Lady Sophie's Christmas Wish - By Grace Burrowes Page 0,21

grand household, Sophie Windham was decent enough—lady enough—to include him in her wishes, though he knew a fleeting frustration at not being able to divine what exactly her role was.

“Christmas approaches, and I’m sure you’ve been a very good girl. You may wish for anything you like.”

Something flickered across her usually serene features, something feminine and mysterious and quite… attractive.

Vim launched into a tale of shipwreck on a tropical paradise, leaving out mention of flies, dysentery, and petty squabbling among the survivors. He described the noise and destruction of the hurricanes, the attempts to rebuild the boat, and the difficult voyage from the island back to some semblance of civilization, wondering why no one had ever asked for this story before.

Not that anyone asked him for any stories.

“You have entertained Kit marvelously,” Sophie said when he’d brought the tale to its mandatory happy conclusion. “I can see him planning his first voyage.”

Kit was sailing the expanse of Vim’s chest, the baby’s back arched like a baby seal’s. Vim tapped him gently on the nose. “I can see My Lord Baby succumbing to exhaustion following this very eventful day. If Miss Sophie and I are flagging, sir, then you most certainly are overdue for a visit to the arms of Morpheus.”

Kit grinned hugely and thumped Vim on the chest with one fist.

“I don’t think he agrees with you.” Sophie finished this observation on a polite yawn.

“Shall I take his cradle up to your room?”

“That would be appreciated. I’d best grab some clean nappies, shouldn’t I?”

“Forearmed and all that. I’ll put the tea tray away.”

“Leave it. I’ll deal with it in the morning.”

After you’re gone. She’d left the words unspoken out of kindness, no doubt.

He cuddled the baby to his chest and got to his feet. The idea of leaving ought to fill him with relief. The longer he stayed, the greater the possibility some word of this interlude would reach the wrong ears. He was overdue to report to Sidling, and Sophie was managing famously with Kit. He really would be glad to be on his way once more, even on his way to Sidling at the Christmas season.

Sophie reached for the baby, and Vim passed him over without another word.

***

“He thinks I’ve been a good girl.” Sophie made sure Kit was resting comfortably in his cradle then went back to the task at hand, which was brushing out her hair at the end of the day.

Also coming to terms with Mr. Vim Charpentier’s disturbing presence just a few doors down the corridor.

“I haven’t been good, young Kit. I’ve been perfect. My conduct is held up to the young debs as exemplary. The fellows all know it’s safe to escort me anywhere, my papa has been seen patting my cheek in public, and my mama is confident my portion of charity work will suffice for the entire family’s good name.”

She paused with the brush and peered at the baby. “You know how tiresome it is to be good all the time.”

Kit sighed around his thumb. Sophie took it for a sigh of commiseration.

“Except I’m not perfect. I watch Mr. Charpentier’s mouth when he speaks of the sun on the Caribbean waves being so bright it makes the eyes ache. He has a beautiful mouth and a gorgeous voice. It isn’t all pomp and circumstance, like His Grace holding forth on the Catholic question. It’s…”

She let go a sigh. She’d sighed a lot since closing her bedroom door. To her ears, those sighs were the sound of a grown woman admitting she wasn’t nearly as done with wishes and dreams as she ought to be. “Vim’s voice is warm. He has the knack of making me feel like I’m the only person who has ever listened to him. Like I’m the person to whom he must tell his stories.”

That was so fanciful, she fell silent. Not even a baby should be told of the shifting about going on in Sophie’s middle, from a woman of common sense to a woman who, for the first time in her life, understood what it was to be smitten.

“And to think I wanted as much solitude as I could steal this Christmas.”

It had been wicked and daring and very bad of her not to go with her family directly out to Morelands. Every year she dutifully participated in the exodus to Kent for the holidays, and Sophie saw decades of Yule seasons spent with her aging parents, sharing fond reminiscences of nieces and nephews as they