The Rivals of Rosennor Hall (Entangled Inheritance Book 3)

by Rebecca Connolly

  “Just so.”

  They stood there together for a long moment, too close and yet… Sophia would have stepped closer had her feet the power to do so.

  Closer, so close…

  Larkin’s lips parted and Sophia found her attention drawn there, her breath evaporating before she could draw it.

  “I suppose… I should go and see my mother.”

  He should…

  Oh. Right.

  Yes, he should. He should go at once.

  He should…

  “Let go, Soph.”

  She blinked, the fog rolling in and around her mind dissipating with the simple motion of her lashes.

  Let go? What could he mean?

  He tapped her hand with a finger. “Soph?”

  She bit back a gasp and released his arm with a spasm-like motion. “Oh! I’m so sorry, I… I completely lost sense of myself for a moment, do forgive me.”

  Lands, she was rambling like an imbecile, and her voice was far too high in pitch, the words coming too quickly.

  What was wrong with her?

  “Don’t say that around here,” Larkin commented with a quick smile. “We’ve already got enough ridiculous; we don’t require any more.” He backed away, cool as the day itself, apparently not falling victim to the same deuced fog that she’d been engulfed in. “I’ve brought a surprise back from London, you know. For all of us.”

  “H-have you?” she managed to stammer, pain and excitement and confusion blending in a bizarre concoction. “What is it?”

  He tapped a finger to his nose, winking. “Now that would be telling, eh? All I will tell you is to get changed and meet me in the entrance hall in half an hour.” He grinned and dashed into the house without another word, leaving her scowling behind him.

  “‘Get changed,’ he says,” she muttered as she marched back to her basket that was only partially filled with flowers, picking it up and moving into the house herself. “As if that paltry statement tells a woman anything at all. Maddening fool.”

  Yet half an hour later, Sophia found herself in a fresh dress, her hair mended, and her complexion refreshed by a quick wash. Why she had gone through with Larkin’s request wasn’t clear even to herself, but as he had been away from Rosennor a month and was now returned, she supposed she felt inclined to humor him.

  For once.

  White muslin had never been her favorite as far as gowns went, but this one was fair enough, and she could have worn it to a ball or to tea, depending on how else she styled herself. As she was at home, apart from her green shawl, she wore very little as far as accessories went. She had very little as far as accessories went.

  Yet another area upon which she would need to improve.

  Thankfully, they had plenty of time to develop such things for herself.

  Though why she was thinking in terms of they was rather less clear.

  Larkin strode into the entryway, changed in attire himself, and smiled. “Good, good, you look rather refreshed. A fine shawl that is, and it compliments you well.”

  Sophia raised a brow. “Compliments, Larkin? What are you about? Are you well?”

  “Quite well, thank you,” he replied with a laugh.

  “Did you find your mother well?”

  He nodded, smiling with genuine warmth. “I did. She was more herself today, I understand, and she was pleased to see me.”

  Sophia was relieved to hear that, and smiled with such. “So I should hope.”

  “She raved about you, you know. Quite impressed with you, and rather devoted.” Larkin quirked his brows, flashing a quick grin. “No doubt she will soon wish to adopt you and replace me.”

  “I think there is little chance of that,” Sophia protested, her face warming with the praise, indirect as it was. “Now what is this surprise, Larkin?”

  His grin spread further still, and he rocked back on his heels almost eagerly. “I accomplished more in London than I let on.”

  Sophia’s eyes widened. “Did you? In what way?”

  “In a way that I think will further both of our interests quite well, indeed.” He gestured for her to follow him as he turned towards the front entrance doors. At his nod, the footmen opened them, the bright light of the day momentarily blinding Sophia.

  When her eyes adjusted, she saw a rather fine carriage out in front of Rosennor, and a rather fine man descending from it, looking up and about the house with some fascination. Further down the drive, several other carriages could be seen, though they were still some distance away.

  “Larkin?” Sophia asked weakly, various parts of her body suddenly trembling in fear and apprehension.

