“Well,” Mrs. Arthur sighed, “you cannot avoid going back, I’m afraid. You’ll never have nothing, I can assure you, and as for being without him… Well, you can’t know that until you do go back.”
Sophia knew that. She had always known that. It was accepting the idea that was harder to fathom.
But she did love Larkin, and she could be brave enough to face him again, even if it were only to say farewell and to settle matters.
He need not know she loved him if it would not serve, so at least she need not bear that burden.
Small mercies.
“If you leave now, lamb,” Mrs. Arthur murmured with her usual motherly manner, “you’ll get to Rosennor before supper.”
Sophia exhaled slowly and nodded once. “Very well. If you might call for the fly, Mrs. Arthur, I believe I will be on my way.”
“Tosh,” Mrs. Arthur scolded, sounding rather like Mrs. Roth for a moment. “You’ll not take the fly or any such thing. You will go home properly in our carriage, and I will not hear a word about it. Now off you go, lamb, and pack your bag.”
There was nothing for it, she supposed. Hiding from Larkin could not last forever, and in the meantime, she did have duties at the estate to fulfill. Tenants and farmers to look after, not to mention her cattle. She could make all necessary arrangements for herself from Rosennor, should arrangements need to be made, and now that she’d had time to process the idea, she believed she might be able to hear of Larkin’s engagement and remain composed.
Publicly, at any rate.
If it would make him happy, she would find a way to not fight it.
She might remove herself to Ireland in order to not fight it, but at least it would be settled.
She retreated to her room and folded the gowns into her carpet bag, steeling herself with every garment she placed therein.
She could do this. She could.
Larkin was just a man, after all. A man she was in love with, was wild about, couldn’t imagine life without, and two weeks away from him had only solidified that fact, but a man he was still. She would simply have to treat him the way she had before they had grown friendly. That had been enough to endure the beginning of this mess, and it could be enough to preserve her now at the end.
The irritating, difficult, impossible man that had made her fall in love with him while he would not return the sentiment. The man who refused to let her walk through the gallery and had never let her play the harp. The one who called her names and had done his best to turn her rooms into a nightmare just for his own amusement. That man was one she could go back and stand before, and she could give him as good as she got. He was to blame for the pain of recent days and the volume of tears shed.
If she could maintain her strength before him, she could survive going back.
She had to.
“What do you mean, ‘she’s returned,’ Shaw? When did she return? How?”
“Last night, sir. By carriage.”
Larkin shot up from the table, staring at his butler in outrage. “Last night? Why was I not informed?”
Shaw raised a furry brow. “Was someone supposed to notify you, sir? Miss Anson is mistress in her own right, so there would be no cause to…”
“Where is she now?” Larkin demanded, pulling his serviette out of his collar and tossing it onto the table. “Is she in her rooms? I’ll trespass the boundaries and get her out of there.”
“No, sir, she is not in her rooms,” Shaw recited before Larkin had taken a step towards the door. “She has already breakfasted, and I believe is out of doors.”
Larkin glowered at the most unhelpful man in the entire world. “Out of doors, Shaw? Really? That is all you will give me?”
“That is all I know, sir,” Shaw replied, completely unruffled.
Butlers were supposed to know everything, particularly in a crisis such as this. Shaw was in neglect of his duty, and Larkin was going to see him properly reprimanded as soon as he had capacity in his mind to consider anything other than that Sophia had returned to Rosennor.
Sophia was home.
Larkin strode from the room at a fast clip, pulling at his lip in thought. “Out of doors…” he muttered to himself, moving in the direction of the stables. “Out of doors… out of doors…”
He stopped mid-stride, wondering if he might be the slightest bit ridiculous for his current thought, but willing to risk it all the same.
Evidently, he was, for he turned on his heel and changed his direction for the terrace, flinging himself out of the house in a frenzy and racing through the garden without seeing a single bloom of it.
The gardens were not his destination, after all, so what did he care for what was within it?
He exited the garden with the same energy he had entered, and his strides became longer, determined to cover the most ground in as short a time as possible. He would be running shortly, and there was nothing he could do about that.
He’d have sprinted if he didn’t think he’d have fallen end over end before he got to the deuced gazebo, and then where would he have been?
Well, he would have been at the gazebo, grass stained and dirty, and looking a right idiot, and he didn’t need that at the present.
There would be plenty of time for looking the idiot later.
The gazebo was finally in sight, and a woman stood within the deep blue of her coat rippling in the wind. Her bonnet sat on one of the benches, leaving her fair hair exposed to his sight in its loose chignon. Various tendrils danced on the breeze, and for a moment he was caught by the sight of them, transfixed by the reality that, after two painstaking weeks away, she was back.
She was home.
His heart lurched and his feet went with it, moving to the gazebo at a much more sedate pace.
What was he going to say? What could he say? Two weeks away, and he hadn’t thought up what he was going to say?
What the devil had Larkin done with himself?
He’d mooned about, he’d stormed about, and he’d grown quite pathetic and ridiculous waxing poetic in his mind about Sophia, but other than that…
He would need to work on some sort of productivity when all this was over.
He reached the edge of the gazebo, and found himself entirely without words.
