Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,67

you see.”

“A schoolfriend of Cassandra and Nancy.”

“Yes, I know. Your tastes go to older widows. But…fifty thousand pounds?”

Fifty thousand pounds, for a lifetime chained to a girl like his younger sisters. “Tempting, but no.”

Fitz laughed. “You didn’t even ask if she is pretty.”

“Is she?”

“Saw her at Easter. She’s comely enough. Fair like our sisters. Not quite as much of a hoyden, I hear. Damnation, but I’d like to dispense with Almack’s and all that bother and find our sisters a match in the country. Mother would appreciate having them nearby. I suppose their dowries are all in order?”

“Of course.”

“Good.” Fitz glanced toward the door and waved. “Come join us,” he shouted. “George, this man has a high-stepper I want you to look at.”

It was full dark when their mounts picked their way down the drive to Loughton Manor. While George dismounted, Marty caught Fitz before he toppled. The sight had both brothers laughing.

“In the suds, Marty,” Fitz said. “It’s his fault.”

“Got to blame someone, milord,” Marty said.

“If you see to these poor plodders,” George said, “I’ll be happy to take the blame.”

“Always were a gentleman, Master George, even in short pants.”

George laughed and hauled Fitz across the yard and through the kitchen door.

Their long-time cook squawked a greeting. “Your mother’s been a-fretting. Waiting and waiting while the roast dries and the—”

“Our deepest apologies,” George said. “We’ll take a tray in the library.” He spotted a footman. “Send word to my mother to start without us.”

“We’ve just served the soup, sir.”

“There you go,” Fitz said. “We’re not too late, and I’m famished. Haul me up there, Master George.”

“I’ll haul you to your bedchamber to change.”

Another young footman popped in with an empty tray and Fitz grinned. “It’s a family meal, isn’t it, Jeffrey?”

“Aye, my lord. All but the very youngest at table.”

“That will be for your sake Georgie. Everyone who can manage a fork present to greet you. Late or not, she’ll want us there. Come along, brother.”

As they climbed the stairs and made their way to the dining room, his heart lifted. He was anxious to see his younger brothers; they’d taken father’s death the hardest.

He’d known that, and still he’d left immediately after the funeral, thinking that Fitz, the new head of the family, would tend to them until their return to school. Then Mother wrote saying she was keeping them at home for the Michaelmas term, and Fitz…

Fitz had let them down, and so had he.

Sophie spooned a mouthful of soup, her insides churning.

For the sake of her cook and the hungry boys, Lady Loughton had started dinner without Fitz. Though she hadn’t entirely given up. Not one, but two empty places remained, one at the head of the table, and one directly across from Sophie, and the footmen made no moves to clear away dishes.

“Who else is coming, Mother?” Twelve-year old James called from his place near the vacant seat at the head of the table.

“You shall see,” Lady Loughton said.

“Is it Fitz’s fiancée?” Cassandra asked.

Nancy leaned over her plate and peered down the table. “Why have you placed her between Charlotte and me, Mama, and not next to Fitz?”

Lady Loughton smiled.

“Mama,” Cassandra said. “Tell us.”

Sophie glanced at her hostess and cleared her throat. “The soup is delicious, my lady.”

“Not too tepid?”

“Not at all,” she lied. As in many great houses, the kitchens were a good distance away.

“Lady Glanford,” Cassandra said, “you are purposely diverting our mother.”

Just as Sophie opened her mouth to defend herself, the dining room door burst open.

“Here we are.” Windblown and damp, Fitz filled the doorway and paused with a grin and a flourish. “And look who I’ve found. Your favorite brother.”

A man appeared next to Fitz and Sophie’s heart leapt into a gallop.

“I knew it would be you,” Cassandra cried.

Chapter Three

Sophie steadied her spoon and tried to quiet the bolt of instant, unbidden attraction, and the rollicking tumult inside her. Taller than Fitz, the brother’s profile revealed a strong stubbled jaw, straight nose, and full lips. Dark hair brushed the edge of a white collar and crisply tied neckcloth; wide shoulders filled the dark superfine of a coat that tapered down to buff breeches covering the powerful legs of a man who must spend a great deal of time in the saddle.

Her gaze traveled back up and met blue eyes, and her breath left her. The same hard-planed cheeks, the same stubborn jaw, the same sardonic lips—but young Lovelace had grown into a shockingly handsome man.

It would have to be that brother.

She