  He noticed none of that, and gestured grandly. “I have invited guests for a house party at Rosennor.”

  He had done what?

  Sophia blinked at him, looked at the closest carriage and man, then at the other approaching carriages, then back at the dunce standing beside her. “Are you out of your ever-bleeding mind?”

  CHAPTER 14

  Well, that wasn’t exactly the response he’d hoped for.

  “I beg your pardon?” Larkin asked, looking over Sophia as if she had lost her mind and not him.

  She struck him with a blow to his upper arm, the force of which surprised him. “Larkin Roth, you invited strangers to our estate when it is in no condition to do so? You are going to make us a laughing stock.”

  “You’ve been fixing it up,” he protested as he rubbed at his suddenly throbbing arm. “I read your letters; you’ve been doing quite well.”

  She laughed without an ounce of humor. “For a month. You think one month of work is enough to make Rosennor presentable for people of quality? To stay a number of days?” She covered her face and muffled a groan. “I knew you were thick, but this is beyond anything.”

  He glowered at her covered eyes. “Take that back.”

  Her hands dropped, and the blue of her eyes flashed dangerously at him. “I will not. This is a disaster, Larkin, and entirely of your making. What could possibly have made you think this was a good idea?”

  Out of sheer instinct, he gestured at Taft, who was now approaching with a wary expression. “It was Taft’s idea. He convinced me.”

  As he feared, Sophia rounded on Taft like a wild animal. “Well then Taft can explain to whoever has been invited that he did this without seeing Rosennor, without owning Rosennor, and without asking if Rosennor itself was in a fit state for entertaining. Are you in the habit of ruining people’s lives, Taft, or does it just come naturally to your limited-capacity mind?”

  Taft fell back a step and looked at Larkin in a mixture of outrage and terror. “Larkin…”

  Larkin winced. “Sophia, may I present my great friend, the Earl of Harwood. Taft, this is Miss Sophia Anson.”

  Sophia’s expression froze, then she reluctantly sank into a curtsey. “Pleasure to meet you, my lord,” she muttered. “Pray, forgive my statement about limited-capacity minds. Though I stand by the rest of my words.”

  Taft bowed to her, actually seeming somewhat sheepish. “Pleasure is mine, Miss Anson, and I’d ask for your forgiveness as well, though I fear it is a bit late for such niceties.”

  “Yes, it is,” Sophia acknowledged with a nod, folding her arms tightly against her. “Would you care to explain how you see this working out? I have never hosted anything, let alone a house party, and unless I am mistaken, the oaf to my left has no experience in it either.”

  “I am right here,” Larkin reminded Sophia.

  “As if I need the reminder,” she snapped without looking.

  Larkin screwed up his face and cast a look at Taft, who was clearly enjoying this.

  Traitor.

  “First and foremost,” Taft said without preamble, stepping closer to them both, “none of the approaching guests can know that you both live here. Rumors will fly and you’ll find yourself wed to each other before breakfast tomorrow morning.”

  Larkin swallowed harshly and crossed himself against any such action
, which earned him a swift and sharp jab in his ribs from Sophia’s rather pointed elbow.

  “If such a secret is needed,” Sophia began, still sounding furious and cold, “what possessed you to invite them in the first place?”

  “Sophia,” Larkin scolded before he could stop himself.

  “I am not about to be corrected for my fury,” Sophia protested hotly. She whirled to glare at Larkin, and it took all his strength to remain where he stood. “At the moment, the only thing keeping me from strangling one or both of you is the approaching line of carriages bearing witness to the thing, and I don’t want to become a convict. So, my Lord Harwood…” She faced Taft once more and gestured for him to explain himself.

  Gads. This was going to be a ruddy nightmare.

  To be fair to Sophia, once she’d pointed out the errors in this plan, he felt a right fool, but surely there was a way through this. Taft wouldn’t have suggested it without a plan.

  Or would he?

  Taft did have a rather peculiar notion of what was humorous, and was wealthy enough to do what he liked without consequence.

