She watched him go, bemused by the change in him over the last several weeks, and perhaps more so at the change in herself.
Who would ever have thought they would become so friendly, let alone such allies?
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Shaw intoned from the door. “Supper is served.”
“Excellent timing, Shaw,” Larkin boomed from his position. “Miss Beacom, might I take you in?”
Sophia grinned at Eliza’s delighted surprise, and could have kissed Larkin for such consideration.
Kissed Larkin? What an idea!
An intriguing idea, really…
Sophia shook herself, and found Taft’s arm at her disposal, which she took with a warm nod of thanks, letting him lead her towards the dining room.
“Margaret, I must have my parasol.”
A chirping voice from the stairs paused the entire procession to dinner, and Sophia glanced up with some trepidation.
“Blessed mercy, what is she wearing?”
The comment had come from one of the ladies, but any of them could have asked.
For there above them, processing down the stairs grandly, was Mrs. Roth, outfitted in a simple nightgown, a thick dressing gown of deep purple, a gold turban on her head, and her feet entirely bare.
“Margaret,” Mrs. Roth barked, turning to speak to someone not seen by any others, “did you bring the parasol? Papa will not let me greet the soldiers without it.”
“Saints preserve her,” Taft hissed, wincing to himself and shaking his head.
Sophia could have cried at such a sight, pitiful if witnessed alone, excruciating when witnessed by many. She dropped her arm from Taft’s hold and turned for the stairs.
Mrs. Roth began to whistle like a bird, extending her hand towards a nearby window where the last rays of sunlight barely filtered through. “Do you hear them, Mama? They sing to me, and I sing to them!”
Muttering and whispers came from the guests as Sophia pushed past them for the stairs. “Mrs. Roth,” she said gently as she came to the foot of the stairs. “Come. Come along, dear, let’s get you to bed.”
Mrs. Roth looked down at Sophia, her brow furrowing deeply. “Don’t issue orders to me, Angelina. I am mistress here.”
“Of course, ma’am,” Sophia replied as meekly as possible, taking a cold hand in her own and attempting to turn her back towards the next floor. “Shall I take you upstairs, ma’am? A tray, perhaps?”
“No!” Mrs. Roth protested, resisting Sophia’s pull. “Trays are for sickbeds, and I am perfectly well!”
Another body appeared on Mrs. Roth’s other side, and suddenly the journey became easier. “Mama, it’s Larkin.”
Sophia’s heart broke a little at hearing the endearment. She’d never heard Larkin call his mother anything so informal, and she suddenly had a vision of a much younger man, a boy, really, trying to cope with a mother subjected to such fits.
Mrs. Roth looked up at her son in confusion, her expression turning almost childlike herself. “Larky-boy?”
Larkin’s throat worked on a swallow. “Yes, Mama. It is time for bed, remember? You asked to retire early.”
“I did?” she replied, sounding lost.
“Yes, ma’am,” Sophia answered gently, rubbing the woman’s arm as they moved slowly step by step. “You said a lady must occasionally retire early to preserve the beauty of her complexion.”
Mrs. Roth nodded shakily, her fingers now gripping Sophia’s hand almost painfully tight, her nails digging into the skin. “Quite right. One must take care to not age prematurely.”
“Indeed.” Sophia looked at Larkin as best as she could from her position, and saw in his face the same fear she felt herself. This was an entirely new delusion for Mrs. Roth, and the conviction she had in it was disturbing.
“I feel…” Mrs. Roth said suddenly, pausing on the step, her voice wavering in volume, “quite unlike myself…” Her eyes suddenly rolled back, and she began to fall.
Larkin caught her, but his stance had been compromised on the stairs, and he could not lift her as he was.
“Here.” Taft nudged Sophia aside and took up position. “One, two…”
They lifted Mrs. Roth more securely into Larkin’s hold, though Taft stayed where he was for safety, and they continued to make their way. Once they reached the top of the stairs, Sophia pressed a gentle hand against Mrs. Roth’s cheek and brow.
