The Rivals of Rosennor Hall (Entangled Inheritance Book 3)

by Rebecca Connolly

  “Right,” Taft snorted, sipping his drink slowly. “You haven’t played anything since you were twelve years old.”

  “Not true,” Larkin protested with a corrective finger wagging slightly. “Only last month I played a rousing game of piquet with my mother.”

  “And how did that go?”

  Larkin grinned. “We split hands. Mother is actually quite good.”

  Taft gave him a look. “You let her win.”

  “I did not. I can assure you, her card playing skills are very much intact.” Larkin’s smile stayed in place as he reflected on that particular day, and the pleasure it was to have the mother he had once known be so restored to him in such moments. Card playing had always been a secret of theirs, and late-night gambling while in his aunt Violet’s house would always be treasured memories for him.

  Particularly since Aunt Violet would have had a conniption and prayed for the souls of her relations had she known such sin was being committed under her roof.

  Nostalgia faded from Larkin’s eyes, and he turned to look at Taft, whose expression showed only confusion. “What?” Larkin asked.

  “I’m not entirely certain how truthful you are being,” Taft said slowly.

  “Entirely, as it happens.”

  Taft wet his lips carefully, still not smiling. “I have a hard time envisioning your mother at cards.”

  Larkin smirked knowingly. “Then you may be the first to play against her tomorrow evening when cards are the order of the after-supper entertainment. You’ll not be so doubting then.”

  “Why do I have the feeling you are setting me up to make a fool of myself?” Taft wondered aloud, amusement finally making its way into his features.

  “Haven’t the foggiest. I would never do something to deliberately humiliate you.” Larkin shook his head soberly for effect.

  Taft coughed in lieu of laughter. “Of course not. Just as you would never test Sophia with abandonment during an event of this magnitude.”

  That caught Larkin somewhere around his middle. “What?”

  Taft raised a brow and moved away, forcing Larkin’s gaze back to Sophia.

  He hadn’t been abandoning her. How could anyone think such a thing? They could hardly hold hands and face the masses like terrified children together, and he had simply been doing the best he could. He presumed she had done the same.

  Sophia had sat by Taft at dinner; had she said something? Was she feeling abandoned and alone amidst the chaos? Did she suspect him of trying to sabotage her, as they had done to each other so many times?

  Nothing could have been further from the truth.

  He had barely been thinking about Sophia since the guests had arrived.

  His mind caught hold of that and he was brought up short.

  He hadn’t thought of her.

  He could have slapped himself in the forehead in front of all these guests. They were supposed to be in this together, working as a team, rather as they had done for the Cutting of the Roses, but instead they had been fighting through on their own. It was working, that was true, but they would both be weary and worn out before three days had passed.

  It was on his lips to apologize, his legs already moving for her, when something else caught his attention.

  His mother.

  “Lord save me,” Larkin prayed softly, his tone dark, hoping against hope that Mr. Bell’s heavenly connection might benefit them all.

  His mother looked grand, almost noble, and it would have been only too perfect for her to suddenly squawk like a parrot for the gathering.

  Mrs. Windermere hovered protectively, smiling like a proud grandmother at her charge.

  Larkin could only wish such a sign to be a reassurance.

  His mother looked around and held a hand out.

  To Taft.

  “Harwood, darling,” she crooned, waging her fingers in his direction.

  Taft was promptly before her and kissing her hand. “Mrs. Roth, ravishing as always. We had thought you unwell this evening.”

  “Tush,” she scolded with a proud shake of her head. “I dine alone for my comfort, not my health. Do introduce me to our new friends, Harwood.”

  Taft proceeded to do so while Larkin slowly continued on his way towards Sophia. Once at her shoulder, he rested his hand on the arm of the divan beside her.

  As if on cue, she leaned towards him, sliding a hand across her midriff and under her arm, then gripped his fingers so tightly all sensation was immediately lost.

  Nothing had ever felt so comforting in all his life.

  Introductions were swiftly completed, and Larkin held his breath, sensing Sophia did the same.

