Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,73

chair by the roaring fire, where she’d been dozing.

“It’s toasty in here,” Sophie said, casting aside her shawl.

“And my old joints are grateful, dear one. I’m right glad we’re here. Come through and let’s get you undressed.”

Sophie followed the maid into the small room that contained a cot and a collection of loaned garments.

Willa addressed the gown’s laces. “I hear his lordship is here,” she said. “And?”

“And oh, for the days when I was just plain Sophie Clark.”

“You’ve never been plain. You mean rich Sophie Clark.”

“And single Sophie Clark.” A widowed viscount had expressed interest in her, other younger men of the ton, as well. They were all, of course, after her dowry. Even in the first bloom of youth, she hadn’t been a diamond of the first water.

Glanford had called her a diamond in the rough. Among other things.

What a fool she’d been. Her sponsor had warned her against fortune hunters. But a walk on a balcony at a crowded ball with Glanford and a new lady acquaintance had seemed harmless.

So delighted that his daughter had “captured” an earl, Papa had tossed aside his shrewdness and common sense. His daughter would be a countess. The rushed wedding was lavish, her gown exquisite, her wedding pearls the best Papa could buy.

The pearls were gone, as was all of the jewelry known to Glanford and his creditors; all but her grandmother’s garnet cross.

Willa helped settle a nightgown over her head and gathered her discarded clothing.

She seated herself at the dressing table and began taking down her hair while Willa chattered.

“I heard from the housekeeper at Glanford. Most of the girls have found places.”

Her stomach churned. She, a commoner, a nobody, had all but closed up the ancestral home of the Earl of Glanford. Even before Glanford’s death, the steward had begun the letting go of staff and selling off all but the draft horses and the mount that carried Glanford on his ill-fated ride for the foxes.

“Do not you worry, Sophie. You fed half the hungry mouths of Lancashire and saw the sick were tended. All know what you endured.”

She squeezed her eyes and took in a breath. “I have no need for pity.”

Willa took the brush from her hand. “Is Loughton ignoring you?”

“He’s only just arrived home.”

“Best he sober up I s’pose. Spent all afternoon in the taproom, I hear. That’s a guilty conscience. And the brother just as sopped.” Willa harrumphed. “And now off we go to London, saddled with Miss Cartwright.”

Sophie bit back the urge to scold and reached for her face cream. Frown lines were forming, just as Willa had warned since she was Ben’s age. “Chaperoning Miss Cartwright is a great opportunity.” Given her lowly roots, her late husband’s character, and her insignificant social ties, she’d been surprised by the request. “We’ll have shelter with Mr. and Mrs. Lovelace, food on the table, and coal in the grate. And I know you appreciate a warm fire.”

And in London, she could find time to conduct some private business of her own.

She reached for her dressing gown. “I’ll read for a while. Take yourself off to bed, Willa.”

When the door to the dressing room closed, she paced to the bedside table, picked up the novel she’d borrowed from the Loughton library, and set it back down.

Christmas was three days away and as delighted as she was to be able to celebrate a proper Yuletide, Willa’s wages were due. Paying her loyal maid would bide for now, but what was she to do about gifts for the children, Boxing Day presents, vails for the Loughton staff?

Her stomach churned again. Dinner had been a travesty of picking at food, barely tasting it. Fitz had been too bosky for a serious conversation, and his brother…

He was handsome, and he knew it. And he raised feelings in her. Little use was her set-down over the Matilda Rose—Lovelace had retaliated with his lips. That kiss on the hand had been disturbingly…intimate.

With a tremendous rumble, her stomach informed her she shouldn’t have picked at the good dinner.

The cook here was a generous sort who’d joked with the boys about their nighttime raids. Perhaps she could find a biscuit and warm some milk.

She slipped into her shoes, and made her way down the corridor to the stairs.

Chapter Five

At the next landing, she spotted the door to the library ajar and heard a male voice.

If Fitz was still awake, perhaps she might approach him now. She edged closer.

“I’m as surprised as you are to find Sophie