her waist. “He would have made a wonderful viscount.”
“You make a wonderful viscount, and to my eyes you were and still are the pick of the litter.” She let her head rest on his shoulder, sending up a prayer of thanks that, for all their years, they still had each other and still had a reasonable degree of health.
“You need spectacles, my lady.” He smiled down at her then resumed perusing his brother’s portrait. “Vim never comes here, you know. When he visits, he doesn’t come say hello to his old papa, nor to his grandfather, either.”
“He will this time.” She decided this as she spoke, but really, Vim was not a boy any longer, and certain things needed to be put in the past.
“No scheming, Essie, not without including me in your plans.”
This was the best part of being married to Rothgreb for decades—though there were many, many good parts. Another man might have become indifferent to his wife, the wife who had been unable to provide him sons. Another man might have quietly or not so quietly indulged in all manner of peccadilloes when the novelty of marriage wore off.
Her husband had become her best friend, the person who knew her best and loved her best in the whole world, and Essie honestly believed she’d come to know him as well as she knew herself. It made up for advancing years, white lies, misplaced olive dishes, and all manner of other transgressions.
She hoped.
“Let’s say hello to Papa while we’re here,” Rothgreb suggested. “He always did have great fun at the holidays.”
Essie let him steer her down the gallery at a dignified pace. The point of the outing had been to get away from the family parlor and wipe the concern from Rothgreb’s eyes. If she had to freeze her toes among previous generations of Charpentiers, then so be it.
“If Vim comes, we will have great fun again,” Essie said. “His cousins will mob him, and the neighbors will come to call in droves. Esther Windham still has five unmarried daughters, Rothgreb. Five, and their papa a duke!”
“Now, Essie, none of that. The last thing, the very last thing Vim will be interested in is courting a local girl at the holidays, and given how his previous attempt turned out, I can’t say as I blame him.”
Essie made a pretense of studying the portrait of Rothgreb’s father. The old rascal had posed with each of his four wives, the last portrait having been completed just a few months before the man’s death.
He was a thoroughgoing scamp of the old school, a Viking let loose on the polite society of old King George’s court. She’d adored him but felt some pity for his successively younger wives.
“I believe I shall send Her Grace a little note,” Essie said.
His lordship peered over at her, his expression the considering one that indicated he wasn’t sure whether or how to interfere.
“Just a little note.” She patted her husband’s arm. “I do think Vim inherited the old fellow’s smile. What do you think?”
“I would never argue with a lady, but I honestly can’t say I’ve seen Vim’s smile enough to make an accurate conclusion.”
True enough. They tarried before a few other portraits, and by the time Essie’s teeth were starting to chatter, Jack footman tottered in with a cashmere shawl for her shoulders.
***
Sophie’s first day tending Kit without Vim’s assistance went well enough as far as the practicalities were concerned. She made more holiday bread and a batch of gingerbread, as well, took care of the baby, folded the dry laundry, placed stacks of clean nappies and rags in strategic locations about the house, and successfully avoided going into the room where Vim had slept.
Tomorrow, maybe.
A fresh bout of tears threatened—my goodness, she hadn’t cried this much in years—and she glanced over at where Kit was slurping on his fingers on the parlor rug. While she watched, he took his hand from his mouth and started twisting his body as if to look at the fire dancing in the hearth.
“You’re getting grand ideas again.”
His gaze went immediately to Sophie where she sat on the floor beside his blankets.
“Go ahead; amaze yourself with a change in scenery.”
As if he’d understood her words, Kit squirmed and twisted and gurgled until he’d succeeded in pushing himself over onto his stomach. His head came up, and he braced himself on his hands, grinning merrily.
“This is how it begins with you men,” she said, running her hand down the small