The Rivals of Rosennor Hall (Entangled Inheritance Book 3)

by Rebecca Connolly

  “Well, it is better than your rugs.” She shuddered and made a face, sticking her tongue out. “I may have to accidentally drop a burning candle onto those.”

  “You do and I will poison the trees in the orangery.”

  “I’ll leave your silver out in the rain to tarnish.”

  “I’ll spill wine.”

  Sophia snorted a quick laugh. “Where?”

  He quirked his brows. “Everywhere,” he said slowly and with great emphasis.

  “Oh, Mrs. Roth!” one of the ladies crowed from their card table, applauding. “However did you manage that? So brilliant.”

  “Oh, thank you, my dear Miss Dawes, thank you so very much, you are too kind.” his mother gushed. “When we finish here, I will show you how it is done, mmm?”

  Larkin exhaled at an exceptionally slow pace, some of the apprehension leaving him. So long as his mother played along, the evening might be a success after all.

  “Better?” Sophia murmured, squeezing his arm.

  He’d forgotten her hand was there, and he glanced down at it for a moment, swallowing before meeting her gaze. “Much,” he replied.

  Her smile dazzled and delighted him, and she winked, which did unusual things to the underside of his feet. “Come, let’s dance.”

  Larkin scoffed. “Now? We’ve only just started at cards; you didn’t want the dancing to start until much later.”

  Sophia shrugged one dainty shoulder. “I’ve changed my mind.” She looked across the room at something, and dipped her chin.

  A moment later, Taft belted out, “Oh, I give up, I am doomed to lose. I would much rather dance. Miss Richards, would you play something for us?”

  “Taft adores cards,” Larkin murmured to Sophia, grinning at the act. “And he’s incredibly skilled.”

  Sophia looked up at him with more mischief than he had seen in her in some time. “Tonight, for our purposes, he does not, and he is not. Now, will you ask me to dance?”

  Gads, Sophia Anson could have asked him to walk to Bristol without shoes and in that moment he’d have agreed.

  He bowed in acquiescence, and extended a hand. “May I have this dance, my dear Soph?”

  She beamed and dipped her chin again, quite modestly. “But of course, my dear Lark. I would love to.”

  CHAPTER 19

  “I ’m not sure what you’re playing at, but you need to play it better.”

  “If that made any sense at all, I’d give you a proper response. As it is, I will remain silent on the subject.”

  “It is because you don’t have any idea what I am talking about that you are playing poorly.”

  “Are you referring to billiards? Because at the present, I am trouncing your titled hide, and your nobility ought to be affronted.”

  Taft looked down at the billiards table, frowning at the sight. “What? When did that happen?”

  Larkin laughed and set up his next shot. “Somewhere between your waxing poetic on the assets of Miss Cole and your trying to tell me something without actually telling me something.” He struck his ball and grunted when the shot went exactly as he’d hoped. “Two points to me.”

  “Lucky shot,” Taft grumbled, setting his cue stick down to roll his sleeves back. “You could have altered the table to suit your needs, as it resides in your house. Sloped it at a favorable gradient or the like.”

  The idea made Larkin chuckle further still. “Even if I was a cheat, Taft, which I assure you I am not, that would not be possible.”

  “Oh?”

  Larkin folded his arms loosely atop his cue stick as he watched Taft line up a shot. “Not a jot. The table belongs to Sophia, you see.”

  Taft completely missed his shot, no doubt due to the incredulity his face showed at the statement. He swore and straightened, his eyes wide on Larkin. “Sophia? What need does she have for a billiards table? Don’t tell me she is skilled in this as well.”

  “Not as far as I know,” Larkin replied with a quick grin as he moved to plan his shot. “And I have no idea what need she has of it, but that wasn’t taken into consideration at the time.”

  “At what time?” Taft demanded.

  Larkin glanced up at him as he leaned across the table, aligning his cue stick with his ball. “The laying out of Sir Kenworth’s will, naturally.” He made his shot, and it veered just off course, making him wince. “Pity, that.”