  Even so, this would be beyond even him.

  “Because, my dear Miss Anson,” Taft informed Sophia without a hint of recrimination, “I believe that in order for you and Larkin to achieve any sort of standing in Society, for matrimonial purposes or otherwise, you must actually partake in Society.”

  “You told him?” Sophia demanded, turning to Larkin in outrage. She cocked back a clenched fist, but this time Larkin was prepared and caught the blow before it landed.

  He gripped her fist and gave her a warning look. “Don’t punch me again, Sophia. Yes, I told him, just as I told him our need to make the lands profitable and a multitude of other things. Believe it or not, this is not a strike against you.”

  “Is it not?” She scowled and tried to pull back from his hold. “Let go of me.”

  “Are you going to hit me again?” he queried with the patience of a parent.

  Sophia looked up at him moodily. “Time will tell.”

  “As enjoyable as this squabble is for the attentive observer,” Taft interrupted, an imperious bite in his tone, “might I suggest we postpone its conclusion? Carriages are approaching, and time is short.”

  “And whose fault is that?” Sophia wondered aloud, resentment rife in every syllable, turning back to him.

  Taft gave Sophia the sort of look he usually reserved for Larkin. “Sophia, may I call you Sophia?”

  “No,” she responded.

  “Sophia,” Taft went on, ignoring her completely, “I will atone for my sins in your eyes, you have my word as a gentleman, but I will not do so in the next five minutes. If you will put aside the battle axe, might I point out that I am trying to help you?”

  Larkin chanced a look at Sophia, who looked surly even with her flushed complexion, and guilt lanced his chest. She was markedly uncomfortable with the impending flurry of activity, and he should have known she would not appreciate such a thing. Hell, even he was uncomfortable with what was coming, and he was used to Society, in a way. Why should he have expected anything less from Sophia?

  No matter what Taft asked of her, or of them, Larkin would see it done. He would do everything he could to alleviate the strain upon her as she tried to run the house during the party. No matter the traditional roles filled in situations like these, he would help her in any way he could.

  After all, it was his fault they were in this mess

  It was more Taft’s fault, but Larkin could admit to playing a part.

  “We will discuss the peculiar manner in which you choose to offer your assistance in future, Taft,” Sophia replied primly, forgoing generations worth of formality by intentionally reverting back to Taft’s given name. “For the present, please, for the love of God, tell me what to do.”

  Taft’s smile was swift, sure, and, for some reason, utterly superior. “Lovely.” He strode up the last few steps to them and looked Sophia over with a quick, expert eye. “Good. Simple, elegant, understated, perfectly proper. Speak up, speak clearly, and keep conversations limited, but polite. Proper introductions and real conversation will come later.”

  Sophia nodded like an obedient servant. “What about the rooms? I haven’t ordered them prepared.”

  “I mentioned something to Mrs. Sexton while on my way to see Mother,” Larkin told her quickly. “She is aware.”

  “Hmm,” was all Sophia said, but it held a world of meaning in its sound.

  He might have to sleep with a firearm near his person for the foreseeable future.

  “Larkin,” Taft said next, turning to him, eyeing him in the same cursory manner. “Fine. Less starch in future, it is the country, not London. And I’ll have my valet tend to you while we’re here, if for no other reason than to save you from your own cravat.”

  Sophia snorted a soft laugh that made Larkin frown, but he would ignore that.

  For now.

  Taft swept to the side and watched as the servants unloaded his things and his carriage pulled away from the main of the house. “I don’t care what story you tell about your living arrangements, but Larkin, we will need your mother present eventually. Even having the pair of you host the event together is a stretch, but I am influential enough to sweep away the gossip, I think.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Larkin muttered, his collar growing tight as his neck heated. “This idea is growing worse and worse by the second.”

  “Probably means it was a terrible idea from the start,” Sophia mused.

  Taft flicked a hard look at both of them. “And we cannot have any of that for the next two weeks.”

  “Two weeks?” Sophia shrieked, her eyes perfectly round now. “Are you completely daft?”

