Early morning orders had never sat well with him, particularly before he had breakfasted, and especially while he was mulling over land ledgers, so there was no helping the glower that affixed itself to his face as Larkin looked up at Sophia, standing in the doorway of his study.
She had clearly only half-risen from bed herself, her hair still loosely plaited and a comfortable calico as her choice of gown. The shawl she had ticked about her shoulders and arms reminded him of the coverlet on his bed, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to be back there.
A beautiful early morning vision, perhaps even more so than the day they had panicked together on the line between their parts of the estate. When she had literally only just risen and was still in bedclothes. She’d been a stirring, tempting sight then, but there was something about this version he liked better somehow.
When she wasn’t demanding he do something, of course.
He snorted softly. “You’re on my side, Sophia,” he reminded her as he went back to the ledgers, determined to ignore her fetching appearance.
Her huff of faint indignation warmed his heart. “We set all that aside for the house party.”
“Did we? I don’t recall.”
“You do so recall, you impossible ape.”
His mouth curved at the insult. “I do recollect agreeing, vaguely, that when the duties or activities of the house party called for it, the rules of trespass might be waived. As I see no guests about you, I cannot imagine this has anything to do with the house party at all. Therefore, you are in violation of our terms.”
“I have half a mind to crown you right now.”
“When you have a whole mind to do so, let me know.”
Her screech was music to his ears. “Larkin!”
He glanced up at her in exasperation. “What?”
Sophia’s arms were folded even more tightly against her body than they had been previously, and the faint furrow between her brows told him she was growing ever more agitated.
Good. It had been so long since he had intentionally provoked her, he had forgotten how glorious it could be.
“If Mrs. Sexton is to be believed,” Sophia said in a tight voice, “you have settled it that there shall be a ball tonight after the day’s activities.”
Just to enrage her further, Larkin folded his hands on the surface of his desk. “I have, yes.”
Sophia made a gesture indicating an apparently obvious point. “The statues have to go if there is going to be a ball in my ballroom.”
Larkin shook his head, forcing himself not to smile. “I own the statues. They stay.”
“They can’t!” she insisted.
“What exactly prevents us having a ball with the statues present?” he queried with a tilt of his head.
Sophia sputtered for a moment. “They take up space!” she finally exclaimed. “And they add nothing to the decor.”
“I disagree,” he countered calmly. “Though they do, by definition, take up space, our guest list is not extensive enough to warrant removal of them. I have, of course, taken the liberty of inviting a few other local families to make it more varied, though we shall still be small by comparison. And as far as decor is concerned…” He shrugged and returned to the ledgers. “I understand the theme of Ancient Greece is fairly popular these days.”
“So, you forbid their removal. The statues, I mean.”
He nodded without looking up. “I adamantly forbid it.”
Larkin would swear he could hear her teeth grinding from here. “You are the most detestable creature, do you know that?”
“I hadn’t heard that, no,” he mused as he marked a tally in the ledger. “I am sorry to hear you think so, though we are all entitled to our opinions.”
A stomping sound and swish of skirts told him Sophia had vacated the study, and he set down his pen, leaning back in his chair to survey the now empty doorway.
Things were going rather well, all things considered. They seemed to be managing the house party well enough, and no disasters had occurred. He rather felt as though he could begin to relax and enjoy himself now, perhaps even take Taft up on his more excessive suggestions. If he was able to return to teasing Sophia for his own amusement, clearly he was feeling more himself.
He could never do so in front of the guests, of course, and wouldn’t dream of it, but there was no reason why she shouldn’t escape it when they were alone. Things had been far too temperate of late, and Rosennor was never destined to be a temperate place.
Not while they lived there, at any rate.
Larkin continued to work mindlessly on the ledgers, wishing he had taken Mr. Maxwell up on doing the work for him, when a footman at the door caught his attention. He set the pen down and waved the man in. “Come in, what is it?”
“Message from the gamekeeper, sir.”
That made him pause in the act of reaching for the note. “We have a gamekeeper? Did I know that?”
There was no response from the young footman, not that he expected him to answer such a question. That would classify the lad as impudent, and footmen, by a rule, could not be impudent.
Larkin sighed and picked up the note, breaking the seal and reading quickly. “One of the sheep is ill? There’s only a handful, how can that be?”
Again, no response from the room’s only other occupant.
“Why do I have to see to it in person?” Larkin muttered. “Call the ruddy farrier, not the master of the estate.”
“There is no local farrier, sir,” the footman answered as if that were helpful. “Nearest one is in Randall, near to fifteen miles from here. And he only sees horses.”
Disgusted, Larkin folded the note back up. “And there is no one else trained in the treatment of animals?”
“No, sir.”
“Then we’d better pray this will be quick.” Larkin pushed up from his desk and nodded his thanks to the lad. “I’ll see to it, thank you.”
The footman bowed and left the room while Larkin headed for the stables, shaking his head. He knew absolutely nothing about caring for animals, and that would become eminently clear the moment anyone remotely educated in the field asked his opinion. But the sheep were his property, so he would attend on them.
Pity he didn’t have the cattle. It would have been so much the better to tend to that lot than the few measly sheep on the estate.
