One Day for a Valet

Chapter 18

Distracted by blueprints for a trebuchet, which Zachariah had drawn the day before, Sofia nearly passed by the duchess’s closed door before she recognised the unusual sounds for what they were. Another groan, followed by a series of painful-sounding retches.

“Violet?”

An answering moan.

Cracking the door open, Sofia slipped inside to find the duchess in a corner on her knees, her body curled over a basin of her own sick. One curl had toppled free and was swaying dangerously close to the mess.

Sofia crossed and dropped to the floor, sliding a pin from her own hair to secure the duchess’s errant curl. She placed her hand between Violet’s shoulder blades and rubbed in slow circles.

“If you will be all right for a moment, I can ring for a maid to fetch Gabriel.”

Violet sat bolt upright, then her eyes flooded with tears. “No! No, don’t.”

Sofia settled back into place. “All right, but Violet?—”

“No. He can’t… I can’t… Oh Sofia, I think I am with child.”

Sofia remained silent, standing to retrieve a glass of water and a moistened towel before she lowered back down beside Violet on the floor.

“Thank you. I’m feeling much better now.” Violet sniffled, running the cool cloth across her neck and dabbing at her reddened nose. “Gabriel’s late wife, Emma?—”

“I know, Your Grace. The other servants…” she supplied by way of explanation.

“I thought that with my age, I might spare him the distress of a pregnancy. He prefers the title go to his brother rather than risk…” A helpless sob escaped. “He has all but said the words, ‘I don’t want another child.’ It figures that the one area I would excel at as a duchess would be making babies. The singular thing he does not want.” A fresh stream of tears ran down Violet’s freckled cheeks. “I thought we would have more time at least for him to come to terms with the possibility.”

“I don’t think there is such a thing as enough time. The worry would always have loomed for him like a great indomitable monster. But Violet, your duke loves you to distraction. You’ll see your way through this.”

Sofia settled more comfortably on the floor beside Violet, her hands folded in her lap. “When I was little, I used to nag my brother to play make believe with me. He’s ten years older, so you can imagine how much interest a boisterous sixteen-year-old boy had in my girlish games. “Family” was his absolute least favourite game and the one I loved the most, so we made up a game to compromise. I was a woman who desperately wanted children but had been cursed barren by an evil witch, and he played the part of a roguish pirate who rescued children from parents who didn’t want them and brought them home for me to love.”

Sofia swallowed past the uncomfortable lump rising in her throat. “There are too many children in this world desperately in need of rescue by that pirate. But then there are children like yours, blessed beyond measure with two parents who adore them just as they are. I hope Zach and Nora have more siblings than they know what to do with. It would be a great tragedy for the front gardens of Northam Hall not to be overrun with laughing, mischievous children. Gabriel will come around.”

The duchess heaved an unsteady breath. “I’ll tell him after the ball. I don’t want to ruin it with the news.”

“Oh Violet, Gabriel may fall prostrate with shock, he may be riddled with worries, he may wear the knees of his breeches thin in prayer, but news that you are carrying his child could never ruin anything.”

Sofia stood, pulling Violet to her feet alongside her. “Come, we’re building a trebuchet today and flinging random objects into the pond to calculate how weight affects distance and trajectory. You can hurl things with us.”

Violet’s expression brightened noticeably, and the pair set off towards the lake.

The cheerful orangeglow of the sun combined with the summer-scented breeze brought an almost instantaneous shift in Violet’s mood. Where Sofia’s stride was brisk and direct, the duchess seemed to follow a path that only she could see, with skips and zigzags along the way.

Oliver’s recovery had been rather like Violet’s trajectory across the garden, neither consistent in pace nor consistent in path. Some days she arrived only to be turned away at the door with a single sharp command that sounded nothing at all like her brother. Other times, she was met with welcoming smiles. His energy was returning, and he’d used that energy to dig countless holes and transplant spindly trees. However odd the task appeared from the outside, it had proven to be an adequate distraction. Recently, Sofia had seen more good days than bad.