  Please don’t be ridiculous. Please don’t be ridiculous.

  His mother looked around once more, then sat in the nearest chair. “Well, hasn’t anyone asked my son and Miss Anson about the peculiar nature of the Rosennor inheritance yet?”

  Larkin felt as if the entire room released a heaving sigh of relief, though that was impossible, as none of the guests other than Taft knew of his mother’s tendencies.

  “I was wondering about that, actually,” one of the taller men asked, turning to face Larkin and Sophia.

  Somehow Larkin had moved away from Sophia without realizing it, their connection severed, and was now leaning against the back of a nearby chair with an air of forced nonchalance.

  “Ask and ye shall receive, my friend. What would you like to know?”

  CHAPTER 16

  “I can do this. I can. I can do this.”

  “Yes, Miss Anson, you can.”

  Sophia smiled at Mrs. Sexton walking beside her, though she felt only minute comfort from it. “Thank you, Mrs. Sexton. I wasn’t truly looking for reassurance, but it is lovely to have it all the same.”

  Mrs. Sexton returned her smile and patted Sophia’s arm. “You are doing splendidly, Miss Anson. I’ve not heard a single complaint from any of your guests, and you can rest assured complaints find their way to the housekeeper at events such as these.”

  “Well, it is only the second day,” Sophia murmured as unease began to ice its way through her veins. “Give them time.” She exhaled slowly through pursed lips, a faint whistling accompanying the sound. “Cards after dinner. But I haven’t given a moment’s thought to tomorrow’s activities.”

  “Oh, Mr. Roth already suggested a schedule,” Mrs. Sexton assured her. “He thought the company might enjoy riding across the grounds. There are plenty of horses in the stables, especially with the ones brought by the guests. Then a luncheon picnic on the green, and return to the house for rest and individual amusements, followed by a ball.”

  Sophia stopped walking and turned to face the housekeeper, frowning. “He suggested this schedule? Or plans are already in place for the day?”

  Mrs. Sexton looked mildly uneasy at the question, but she kept her chin steady and folded her hands calmly before her. “Plans are in place, Miss Anson. Cook has been apprised, as has Mr. Taylor. All will be in readiness.”

  Of course, it would be.

  “Mr. Roth saw to all the details.”

  Of course, he did.

  “I take it he did not confer with you?”

  Of course, he did not.

  “No,” Sophia snapped, her brows lowering. “No, he did not.”

  Impossible, ridiculous, impudent man. What if Sophia had planned other things? What if she did not wish to have their guests out and about on their lands? What if…?

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. Sexton said softly, sounding more wary than worried. “Would you like me to adjust the plans?”

  At first, Sophia thought to say yes, and completely rearrange the day. Engage the party in some activity that Larkin would despise. Create some alternative that would divide the party somehow.

  But then she recollected her vow to him, and her mind began to turn on the ramifications, implications, and postulations of fulfilling that vow.

  A smile formed as she did so, and she found herself slowly shaking her head.
“No, Mrs. Sexton,” Sophia murmured slowly, still smiling and beginning to walk again. “No, you may leave the plans as they are.”

  “Very good, ma’am.” Mrs. Sexton didn’t sound entirely certain of her answer, but she made no further comment.

  Sophia was glad of it; the plan she was formulating would not meet with anyone’s approval who fully comprehended its significance.

  But Larkin would deserve it, and she would find delicious satisfaction in watching it play out.

  “That’s an evil look. What are you about?”

  Sophia jumped, terrified that Larkin had somehow caught wind of her plan despite having only just created the thing in her mind. She pressed a hand to her chest when relief hit her squarely in the center. “Taft! Good heavens, I thought you were Larkin.”

  Taft looked remarkably dapper today, as he had the day before, and Sophia wondered if he weren’t a bit of a dandy. He was certainly of the fashionable sort, and had the sort of charm and masculine appeal she had often heard of in rakes and the like. There was certainly something to be said for a well-dressed, well-kept man, and Taft, Lord Harwood, illustrated that point to perfection.

