At the door, he cast a glance back and caught the lady in question watching him. She dropped her gaze and turned away.
So, she was not unaffected either.
Mother sailed along on his arm with nary a limp or a creak of her bones, yet she seemed thinner, more fragile since his father’s funeral.
“Retiring early, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Not so early. You’ll remember that dinner was late.”
Mother could, and often did, stay up until dawn for parties and balls. Father had shared her love of society. It was no wonder she wanted her children at home for this first Christmas without him.
Though, he knew, that wasn’t the main reason she’d called him home.
As they ascended the steps, he plunged in. “What the devil is wrong with Fitz, Mother?”
“You’re just like your father,” she said. “Right to the point. I do miss him so.”
“I know. While we’re getting to the point, tell me also why Lady Glanford is here.”
She paused as they reached the landing. “What think you of Charlotte, George? She’s very eligible.”
“She’s a lovely young girl, and I don’t wish to marry her.”
“Well, I tried.” Smiling, she turned and presented her cheek to him, pointing up at the ceiling, where a kissing bough hung. “I may as well take advantage.”
George laughed, dropping a kiss on her cheek. “You’re still lovely as ever, Mama.”
“And not looking for a spouse either, so don’t even mention the notion.”
“No one could replace Father.”
She squeezed his hand and led him along to her private sitting room, dismissing her maid, and seating him next to her on the settee.
“I wish your father were here,” she said. “And Grumby as well.”
Grumby was their longtime steward. “He’s gone?”
“He’s never quite recovered from the fever that took your father’s life. I’ve given him leave to spend time with his sister.” She sighed. “I’m afraid neither he nor Fitz are seeing to the business of Loughton. Fitz comes home for a few days and is off again. His friends are a wild set. I thought, after Glanford died—”
“Fitz was still entangled with Glanford?”
“I fear so, though he kept it from your father.”
“And Lady Glanford’s visit?”
“The poor dear traveled by stagecoach, left the boys and her maid at the Swan, and turned up on my doorstep. She was determined to wait at the Swan until Fitz returned. Of course, I insisted she move in here with us.”
“Of course. But…she came to see Fitz?”
“The boys are delightful. I wouldn’t mind keeping them, if Fitz wishes and she agrees. Arthur might go off to school with James and Edward. They would enjoy that.” She squeezed his hand. “Sophie has been good with all the children, and has helped a great deal with the Yuletide preparations.” She studied the flames licking the grate. “I sense that she greatly needs help, and Fitz is her boys’ guardian.”
“She might have written Fitz with her concerns.”
“She said she has, and I believe that’s true. I’ve seen letters posted from Lancashire.”
If Fitz was ignoring his own family responsibilities, it was certain he wasn’t concerning himself with Glanford’s.
“She revealed nothing more?”
“No, and I didn’t wish to pry. She has a shield about her, but I sense her distress. I want you to get to the bottom of it, George. Talk to Fitz.”
He stood. “I’ll do so, first thing.”
“Tomorrow is soon enough. You must be exhausted after your long journey.”
She followed him to the door and turned her cheek up again for a kiss. “I’m so glad you’re here. Not just for Fitz’s sake, but for the others as well. The boys have been tormenting the life out of the girls.”
He patted her hand and wished her a goodnight.
It was well on to midnight when Sophie shepherded the girls up to their bedchambers and climbed the stairs to the nursery suite. She kissed Ben, and then tucked the covers around Artie, not at all sure he and his chamber mates, James and Edward, were truly asleep. Even if they stayed up half the night whispering when she left, she was grateful they weren’t alone in the freezing cold manor house entailed to the Earl of Glanford.
She wished the nursery maid a good night and slipped down the stairs to the guest suite she shared with her maid.
Willa jumped from the 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.”