  Taft partially sat on the billiards table, folding his arms and glaring at Larkin. “I’m going to need some proper elaboration on that before I let this game commence. Out with it.”

  Laughing, Larkin shrugged and straightened. “‘Tis quite a simple thing. I own the billiards room. Sophia owns the table. I may enter the room at my leisure, but not make use of what lies within.”

  “Then… we are in violation of the will by playing here now?” Taft queried dubiously, indicating the table with his head.

  “Not at all,” Larkin replied, shaking his head. “With the house party going on, Sophia and I agreed to give each other some leeway with the boundaries. In most respects.”

  Taft’s smile was wry and fascinated, no doubt getting some rather nefarious ideas for his own will and testament. “Most?” he repeated. “Not all?”

  Again, Larkin shook his head, smiling to himself. “Not all. She won’t let me use one of the nicer chairs in the orangery. In return, I forbade her use of the harp in the music room.”

  “The pair of you are the most ridiculous people I have ever known.”

  “The most stubborn and territorial, perhaps,” Larkin allowed. “But hardly ridiculous.”

  Taft barked a loud laugh and rose, turning back to their game. “Only you would require a more specific definition of your behavior.” He screwed up his face in thought, looking at the table, then made a quick and easy shot. “One point. And you mean to tell me that Sophia plays the harp? That’s an attractive instrument. Displays the arms of a woman perfectly.”

  Larkin grunted and rounded the corner of the table for his next move. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Come, man, surely you’ve seen the harp played.”

  “Of course, I have,” Larkin retorted with a scoffing sound. “I simply never paid attention to the woman playing it.”

  Taft tutted in disapproval. “What a waste. But what about Sophia? She’s beautiful, any man would agree, and surely when she plays…”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Larkin said again, this time grounding the words as he slid his cue in and out of his hand in preparation before striking the ball and making the shot he needed. He straightened and kept his gaze on the table. “I’ve never seen it. Or heard it.”

  “You live with the woman and you’ve never had her play for you?” Taft tossed his head back on another laugh and took a long sip of brandy. “You’re a fool, Larkin Roth.”

  Larkin held up a warning finger, his humor fading. “Let us make one thing perfectly clear, Taft. Sophia and I live under the same roof. We do not live together.”

  Taft waved a hand, still chuckling. “Tell that to someone who cannot see this for what it is. I don’t care what you call it to make yourself feel better.”

  For the life of him, Larkin could not recall why he was friends with this idiot, and he stared at him with that question circling his mind. “You know why the circumstance is what it is. You’ve always known.”

  “And if memory serves,” Taft shot back, “I warned you not to do it. But you did not heed my warning, and now here we are at a house party wherein the two of you are lying to the guests and pretending to be in search of potential matrimonial candidates when the obvious solution is dancing before your eyes.”

  Larkin’s heart plummeted to his stomach, and, for the moment, he thought he might be ill. “And what is that, in your opinion?”

  Taft took another sip of brandy and shrugged, moving around the table. Slowly, he lined up his next shot, made a clean strike of it, and downed the rest of his brandy in victory. He smacked his lips together, sighed, and gave Larkin
a cheeky look. “What do you think of Miss Cole, eh? She’d make a tidy, pretty wife for me.”

  The blatant taunting combined with the total evasion of an answer did not sit well with Larkin. His friend was toying with him, and he had never been one for such games. He was of a mind to tell Taft off for such when the door to the billiards room opened.

  “Larkin,” Sophia said without preamble, “I have a… Oh, good day, Taft, I didn’t see you there.” She smiled and curtseyed with an almost playful bob to her head while Taft bowed with enough gallantry to choke a man. “Playing sans jacket, sir? How scandalous.”

  “I do aim to please,” Taft replied, winking. “But it is monstrous impolite, Miss Anson, to bestow such beauty upon a man unprepared. I may perish at any moment.”

  Sophia expelled a burst of air in a mocking fashion, rolling her eyes. “I daresay you’ll rally.”

  Taft chuckled and nodded once. “Most likely. I hope you’re not here to scold us. Larkin assured me we had permission to use the table.”