  If only he weren’t the reason they were all in this mess. She might have liked him more for it.

  He raised a brow at her, and Sophia blushed as she realized he had given an answer or asked a question, and she had neglected to respond. Because she had been thinking about him. Not in that way, of course, but the topic was the same.

  “Apologies,” she pleaded, fidgeting with a strand of hair that had come loose at her temple. “My mind is in a thousand places at the present.”

  Taft’s expression cleared and he nodded in understanding. “Still overwhelmed, are you? Poor thing, I truly am sorry to have sprung this on you so unexpectedly. I had no idea you had led such a sheltered life before coming into your inheritance.”

  What in the world was he talking about? She was too distracted by the day to day activities at present to think of how inexperienced she was. Or to still be mad at Taft, who had been nothing but kindness itself since his arrival. Or to bemoan her lack of societal preparations in life.

  But there wasn’t time to explain all of that or to try and isolate just what it was she was feeling.

  Sophia reached out and put a hand on his arm. “I am not to be treated gently out of pity, Taft. I am quite used to adjusting to circumstances quickly. I was raised to be rather flexible with my life and my expectations, and I daresay I can manage a few additional people meandering about Rosennor.” She tossed her head, exhaling as she faced the drawing room, where the guests waited for dinner to be announced. “I did it with the Cutting of the Roses, and I can do it again.”

  “Hmm, yes,” Taft mused as he stood beside her, offering an arm. “Larkin told me how the two of you teamed up and managed the whole thing beautifully with literally no notice of it. Quite impressive, I must say.”

  The mention of Larkin soured Sophia’s determination, and she made a face. “Yes, it was rather a success, and we couldn’t have done it without each other,” she reluctantly admitted. “If only someone would remember such a thing.”

  Taft nudged her with his extended arm. “That particular road goes both ways, Sophia. In the meantime, might I suggest we see to those guests of yours? Unless you would like to leave them to Larkin…”

  Sophia took his arm at once and nodded towards the room. “Lead on, my lord, if you please.”

  He chuckled as he did so, and cleared his throat as they entered the room together. “So, you had never been to Hampshire before inheriting?” he asked in a carrying voice.

  She stared at him as though he had absolutely lost his mind. “What are you doing?” she hissed.

  She only received a silent brow raise in return.

  Glaring, she forced brightness into her tone as she replied, “No, my lord. I fear I lived in many places in my youth, but never here.”

  “And why is that?” Taft queried as he led her around the room, holding her fast even as she tried to tug away.

  Her cheeks heated of their own accord, and she felt every eye in the room on her. “My father had rather creative and varying interests for his business ventures. It doesn’t bear repeating.”

  “And your mother?” Taft pressed, his hold on her tightening.

  What had she been saying about Taft being kindness itself? He was nothing of the kind. Could he not see that she did not want to discuss her family? Clearly Larkin had not shared any details with him about Sophia’s past, for which she was grateful, but surely, he couldn’t have at least told his friend not to mention it.

  “What are you interviewing Miss Anson for, Harwood?” Larkin exclaimed with a laugh. “If I had known you would be so interested in her, I’d have introduced you sooner.”

  Sophia looked at Larkin, smiling tightly for the benefit of their guests, praying he would see the panic in her eyes.

  His smile both warmed and terrified her. Larkin had smiled when he had been kind to her, and he had smiled when he had provoked her into a frenzy. Larkin’s smiles could mean anything, attractive though they were.

  What could this one mean?

  “Miss Anson’s mother was a relation of Sir Kentworth,” Larkin told Taft with the same cryptic smile. “Weren’t you listening to the saga last evening? She was Sir Kentworth’s favorite cousin.”

  Well, that was a rather loose interpretation of the details, but he had done a rather fine job of spinning it. The tale they had told last evening had been much the same, with enough truth to not be false without going into the specifics that would reveal too much.