“Dear heavens, she’s burning up.” Sophia’s eyes welled with tears, and she sniffed them aside. “Take her to her room and put her to bed, I’ll send for Mrs. Sexton and the doctor.”
“Tell the guests to eat their supper,” Larkin called over his shoulder as he and Taft made their way towards the rooms. “And apologize for tonight’s alteration of plans.”
Sophia nodded and darted down the stairs without a care for her appearance or anyone else’s opinion of her. She saw it all done, and paced anxiously in the hall waiting for the doctor to arrive. When he did come, she showed him up to Mrs. Roth’s room herself, finding Larkin and Taft still within, attempting to administer to her themselves.
Were there ever two gentlemen found thus?
The doctor sent them all out of the room but Mrs. Windermere, who tearfully apologized over and over for leaving Mrs. Roth for a moment to fetch their suppers.
Taft joined the other guests for what remained of supper, and said he would do his best to squash any gossip or suspicions. Sophia, for one, couldn’t bear to see the others, and when Larkin suggested they retire to a quiet drawing room, she agreed at once.
No sooner had they been seated than Mrs. Sexton appeared with a plate of scones for each. “I know it is not a full supper,” she said with an apology in her tone, “but Cook thought you might prefer the comfort of scones at the moment, and I couldn’t bear to have either of you go without something to eat.”
Larkin beamed up at her, a large bite of scone already in his mouth. “I adore you, Mrs. Sexton, and I adore Cook as well.”
Mrs. Sexton chuckled fondly and patted his cheek. “She will be delighted to hear it, sir.”
Sophia smiled as the housekeeper exited, then leaned against the back of her chair, nibbling absently on a scone. Larkin said nothing further, and fatigue seeped into Sophia’s body as though she had spent a day working in a field.
The fire in the hearth crackled and popped almost thunderously without another sound to counter it, and it comforted her somehow. Steadied her.
But surely someone needed to say something.
“Well,” she said eventually, the silence of the room seeming heavy and oppressive.
“Well,” Larkin responded softly, his attention fixed on the fire, still eating scones without seeming to notice.
“I suppose we know why she behaved as she did last night.”
Larkin nodded, the motion slow and absent, and she wondered if he had heard her at all.
“The guests will all have to go home,” she tried again.
“Yes, of course,” Larkin murmured, still nodding.
Sophia watched him, hurt for him, worried for him, until she could bear it no longer. “Larkin.”
“Hmm?”
“Look at me.”
His eyes blinked, and then, slowly, his head turned towards her, his expression almost drawn. “What?” he whispered.
“Are you all right?” she asked, her voice close to cracking with emotion.
“Yes,” he said instantly. At her steady look, he sighed. “No. I feel… an extraordinary amount of guilt, Sophia. Last night I worried myself into a frenzy over my mother, not over concern for her health or wellbeing, but purely for her behavior. It never occurred to me that she might be unwell. It…” He swallowed and looked back towards the fire, taking a bite of scone and chewing silently.
“You couldn’t have known, Larkin,” she murmured. “No one could.”
He smiled without humor. “So, I keep telling myself.” He popped the last of his scone into his mouth, setting the now empty plate aside. “An
d yet, the guilt remains.” He shrugged, smiling blandly now. “But then, this is life with my mother, and I am accustomed to the guilt of it all. And the weight.”
Sophia made a soft, sympathetic sound. “Oh, Larkin.”
He shook his head, his smile finally seeming real. “Don’t worry, Soph. I’ll be fine, I promise.” His eyes lowered to her lap, and the smile turned impish as his eyes darted back up to hers. “Are you going to finish eating that?” he asked, indicating the remaining scones on her plate.
She lifted a single eyebrow and hefted the plate in both hands. “These? You already ate four of your own.”
One of his broad shoulders lifted. “I find I have a bit of an appetite after such a day.”
“Well, then, be my guest.” Sofia held out the china plate, choosing to remain seated so he must come to claim his meal.