  “You told me one!” Larkin argued in concert with her comments. “One week, Taft.”

  Taft held up his hands and took a step back. “Anyone who is anyone will host a house party for at least a fortnight.”

  “Who says we wanted to be anyone?” Larkin roared. He clapped a hand to his brow and groaned.

  “It is for the best,” Taft insisted calmly. “It was unavoidable.”

  Larkin dropped his hand and glared. Unavoidable was a highly improbable description of the thing.

  “Apparently disaster is unavoidable.” Sophia shook her head and looked at Larkin in resignation. “There goes the inheritance. It was lovely while it lasted.”

  Somehow Larkin found humor in the midst of his panic. “I’ll see to it you are buried in the most beautiful plot in the cemetery.”

  Sophia must have been feeling rather dire indeed, for she had no sharp rebuke for the mention of her death and not his. “Right. Master of all House Parties, do we need to be here to greet the guests or should we make ourselves scarce as we know not a one of them?”

  Taft shrugged and watched the line of carriages for a moment. “Honestly, Sophia, that is for you and Larkin to decide. It is the country, after all, and you are not of the peerage. There are no dictates on such things in this case. I can make all the introductions later.”

  Larkin looked at Taft in confusion. “But would that not place you in a position of host, in a way? Without actual knowledge or experience in Rosennor? It seems a pity to involve you in the duties.”

  His friend raised a brow in his direction. “I did invite them on your behalf, man. I’m already involved.”

  True, but that did not mean Larkin would bow out and let his friend lead an event in his own home. He was grateful for Taft’s consideration and involvement, but in this he would draw the line.

  Larkin looked at Sophia, and found her already looking at him. “What do you think? Shaw takes cards and announces them to us? It’s a bit formal, but under the circumstances…”

  “I agree,” Sophia added hastily. “We can sort out the details of them later, but to welcome them to Rosennor and learn who is here, I’d prefer to be present.” She smiled at Taft for the first time all day. “You’ll be indispensable to us regard
less, Taft, but for the moment, be one of the guests instead. You can even choose the first bedchamber.”

  Taft’s grin was predatory in its curve and he plucked Sophia’s hand, bowing over it with a kiss. “Which one is closest to you, Miss Anson?”

  Larkin swatted his friend’s hand away at once, the force likely too much, but not particularly caring. “You so much as set a toe out of your bedchamber after the house has retired and I’ll send you out to sleep in the stables.”

  “My stables,” Sophia reminded him.

  “Right. In Sophia’s stables.”

  Taft snorted a loud, rather impolite laugh. “That’s another thing. I don’t quite know how we get around the insanity of your inheritance arrangement in all this. Any ideas?”

  “At this point?” Sophia shook her head, tension ebbing away from her. “I say we just embrace the folly we live in, and bear it with pride.”

  “Cheers to that,” Larkin echoed with a sigh. “Nothing for it now, eh?”

  “Suppose not,” Taft agreed. He squinted at the nearest carriage, then turned to face Sophia and Larkin. “Right, fetch your butler, and get all arranged. I’ll claim my bedchamber, and remain there until all guests have arrived. Perhaps then you might send for me, and we may confer on what is best to be done?”

  Sophia and Larkin nodded in unison. “IN theory, does that conferring happen before or after the house party is decided upon?” Sophia queried, going right for the throat once more.

  “Now, now,” Taft tutted with a reproachful but playful look. “Enough of that. You’re the lady of the house now, Sophia.”

  “Wasn’t aware that I’d ever been otherwise,” she shot back with the politest smile known to man.

  Gads, sometimes Sophia was the most wonderful creature.

  Larkin grinned at her momentarily, blinded by admiration and pride, and only broke off when Taft brushed by his shoulder with a hissed, “Steady on, man.”

  Steady on? Whatever for?

  Larkin blinked, the vision of Sophia still before him.

  Oh. That.

  “I’ll get Shaw,” he told her as he turned back into the house, his steps quick and almost shuffling.