The Rivals of Rosennor Hall (Entangled Inheritance Book 3)

by Rebecca Connolly

  Sophia looked up at him in abject bewilderment. “Everything is on fire? Where?”

  He gestured grandly to their surroundings. “Everything seems to speak for itself.”

  And he thought she was dramatic? She groaned and slumped a little, shaking her head. “Nothing is on fire, Larkin. Physically or figuratively.”

  He peered down at her, clearly not amused or pleased at the moment. “Isn’t it?”

  Squinting, Sophia put a hand to his brow. “Are you quite well? You were eager as a lad to play this all out this morning, and now you’ve resumed your usual cantankerous spirits. Such an emotionally extensive journey must take its toll.”

  Larkin swatted her hand away with a faint curse and leaned forward against the railing of the terrace, lacing his fingers before him. “What was I thinking? This whole thing is ridiculous. All my years of trying to evade Society, deliberately keeping apart from it, and now I decide to listen to my most social friend and throw a party for the very people I have been avoiding?” He shook his head, exhaling without humor. “Don’t be ridiculous, I always say. Well…” He gestured again. “You see how well that is going.”

  She looked, and while it wasn’t precisely orderly, she couldn’t say it was full chaos either. A small group played lawn bowls, and seemed to be enjoying it, while a larger group had taken up pall mall, which was turning rather serious. Still another group, all women, were amusing themselves by playing battledore and shuttlecock with each other, and laughing uproariously. And then, somehow, there was still another group that were simply sitting on blankets in the grass and watching the spectacle or conversing with each other. Or, in Lady Lawson’s case, reading a book.

  “I don’t believe this is a problem,” Sophia mused as she surveyed it all.

  “You can’t be serious,” Larkin protested. “Are you seeing what I am?”

  She nodded, smiling to herself, not at his distress, but the fact that he was distressed. He had been fairly composed throughout the entirety of the house party thus far, and this would be what broke him?

  It was far more comedic than it should have been.

  “What I see,” Sophia told him as calmly as she could, “is a group of people enjoying themselves as they see fit. The day is fair and fine, and they are taking full advantage of it.”

  Larkin grumbled something incoherent, his shoulders slumping further still. “There should be more structure. More order. These are gently bred people, Soph, not our tenants and the local villagers. The Cutting was better organized than this melee.”

  She shook her head and scooted closer until their arms touched. “The Cutting is centuries old and steeped in tradition. Everyone knows what is supposed to happen and when.”

  “Except us,” he reminded her, cracking a sidelong smile.

  Sophia smirked up at him. “Yes, well, we know enough now. And we’ll be better prepared for next year.” She looked back out at the guests. “But this… Just look at their faces, Larkin. No one is distressed by the activities.”

  Larkin indicated one with his finger. “Lady Lawson isn’t even participating. She’s reading, for heaven’s sake. And it does not appear that she is enjoying the activity.”

  There was no refuting that, much as Sophia would have liked to. Lady Lawson wore the same pinched expression she seemed to wear constantly, and with every page turn, she seemed to grow only more displeased. It was strange, she could have been a beautiful woman if she did not look so vexed all the time.

  “That’s just Lady Lawson,” Sophia said in an attempt to brush off his concern. “I’ve been informed that it is not personal, only her way.”

  “Why was she invited if not to find enjoyment here?” Larkin asked. He shook his head, frowning, but some of the tension seemed to leave his shoulders. “It’s hardly fair to the hosts to have a guest perpetually vexed.”

  Just then, Miss Richards left the game of pall mall, much to the protest of the men and women there, and approached her cousin with determined step. The words exchanged between them could not be heard, but expressions told enough of the tale to get by, and it was only a few moments later that Miss Richards returned to the game without Lady Lawson.

  Sophia exhaled slowly. “As I understand it, Miss Richards had the invite from Taft, and asked if she might bring her cousin along. No idea why, but Taft said he didn’t mind.”

  “And I didn’t,” Taft answered from behind them. “What’s one more body at an event like this?”