The ride out to the flock was easy, if tiresome, and he found two men standing nearby, engaged in earnest conversation with each other. Their simple but sturdy clothing told him they had to be the gamekeeper and his assistant, or else one of the local farmers with whom he was counselling. Larkin had no notion of the names, but he supposed that mattered little at this point.
“Mr. Roth,” they greeted as he approached and dismounted.
“Gentlemen,” he returned with a tap to the brim of his hat. “What seems to be our issue today?”
The one with the beard to rival Mr. Tuttle-Kirk’s mustache stroked his growth of hair in thought. “Well, sir, it seems that Essie and Calliope have eaten something they ought not. Essie is bloated near enough to burst, and Calliope won’t take any nourishment at all now. Not even a sip of water, sir.”
It was more than he wanted to know, and less than he cared about, but he nodded in apparent solemnity. “And what do you suggest we do to relieve Essie and Calliope of their complaints?”
The other man, much younger and more tanned, put his hands on his hips. “I was thinking, sir, that for Essie, we may need to puncture to release the gasses.”
Larkin raised a brow. “You want to stab the ewe?”
“Indeed, sir, and empty her of gas.”
It sounded incredibly stupid, but again, Larkin knew nothing of animal care. “And you know how to safely do such a thing?”
The bearded one shook his head. “Not I, sir, but Old Farmer Sherman once had an entire flock what needed saving in such a way, and he saved all but two who were too far gone. He could do the thing properly and tell us how to loo
k after her. If you’ll give me leave, I’ll ride for him now.”
“Fine, fine,” Larkin said with a wave of his hand. “And for Calliope?”
“I don’t rightly know, Mr. Roth.” The tanned one frowned and pursed his lips. “I thought I might check with the apothecary for something he might brew up to restore her appetite. Do you think you might stay up here and keep an eye out while I see him?”
Larkin stared without shame. “You… want me… to nanny the animals?”
“Aye, sir,” came the earnest reply. “They shouldn’t get much worse, and we’ve got time. It’s just not right to leave ‘em unattended when they’re like this.”
Of all the tasks to be burdened with, tending an ill sheep and an appetite-less goat were not exactly ones he had thought to take on today. But he would never let it be said that he did not care for his livestock, so Larkin nodded and shrugged. “I suppose I must. Be quick about it, and I’ll stay with them. What do I do if they grow worse?”
The two men had already started on their way, and the bearded one turned back. “A dagger to the abdomen if the bloat gets too bad. Keep trying to get Calliope to drink something. We’ll return directly.”
Larkin gaped as they walked off. A dagger to the… Did the man think Larkin carried weapons on his person at all times? He looked over at the sheep, wondering which one was the puffed-up Essie, though none of the creatures looked especially inflated.
Curious.
A horrible, shrieking sound split the air, and Larkin groaned, looking to his right. Scrawny, scraggly, matted and copper colored fur bearing Calliope stood there, her large offset eyes fixed on Larkin.
“Calliope,” he greeted without emotion.
She opened her mouth and screamed again, no doubt whining about whatever it was that ailed her.
“Sorry to hear that,” he sympathized, sitting on the dry grass and removing his hat. “Serves you right for eating poorly.”
Her peculiar screech sounded again, this time more plaintively.
“No use trying to explain yourself,” Larkin muttered as he leaned back on his hands. “I expected better of you.”
The ground near him rumbled as the goat plopped herself inelegantly beside him, her oversized right horn nudging at his arm. She snuffled, snorted, broke wind, then keeled with such vibrato it sounded like the worst version of a song he’d ever heard.
Larkin shook his head. “This is ridiculous. There are so many better things to do than sit out here with you. No offense.”
Calliope looked at him with one of her eyes, the other stuck in its direction. She bleated her usual screaming sound, then dipped her head down and began munching on the grass.
“You’re eating?” Larkin demanded in outrage, watching as she turned her attention to his trousers. “What is this?”
Shaking his leg from her, he reached for nearby remains of hay and piled them before her. She continued to eat without issue, then laid her head down on the ground as a dog might.
He watched her for a second, amazed that she continued to nibble at anything around her. “You’re not ill at all, are you, girl?”
A hum of an exhale met his question.
“I think I’ve been tricked, Calliope,” Larkin admitted as he leaned back on his hands once more. “Tricked and fooled and outmaneuvered. And I believe I know exactly who is to blame for it.”
CHAPTER 17
“What a glorious ballroom! I am quite envious; we don’t have anything like this at home.”
Sophia smiled at Miss Beacom with some sympathy. “My dear Miss Beacom, I can assure you that I never had anything like this at my home either, and were it not for this house party, it would not even have been used yet.” She looked around with a sigh, rubbing self-consciously at her arms. “And I don’t even know if the decorations are right. There is so much gold filigree in the details of the ceiling and walls, I couldn’t think to add anything else that would glisten.”
“No, no, you are quite right.” Miss Beacom shook her head as she, too, took in the room on closer inspection. “Any more would have been overdone. The touches of greenery are perfect, and the number of candles is extraordinary. I doubt heaven itself could rival this room.”
