“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 bedchamber. The room was toasty, the fire burning brightly.
Willa rubbed her eyes and stood. “What time is it?”
“Late. Thank you for waiting up. And good heavens, it’s hot in here.”
“Cozy, aye. Turn around then. Did all go well?”
“Yes.” And no. Her heart twisted. George was back to being the stuffy aristocrat. “Lord Loughton is granting me power of attorney over Arthur and the estate.”
Willa froze, and then laughed. “I want to be there when Burford hears that. He won’t like taking direction from a woman.”
George would be with her when that news was delivered. He hadn’t totally abandoned her. “And Burford won’t have to. We are sacking him.”
Willa whooped. “Praise the Almighty.”
She stepped out of the crimson gown and draped it over the chair. While Willa unlaced her stays, she yanked out hairpins.
“Stop wiggling,” Willa said. “I never did like the way Burford treated you. He did like your dowry though.”
“And sadly, my dowry is gone.” Sophie lifted the loosened stays over her head and studied them. “Except for the diamonds, of course. It’s time to take them out of hiding. I’m traveling to London this week.” And George would be with her for that journey as well.
“I wish you could wear them.” Willa carried the dress away. “Your da would have liked that.”
Memories rushed her, and she blinked away a surge of shame. She’d been less than gracious accepting the diamonds, astonished at their abundance and size, imagining the whispers about their vulgarity.
Papa had presented them privately, a gift to celebrate the news she’d conceived Glanford’s heir. Perhaps an unspoken atonement for what she’d had to endure since her nuptials.
They’re just for you, my Sophie. Put them away for a rainy day. Glanford had never known of them, else they’d have been lost in a wager, or draped on the bosom of one of his other women.
She dropped the stays on the bed and retrieved her hairbrush. Willa held out her heavy winter nightgown.
“I’m warm enough in my chemise, and I’m sure your dressing room will be warm now. Go on to bed, Willa.”
The maid moved behind her. “Let me just get these pins. There.” The last locks of hair brushed her shoulders.
They heard a tapping, and then the latch moved, and George Lovelace stepped into the room.
A fluttering started in the pit of her stomach and spread, sending tingles to the tips of her fingers and toes.
Unsmiling, he hesitated in the doorway, his gaze hooded, his mouth hard.
He turned and closed the door, and she let out a breath.
“Mr. Lovelace,” she said.
“Lady Glanford.” He stepped closer, and closer still, and swept a hot glance over her body. “Sophie.”
Her heart pounded fiercely, hope soaring in her. If he meant to begin a liaison…
What would she do?
She heard the rustle of Willa’s skirts.
“Stay, Willa.” He drew a small box from under his coat.
He was giving her jewelry?
“Sophie, I wanted to give you my Christmas gift tonight, privately.” He reached for her hand and pressed the box in it. “Open it. Please.”
“I have nothing for you.”
His blue eyes darkened to midnight, sending a shiver through her. Never, never, never had any man unsettled her so.
She summoned her composure. “Very well.” The lid snapped open and Willa crowded in.
“Oh,” Willa gasped.
Moisture thickened her throat. Her grandmother’s cross lay in a bed of white satin between two garnet studded earbobs.
“You b-bought it back.” Willa sniffed.
“Yes,” he said, his expression still unreadable.
Willa sniffed again and wiped her eyes. “The shopkeeper thought I pinched it. Mr. Lovelace came in and vouched for me.”
“And the earrings,” he said, “they matched so well, I…”
She flipped over the cross and let her fingertips linger on the faded engraving, the hesitation in his voice touching her. The ever-so-confident Mr. George Lovelace was feeling uncertain.
She eased in a breath. “They’re beautiful. But as I said, I have nothing for you.”
“About that.” George took her free hand and dropped to one knee.
Willa gasped again, and the sound of her sniffing faded as she shuffled away, until the snick of the dressing room door silenced her.