Chapter 6
The Belvoir ladies sat in the duchess’s box at Saint Agnes in the Holly. James had missed the opportunity to escort them on the way to church when they accepted a ride in the duchess’s large barouche. He followed the short route through the woods and arrived at the little stone building in time to hear Lady Sophia declare she would walk home.
Taking one of the chairs put out for surplus houseguests at the front of the nave, James schooled himself not to turn and watch Lady Sophia at her prayers. He was conscious of her, though, and, after the service stood ready at the door with an arm for each sister, offering his escort.
Lady Felicity took his arm without hesitation, and Sophia accepted a beat behind, falling into step as he led them out of the churchyard.
Lady Felicity had clearly been thinking about the conversation the previous evening. “You mentioned presents for the children, Lord Elfingham. How many children do you have?”
Cheeky young woman. James laughed. “None, my lady, and no wife, either. But I have two brothers yet in the schoolroom, and nieces and nephews, nine of them when we left the mountains, but it will be ten now. The oldest, Zahrina, can read the story of the Nativity at the Christmas Eve bonfire, which makes me feel my years.”
Lady Sophia must have heard the wistful note in his voice. “You miss them.”
“I do, Lady Sophia, especially at festivals such as these. My family has been split in two, and though our love will bridge the distance with prayers and letters, we may never meet again this side of eternity.”
“Tell me about the Christmas Eve bonfire,” Felicity demanded.
James obediently described the festivities: the whole household gathered in the courtyard with candles while a child read the age-old story, the kindling of the bonfire, and the carrying of the light into the house to herald the beginning of the Christmas festivities.
“Then after the church service on Christmas Day, we return home to a feast,” James explained. “We have fasted from all animal products for the whole of December, my ladies, so our Christmas dinner includes dishes made with lamb and chicken, and how we relish them after the fast!”
With Lady Sophia holding his arm, even clinging to it when one foot slipped on the ice, James gave a bare fraction of his attention to the prattle of her sister. Even when she moved her delightful curves back to the proper decorous distance he was aware of them: every nerve, every muscle, alert to her.
He had held her in his arms briefly in dances, and remembering the innocent movement of her body fueled heated imaginings that made him grateful for the winter overcoat concealing the rather too revealing pantaloons dictated by English fashion. Tight leg coverings and cutaway coats made it hard for a man to keep his private thoughts to himself as modesty and morals required.
And in his dreams at night, it was her he rescued from the path of a racing curricle, sweeping her to safety in his arms and being rewarded with a kiss and more, so that he woke aroused and restless.
Back at the house, Sophia and Felicity went up to the room they shared to change from the walking dresses they had worn to church.
Sophia did not know what to think of Lord Elfingham. He spoke so easily of prayers, and fasting, and church services. Few of the other single men had risen in time—and Lord Elfingham had not only attended, but paid attention and known the responses, too. He had even joined in the singing!
Their maid was just putting the finishing touches to Felicity’s hair when the knock came. Sophia opened to find Hythe bristling in the hall.
“May I come in?” Brother-like, he did not wait for an answer but brushed past her, already speaking. “Soph, I have to…” He stopped at the sight of the maid. “Oh. Theodosia.”
Felicity’s eyes met Sophia’s in the mirror. “That looks lovely, Theodosia,” Felicity said. “Do you not agree, Hythe?”
Hythe barely glanced at her. “Yes. Very pretty. Go ahead downstairs, Felicity. I need to talk to Sophia.”
“Soph?” Felicity asked.
“Go on, Felicity. I will just see what Hythe wants and join you. Theodosia, we can manage for ourselves from now on. Go and enjoy the festivities in the servants’ hall. We won’t expect to see you again until tomorrow.”
Hythe fidgeted while Felicity found her shawl and Theodosia Nethercott tidied the dressing table, folded down the sheets on the bed, and lifted the pillow then looked at Hythe and replaced it. Even though Hythe was Sophia’s brother, Theodosia had been raised in a vicarage and would not lay out her ladies’ nightrails with a man in the room.
Hythe moved from one foot to another, picked up the brush on the dressing table and replaced it, shifted a couple of roses in the bowl on the table under the window, lifted aside a curtain to look down into the garden outside, straightened a painting, and moved farther along that same wall to line up the book Sophia had been reading with the corner of the table on her side of the bed.
Sophia wondered briefly how he was coping here at Hollystone Hall. One of the reasons Hythe hated house parties was that other people’s servants shifted his things when cleaning. In Belvoir Abbey and at their London townhouse, his bedchamber and study were perfectly ordered. The maids knew better than to leave anything out of its place, and Hythe’s valet was either as fussy as his master or had adapted to give that impression.
Whatever had sent him racing up here, the delay had given him time to reconsider blurting it out. Even after Felicity and Theodosia left, he said nothing, instead circling the bed to straighten another picture on the wall opposite the window.
Sophia sat in one of the fireside chairs. He wanted to talk? Let him speak first. She began idly folding her shawl into pleats, smoothing it, then pleating it again.
