Lady Sophie's Christmas Wish - By Grace Burrowes Page 0,89
other on the edge of the coffee table and slowly lowered herself to the floor. “Old bones,” she said. “Winters are longer when you get old, but the years go more quickly, anyway. Someone should make a study of this. Is your room in order?”
“It’s lovely. I’m sure Kit and I will be very comfortable here.”
Lady Rothgreb brushed a veined hand over Kit’s head. “If I’d known how having company would perk up the staff, I’d have sent over to Their Graces for the loan of a few of their grown children.” Kit grabbed Lady’s Rothgreb’s finger and grinned at his hostess. “My, you’re a strong little fellow, and my guess is you’re about to cut some teeth too.”
“Westhaven mentioned this. I gather it’s something of an ordeal?”
“They get a little cranky.” She withdrew her finger. “They can also get a cold to go with their fussiness—a runny nose, a touch of congestion.”
“He had a runny nose last week.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to turn him over to a nursery maid, my dear? Nanny has long since retired, but our housekeeper has sixteen grandchildren.”
“I’m sure your housekeeper is dealing with unexpected guests; that’s challenge enough.”
“She loves Vim’s visits, rare though they are. We all do.”
A silence fell, while Kit positioned himself to go a-Viking across the carpet, and Sophie wondered about Lady Rothgreb. Vim had suggested the older woman was growing vague, wandering both mentally and physically, and yet her ladyship had presided over a lively dinner conversation and handled unexpected guests with gracious good cheer.
“I have a motive for intruding on you, my dear.”
“It’s not an intrusion,” Sophie said, shifting to sit between the baby and fireplace. “I can’t imagine swilling port with my brothers has any appeal.”
“Actually, it would—they are charming men, and it would allow me a little more time with my nephew. Rothgreb is entitled to play host, though, so we’ll leave them to it.”
“I should not have shut myself up with Kit,” Sophie said, feeling defensive without any particular reason, “but he has had a great deal of upheaval lately, and I did not want to impose on—”
“May I exercise an old woman’s prerogative and be blunt, my dear?”
“Of course.” Something uneasy in Sophie’s middle suggested this bluntness was going to be painful.
“You are attached to this child, Lady Sophia.”
Sophie watched as Kit lurched and crawled and scooted over to Lady Rothgreb. “Anybody would be. He’s that dear.”
“He’s a baby. Dear is their forte, but he’s not your baby.”
The old woman spoke very gently. Sophie kept her eyes on the child. “I will find a foster family for him soon.”
“Vim said you were sensible.”
Sensible. He’d said she was sensible. Not lovely, intelligent, dear, attractive, or capable of mad, passionate love. Not even an adequate cook, for goodness sake. Sensible. She added Vim to the list of men narrowly escaping bodily injury.
“I cannot encourage you strongly enough to place this baby with that foster family as soon as possible, my dear. To all appearances, he’s in good health and will make the transition easily now. The longer you put it off, the harder it will be on both of you.”
Sophie managed a nod, but her hostess’s words cut like a winter wind. To think Kit would part from her easily hurt; to think he’d be pained to part from her was unbearable.
“Do you know of any families in a position to take on an infant?” She made herself ask the question but hoped in a selfish corner of her heart for a negative reply.
“Indeed I do. The curate’s family has three half-grown girls, and they’d love to have a boy. Mrs. Harrad has remarked many times that a son would lighten her husband’s load.”
“Are they an older couple?” Sophie sternly suppressed the notion that Kit would end up as some fire-and-brimstone preacher’s glorified bond servant.
“They aren’t old from my perspective, but they are humble, godly people who have always comported themselves charitably.” Lady Rothgreb pushed to her feet, while Sophie picked Kit up and rose with him. “I think the boy would thrive in their care.”
“I will consider what you’ve suggested, my lady, though I’d like to have my mother’s wisdom on the matter, as well.”
“Her Grace would agree with me, I’m sure of it.” Lady Rothgreb eyed the infant. “The only person I know whose eyes are still that blue is my nephew. I hope he was pleasant company at dinner?”
“He was all that was gentlemanly.” Sophie wrapped the baby in a receiving blanket