Larkin pushed out of his chair and came over, but instead of taking the plate from her and going back to his chair, he sat next to her on the settee. This close, their arms brushed at every motion, and the friction set every one of Sophia’s hairs on end.
She felt him stiffen, and tried not to do the same. “Lavender?” he whispered.
Sophia nodded shakily. “Yes.”
“You used to use rose.”
How had he known that? How could he know that? “I…” She swallowed once. “After the Cutting, when you… you suggested lavender oil. I found it very much… to my liking. And I continue to use it.”
“Do you?”
The edge of his whisper made her shiver despite the heat of the room. She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t…
He reached out and gently brushed a bit of her hair back into place behind her ear, his thumb stroking her jaw as his hand dropped.
Inhale… Exhale… Inhale…
“What are you looking at?” she asked him, her tone uncommonly soft.
“You.”
Sophia closed her eyes, barely managing an exhale, her heart so full of something she couldn’t name, couldn’t bear to feel.
Something…
Larkin’s hand was at her chin, gently turning her face towards him. Her eyelids fluttered, but couldn’t manage to rise. Her head tilted back, his thumb just below her bottom lip, parting it from the top as though by command. She could feel his breath upon her lips, could nearly taste the sweet, vanilla hint to it from the scones… Could still taste the same from her own.
“Soph,” he whispered, and never had any word sounded so magical, so tender, so unbelievably heady.
Yes, she told herself to say, commanding her lips to move, but nothing happened.
A crashing, clattering sound erupted from the corridor just beyond their room, and Sophia’s eyes sprang open just as Larkin darted back to his chair as though scalded. Hot and cold jolts scattered themselves throughout Sophia’s body, and her mind spun seemingly sideways.
“Pardon me, sir, ma’am,” the doctor’s voice called from the door. “I have finished my examination.”
Larkin cleared his throat loudly. “Well?” he demanded without manners.
The doctor nodded and stepped into the room. “Infectious fever brought on by emotional strain, the dampness of late, rich foods, and too much exertion, I think. Your guests should go, and perhaps the two of you might consider…”
“We’re staying,” they said together.
Sophia looked at Larkin and found him looking at her.
They’d been in unison yet again, only this time they had said something new.
They’d both said the word ‘we.’
What in the world could that mean?
CHAPTER 20
The house was so very quiet. Unnervingly quiet. Almost eerie in just how quiet.
There wasn’t anything she could do about that, the guests had all left, and she did not exactly wish for their return. Taft had taken care of details surrounding their departure, told them who knows what, but assured Sophia that there would be no fallout from Mrs. Roth’s display. After all, the woman had been taken ill, and that was something surely everyone could sympathize with no matter their station or expectation.
Truth be told, Sophia did not care what they thought. She had made a good friend in Eliza Beacom, and that relationship would extend, she would see to it. But for the rest…
The biggest surprise of the morning of departures had come from Lady Lawson, who had given a sincere wish for Mrs. Roth’s recovery and an offer to aid Sophia in any way she could, should she ever have need.
Perhaps she had made two friends, though she hadn’t known about the second.
Days had passed since the guests had left, and she had spent the bulk of them tending to Mrs. Roth with Mrs. Windermere. The first night had been difficult, and the next day exhausting, but since then things had only improved. Slowly, gradually, but improved they had.
She still had her ridiculous moments, but as they were more aligned with her usual ridiculousness, neither Sophia nor Larkin were overly concerned about it.
In fact, Sophia had thought to take Mrs. Roth out for a small stroll, if she were feeling strong enough.
She could use the fresh air herself.
Larkin had been different since his mother had fallen ill. Quieter, slower to respond or to react, and he was beyond accommodating, no matter what Sophia asked of him. Yet she rarely saw him. He sat with his mother every afternoon, while Sophia had the morning with her. Supper was taken separately, at their leisure, and but for the chance meeting about the house or, as in the case of this morning, at breakfast, they might not have seen each other at all.
It was as though they were back in the early days of Rosennor with they avoided each other at all costs, only now things were different.