Two evenings prior, Sofia, Hamish, Oliver, and Christopher had played whist, and it had felt like nothing more complicated than four friends enjoying a good meal and warm company. There had been moments that evening when Sofia had forgotten how very dire the situation was. Oliver attempted to teach Hamish how to cheat more effectively, Christopher drew lazy circles with his fingers on Sofia’s leg beneath the table. It had all felt so domestic. So ordinary and wonderful, as if nothing could ever break it apart.

When she and Violet passed by the cabin on their way to the lake, it was to discover that today was a zigzag in the wrong direction for Oliver.

Davies sat on a large stump watching intently as her brother unloaded a wagon full of large rocks.

“We came to see if you were hungry, Oli. I have a few minutes before the children’s lesson begins.”

He scarcely spared her a glance. “Not hungry. I’m fucking thirsty so I’m moving these blasted rocks instead.” Each sentence was punctuated by the thud of another rock punishing the ground below.

Christopher appeared from around the corner of the cabin, meeting her gaze with an unspoken warning. He stopped between the siblings. Sofia opened her mouth, then closed it, retreating a step. The only thing worse than the helplessness of watching her brother struggle, was the undercurrent of fear that stubbornly refused to go away.

Oliver dropped another rock, glared at Christopher, and wiped his brow with the sleeve of his sweat-soaked shirt.

“Oh, for fuck”s sake, Christopher. I’m not going to hurt my sister, so you can go back to reading your romantic penny novels or whatever it is you do all day.”

Christopher did not move. Oliver’s voice lowered to a growl, which was even more menacing than his previous bellowing. “I’m pissed as hell, but I’m perfectly clear-headed and she doesn’t need protection from me, from you, or from anyone else, for that matter. She is my responsibility, no matter how I’ve made a hash of it in the past. And you—” he reeled on Sofia, eyes bright and dangerous.

Then, whatever he’d been planning to say remained exactly where it was. He just stared at her, his eyes wide, throat working with a swallow. He shook his head and when he spoke again, his voice was soft and raw with emotion. “I’m fluent in three languages and they’re all goddamned worthless. None of them have invented words for how sorry I am for having put that fear on your face… in your heart.” He squeezed his eyes closed and his chest heaved in a massive sigh. “Ti voglio bene.” When his eyes opened again, everything about his appearance remained unapproachable, from his tautly strained muscles to his clenched fists. But there was such tenderness in his eyes that it rendered the other details unimportant. “Thank you for the offer of breakfast, little flea. Will you come here?”

She closed the distance, halting just inches from him. She looked up, puzzled when he did not reach for her. With deft fingers, Oliver removed a hairpin from her hair, but before she could ask why, he had twisted and secured the lock back in its place along with the tendril that had fallen when she’d sacrificed a pin to Violet. “You missed some.”

Therewas her brother, the boy who had cherished her above all others.

Pride in Oliver’s strength and determination descended upon her in a nearly overwhelming crush of emotion. Feelings crowded into her soul, bringing with them a sense of safety that her memory had long ago stripped away. To see his rage splash so close to the surface, then watch him fold it all neatly back inside like clothes into a carpetbag when it threatened to overwhelm… it was miraculous.

“Go on now. I have important rocks to move. Come back for supper. I’ll feel better by then. I will feel better.” He repeated the last in Italian, and offered her the most unconvincing smile she had ever seen. She returned it with all the conviction that he could not muster.

Sofia’s fingers absently moved to touch the hairpin her brother had so carefully placed. “Of course you will.”

As it turned out,catapulting random objects was exactly what the duchess needed to restore her cheer. After several hours of calculations and experimentation, the swing arm of the trebuchet cracked and further carpentry was required. Because the children were to do all the assembly without assistance, that left Violet with nothing to do. Constitutionally incapable of being sedentary, Violet promptly decided that, since she was so nearby Hamish’s cabin, the remainder of the afternoon would be best filled with a visit.