  Taft cocked his head, and Sophia knew instinctively that he was well aware of what was shared last night, and more than likely the truth of the matter. “Yes, I know,” Taft said slowly. “I never meant to imply that she was anything less.”

  Sophia stared at Larkin with some intensity, pleading with him to do something more than that, to change the subject entirely, to get her away…

  “And besides,” Larkin scoffed, reaching for Sophia gently, his fingers inching around her upper arm until his hold was complete, “my father was a cast off from his branch of the family, and I’d like to think I still became a gentleman in spite of the discrepancy in status.” He shrugged, and with the motion pulled Sophia from Taft in a swift, natural stroke that no one would have suspected. “Rosennor collects all sorts, we’ve been told. And unless I am mistaken, one or two of our guests have already found our main attraction.” He turned to face the others, his expression a mixture of suspicion and bright amusement.

  Sophia watched the guests, and saw two of them smile sheepishly.

  “I couldn’t help it,” Miss Beacom gushed, her cheeks rosy. “The day was so fine, and the rose gardens were visible from the window of my bedchamber, I simply had to see them myself.”

  “And I followed Miss Beacom,” Miss Richards admitted without shame, her smile less bright, but no less fervent. “So breathtaking, and you cut most of them for the locals?”

  At their nods, she looked almost aghast. “Why in the world would you do such a thing?” Miss Richards demanded.

  “It’s a tradition,” they said together before looking at each other and laughing.

  “Now that was precious,” Taft murmured so only they could hear.

  Larkin gave Taft some look over Sophia’s head, but she couldn’t catch it. “And unless Shaw has come to tell us the latest fashions for butlers,” Larkin announced rather bluntly, “I do believe supper is forthcoming.”

  “Indeed, sir,” Shaw intoned from the doorway. “It is served.”

  “Thank the Lord,” Lady Lawson muttered, her cousin shushing her immediately.

  “Marvelous,” Larkin replied without heeding either. “I shall defy protocol and take Miss Anson in, having already secured a convenient position here.”

  The room laughed, and Sophia wanted to, but found herself unable.

  The situation had been managed, and managed well, but she
hadn’t found any warmth there. It wasn’t that she expected a bold declaration of support or a setting down of his friend, but she rather felt as though she had been managed.

  Rather like one of the dozens of tasks they had seen to for the Cutting.

  But without the loveliness of his giving her the first rose.

  Quietly, she allowed him to lead her to dinner, her eyes lowered, her heart feeling caged somehow.

  “Mark this lesson, Soph,” Larkin told her in a low voice. “Taft cannot be trusted, and you would do well not to be alone with him.” He shook his head, laughing to himself. “You’d have known that if I’d taken the time to tell you. Apologies.”

  Sophia exhaled a hint of a sigh. “Why?” she asked under her breath. “Because he could compromise me?”

  “Of course not.” Larkin gave her a bewildered look. “What sort of friends do you think I have?”

  “Considering I only know of one, I have no idea,” she shot back.

  Larkin made a face. “Touché. No, Taft is simply a law unto himself, and his conscience extends only as far as his curiosity. I haven’t told him your past, and I have no doubt he meant nothing by it, but…”

  “Tell him,” Sophia interrupted. “I don’t mind, I doubt he’d judge. I’d just… I’d rather we not discuss my upbringing among company. One might infer less than polite assertions about my family, and…”

  “Shush.” Larkin patted her hand and gestured to her usual seat at the table. “I’ll take care of it. And if anyone wonders about your station, we’ll invite them to see how well you ride tomorrow, eh?”

  Sophia smiled as he set a hand on her shoulder and moved towards the opposite end of the table to his own seat, and kept her eyes on him as he sat.

  She would show them how well she could ride tomorrow, and surprise each and every one.

  But Larkin wouldn’t see it. He didn’t know it yet, but tomorrow’s schedule was about to turn upside down.

  Not for punishment, not anymore, but simply because she was feeling the need to have a little fun with him.

  Even at a house party.

  “Larkin, the statues have to go.”