Lady Sophie's Christmas Wish - By Grace Burrowes Page 0,82

shouted at—His Grace is a shouter—and she intervened. She asked me to turn the ladies’ finances over to her, and a more grateful brother you never beheld. She passes the ledger back to me each quarter, the entries tidy and legible, the balances—may all the gods be thanked—positive. I don’t know how she does it; I haven’t the courage to ask.”

“I’m a grateful brother too,” Lord Valentine said after a short silence. “I got my year in Italy thanks to Sophie.” His lips quirked into a sheepish smile. “I play the piano rather a lot, though composition has my interest these days, as well. His Grace does not—did not—approve of the intensity of my interest in music but was unwilling to buy me my colors with both Bart and St. Just already on the Peninsula. I was climbing the walls.”

“I’m sorry I missed that,” St. Just said.

“You should be glad you missed it,” Lord Val replied. “Shouting doesn’t begin to describe the rows I had with His Grace. Sophie sought me out one day after a particularly rousing donnybrook and jammed a sailing schedule under my nose. She’d researched the ships going to Italy, the conservatories in Rome, the cost of student lodging, the whole bit. Paris was out of the question, thanks to the Corsican, but Rome was… Rome was my salvation. She offered to give me her pin money. Not lend, give.”

“Did you take it?” Vim had to ask, because a moment like this would not present itself again, of that he was certain.

“Of course not, but I took her idea, and for the first time in my life found myself among people who shared my passion for music. You cannot imagine what a comfort that was.”

Yes, he could. He could well imagine wandering for years without any sense of companionship or belonging, then finding it in perfect abundance.

Only to have it snatched away again.

“I suppose I’ll have to add my tuppence,” St. Just said. He didn’t look at anyone as he spoke, but stared at his empty plate. “I was not managing well when I came home from Waterloo.”

“When I dragged you home,” Lord Val interjected.

“Dragged me home kicking and screaming and clutching a bottle in each fist.”

Vim had to stare at his plate too, because St. Just was the last man he could picture losing his composure. Westhaven was polished, Lord Val casually elegant. St. Just was a gentleman and no fool, but the man was also had the bearing of one who was physically and emotionally tough.

“I was quite frankly a disgrace,” St. Just said. Westhaven looked pained at this summary but held his peace. “I’d left a brother buried in Portugal and seen more good men…” He took a sip of his ale, and Vim saw a hint of a tremor in the man’s hand.

“I went to ground.” He set his ale down carefully. “I holed up at my stud farm in Surrey, where I consumed more good liquor than should be legal. I could not sleep, yet I had no energy. I could not stand to be alone, I could not stand to be around people, I could not—”

“For God’s sake, Dev.” Lord Val glowered at the mug he cradled in his hands. “You don’t have to—”

“I do. I do have to. For Sophie. She came tooling down to Surrey after a few months of this and took in the situation at a glance. She rationed my liquor, and I suspect she put you two on notice, for you began to visit periodically, as well. She called in my man of business and chaperoned a meeting between him and me. She had a stern talk with my cook so I’d get some decent nutrition. I hated her for this, wanted to wring her pretty, interfering neck, and contemplated it at length.”

“Gads.” Westhaven ran a hand through his hair. “I hadn’t known.”

“She didn’t tell anybody. She was off visiting friends, supposedly, so you see there’s precedent for her little detours from the agreed-upon itinerary. She stayed two weeks, and when she judged I was sober enough to listen to her, she pointed out that I had five sisters who were all in want of decent mounts. I owned a stud farm, and did I think my business would prosper if my own sisters could not find decent horses in my stables?”

Westhaven looked intrigued. “She lectured you?”

“She bludgeoned me with common sense, and when I told her to have His Grace pick out something from