Almost immediately, Zach and Nora’s determination to repair their trebuchet gave way to frog catching and then a discussion of amphibian life cycles. As the sun drooped in the sky, they gathered the rest of their picnic lunch and started for home, leaving their broken trebuchet to be collected by a wagon. When they passed by Oliver’s cabin, all was quiet, and there was an intricate, spiralling rock garden where the pile of rubble had been. They continued towards Northam Hall without stopping.

Sofia turned to Zach, who had fallen behind a few steps, weighed down by the blanket and basket. “Your papa has decided the picnic and game of calcio storico will take place this Sunday. He thinks the staff could use some fun after all the planning for the ball.” Gabriel had discussed the idea with Zachariah, and Zach had begrudgingly agreed to participate.

Nora let out a squeal of delight, then wrapped her hands around Zach’s forearm with a tug. “Come practice with me, please. Just for a few minutes before supper!” Zachariah’s gaze crept up to Nora’s for an instant before sliding off in a different direction. He nodded, then followed her exuberant skipping towards the back gardens at a more sedate pace.

Christopher rose from the bench near the entrance to the garden, his gaze assessing her as though he could catalogue the moments of her day by the state of her frazzled curls and flushed cheeks. And maybe he could.

He met her halfway both in step and smile, extending his hands to her the moment she was within reach.

“You’re here,” she said, somewhat breathlessly. “I didn’t expect to see you until supper with Oliver.” His natural, unstudied delight at the sight of her kindled warmth in the pit of her stomach.

“I am,” he said. “And you should stop looking at me with those eyes unless you wish to be debauched in the rose garden.” He took her hand in both of his, raising it to his lips to press a lingering kiss to her palm.

“What nonsense. I only have one set of eyes and all they’re saying is that I am not opposed to the pleasure of your company.” She arched an eyebrow, challenging him to turn that into romantic drivel. It was one thing to enjoy his company and another thing entirely to allow his words to land at the centre of her heart. There was nothing at all wrong with the calculations of his verbal trebuchet.

A slow smile curved on his lips. “There seems to be a fundamental difference of opinion between your various body parts. Your eyes are declaring unadulterated pleasure at my unexpected company.” His lips moved to the inside of her wrist, the warm slide of his tongue branding her skin. “They are downright enthusiastic to have settled upon mine. In fact, if you attempt to look away, I fear they may secede from the sovereign country of Sofia just so they can continue to take in the sight of me without ever blinking again.”

She tipped her chin and gave him a slow, antagonistic blink.

“And now, they are most definitely flirting with me. For shame, Sofia, you really must keep them in line. At this point, their shameless behaviour borders on mutiny.”

Christopher leaned in, tingling anticipation building in all the places where his body brushed against hers. “I always did love a good mutiny.”

He lowered his mouth to hers in a series of deep, searching kisses, each one tumbling into the next. The light teasing of his words only moments before was completely at odds with the urgency of his hands as he skimmed the angles of her jaw, the slope of her shoulder, down the length of her arms to her fingertips, as if they could not rest until they had travelled across every exposed centimetre of her skin and committed it to memory.

With a tortured sound, he eased his mouth away from hers and buried his face in her neck. “Sofia.” In that breathless groan, her name sounded like a prayer. “I met you outside tonight because, foolishly, I thought an absence of walls might prevent me from spending every minute we’re alone trying to quell my hunger for you. Because, Christ, I’ve missed you terribly. As it is, my brain has catalogued fifty different locations where we could find privacy without even having to wander so far as the back garden.”

He chuckled into her shoulder, a low raspy sound that caused an answering flare of heat through her veins. Her body canted closer, and Christopher went still save for his rapid inhalations. His hands slid to her hips, warmth bleeding through the material as he held her in place. She squirmed within the rigid clasp of his fingertips, some contrary devil inside her further incited by his determination to resist, by the tenuous grip with which he clung to his control.

