Sophia’s frown deepened. What sort of woman would cast Mrs. Roth out completely, given her state and behavior? The woman needed care and compassion, not seclusion and separateness. And she expected this? It was too cruel.
“Madam, I beg of you,” Mrs. Windermere pleaded, “do not think of such things now. Mr. Larkin is not about to marry.”
“But of course, he is!”
Sophia stilled against the wall. He was what?
“Is he?” Mrs. Windermere sounded as startled as Sophia felt, but she could not have matched her.
“Yes, of course. He told me himself only yesterday. Georgiana, I believe, is her name, and he told me all about her. Quite smitten, he is. She comes with a fortune, which will benefit Rosennor, and she is a rare beauty.”
“Indeed?”
“Her hair is like the night sky, he says. Nearly black in its richness. Bright blue eyes like the sea, and a smile that he says warms his heart like the summer sun.”
“She sounds lovely, ma’am. But how have we only just heard of this?”
Sophia clamped down on her lips, pressing herself into the wall as though it could bring her closer to the conversation at hand.
“Why, she was at the house party!” Mrs. Roth exclaimed. “And when it ended so unexpectedly, dear Georgiana wrote to Larkin asking after my health.”
The breath in Sophia’s lungs turned to ice, and she could not find the means to swallow.
Several letters had come in since the house party had broken up, it would have been all too easy for one of them to be from a guest of theirs.
Georgiana… She hadn’t known given names for all the guests, despite having names read from cards at the opening. It was entirely possible that this was the truth, and there had been at least three beauties with dark hair and fair eyes.
Oh, heavens, could it be true?
“Did she?” Mrs. Windermere asked, her voice uncertain. “How considerate.”
“Larkin says that is the heart of her, dear,” Mrs. Roth replied. “He has been writing to her ever since, and she to him, and they have formed such an attachment. It is why he has been so reserved of late, you know. Setting details right with the estate for the marriage and writing to Mr. Tuttle-Kirk for advice, what with the estate and the will and all.”
“Of course.”
Sophia’s eyes burned, pressure rising within her chest and throat. How could this be true? How could it be true?
“It will be lovely to have a proper family again,” Mrs. Roth sighed, her voice delighted and nearly emotional herself. “Poor Larkin, he so deserves the love of a woman like Georgiana. I am ever so grateful he has her. And now we’ve a wedding to plan!”
“Indeed, madam.”
Sophia turned away and stumbled towards her bedchamber, blinded by tears and grief.
Larkin had…
Larkin had…
How could he have found love with this Georgiana just when Sophia had fallen in love with him herself?
She hiccupped at the admission, her tear-filled eyes going wide.
Love.
She was in love with Larkin Roth.
Heaven help her.
Before she knew what she was about, she was pulling gowns out of her bureau and tossing them into the worn carpetbag she had brought to Rosennor with her. She couldn’t stay here, not now, not when he was going to wed someone else and his mind would be filled with her.
He’d been avoiding her, that much was clear now. He’d been writing to Georgiana, and he knew marrying would affect Sophia’s stake in Rosennor. They’d never truly discussed what they would do when one of them married, but if Georgiana had the fortune Mrs. Roth seemed to think she did, the happy couple would have the means to buy Sophia’s portion from her.
Only she would have nowhere to go. No one to go to.
No home.
A sob broke free from Sophia’s chest and she shook back the wash of tears that threatened to fall. She couldn’t cry, not now, not when Larkin could be on his way to visit his mother at this moment.
She would go to the Arthurs. They had said she could come without notice, and without notice she would. They would never turn her away, and they would surely set her to rights. She could not, would not, cry until she was safely away from here, and she would likely cry all the way back to Geillis.
And then she would cry a good deal once she was there.
What had she been thinking?
There was no thought in it, could not have been. If the slightest thought had been in this, she would have told him.
Or would she?
Larkin couldn’t know anymore. All he did know was that Sophia was gone, and he hadn’t been able to stop her.
Hell, he hadn’t even known she was going, so stopping her would have been impossible. Were it not for the note he had been handed after she’d taken the carriage and set off to visit the Arthurs, he would never have known she had left. They’d been living mostly apart since the house party, for reasons he did not know nor understand, but in which he had been fully complicit, he knew that well enough. But even then, surely she would have told him she was taking a journey.
What was worse was that he had no idea when she would return. According to her note, she had no idea when she would return.
A visit to the Arthurs, she had said, for she had missed them terribly, and due to recent changes in their circumstances, she felt the timing was rather perfect.
What changes? What did she know?
What did he not know?
Gads, she’d been gone two days, and he missed her more than he’d ever missed another living soul.
Why would she take a sudden trip without telling him? Without bidding him farewell?
Questions upon questions rained down in his mind, and he was perfectly useless to everything and everyone.
Rosennor wasn’t Rosennor without Sophia, even temporarily, and he did not like what it was without her.
He didn’t like anything without her.