  Both turned to look at him, and he slowly meandered in their direction, looking at the reading woman with some displeasure.

  “You don’t know her?” Larkin inquired with mild surprise. “I thought you knew everyone.”

  “Everyone of importance,” Taft clarified. “Jane vouched for her, which proves that I cannot trust what any woman says. Present company excluded, naturally,” he added with a gallant bow to Sophia.

  “Oh, please,” Sophia scoffed.

  Larkin chuckled easily. “You need not flatter Sophia, Taft. She doesn’t care for it, and she’ll tell you off straightaway.”

  Sophia coughed in mock outrage. “I beg your pardon, but a little flattery in good taste would never hurt a woman. It might even do a body good.”

  “Several things could do a body good,” Taft replied without missing a beat, wicked smile fixed in place. “I’d be happy to discuss it with you.”

  Larkin cuffed his friend with such speed Sophia would have missed it but for Taft’s dramatic reaction to it. “We discussed this, Taft. Not her.”

  “Did we discuss it?” Taft hummed in thought, rubbing the back of his head. “I thought everyone was eligible here. Can Mr. Young try for her? I know he expressed an interest last evening…”

  Larkin said nothing as Taft strode down the terrace stairs and joined in the game of battledore and shuttlecock, despite no other gentlemen being involved.

  “What did you mean, ‘not her’, Larkin?” Sophia queried with some humor. “Warning Taft away from me?”

  “Yes,” he answered bluntly.

  She hadn’t expected that, and laughed in surprise. “Why? He’s your friend, isn’t he?”

  “Yes,” he said again. “One of my very best, and one of the best men I know.”

  Sophia watched Taft exercise his charm with the ladies of the game, smiling at his antics. “So, what is the problem, then?”

  Larkin was silent for a moment, his attention seemingly fixed in the same location as hers. “You deserve better than that.”

  Before she could respond to such a statement, Larkin turned and retreated into the house, mumbling something about seeing to his mother.

  Sophia’s heart regained beating steadily a full minute after he’d departed. He thought she deserved better than one of the best of men?

  Who in the world could that have been, and where did he think she would find it?

  “But Larkin, you know I don’t feel well after being in the sun.”

  “Yes, Mother, I know, but you were in the shade today. Mrs. Windermere took great care to see to that.”

  “It makes no difference. I shall play abysmally this evening, and none of our new friends will think well of me after that.”

  Larkin did his best not to roll his eyes, but his best had never been great where that was concerned. His mother wasn’t even having one of her ridiculous spells, she was simply being ridiculous in the usual sense of the word.

  He wasn’t sure he preferred this version to the other.

  “Mr. Griggs, in particular, was most complimentary of my abilities,” his mother went on, fretting with the sleeves of her silver colored gown. “I shall be most distressed if I do not play to his standards.”

  Considering Mr. Griggs had lost every hand in every game of cards he had played the other night, Larkin wasn’t entirely certain that standard meant anything at all.

  Griggs was considered a handsome man, but no one would make the mistake of thinking him an intelligent one.

  A few of the l
adies had made it clear that they would not mind such a thing.

  Most felt the reverse.

  Larkin tried a different approach. “Taft was hoping you would partner him at loo, Mother. You would not wish to deny him that, would you?”

  As he’d hoped, his mother’s cheeks colored beneath the rouge she had applied there. “Oh, the dear, silly boy. Of course, I would partner him, though I do think he might be better at whist than loo. I shall discuss the matter with him presently.”

  “Be sure to partner with the ladies at some point, too,” Larkin suggested as they made their way down the stairs. “Some of them have expressed a desire to learn more of the games, and who better to teach them than yourself?”

  She sputtered noisily at the suggestion. “The idea. I, teach a roomful of sopping misses how to skillfully play at cards? How dare you suggest such a thing. Far too high-browed and principled, the lot of them. I shouldn’t even teach them how to make tea, were I asked to do so.”

