, but hear me out. Until such time as you forfeit your portion, we both profit if Rosennor does, yes?”
“Yes…” Sophia said slowly, hesitation creeping in. Despite recent moments of amicable interaction, she did not entirely trust Larkin Roth.
Nor, she suspected, did he trust her.
“So why not do our best to see that it does?” Larkin continued, seeming to think as he spoke, which was always a terrifying prospect where he was concerned. “If I am to wed, I need to be a pretty fair prospect, if my wife is to be worth her salt. That can’t happen if Rosennor isn’t attractive. And if I am to buy out your half, I’ll need the funds to do so, which I’ll only get if Rosennor prospers and I marry a woman with a good dowry herself, do you see?”
Sophia’s head spun as she tried to catch the vision Larkin was painting for them. “So… you want me to help you make Rosennor more appealing?”
“Yes.” He nodded as fervently as any man has ever done. “I’ll handle lands and farms for us both, unless you would rather do that bit, which you are welcome to, and you can set your hand to the house itself. I recommend you take that part, as I have an abysmal sense of such things and would make a hash of the place.”
The thought of Larkin redecorating made Sophia giggle, which made him frown in mock-offense, which made her giggle even more.
“A more polite lady would have insisted I was mistaken in my claims,” Larkin pointed out with a sniff.
“A more honest lady would have guffawed with power enough to bring the ceiling down,” Sophia retorted, raising a daring brow. “Larkin, I would love to be rid of the numbers of the farms on my portion. I only ask that you confer with me before making any significant decision.”
Larkin nodded once. “Of course, that is only fair. I know our beginning isn’t exactly a strong footing for trust now, but I promise to be honest in my dealings with your portion.”
The statement was oddly touching, considering where they had begun. “And I will not make significant alterations to your rooms, or your belongings, without your permission. Nor will I intentionally create any eyesores.”
Her offer was much less significant, and they both knew it, but Larkin smiled all the same. “Thank you, I think. I may safely promise to concede to your wishes there at least two thirds of the time.”
“You can never be too sure,” she reminded him.
“No, I suppose not.”
They exchanged companionable smiles, but were otherwise silent, the only sound that of the rain pattering gently against the glass panes around and above them.
It was strange, but here like this, just the two of them, easy and without ulterior motives, was markedly comfortable. More than that, it was pleasant. Warm.
Friendly.
Friendly with Larkin Roth? The very idea. They were rivals in the battle for Rosennor, enemies by declaration of Sir Kentworth’s will.
And yet…
“Will you not sit down?” Sophia heard herself offer.
Larkin’s smile warmed the entire orangery. “Where? The furnishings are yours, remember? I dare not think you wish me to sit beside you while you draw.”
No, that would not do at all, but not for the reasons he might think. No, there was a chair for Larkin within his own room, thanks to her kind foresight.
She gestured to it, sitting in its usual spot a few yards away. “Your chair is there, sir. You may bring it over here, if you wish.”
“I shall.” He pushed off of the tree and retrieved the chair in question, which was more of a dark wooden stool, really, bringing it near her without being intrusive. Then he sat, adjusted his position within it, then huffed under his breath. “This is the most uncomfortable thing I have ever sat upon in my life. I may actually be sitting on a splinter collection.”
Sophia bit her lip on a laugh, resuming her drawing. “Well, that is your designated chair in this room, Mr. Roth, so take it or leave it.”
“You are a devious woman, Sophia.”
“I take that as a compliment, Larkin.”
He grunted under his breath. “You would.”
She smiled, focusing on her sketch. “Yes, I would.”
CHAPTER 12
“I don’t understand. You’re what?”
Larkin exhaled loudly, for what had to be his forty-seventh time during the course of this conversation. “Exploring ways to further the interest of Rosennor’s farms. What is so complicated about that?” He looked up at his friend in irritation, gesturing faintly with his hands.
Taft returned his look with abject bewilderment, leaning back as he was on the rear legs of his chair, eyes wide. “Rosennor’s farms.”
“Yes.”
“Rosennor’s farms.”
“That would be the estate, so yes.”
Taft’s green eyes narrowed, and he slowly returned his chair to all four legs. “Not your farms. Rosennor’s. You see the difference?”
Larkin rolled his eyes with such force it nearly made his head ache. “Yes, Taft, I see the difference. What of it?”