The wall color was atrocious, the statues in the ballroom tasteless, and the tapestries unsightly. The floorboards creaked too loudly, the desk in his study too large, and the cooking had been less appetizing in the last two days. He’d ridden the entire estate without any sight that gave him satisfaction, and only sitting here in the dilapidated gazebo did he feel even the smallest level of comfort.
Here, at least, was something fitting for how he currently felt.
Off center, missing its support, rotting away in places, and worn into dust in other places. Not even a shell of what it once was and what it could be. Smelling of mildew and sawdust, and turning green where it met the grass.
Yes, indeed, this was a satisfying place for him. The eyesore of Rosennor, and its equally off-center master roaming about within.
What had Sophia been thinking? And why did it matter so much to him?
“Mr. Roth, a letter for you.”
Larkin looked over at the groom outside the gazebo blearily, blinking slowly. “How… did you find me?”
The groom smiled easily. “Mr. Taylor saw you walk out this way during his duties with the horses. I figured it was worth the ride.”
“Fair enough reply.” Larkin held out a hand for the letter and broke the seal, scanning the lines without checking the address.
Halfway through the letter he found himself on his feet, his heart racing.
It does seem, sir, that our discussions will need to tend in another direction soon. I have just received a letter from Miss Anson inquiring as to the necessary details as to selling her portion of the estate. Naturally, I would not dream of taking action until I am certain both parties are fully apprised, so I will be writing to her shortly to request additional information so that I might better serve you both.
It was signed by John Tuttle-Kirk, Esquire, but Larkin had known that from the first three lines. At the moment, he could not even recollect what this letter was in response to. All he knew was what he had just read, and that was all-consumi
ng.
Sophia wanted to sell her portion. Not only did she have the desire, she was taking action towards it.
She was making it happen.
There was no way she would have done such a thing unless she had formed an attachment. She had always said that, being that half an estate was not enough to make her an heiress, but it was enough to give her a dowry, if sold for the right price. How had she decided to do that without him knowing?
How had she decided on it without telling him?
More to the point, who was the man she was going to give up Rosennor for?
The faces of each man from the house party flashed before his eyes, including Taft, and he would have run any one of them through had they stood before him now.
No one was taking Sophia away from Rosennor. This was her home, and he would do anything he could to block the sale of it.
No one was marrying Sophia. They couldn’t. He’d stand in the way of that, too, even if it came to objecting during banns and the ceremony himself.
She could not marry.
Unless it was to him.
His eyes widened and he sat down hard on the bench, faintly grateful that it did not break beneath his weight.
Saints above, he was in love with her. He was in love with Sophia Anson. That was why Rosennor was not Rosennor when she was away, why nothing suited or worked in her absence, and why he was cross with everyone and everything.
He loved Sophia. He needed Sophia, and he needed her here. Home was not home without Sophia, which could only mean that his home was Sophia.
After all that fighting, bickering, bantering, and tormenting each other into madness, he’d managed to fall in love with her. He’d been stunned by her beauty when they’d first met, though he had never forgotten it in the aftermath, but it was the beauty that lay beneath that had taken his heart. The fiery spirit that lived within her, the singular mind that continually tested him, and bested him more often than not. The wit and humor that could not be contained, and the grace with which she accomplished everything from hosting a house party to riding one of his horses along the grounds of the estate.
He wanted to know if she could truly ride without a saddle, if her completed drawing would match the skill in his imagination, and if she had ever given further thought to the empty nursery on the second floor. He wanted to see her before he fell asleep at night and he wanted to see her before she woke in the mornings. He wanted to bicker over breakfast, stare shamelessly at supper, and feed her bites of scones by the firelight.
He was wild to see the full length of her glorious hair, to share a waltz where they held each other too close, to whisper and snicker together over the antics of others, to whisk her away from a crowded ballroom just to have her all to himself.
A million and three other things he wanted and needed and imagined flashed before his mind, from children to years of hosting the Cutting at Rosennor to dancing after midnight on the terrace when they were too old to do so.
There was a lifetime of things he wanted with Sophia, and he’d wanted it all along, from the first time she refused to do what he wanted. From their first spat, he’d known she was perfect for him. He had fought against it, and probably would have continued to do so still, had he not realized his love when he had.
Could she want them with him?
She did not find him distasteful, he could say that much, considering what they had shared and how far they had come, but would that be enough? Could he ever convince her to love him in return, or even just to bear with him in the romantic sense? He could give her everything, give her anything, let her have all of Rosennor so long as he could remain here with her.
Gads, he couldn’t offer the woman an estate just to marry him. She deserved a marriage of real affection. Mutual affection, not just on his side, and if they were only friends by convenience and necessity…
He could make it so. He could give her romance and love and affection and anything else she might want or need.
He just needed her to come back. To come home.
To love him.
Larkin exhaled slowly and sat back against what remained of the wall of the gazebo roughly. A patch of it immediately began cracking and fell to the ground, and he nearly went with it.
“Deuced inconvenient time for that,” he muttered to no one in particular. “I’ve been through a lot in the last few minutes.”