They were so different.
She wasn’t sure what had changed between them, or what had changed within her, but she could not deny that they had. Would not.
There wasn’t much Sophia could do with a silent house, but her thoughts freely wandered with in it, as did her imagination. And that imagination seemed perfectly content to dwell on the subject of Larkin at will, and in great detail.
She had ridden the estate and thought of the times their paths had crossed there while seeing to their own business affairs. She had been out to the gazebo, and thought of Larkin storming in and about it after she had tricked him into spending the day with Calliope. She walked the terrace, sat in the Orangery, and even gone so far as to visit the boundary line on the second floor where they had met before, usually after she had nearly brought down the ceiling calling for him.
She hadn’t done much when she had been there, but memories came back all the same.
Larkin was everywhere in this place, in all her memories, and she found she liked it that way. She liked that their paths had crossed, and they now shared this twisted, sprawling, ridiculous old manor. She liked…
She liked them.
She liked how they bantered, played, and teased. She liked how they fought… Well, she loved how they fought, as they did it so well. And she liked how they could sit in the same room without speaking and feel as natural and comfortable as anything she had known.
How had they come to this?
And when?
Sophia smiled to herself as she wandered the corridor of bedchambers on her side of the house without much reason or purpose, finding delight in simply being whimsical.
She was so out of practice, she’d almost forgotten how to do it.
“Oh, yes, Larkin is a fine catch. Any woman would be fortunate indeed to have him for a husband.”
Sophia bit her lip on a silent laugh as she heard Mrs. Roth’s voice wafting down the corridor. Since her illness, the hearing in one of her ears had been slightly weakened, and to compensate, she had increased the volume of her speaking. They had been assured that the issue with her hearing was not permanent, but for the time being, it was certainly an adjustment.
“I think we may consider you a biased reference, ma’am,” Mrs. Windermer
e laughed. “You are, after all, the man’s mother.”
Mrs. Roth scoffed even louder than she had spoken. “Can a woman not be objective about her offspring? I would suggest that she can.”
“Whatever you say, madam.”
Sophia shook her head as she approached Mrs. Roth’s bedchamber, tiptoeing so as not to alert anyone to her presence. She’d already spent the morning with her, and it was clear Larkin had yet to appear. Imagine if he found Sophia listening to this conversation when he arrived, and if he heard the topic of it himself. Oh, she would tease him mercilessly for it.
“That party he had,” Mrs. Roth went on, sounding as if she might have swallowed just prior to speaking. “I have it on good authority that he made quite the impression upon the young ladies invited.”
“Well, I can understand that, ma’am,” Mrs. Windermere replied indulgently. “He is a fine and handsome man, and I believe all of the guests enjoyed themselves immensely.”
“But of course, they did!” Mrs. Roth cried loudly, making Sophia jump in her hiding place just outside the door to her sitting room. “How could they not? Larkin is such a good host, such a good lad. Always has been, always so concerned and caring about others. When I would stay with my sister, Violet, he would ride over nearly every weekend to see me. Such a good son, and you know not all sons would do such things for their mothers.”
“I do know, yes.”
Sophia smiled at the reminder of Larkin’s attentiveness to his mother. She had been impressed by it when he had first told her about it all those weeks ago, and now that she knew him better, valued him more, it touched her heart on a deeper, more poignant level. She could only imagine the joy that had shone on Mrs. Roth’s face when her son arrived after so many days with that horrid sister of hers.
He was a good man. So very good.
Mrs. Roth heaved a heavy sigh. “Aye, it will be a sad day for me indeed when he marries.”
Sophia frowned at that, and turned her head to listen more closely.
“Sad?” Mrs. Windermere asked in surprise. “Why, madam?”
“I can hardly remain when he brings his wife to Rosennor,” Mrs. Roth said in a resigned tone. “She will not wish to have me hanging about their necks, and I cannot say I would blame her.”
The Rivals of Rosennor Hall (Entangled Inheritance Book 3) Page 23