“What have you done with the shrew?” Taft tapped a finger on the table. “Correct me if I am wrong, Lark, but the plan all along was to force her out of your way so that you might have the estate in its entirety.”
“It was,” Larkin replied slowly, weighing his tone and his words with the same amount of care. “But she is stubborn. Far more so than I ever expected any woman to be. More than that, she is a worthy opponent in the game I played.”
Taft’s hand flattened to the table and he leaned over it in Larkin’s direction. “Played? Past tense?”
Larkin cocked his head from side to side in indecision. “We still play it, but the spite isn’t the same.”
“More’s the pity,” Taft remarked, sounding truly disappointed. “What’s the fun of the game without the spark?”
Now Larkin smiled, mostly in reminiscence but some mischief as well. “Oh, there is plenty of spark, you need not worry on that score.”
Taft barked a loud laugh as he straightened and waved for more drinks. “Good man, I’m pleased to hear it. So, what is the game with her lands? Going to facilitate a drought?” He laughed again, as if the thought delighted him. “Or looking for a plague of locusts?”
“No, of course not!” Larkin shook his head insistently, the idea filling him with disgust. “Why would I do such a thing?”
His friend’s expression turned sardonic. “So, her shares do not profit, and she is forced to sell to you in order to salvage something for herself? Lord love you, Larkin, but sometimes I think you’re on the more ridiculous side of your family.”
“Don’t say that,” Larkin groaned with a scowl. “You know what that means.”
“I do, which is why I said the thing.” Taft looked behind him, then scooted his chair closer. “What’s come over you, man? You’re living in an estate you do not fully own with a shrew who aims to take the whole thing from you!”
“She’s not a shrew.”
Silence rang at their table, and Larkin was afraid to look at his oldest friend.
“I beg your pardon?” Taft asked slowly, each word seeming to come with great force and solemnity.
Taft was never solemn; it was not in his nature.
The situation must be grave, indeed.
Larkin rested his head against the table, squeezing his eyes shut. “Sophia is not a shrew. She’s many things, impossible being chief, but not a shrew. She’s caring and kind, you should see her with my mother. She’s witty and intelligent, could probably manage Rosennor all on her own. She wrote to every family in Rosenthal after they were at the Cutting, thanking them for coming. She… She’s quite remarkable, and I’m coming to like her more and more every day, God help me.”
“Shall I call for a doctor? You’re talking complete nonsense.”
“I know.” Larkin raised his head wit
h a weak smile for his friend. “Believe me, I am well aware.”
Taft’s smile was remarkably smug for so dire a situation. “Lucky for you, London is just the place to set one to rights when he’s been upended, just as you have.”
Larkin’s smile turned forced. “I’m not interested in your manner of setting to rights, Taft.”
His friend coughed in distress. “What exactly are you implying, Lark? The Earl of Harwood is perfectly respectable and honorable in all things.”
“Yes, quite,” Larkin muttered with enough sarcasm to drown a man.
Taft snorted. “I only mean being away from the oh-so-tempting Miss Anson will be good for your mind. Clearly, she is a poor influence. How long do you anticipate being in London?”
Larkin made a face of consideration. “I’ve already been nearly a week, and without much progress. It’ll likely take me another two, if not three.”
“Remind me of the point of your visit again. Just for clarification.”
Larkin groaned in earnest. “Oh, for the love of…”
“Now, now, no profanities or blasphemy,” Taft overrode with an imperious wave of his finger. “This is Brooks’, after all. One must maintain gentility.”
Biting back several less than gentlemanly expressions, Larkin clenched his teeth. “I am seeking to improve upon Rosennor’s farms. All of them. Hers and mine.”
Taft nodded. “Why?”
“No one wants a lopsided estate.”
“I should say not.”
Larkin’s lips curved. “So, if I am to be any sort of prospect, matrimonial or otherwise, my estate would need to flourish.”
“Indeed yes.”
“Ergo,” Larkin said on another sigh, weary of the repetition, “in order for me to succeed, she and I both must succeed.”
Taft made a face of distaste. “Well that’s unfortunate. Having one’s future so entangled up with another’s as to be forced into relying upon them for progress.”
There was nothing to do but laugh at that, and to laugh hard. “What did you think my life was going to be like after the revelation of that ridiculous will? It was nothing but entanglement. My entire life will be entanglement until Sophia sells me her share.”
The Rivals of Rosennor Hall (Entangled Inheritance Book 3) Page 14