Lady Sophie's Christmas Wish - By Grace Burrowes Page 0,10
of my brothers have married, and it can leave a sister not knowing quite how to go on with them. Pepper?”
“A touch.”
“Is he asleep?”
“Never ask. If he is, it will wake him up. If he isn’t, it will let him know you’re fixed on that goal, and he’ll thwart you to uphold the honor of babies the world over.”
She smiled at the omelet as she neatly turned it in the skillet. “Her Grace raised ten children in this house. She would likely agree with you.”
A ducal household? No wonder even the domestics carried themselves with a certain confidence.
When he might have asked which duke’s hospitality he was imposing on—his half brother had regular truck with titles of all sorts—she brought the tea tray to the table, then cutlery and a steaming plate of eggs and bacon. She set the latter before him and stood back, hands on hips.
“If you’ll give me the baby, I can hold him while you eat.”
“And what about you? As a gentleman…” But she was already extricating the child from his arms and taking a seat on the bench along the opposite side of the table.
“Eat, Mr. Charpentier. The food will only get cold while we argue.”
He ate. He ate in part because a gentleman never argued with a lady and in part because he was starving. She’d served him a sizeable portion, and he was halfway through the omelet, bacon, and toast when he looked up to see her regarding him from across the table.
“You were hungry.”
“You are a good cook. Is that oregano in the eggs?”
“A little of this and that.”
He paused and put his fork down. “A secret family recipe, Miss Windham?”
She just smiled and pretended to tuck the shawl around the sleeping baby; then her brow knit. “Earlier today you mentioned a Portmaine family secret. Is this your wife’s family?”
It was a logical question. It could not possibly be that this brisk, prim woman was inquiring as to his marital status. “My mother remarried when my father died. Portmaine was my stepfather’s family name. It is not my good fortune to be married.”
She nodded, and Vim went back to devouring the only decent food he’d had in almost a week of traveling. Yes, he could have taken the traveling coach from Blessings, but Blessings and all its appurtenances belonged to his younger half brother, who might have need of the traveling coach himself.
So Vim hadn’t asked. He’d taken himself off, traveling as he often did among the common folk of the land.
“Did you ever want to marry, Mr. Charpentier?”
He looked across the table at Miss Windham to see she was again pretending to fuss with the baby, but a slight blush on her cheek told him he’d heard her question aright.
“I always expected to marry,” he said slowly. His uncle certainly expected him to marry—ten or twelve years ago would have suited the old man nicely. “I suppose I haven’t met the right lady. You?”
“What girl doesn’t expect to marry? There was a time when my fondest wish was to marry and have a family of my own. Not a very original wish, I’m afraid.” She shifted the baby and reached across the table to pour them each a cup of tea. As long as she’d let it steep, Vim could smell the pungent fragrance of the steam curling up from his cup.
“Darjeeling?”
“One of my brothers favors it. How do you take your tea, Mr. Charpentier?”
“My friends call me Vim, and I will be fixing the tea for you, Miss Windham, seeing as your friend is yet asleep in your arms.”
She frowned, but it was a thoughtful expression, not disapproving. “My friends call me Sophie, and my siblings do. You may call me that if you like.”
It wasn’t a good idea, this exchange of Christian names. Watching some subtle emotion play across Miss Windham’s—Sophie’s—face, Vim had the sense she allowed few to address her so familiarly. He wouldn’t have made the gesture if he weren’t soon to be leaving, never to see this good lady again.
“Sophie, then. Miss Sophie. Will you eat now? I can hold Kit.”
“You’re sure you’ve had enough?”
“I have eaten every crumb, so yes.” He rose and came around the table, reaching down to retrieve the baby. She didn’t hand him up, though, so when Vim reached for the child, his arm extended a little too far, to the point where his hand slid a few inches down Miss Windham’s breastbone before he could get a decent grip on