Lady Sophie's Christmas Wish - By Grace Burrowes Page 0,75
today was a day beyond tears. She’d missed Vim yesterday; today she ached for him in places she could not name, even in Latin.
Personal, feminine, silent places she feared had the ability to ache without end.
She tidied up the baby’s supper mess and lifted him into her arms. “You do feel heavier, sturdier, but this is doubtless my imagination.”
That his nappy needed changing was by no means a product of her imagination. She tended to him in the laundry, realizing that in just a few days, the whole untidy business had become routine to her.
“You are a good baby,” she said, picking him up and bringing him nose to nose. “You are a wonderful baby. Time for you to conquer the carpet, hmm?”
And time for her to tidy up Valentine’s room, because surely her brothers would be arriving tomorrow, and surely she did not want them asking any more awkward questions than necessary.
“They will honor my confidences,” she said to the baby as she carried him to the parlor. “I will explain I needed solitude. Westhaven hid in his business endeavors, Valentine at the piano, and Devlin in the stables, but where was I to hide when I needed peace and quiet? Where was I to have any privacy? Taking tea with Her Grace? Shopping with my sisters? Parading about Town on the arm of my papa?”
Good heavens, she sounded almost… angry.
She sat on the sofa with the baby in her lap.
A lady never showed strong emotion, except she had shown strong emotion, with Vim… Weeping had been the least of it.
A bump sounded from the direction of the kitchen, making her jump, suggesting she’d spent the entire day half listening for just such a sound.
A sound suggesting Vim had once again returned?
Another bump, and the muted sound of voices.
She put Kit in his cradle. “I will be back momentarily. Behave.” She put his hand up to his mouth, and he obligingly slipped two fingers between his lips. “Good baby.”
Closing the parlor door behind her, Sophie hurried to the kitchen, only to find her three brothers stomping snowy boots, muttering, and bringing in the damp and cold as they shed outer garments.
“Sophie!” Val spotted her first and abandoned all ceremony to wrap his arms around her. “Sophie Windham, I have missed you and missed you.” He held her tightly, so tightly Sophie could hide her face against his shoulder and swallow back the lump abruptly forming in her throat.
“I have a new étude for you to listen to. It’s based on parallel sixths and contrary motion—it’s quite good fun.” He stepped back, his smile so dear Sophie wanted to hug him all over again, but St. Just elbowed Val aside.
“Long lost sister, where have you been?” His hug was gentler but no less welcome. “I’ve traveled half the length of England to see you, you know.” He kissed her cheek, and Sophie felt a blush creeping up her neck.
“You did not. You’ve come south because Emmie said you must, and you want to check on your ladies out in Surrey.”
Westhaven waited until St. Just had released her. “I wanted to check on you.” His hug was the gentlest of all. “But you were not where you were supposed to be, Sophie. You have some explaining to do if we’re to get the story straight before we face Her Grace.”
The simple fact of his support undid her. Sophie pressed her face to his shoulder and felt a tear leak from her eye. “I have missed you so, missed all of you so much.”
Westhaven patted her back while Valentine stuffed a cold, wrinkled handkerchief into her hand.
“We’ve made her cry.” St. Just did not sound happy.
“I’m just…” Sophie stepped away from Westhaven and dabbed at her eyes. “I’m a little fatigued is all. I’ve been doing some baking, and the holidays are never without some challenges, and then there’s the baby—”
“What baby?” All three men spoke—shouted, more nearly—as one.
“Keep your voices down, please,” Sophie hissed. “Kit isn’t used to strangers, and if he’s overset, I’ll be all night dealing with him.”
“And behold, a virgin shall conceive,” Val muttered as Sophie passed him back his handkerchief.
St. Just shoved him on the shoulder. “That isn’t helping.”
Westhaven went to the stove and took the kettle from the hob. “What baby, Sophie? And perhaps you might share some of this baking you’ve been doing. The day was long and cold, and our brothers grow testy if denied their victuals too long.”