“Nor do I want Mr. Cartwright to interrupt your discussions tonight. Fitz,” Mother dropped the letters onto the desk, “I’ve read all of Sophie’s correspondence to you. I suggest you do the same. And here are the others regarding your ward’s estate business.”
George reached for the second batch. “May I see those?”
She glanced at Sophie, who nodded her permission.
Mother beamed a smile all around. “Fitz will address your concerns, Sophie, and I trust George will offer wise counsel. We shall have a very merry Christmas tomorrow. I will see you in the morning.”
As the door closed on her, George sifted through the letters. The steward had written, and tradesmen. But two were postmarked from London, and he recognized the name of the sender. Hands shaking, he unfolded the most recent of the two.
“I am sorry, Sophie,” Fitz began, as well he should.
“And I am sorry for your loss, Fitz, and all that has gone before. Now I need you to tell me the state of my son’s holdings, and your plans for his future.”
Half listening, George began reading.
My dear Lord Loughton,
As mentioned in our letter of 15th November our inquiries have proceeded apace and have uncovered an informal transfer of title for the property in question. As we have been receiving inquiries from a group of investors wishing to secure a right of way for this land, we beg your hasty response so we may properly settle this matter. Be so good as to advise how you would like us to respond to the inquiries we are receiving.
While he read on, Sophie and Fitz spoke of the IOUs, of other debts, of assets, and income, and plans to send Arthur to school.
The words barely registered.
His heart pounded, excitement growing. The land in question, the owner he was supposed to unearth, the person who could approve the right of way, was under the same roof at Loughton Manor.
Or rather…the persons: Arthur owned the land, and Fitz managed it.
And Sophie…
He looked up. Color had risen in her cheeks and her mouth had hardened into a thin line.
What had Fitz said?
Whatever it was, he deserved her anger, and so did Glanford. Her husband had used her, as had Fitz, leaving her struggling to care for the boys while he swanned about with his juggle-headed friends.
Sophie was clear-minded, and honorable, and brave, and she deserved a man who loved her, a business-minded man who would appreciate her intelligence.
Him. He wanted her by his side, forever.
His stomach churned. When she knew about this property, she’d think he was using her as well.
Fitz swiped a hand through his hair. “Very well. You are right. I’ve bungled everything. I shall empower George to manage Artie’s affairs and his education.”
“No.” George jumped up.
Sophie’s eyes widened and her color drained.
He turned away, unable to speak.
If he were empowered, if he used that power to impose the lease…he would be using her. She needed to make the choice.
He cleared his throat and sat down again. “Sophie must have authority to manage Arthur’s affairs. She’s…clear-minded, honorable, wise. Hand me paper and pen.”
Head spinning, Sophie stood and began to pace. Shocked and elated, she was also…disappointed. George was fobbing off the responsibility for Arthur. George wanted nothing to do with her.
Oh, what had she expected?
Mr. Cartwright’s matrimony scheme must involve George and Charlotte. Perhaps it was the price of his investment in the railway, and George was too honorable to continue leading Sophie on. She wouldn’t need to see him again.
That would be fine. That would be better. The kissing, the temptation to touch him, had all been a temporary madness. An unnecessary distraction. She could do this. She didn’t need a partner, and it was madness to think a husband would ever be a true partner. And, good heavens, where had that thought come from? Her destination with George had never been the altar.
She took in a breath. Nor would a lover ever be a true partner.
“We’ll draw something up right now for the bank, the solicitor and the steward,” George said.
His matter-of-fact practicality helped restore her good sense. “I doubt the steward will accept it,” she said.
“Then Fitz will extend himself enough to sack him.”
“Agreed,” Fitz said. “You’re traveling that way, George. You’ll deliver my letter in person and enforce it. I’ll write informing the bank and your solicitor.”
The bank and solicitor would speak to her? It was almost too much to hope. “Will this assignment of power be legal?”
George’s mouth firmed. “We’ll make it so.”
Her eyes misted and she turned away. George had seen the extent of her debt. He wanted her out of his hands. He was a sensible businessman, and she and her sons were a financial liability to the entire Lovelace family. George’s trip to bring Fitz home had more to do with family honor then any feelings for her. He wouldn’t entangle himself with a woman like her.
That would be fine. It must be. Artie’s and Ben’s futures were all that mattered. The debt was enormous, but she’d negotiate payments. Some of the letters mentioned a 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.