  Larkin couldn’t help but to laugh at that. “What? Mother, these ladies have been handpicked by Taft to give Sophia and myself better acquaintances.”

  “Why should Sophia need better acquaintances?” his mother interjected hotly, gliding down the last few steps without his arm. “The girl is a spiteful cat, I heard you say so yourself. She’ll never leave her half of Rosennor to you, so why assist her reputation?”

  “Mother!” Larkin protested in horror. He had never heard his mother speak with such spite about anyone, let alone Sophia, and what’s more, he knew his mother genuinely adored Sophia.

  What was all this about?

  “And I never called her a spiteful cat,” Larkin insisted. “You cannot think so; she has been very good to you.”

  “Trapping me in my rooms with a windbag like Windermere?” his mother shot back. “Is that very good? Or perhaps it is you, my dear, who wishes to be rid of me and have cast me off to my tower in this drafty house.” She huffed and tossed the many strings of beads around her neck. “Never you mind. I shall perform my duty at cards to the best of my ability and not embarrass the pair of you. That is your greatest fear, is it not?” She quirked an imperious brow at him and swept off towards the drawing rooms they had arranged for the evening.

  Larkin stared after his mother in disbelief, positive beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had never seen this version of his mother. He couldn’t even call her ridiculous, not when outrageous, scandalous, or terrifying would be better suited.

  There were so many comments she had made that were absolute folly, he wouldn’t have known which to contest first had he been given the opportunity to do so. His mother adored Sophia, depended on Mrs. Windermere, and had never given even a moment’s complaint about her quarters in the house.

  And to suspect Larkin of hiding her away on purpose…

  He hesitated outside of the rooms, his mind racing. Had he been doing that? It was true that he feared she might embarrass him, he couldn’t deny that, but only because she had done so several times in his past. He wasn’t ashamed of her, only cautious and protective, and anyone else in his situation would have done the same, surely.

  Why, some might have locked her away in truth.

  But what if she truly felt he did not want her? What if this version of his mother was the version who resided beneath the ridiculous and was only now finding her voice?

  Whoever she was, she could ruin the entire night if she did not mind her tongue. One could forgive the eccentric; they would not forgive the acerbic.

  Entering the room, Larkin scanned it quickly for Sophia, finding it hard to locate her amidst the others gathered. Why the devil did all ladies seem to dress in the same color at a time like this? So many shades of white, cream, and faint gold that it was nearly impossible to tell one from the other. Half of the room had dark hair, so he could rule them out, and two of the ladies had copper hair, they were easy enough to spot.

  Every other woman in the room, his mother aside, had fair hair, and in his panic, those shades seemed to match too.

  “Demmed inconvenient,” he muttered, scanning again.

  Then he caught sight of her, standing to one side in conversation with Mr. Young. No one else stood near them, and it was clear that Mr. Young was enjoying the conversation, listening intently to every word from her lips.

  Or perhaps he was just fascinated with her lips. That would be understandable, as she had the most perfect lips that had ever been created, but the idea that Young should notice such a thing rankled him.

  There was no time for flirtation, not when there was risk of exposure to their living situation, defamation of their reputation, and insult to their newly acquired acquaintances.

  He was striding across the room before he could think of a polite approach, and anyone paying attention would have noted the glower as he neared them. No doubt it would raise suspicions from some, but given the severity of the situation, that was one risk he could not afford to burden himself with.

  “No, truly, I find the sonnets less moving than any of the plays,” Sophia was saying with real feeling. “The illustration of the relationships in Shakespeare’s plays gives one a true sense of humanity without flowers or frills, and I…”

  “I must beg your forgiveness, Young,” Larkin all but barked as he literally inserted himself between the two, taking Sophia’s arm. “I have need of Miss Anson, and it cannot wait.”

  Young’s expression was thunderstruck, his mouth moving before words could be heard. “O-of course,” he eventually made out, but Larkin had already steered Sophia away, practically hauling her towards an unoccupied corner of the room.