They failed him.
Larkin swallowed, finding the task more difficult than it should ever have been. “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded, when he found the voice.
Well, that wasn’t exactly a warm greeting, but it did express the feelings of his heart adequately.
“I believe I left you word,” she replied, keeping her back to him.
“Word.” He snorted as he stepped up onto the gazebo. “Yes, indeed you did, and it was almost one word. You went to the Arthurs. And how are they? Did they give you their thoughts on me? Did they say that they told you it was a foolish idea to live with me?” He paused briefly as a thought seared his mind, the pain of it swift and sharp. “Did they convince one of their sons to marry you?”
Sophia did not so much as move from her spot. “They welcomed me openly,” she murmured, her words almost lost on him. “They are well, we did not speak of you, and none of their sons are bachelors.”
That gave him little comfort, considering her tone. Was she not pleased in the slightest to be back?
“What a pity,” he snapped, leaning against the nearest support of the gazebo. “I am sure you would have appreciated the connection very much.”
“Likely I would, yes,” he heard her say. “In many ways, it would have been so much easier to marry Tom or David or Ben.”
Instantly those names were the most hated of all names, and Larkin folded his arms tightly to keep himself from making his hands into fists.
“Easier than what?” he demanded, not sure he wanted to know.
“Easier for me. Easier than this. Than Rosennor. Than a stupid will that has torn our lives up into shreds.” Her voice was distressed now, and he could hear the tears in it, which
nearly took his knees out from under him. “I have tried and tried to find a way to come back here and endure it all, but I could barely sleep last night.”
That wasn’t what he wanted to hear at all, and his anger flared dangerously. “Well, since you’ve been gone, I’ve been trying to figure one thing out.”
“Just one?” Sophia laughed hard. “Oh, Larkin, there are so many things you need to figure out.”
He ignored that barb, and ground his teeth. “Why in the world would you decide to give up your portion of Rosennor without telling me? You once said the only way you would do that would be if you had a good match, and unless I am mistaken, you don’t have one. Or do you have one, and you just didn’t feel like sharing that detail with me?”
“I don’t have to answer to you!” she cried, the words almost clogged with tears now. “I have every right to do exactly as I please with my share without any consideration to you!”
“If you were willing to give all of this up, why didn’t you do so when I asked?” Fury roared through him, and sense was beginning to fade. “All of the torment and trouble you put me through, and now you’re going to give it up? Now?”
He saw her swipe at tears, but still she didn’t face him, or wouldn’t. For some reason, that irked him as much as anything else. “Why not now? Why not whenever I bloody well please? You have no hold over me, Larkin Roth, and it’s about time you realized that.”
Did she think he thought he had a hold? Dammit, he knew full well she was her own woman, independent and stubborn and rash in so many ways, and he loved her more for it. That didn’t mean he couldn’t have an opinion on what she did. It affected him directly, affected Rosennor directly, and as for them…
He growled through his clenched teeth and straightened. “Damn you, woman! You make me so bloody unhinged I could…”
Sophia whirled to face him, the paths of her tears glistening in the morning light upon her cheeks. Her wild eyes captivated him, and her chest heaved with distress, but she was so strikingly beautiful when prodded into delirious frustration. “What could you do, sir?” she mocked, lifting her chin. “What more could you possibly do that’s any worse than what you’ve already done?”
Larkin stilled his eyes falling to what she held in her hand.
A single red rose. Dried, not fresh. Dried flowers were difficult to handle, if he recalled, and very delicate… This was no whim. This rose had been tended to with some care by the looks of it.
It couldn’t be…
His eyes raised to hers, his own chest beginning to move on unsteady breaths.
Sophia looked at the rose, then back to him, anger gone and raw fear evident.
It was his rose.
In two strides, he crossed to her, and his mouth was on hers before either could take another breath. Sophia stiffened beneath him, but Larkin would not let either of them think twice about this. He slid a hand into her hair, clenching hard and kissing her with a fierceness that had been building for weeks on end. Her lips softened beneath his, then opened, and he was lost.
Her hand slid to his jaw, rubbing against the stubble he had let grow in her absence, the delicious friction between them emboldening him to kiss her deeper, longer, hold her tighter still. She gripped his shirt in her hand, tugging him closer, and he went, sealing his lips over hers more completely, and with far more heat.
Again and again they kissed, the taste of her an elixir of which he would never tire, the feel of her lips heaven on earth, and the fervency of her kisses the most humbling thing he had ever or would ever experience. Sophia Anson kissed as though her life depended upon it, and Larkin suddenly felt as though his life depended on her kiss.
He pulled back just enough to layer kiss after dusting kiss across her cheeks, her nose, her brow, the corner of her mouth, and to sample, one more time, the fullness of her bottom lip. Never enough, yet more than he dared hope. Her fingers flicked against his stomach, and the muscles there tensed in response.
Larkin groaned and kissed her again, this time with all due tenderness, treasuring this connection and this gift, wringing every ounce of exquisite pleasure and delight from them both.
“Soph…” he breathed, unable to believe what they had just shared, unwilling to open his eyes for fear of reality.