  “Of course, yes,” she answered at once, tucking a loose strand of her fair hair behind her ear. “You’re a guest, and you must make yourself at home. Larkin cannot play on his own without permission, but with a guest…” She shrugged, then gave Larkin a daring grin.

  He sighed with infinite patience. “You see what I must bear with, Taft?”

  “Poor you,” came the entirely unconcerned reply.

  “You deserve all you get, Larkin Roth, and you know it,” Sophia told him in the same tone.

  Larkin shook his head. “I know no such thing, and I deny any accusations to the contrary.”

  Sophia snorted a disbelieving laugh that made him grin outright.

  “What can I do for you, Soph?” Larkin asked, turning more sincere and leaning against the table.

  “So many things,” she grumbled teasingly, fluttering her eyelashes while offering a simpering smile. Then her smile turned more natural. “No, erm… Some of the ladies have got it into their minds to go down to the village today and see what Rosenthal has to offer. As we had left today free of any set plans, I wondered if you would agree to it.”

  Larkin was nodding before she finished. “Of course, I would. You didn’t need to ask me that.”

  Sophia wrinkled her nose up in an adorable sign of discomfort. “Well, I didn’t consider it asking permission as much as conferring with you, as we are both hosting, and to ask… Do you think a group of ladies might go into the village without chaperone of some sort? I’m not accustomed to certain niceties.”

  There was a thought, and a good one, but Larkin found he had no answer for it. Rosenthal was not far, and it was hardly dangerous. Yet were Sophia going alone, Larkin would have wanted a servant with her, at least. The country was not London, but some things he would have preferred to maintain regardless.

  But a party of gently bred ladies?

  He looked at Taft for help, and Taft shrugged again.

  Useful.

  “I’ll go,” Taft offered, setting his cue stick aside. “Rosenthal sounds charming, and there is nothing I love better than escorting ladies.”

  “How gallant,” Sophia said, her tone as flat as any sound in the world. She looked at Larkin, her expression unreadable. “Do you think any of the other gentlemen would wish to go?”

  Larkin considered that, and nodded. “They just might, come to think. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to ask them, and they can use any of the horses if they prefer to ride instead of go by carriage.”

  Sophia quirked her brows, one side of her mouth curving. “I suppose that means I must allow access to the stables.”

  He smiled back. “If you are feeling generous.”

  “Do you know, I think I am.” Her smile spread wide ever so briefly, and she turned to go, then suddenly spun back. “Oh, I forgot to mention. Mrs. Windermere says your mother is much more herself today than last night. A bit tired, but more herself.”

  Larkin sighed in relief. The night before had been uneventful, thankfully, but there had been a tense moment or two where it could have turned so eventful. He had yet to determine just what it was that had made her so changed, but if she had returned to herself today, he would think nothing more of it.

  “Excellent,” he replied with a nod. “Thank you.”

  She nodded in return, then left the room entirely.

  “You’re a bleeding idiot, Larkin.”

  He turned to face his friend in surprise. “What?”

  Taft shook his head and shoved one of the billiard balls in his direction on the table. “A bleeding ruddy idiot,” he said again as he left the room after Sophia.

  Well, of course he was, but why should that warrant a specific statement on the matter?

  Larkin shrugged at the unanswered question, and proceeded to set the billiards table back to rights.

  Then he played a private game for himself before Sophia could revoke his permission.

  “Did you notice how Mr. Young followed you about Rosenthal? I think he might have an interest in you.”

  “Oh, no, you are mistaken. He was merely inquisitive, and I answered those questions.”

  Eliza laughed the sort of disbelieving, mocking laugh that Sophia would have expected of Taft, not her. “Oh, Sophia… You are more intelligent than this. He is making his intentions known, and anyone can see it.”

  Sophia hoped that wasn’t true, but there was no polite way to say such a thing. The truth of the matter was that she hadn’t particularly enjoyed Mr. Young’s incessant questions, and it had taken much of the pleasure out of going to Rosenthal with the ladies.