  “Unhand me, you mannerless prig,” Sophia snapped, wrenching her arm out of his hold. The furrow between her brow was deep and cavernous as she glared at him, her eyes ice. “How dare you burst into my conversation so rudely and force me aside! I am trying to make good connections, and all you can do is…”

  Larkin covered her mouth with his hand, not particularly caring if anyone else saw him do so. “Down, girl,” he ordered as if she were one of the wilder horses. “Don’t toss your barbs needlessly. I have a good reason for my actions, and I will share them with you once you cease committing murder twenty-seven different ways in your mind.”

  Her brows snapped down and he felt her snarl beneath his hand.

  He gave her a warning look. “I don’t have time for this, Soph. I am trying to save the connections you are trying to make. Kindly remove the heel of your foot from my little toe.”

  Grudgingly, Sophia slid her foot from his boot, still looking sour.

  Sour he could deal with.

  What he couldn’t deal with, it seemed, was the feeling of perfect lips against the palm of his hand. Heat pulsed there, and an accompanying heat pulsed in his ears, of all places. His fingers began to tingle, then go cold.

  Where the devil were his gloves when he needed them?

  Exhaling a short, clearing breath, he dropped his hand and cleared his throat. “My mother might ruin us tonight.”

  Sophia’s brows shot up. “What? How? She only just entered.”

  “You didn’t hear what I just heard,” Larkin insisted. “She called you a spiteful cat, called Windermere a windbag, and accused us both of locking her away.”

  Disbelief raced across Sophia’s face and she looked over at his mother, starting out her first hand of loo. Larkin looked as well, watching as she laughed merrily, made polite conversation, and played flawlessly all the while.

  “I don’t believe it,” Sophia murmured slowly, her head shaking from side to side, but without any real conviction. “I cannot.”

  “So, you’re saying I have lied to you?” That would have stung worse than his mother’s sharp tongue, there was no doubt about it.

  Again, Sophia shook her head. “No, of course not. You would never. Well, you might when it served, but not about this.” She flashed a quick smile of levity at him.

  He couldn’t return it, but he wouldn’t argue the point
either. “Then what?”

  “Perhaps…” Sophia bit her full bottom lip, her brow wrinkling in thought. “Perhaps you misunderstood? Her sense of humor can be off-putting at times.”

  “I know that, don’t you think I know that?” He exhaled again and ran a hand through his once-perfect hair. “I’m on edge, Soph, and that’s all I can say. I don’t know what to do, but she is playing a game tonight. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t like it.”

  Sophia put a hand on his arm and looked up into his face earnestly. “All right. I believe you, and I will watch with you. The moment anything occurs that we don’t like, we whisk her away with any excuse in the world. You’re not alone in this with her, not anymore.” She gave him a small smile of encouragement. “Try to enjoy yourself. We can manage, I promise.”

  Enjoy himself? When his mother was being unpredictable, and Sophia was being delectable and either could be noticed at any given time and ruin his life?

  Not bloody likely.

  Still, he was helpless to avoid smiling now and he found himself nodding, the knot in his chest slowly unravelling. “I will do my best,” he promised, which was not a lie. “Now I’ll let you return to Mr. Young, and apologize for stealing you away.”

  To his surprise, Sophia shrugged. “To be truthful, it was not my favorite conversation. He adores Shakespeare’s sonnets, and finds the tapestry on the west wall of the entry an eyesore.”

  Larkin gasped dramatically, a hand going to his chest. “Not St. George and the dragon?”

  “The very one,” she replied, tucking a grin against her cheeks. “He suggested that we replace it with something from the Bible.”

  “What a notion.” Larkin scoffed with all the haughty airs he could conjure up. “St. George is the hero of Britain, and that tapestry is the least ridiculous one we have!”

  Sophia giggled before turning sober once more. “Indeed. I should take him down the corridor of my wing to see the ones you placed there. Quite hideous.”

  Larkin raised a brow at her. “I beg your pardon, but have you seen my corridor? It looks like a nursery, and not in a complimentary way.”