She slid her hand around to the back of his neck and pulled him down to her, touching her brow to his. “I love you, Lark.”
His already tremulous knees shook, and he brought his other hand to her face cupping gently. “Oh, Soph…”
“Don’t,” she hissed, her voice cracking. “That’s why I ran away to the Arthurs, and that’s why I could not sleep, came out here, and why I am selling my portion. I cannot remain here while you marry another.”
Larkin’s eyes snapped open and he pulled back. “While I what?”
Sophia’s eyes welled up and another tear rolled down, which Larkin swiped away with his thumb. “I overheard your mother telling Mrs. Windermere that you were to marry Georgiana from the house party. She sounds lovely, and I wish you well, of course, but I can’t… And you had to know why…”
Larkin shook his head and touched his brow to hers once more, squeezing his eyes shut. “Are you trying to tell me, love, that you’ve just put us both through hell because of something my mother said?”
“Well, I just…”
He slid his thumb over her lips, silencing her. “Sophia, I’m not getting married. There is no Georgiana, and I love you, too.” He kissed her again, slowly and gently, until they were both trembling in each other’s arms.
When he pulled back the next time, he smiled and brushed a hand over Sophia’s hair. “Of all the times to not find my mother ridiculous, it had to be then?”
Sophia shrugged, smiling helplessly, and with a touch of sadness. “She related my worst fears. Everything I didn’t want to hear was suddenly playing in my ears.”
Larkin searched her eyes, his own pain coming to the surface. “Why? Why did you think that was the truth?”
“Because I feared it most,” she whispered.
“And I feared losing you the most.” He kissed her quickly before laughing. “You should have seen the scathing letter I sent Tuttle-Kirk in response to your first letter on the subject.”
Sophia reared back, playfully outraged. “Why are you reading my post?”
Larkin grunted once. “First of all, I found out in a letter addressed to me. Secondly, I would intercept every single letter addressed to you if it would stop you from leaving me. Without a second thought and without shame.”
“That’s… strangely adorable,” Sophia admitted, seeming confused by the admission.
He nodded at that. “Also, you should know my mother insists I’m marrying the princess of America. Mrs. Windermere told me later.”
Sophia rolled her eyes and laid her brow against his shoulder with a groan. “That would have been wise information to have before I made a hasty retreat.”
“Indeed, it would,” he agreed, rubbing his hands along her back. “But since you’re back… What would you say to marrying me?”
She raised her head, her eyes wide. “Are you serious?”
He cupped her cheek again, giving her a tender smile. “Entirely. I’m in love with you, Sophia Anson, and I don’t want to share Rosennor with anyone else.”
Her throat worked on a swallow and she nodded. “Neither do I.”
Taking that as yes, Larkin exhaled in relief and pulled her close, holding her tight. “This is home, Sophia. This right here. You, me, and this ridiculous old manor of ours. I don’t want anything else, or anyone else.”
Sophia sighed against him, nuzzling close. “Is this your way of telling me that I can use the silver without permission? Because I must tell you I’ve been doing that for weeks now without you being any the wiser.”
Larkin grinned and kissed Sophia’s hair. “Only if I can go into the stables without asking.”
He felt her shrug. “Then I must be able to walk through the gal
lery to get to the east wing rather than going down through the foyer and back up the stairs by the library.”
“Well, if you do that, I must have access to the larder.”
“I want the gamekeeper’s cottage key.”
“I insist on the billiards table.”
“Give me leave to use the harp at my leisure.”
“Don’t make me sit in that damned chair in the orangery anymore.”
At this she pulled back, frowning up at him. “It’s the only piece of furniture you have in there, where else are you going to sit?”
Larkin grinned at the beautiful, fiery, stubborn woman he adored and took her chin gently in hand. “Wherever you sit, my love,” he murmured before he kissed her again.
Fortunately for him, she kissed him back.
EPILOGUE
“O h dear, oh dear, what a conundrum.”
“Conundrum, Mr. Tuttle-Kirk? How so?”
The balding man looked over his glinting spectacles at them both. “I’m afraid that in my focus to get all the specifics of the will set out with correct exactness, I neglected to mention the most particular caveat of them all.”
Larkin heaved an irritated sigh. “Which was?”
Sophia shushed him and laced their fingers.
Mr. Tuttle-Kirk’s mustache twitched ominously. “That either party wishing for monetary value rather than the items and assets themselves need only to apply to the executor with their wishes and it shall be set forth. There’s an amount set aside for such a request based on an assessment that was done by no less than three experts in estate management.” He surveyed them both with apology and contriteness, looking like a drooping basset hound, apart from the mustache. “I am so sorry to have neglected such a thing, what an oversight.”
Sophia hesitated, wetting her lips carefully. “But.... we’ve settled everything between us. That’s what we’ve come to say. We wish to renegotiate terms so that it is all aligned between the pair of us. For the children, you see.”
Mr. Tuttle-Kirk cleared his throat awkwardly.
“You do recollect that we were wed last month, correct?” Larkin asked with his usual brusqueness when he was displeased.
The Rivals of Rosennor Hall (Entangled Inheritance Book 3) Page 25