Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,94

proposed property lease. Perhaps it would bring enough for new farm equipment.

And…she had the diamonds. There was no need to spend a season in London with Charlotte now, yet to London she must go.

“I should like to see Glanford’s London solicitor, as soon as possible. May I borrow your chaise and leave the boys in your care while I’m gone?”

George’s pen ceased scratching and he looked up unsmiling. “I’ll accompany you. We’ll leave after Boxing Day. I have business there as well.”

His transformation almost undid her. Unable to speak, she nodded.

He’d offered to help her, and he had, but not as a friend. Not as a man who cared for her. He’d simply had Fitz dump all of the responsibility on her, and then he would go off and see to his own concerns.

Isn’t that what you wanted?

Feeling jumbled inside, she found her voice, wished them a good night, and left.

“Oh, for a brandy,” Fitz grumbled.

George set down the pen and rubbed his jaw. “In the drawer of the cabinet. Pour me one, as well.”

Fitz scoffed. “You hid the bottle?”

“Mother saw to it.” He’d left Sophie’s letters with his mother while he’d snatched an hour of sleep the night before. When he’d departed before dawn, she’d been awake and quietly furious.

Fitz filled two glasses. “Can Sophie handle the task?”

“A thousand times better than her late husband.” Or you.

“You surprise me, brother. I thought turning over Artie to you might help your pursuit. You are pursuing Sophie, aren’t you?”

The arrogant fool. He fixed his brother with a glare.

Fitz gasped, and then laughed. “Never say you are seeking more than an affair?”

“Shut up, Fitz.”

He tossed back his drink. He would court Sophie when the time was right. She wasn’t interested in marriage, she said, but he’d find a way to convince her.

First things first. He needed to be honest with her. He needed to convince her to let his railway run through Artie’s land.

“Cartwright,” Fitz said. “You’re up late.”

The blasted man had entered again without George even noticing.

“May I join you?”

“Help yourself to a brandy,” Fitz said. “Bring the bottle over.”

“Late night business, eh?” Cartwright poured drinks all around. “I saw Lady Glanford departing.”

“Yes,” Fitz said.

“Your mother told me young Glanford and his brother are your wards, Loughton. Must be difficult, under the, er, circumstances. Troubled estate and all.”

George’s quill broke, and he reached for a penknife.

“It’s always difficult when boys lose their father,” Fitz said evenly.

George eased out a breath, and glanced at Fitz. It was difficult to lose a father at any age, especially after losing a wife and child. The Glanford trusteeship had been one burden too many for Fitz.

Cartwright sipped his drink, blissfully silenced.

Perhaps he wouldn’t need to use the penknife on the man. He dipped his fresh point in the inkwell.

“Yes, well,” Cartwright began again. “Perhaps I can help in that way. And you being the boys’ guardian I thought I might as well let you know. I’ve made up my mind. I intend to offer for Lady Glanford.”

George dropped the pen, splattering ink. “Lady Glanford is already spoken for.”

Cartwright eyed him shrewdly. “I intend to offer marriage.”

Heat fired in him and sent him to his feet, curling his hands into iron fists. Cartwright’s implication was clear: he thought George meant to set her up as his mistress.

“If you were a younger man, Cartwright—”

“George.” Fitz’s sharp reprimand stopped his next words: I’d challenge you. “It’s Christmas Eve, George. Mr. Cartwright isn’t insinuating anything untoward. He’s simply stating his intentions.”

“Quite right,” the oaf said. “My intentions are honest and honorable. When your mother suggested her for Charlotte’s come-out, I had a man look into things. I’ve a notion Lady Glanford has a grasp of my sort of business as well as estate management, but she won’t need to fret about any of it. I can give her a comfortable life. I’m building a new manor in Yorkshire, and have my agent looking for a London home. She can put Glanford behind her. Boys’ll be at school. You’ll oversee her son’s estate, and I’ll lift any other worries from her shoulders.”

Bile rose in him. Was that what Sophie wanted? She’d gone pale as death at the notion of handling Artie’s estate. He needed to ask her.

He slid the paper toward Fitz. “If you would please, finish it before you turn in.”

He pounded up the stairs and made his way first to his bedchamber, and then to hers.

After a quick stop at the nursery, Sophie found her way to her