Whatever eyes Miss Beacom was using to see this room, Sophia wished she could have used the same. All she saw were spaces wherein the room lacked and a failure to accomplish what could have been. Reality had not matched expectation in this, and she feared such would be noticed and remarked upon by their guests.
Taft had said that a host or hostess would wish for their party to be discussed after it had ended and for their names to be bandied about in the hallowed halls of Society, but surely he had not meant in tones of criticism.
A warm hand fell on her arm, and Sophia looked into Miss Beacom kind face. “Truly, Miss Anson, it is lovely. There is nothing to fret about.”
Sophia tried for a smile again, but failed and covered her new friend’s hand with her own. “I’ve never hosted a ball,” she admitted in a whispered. “I’ve never even been to a real one. I’ve only ever been to the rare dance at the assembly rooms in Geillis, and those were hardly decorated at all. I have nothing to compare this to, and I do not know what to expect.”
“Sophia,” Miss Beacom interjected with a squeeze to her arm. “I forbid you to find fault in your efforts simply because you don’t have what you consider to be the proper scope of the thing.” Her smile turned sheepish. “Apologies, I called you by your given name.”
“It’s fine,” Sophia insisted dismissively. “I’ve never really been Miss Anson.”
That prompted a delighted grin from Miss Beacom, her nose wrinkling in her enthusiasm. “Nor I Miss Beacom. I am the third daughter, so I was always Miss Eliza. If it would increase your comfort, you may call me Eliza.”
Increase her comfort. The thought was laughable. What would increase her comfort would be to run back upstairs to her bedchamber and hide for the rest of the evening. She was not and never had been a lady of finery and tonight seemed a poor time to start imitating one.
“Thank you,” she heard herself say, almost unaware of it.
Eliza stepped back and looked her over rather as an older sister would have done. “That is such a fetching gown, my dear. What detail in the embroidery! And such a delicate shade of blue, very nearly the color of your eyes. However did you find such an exquisite thing?”
The attempt at distraction was amusing and obvious, but Sophia was content to let the thing play out if for no other reason than to keep her from contemplating overly much on the ball itself.
There was a thought. If she could forget for a while that she was hostess of this ball, that it was taking place in her home, then she might have a chance at managing her nerves. If she were only one of the ladies attending the ball, she might enjoy herself.
“Would you like us to begin to play, Miss Anson?” one of the musicians asked as they made their way to the position set up for them.
“Oh, yes, please,” Sophia said with a nod. “I would love some music to set us at ease.”
He bowed towards her, then joined his companions and soon the strains of music filled the large ballroom. It seemed to reverberate and echo from every chandelier and add luster to every flicker of the candles.
“Marvelous,” Eliza murmured beside her. “Simply marvelous.”
Sophia didn’t know about that, but she would take it.
One by one the other guests began to filter into the room, and each seemed to find the same joy in the appearance that Eliza had done. Sophia, for one, was glad for the moment that she had not listened to the suggestion that she have the ballroom painted darker, richer colors. The pale cream accentuated the gold elaborations beautifully, and the murals that had been painted in and around the room centuries ago seemed to glow in their positions.
It was a grand room, to be sure, but was it grand enough?
Taft entered then, looking as though he had been bred from the walls of the ballroom itself
, his hair nearly the same shade as the gold and his weskit exactly the right shade of cream. He was a handsome man, to be sure, and he knew it well. More than that, he knew how to make such a truth more pronounced, and tonight it was on full display.
Sophia watched his reaction to the room carefully, unobserved by him, for the moment.
He looked around, his green eyes seeing everything all at once. Every detail, crevice, brush stroke, and plant. His lips quirked several times in small smiles, each seeming as though he’d had to force it away to be more composed. That seemed a clear enough sign, but what did she know?
Nothing, she thought to herself as Jane Richards made her way to Taft’s side, the woman looking far more regal than Sophia would ever manage to attempt. She knew absolutely nothing.
“Lady Lawson!” Eliza exclaimed with real delight as the pale-faced woman neared them, her gown almost entirely without embellishment. “I had thought you would not attend this evening, your cousin seemed so sure of it. I am delighted that she was mistaken.”
Lady Lawson’s lips twitched, but not in a warm way. “That makes one of us, Miss Beacom.” She curtseyed, then moved to a chair along the wall and sat, staring straight ahead.
“I do not think she likes me,” Sophia murmured to Eliza, shaking her head. “She seems to disapprove of everything.”
“Don’t mind her,” Eliza soothed. “Lady Lawson is rarely pleased about anything; she only came to please her cousin. It is no reflection on you.”
“Who is her cousin?”
“Why, Jane Richards, of course.”
Sophia looked at Miss Richards, still in deep conversation with Taft, and shook her head. “No, I cannot see it. But for a similar coloring, their temperaments could not be more different.”
“What, and all relations must behave as each other?” a male voice near her asked. “That would not bode well for my family, I should think.”
For the first time that evening, a truly delighted smile crossed Sophia’s lips. Turning, she contorted her expression into one of wry amusement. “I should say not. Whatever would the world do with others just like you?”
The Rivals of Rosennor Hall (Entangled Inheritance Book 3) Page 19