  Larkin was really quite thick. When she’d asked if any of the other gentlemen might have wished to go, she had been hoping he might volunteer to accompany Taft as escort for them. She hadn’t wanted to extend a general invitation to the male guests. But that was how matters played out, thanks to Larkin, and now Sophia had to find a way to avoid Mr. Young this evening without blatantly ignoring him.

  Perhaps she could feign a headache or an illness that would keep her abed. Tonight was only supper and music, there was nothing significant she would miss. It would be simple enough to do, and who would suggest otherwise?

  “Oh no, I didn’t mean to distress you,” Eliza said, completely misreading the expression on Sophia’s face. “Do you not return the affections? There is nothing that says you must, and I can help to distract him enough so that you need not have an awkward confrontation. I believe he also has an interest in Lady Lawson, so we can steer him in her direction.”

  “You are very kind,” Sophia protested gently, laughing to herself. “I do not return Mr. Young’s affections, but I see no need to set about a plot against him.”

  “Who are we plotting against and how can I help?” Larkin’s voice asked from behind them.

  Sophia turned with a laugh, raising a brow at him. “Such a helpful thought. Are you so inclined to go against your fellow man?”

  Larkin smiled, and Sophia’s heart leapt into her throat at the sight. “It would entirely depend on the identity, Sophia, which is why I asked.” He turned and bowed in greeting to Eliza. “Good evening, Miss Beacom. You are looking remarkably lovely, if I may say so.”

  Eliza dimpled a smile as she curtseyed, the white ribbons in her dark hair almost shining in the candlelight. “You may, Mr. Roth, and I thank you for saying so. And I do hope you wouldn’t plot against me, if such a thing were suggested.”

  “Heaven forbid anyone could be so foolish, Miss Beacom,” Larkin returned. “Will we be privileged enough to hear you perform this evening?”

  Polite conversation between ensued, but Sophia could hardly make it out. She was too intent on Larkin to do much else.

  Larkin Roth in well-tailored eveningwear was a sight to behold. She had seen it before, of course, as they were similarly dressed every evening, but with nothing else to distract her this time, the effect was more pronounced. His eyes seemed darker, his hair more becoming, and his form pristine. The perfe
ct blend of strength and sinew, and confined in such gentlemanly attire only made him seem more virile than his energy conveyed.

  Her mouth and throat dried, and she fought for a swallow, her eyes fixing themselves somewhere around Larkin’s top button. His cravat was better this evening, she noticed. Taft’s valet must have been doing a fine job, indeed.

  “Are you well, Soph?” Larkin asked softly, his voice low.

  Her eyes shot up to his. “What?”

  His brow furrowed as he offered her his arm. “You seem far away and a little pale. Are you well? Can I get you a glass of wine?”

  Clearing her throat as best as she could, Sophia shook her head. “No. No, thank you, Larkin. I am well, only a little weary.”

  He smiled with some understanding. “Rosenthal was too much with our guests, was it?”

  “Something like that,” she replied as she took his arm with ease.

  “And did you have success?” he queried, leading her into the drawing room to wait for dinner.

  Sophia frowned at the question. “Success?”

  “Yes,” he told her. “I’ve been informed that a trip to a village is not successful for any lady who does not make a purchase.”

  “Oh, that.” Sophia nodded somberly in acknowledgement, though, in truth, she had never heard any such thing. What a ridiculous sentiment, as if money should simply be thrown out on a principle.

  “So?” Larkin prodded. “You had success?”

  Sophia tsked sadly. “I did not. I confess, I was so diverted by my duties as hostess and my determination to show off Rosenthal that I neglected to properly look at anything that I might have purchased.”

  “For shame, Sophia!” Larkin shook his head with apparent sorrow and disappointment. “And you the lady of the manor, to not support the local merchants. We shall have to make amends somehow for this oversight.”

  “I have no doubt you’ll think of something,” she told him, smiling up at him with a genuine fondness she would never have thought possible for them.

  Larkin chuckled softly and patted her on the back as he passed her to greet some of the others.