Catherine said. “But I have taken special care to invite only our closest friends and relatives.” She tweaked one of her daughter’s curls. “We can laugh until our bellies hurt.”
Sophie eyes twinkled. “And dance until our feet fall off.”
Catherine laughed. “And sing until the dogs howl.”
“And eat sweets until we cast up our accounts.”
“What are you two going on about?” a new voice demanded.
Swiping the tears from her cheeks, Catherine smiled at the newcomer. “Good afternoon, Mother.” The same height as her daughter, Evelyn Shaw commanded attention wherever she went. Her slender beauty, keen wit, and approachable nature made her a much sought after companion in any social gathering. However, few would recognize her mother in all her current disheveled and dirt-dusted glory.
Sophie bolted forward. “Grandmama, we’re going to have such a grand time on Saturday.”
The older woman transferred her basket of cut flowers to her opposite arm and hugged her granddaughter to her middle. “From the sound of it, the festivities have already begun.” She peered up at Catherine. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”
Catherine winked at her daughter. “What is a party without laughter?”
Giggling, Sophie asked, “Will you dance with us, Grandmama?”
“Certainly not.” Grandmama looked aghast. “I will be much too busy using my fan to beat back all the young men who will be vying for your attention.”
“Young men? I do not want to dance with men.”
“Then I’ll turn my fan onto the grubby boys who will no doubt be scampering about.”
Frowning, Sophie asked, “Who will be left to dance with me?”
“Don’t you have any female friends?”
Sophie chortled. “No, Grandmama. You can’t be serious.”
“Indeed, I am, young lady.”
“But I’ll be seven.”
“So you will.”
Sophie rounded on Catherine. “Mama, tell her I’m much too old to pair up with girls.”
Turning her hands up in a helpless gesture, Catherine said, “Sorry, sweetheart. I have yet to sway your grandmama to my side once she has her mind set.”
Sophie glanced at her grandmama and then back to Catherine. Her eyes narrowed, suspicion making her scowl. “Grandmama, is this another one of your inducements?”
Her grandmama sniffed. “You make the notion sound positively criminal.”
Shifting her weight to one foot, Sophie propped her little hands on her hips. “What must I do for you not to scare off my dance partners?”
“The rose bushes could use a bit of snipping.”
Sophie started to protest until she saw her grandmama’s eyebrow arch. “Perhaps, you would rather weed the herb garden?”
Her daughter’s curls jounced with a violent shake of her head. “No, ma’am. I love snipping off dead things.”
“It’s settled then.” Catherine placed her hands on Sophie’s shoulders and kissed the back of her head. “Run along and locate our fishing gear. I have something I need to discuss with your grandmama.”
With her shoulders bent forward and her head hanging low, Sophie trudged up the path as if she towed a great load.
“I shall see you at seven tomorrow morning, young lady.”
Sophie’s mouth dropped open, but she quickly closed it again. Instead of protesting, she made for the garden gate and released her frustration with a solid stomp of her foot and a low growl from her throat.
As soon as she was out of hearing range, Evelyn Shaw chuckled. “Such a little spitfire. Not unlike you at that age.”
Catherine stared at the garden’s arched entrance long after her daughter had disappeared around the corner. “She will not be pleasant company at the lake now, thanks to you.”
“Nonsense,” her mother said. “One bite from a fish and her sunny disposition will resurface. You know as well as I do that Sophie does not sulk for long.”
“True.” Catherine’s response ended on a long sigh.
“What’s wrong, daughter?” Warm fingers closed over Catherine’s arm.
The simple touch replenished Catherine’s faltering courage and, at the same time, splayed open her terrified heart. “Lord Somerton has returned.”
Her mother’s hold tightened. “Did you speak with him?”
“Yes. He came upon me at Bellamere while I was admonishing Mr. Blake about the bridge repair.”
“What did he do?”
“He threw the steward out of his study.”
“No.” Her mother’s eyes rounded. “You jest.”
“Not at all,” Catherine said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Blake finds himself searching for employment elsewhere. Quite soon, in fact.”
“I do like a decisive man,” her mother said. “Months of turmoil resolved in a single afternoon. Makes you wonder why wars are fought.”
“Greed causes wars, Mother. Not broken bridges.”
“Enough about that now.” Her mother waved the subject away as one would a pesky insect. “Did he say anything about Ashcroft’s letters?”