Hythe took the other chair, stretching his long legs to the hearth and looking at the banked fire. His voice was mild, even meditative, when he said, “You let the imposter walk you home from church.”
“If by ‘imposter’ you mean Lord Elfingham, then yes, he was in the party with whom Felicity and I went to church.”
“You and Felicity walked with him. That is what I was told.”
“Had you attended church yourself, Hythe, we could have walked with you.”
Hythe flushed but did not allow her distraction to work. “I will not have him dangling after Felicity, Sophia. You have to put a stop to it.”
“The duchess has accepted him as a guest, Hythe, and as Viscount Elfingham. I have no intention of being rude to the man. He does not flirt with Felicity, if that is what you are fear.”
Hythe leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, examining his clasped hands as if for inspiration. “Who knows what a man like that will do? He is a half-breed, a barbarian. They say his father was a bandit king, Sophia. He made his fortune robbing caravans on the Silk Road. Even if this man is not a bast… Even if the Lords find in the Earl of Sutton’s favor, how could we put Felicity in such a man’s power? They have harems in the East, you know. Felicity would not want to be part of a harem; you can be sure.”
“Elfingham is a Christian, Hythe. Surely Christians have only one wife wherever they live. Most brothers would be pleased to see their sister the wife of an heir to a dukedom.”
Hythe shook his head. “Major Whitemann has lived in the East. He knows what they’re like. The things he told me last night… I am certainly not going to repeat them to my sister, but trust me, Sophia. Elfingham, if he is Elfingham, is not the man for Felicity.”
Major Whitemann had been a company man in India, many kingdoms distant from the mountains between Persia and Turkmenistan on the Caspian Sea where Sutton had been lord of his mountain kingdom. India had made Whitemann rich, and wealth made him acceptable even to high sticklers like Lady Stanton, but Sophia could not like the man.
“Do not cross me on this, Sophia. Felicity is my responsibility, and I will not let her marry Lord Elfingham. Major Whitemann thinks he might try to abduct her. Lady Stanton agrees.”
Sophia looked up from the shawl she was pleating, startled. “Surely not! What would be the advantage, Hythe? Once his place is secure, he will have his pick of debutantes eager to be in line to be Duchess of Winshire.”
Hythe’s head shake was impatient. “The Privileges Committee will not meet to consider the evidence until February, and Winshire is not expected to see out the year. Lady Stanton says Sutton and his son want a Belvoir to secure their position. We are one of the oldest families in England and related to nearly everyone of importance, one way or another.”
Hythe and Sophia exchanged smiles of satisfaction. Theirs might not be the oldest title or the wealthiest, but for untold generations the Belvoirs had been stable, sensible, devoted to their land and their people, and fortunate enough to back the winners in political upheavals, or at least not to draw attention by openly backing losers.
Hythe went on, “If Elfingham marries Felicity, the committee might be more inclined to accept the evidence Sutton says he has. That’s what Lady Stanton says. Weasel says we don’t even know if Sutton’s offspring all have the same mother. Some of them look Chinese, he says.”
“Mr. Winderfield is hardly a disinterested witness, Hythe.” If Sophia had to pick between Weasel Winderfield and Lord Elfingham as heir to the Winshire title, she would not be picking Weasel.
“You have to sympathize, Soph. He has spent his life thinking he was Winshire’s heir, and then Sutton turned up with all these children. Sutton has six sons, you know. He left two of them back in the East. If the Lords find for Sutton, then Weasel is out on his ear.”
“And four daughters,” Sophia said, resisting the urge to ask how Weasel had imagined himself as Winshire’s heir when Winshire had three sons, and the eldest had a son of his own. No one, least of all the current Lord Sutton, expected the second son to inherit. How, then, could Weasel, who was only a distant cousin, have thought himself in line for the ducal coronet?
Hythe was off on a tangent of his own. “Weasel thinks that it is you that Elfingham is after.” He laughed. “As if anyone would look at you when Felicity were around. No offence, Soph, but you have to admit, Felicity is pretty.”
Which meant, Sophia concluded, that she was not. “Thank you, Hythe,” she murmured.
“I do not mean to offend you, Soph, you know I don’t. But even Michael….” Hythe must have decided mentioning her first fiancé was injudicious because he changed tack. “Anyway, I told him he does not have to worry. Even if Elfingham were interested, I know you have more sense.”
“It is just as well I have sense, since I do not have good looks.”
Hythe gave her an indignant glare. “You are a very fine looking woman, Sophia Belvoir, and I did not say otherwise. And you have learning, which will probably be of more use to you than being pretty, since you will not marry.”
“I am grateful to you for your analysis, Hythe,” Sophia lied. “My good sense suggests it is time for us to go down and join the house party for Christmas dinner.” Whereas her less sensible self was itching to upend the water jug over her brother’s precisely coiffed head. He might be quite correct, but she did not wish to hear him say it!