The gazebo didn’t care, but that was beside the point.
He was in love with Sophia Anson, and he would do everything he could to make things right again.
CHAPTER 21
The library at Geillis had not grown since she had been gone, but she spent most of her time there regardless. It was the most comfortable place for her, the most familiar, and absolutely the safest. Two weeks here and it still felt as foreign as it had when she had first arrived.
Except for the library.
She knew why she felt this way, of course. Geillis was not home, and it had not been home for some time. The Arthurs had welcomed her back with open arms and had asked no questions of her, which made remaining easier. Asking no questions had meant giving no answers, which meant Sophia had not had to admit to anyone what she was doing.
Running away sounded childish.
Her reasoning had been sound, and no one would have faulted her for it, but that was what she had done. Anyone would have said so.
Perhaps if her dreams hadn’t been filled with Larkin, she might have returned home already. Perhaps if her mind didn’t wander to thoughts of him every chance it had, she might have settled matters. Perhaps if her heart had fully been set on giving up her portion of Rosennor, this would all be over.
But she did dream of Larkin. She thought of Larkin. And she did not want to give up Rosennor, not even to save her heart from the pain of Larkin. She wanted Rosennor with Larkin.
That was all. Nothing more and nothing less.
But that was not the option she had been given, so she was left with this. Waiting for him to tell her of his marriage, of his bride, and asking what she wanted to do. He would be kindness itself despite their battles at the beginning. He would see her well looked after, would never do anything to take advantage of the law or the situation.
It would be easier if he did. Easier to hate him, to blame him, to rage about him, if not at him.
But she couldn’t do that either.
Despite telling Larkin where she had gone, she had not heard from him. Not a single word or line, nothing informing her of the details of Rosennor or his engagement or even his mother’s health. Granted, she had not written to him either, and there was absolutely some blame she needed to accept in that regard. She had not even managed to write to Mrs. Roth, and surely that was a sin, given the state she had been in prior to Sophia’s departure.
The lucidity she had heard that last day at Rosennor had somehow convinced Sophia that Mrs. Roth was well enough, and she certainly had care enough with Mrs. Windermere and Larkin about.
Those facts did not alter Sophia’s guilt, but they did lessen the sting of it.
But oh, how she missed home. She missed the chance discussions of birds with Mrs. Roth, randomly changing a tapestry in Larkin’s hall, and watching Larkin squirm in that awful chair in the orangery. She missed the love with which Mrs. Windermere looked at everything in Rosennor, as though it were her child. She missed Mrs. Sexton’s motherly advice and intuitive acts of kindness. She even missed Shaw’s droll manner, of all things.
She needed to go home, and she knew it.
But what would home be now? What would it be when someone else came to it? When someone else had Larkin?
Sophia sighed and looked out of the window again, the small rose bushes reminding her of Rosennor in an excruciating way.
“Sophia, my lamb.”
Sniffling, Sophia turned and smiled sadly at Mrs. Arthur as she entered the parlor. “Good morning.”
Mrs. Arthur gave her a sad, sympathetic look. “My dear, don’t you think yo
u have been hiding here long enough?”
Sophia’s lips parted to deny it, but she found she did not have the heart to. She offered instead a sheepish smile. “Was it so obvious?”
“Not to Mr. Arthur, but it was to me.” Mrs. Arthur took the open seat nearest her and held out her hands to Sophia, who took them. “Sophia…”
Instantly, tears sprang into Sophia’s eyes, and she let them roll rather than blink them away. “I know.”
Mrs. Arthur squeezed her hands gently. “This will always be a home to you whenever you need, but it is not supposed to hide you away. You are far too bright and brilliant to be shut up like this. You need to go home, lamb. Go home to Larkin and settle this.”
“This being…”
“Oh, lamb,” Mrs. Arthur laughed easily, her thumbs stroking against Sophia’s hands. “I’ve known of the attraction between Mr. Roth and yourself almost from the beginning. No one can make sparks fly like the two of you and not develop sparks of a completely different nature.”
“Mrs. Arthur!” Sophia half gasped, choking on a sob that became a laugh.
Mrs. Arthur winked at her, patting that back of one hand. “Trust me, lamb. You’ll not be right until this is settled, no matter which way it is.”
“It’s the direction in which it gets settled that worries me,” Sophia murmured with another glance out of the window.
A knowing hum came from Mrs. Arthur, but there was no other response.
Sophia looked back at her with a smile. “You could at least try to take my side of things.”
“Oh, I am much on your side of things, lamb,” Mrs. Arthur assured her. “I simply think that your side of things would be all the more improved by having Larkin in it, and the only way to make that happen is for you to go home.”
“That’s true.” Sophia twisted her lips and wiped at her tears. “I’m so afraid,” she whispered.
Mrs. Arthur tutted. “Of what?”
Sophia swallowed hard. “Of being without him. Of having nothing again. Of going back at all.”
The Rivals of Rosennor Hall (Entangled Inheritance Book 3) Page 24