“It seems I’ve arrived just in time to rescue you from my wicked sister once again.” Oliver loped closer, his tousled curls bouncing with every step. “See, I’ve been paying attention to all those lessons in friendship you’ve been droning on about.” Oliver quirked a smile, and Sofia’s stomach rolled at its similarity to Gabriel’s.

Christopher dropped one hand from Sofia’s waist, but she could feel his reluctance in the slide of his fingertips against the cotton of her dress. He tucked her body against his, a casual arm draped across her shoulder. “Clearly, I have done a poor job explaining the nuances. A good friend would have circled around and entered through the kitchen.”

Oliver fell into step beside them, trailed by Violet, who had one caterpillar crawling up her arm and another hanging from her earlobe. “Ah, but I don’t require lessons in being an older brother, and this situation required a direct path to the front door.” Despite words that could easily contain a threat, there wasn’t one. Oliver’s voice remained jovial, reminding Sofia of countless conversations from their childhood.

Whatever had occurred between Christoper and Oliver over the past fortnight, it seemed that a mutual trust had been forged between them. But part of her, a suspicious, despicable part she hated, wondered if Oliver was manipulating Christopher’s friendship for his own purposes. She hated to think Oliver capable of deceiving her, especially after all the effort he had put into his sobriety, but he had inflicted too much damage upon their bond, obliterated her trust too many times, for her to blindly ignore the possibility.

“What are you doing here, Oli? I thought we were going to bring you dinner,” Sofia said.

“You were, but I found the duchess watching a caterpillar build a chrysalis in my newly planted chestnut trees, and it was getting dark. I wanted to see her home safely.”

Two more caterpillars wandered down Violet’s shoulder.

“How many more insects are you hiding in the sleeve of your gown, Duchess?” Christopher teased.

“A few. I thought it would be fun for the children to watch their metamorphoses. Mr Lioni, you must come in and join us for dinner. We’re having… well, I honestly have no idea as I detest menu planning, but I’m sure it will be better warm in the dining room than cool in the cabin.”

Oliver looked away.

“We certainly won’t force you through the door if you prefer your privacy, but I would love the opportunity to get to know you better.”

“No, of course. I would be happy to join you,” Oliver responded, although he didn’t sound even remotely happy at the prospect.

Christopher paused at the door. “If you will excuse me, ladies, Oliver, I will let Gabriel know he gets the pleasure of my company tonight.” He winked at Sofia and walked away, no doubt to ensure the footmen would not serve wine with supper.

A caterpillar swung upside down from Violet’s finger. “I have to find a temporary habitat for these lovelies. I think I will name this one Christopher. His antennae are quite spectacular. Brings to mind Christopher’s cowlick.” She stroked her index finger down the sparse hairs of the caterpillar, then walked towards the kitchens.

The siblings watched her until she was out of sight.

“She’s an odd one,” Oliver said, reverting to Italian.

“She’s just the right sort of odd. I like her very much. I’m fond of all of them. The duke and duchess seem like quite the unlikely pair when taken in apart from one another, but together they just… fit. They’re like the land and the ocean. They have few similarities, but when they come together, the sea crests over the sand, leaving some of herself behind as she welcomes him into her waves.”

Oliver cocked a bushy eyebrow. “Be as poetic as you want, Sofi, but I’m still not going to like him.”

Sofia sighed. “Very well. Hold your grudge. I need to wash my hands and face, and I’m not about to turn you loose here. Come on, I’ll show you my bedchamber.”

Sofia tidied herself while Oliver silently investigated the room.

“They certainly seem to treat you well. Regardless of my opinion of the duke, I am thankful for that much.” Oliver offered up the compliment begrudgingly.

“As I have said, they are exceedingly kind. Come on. We don’t want to be late.”

As they passed back by the open door of Gabriel’s office, she paused at the bright sound of Christopher’s laughter, then lingered in the doorway.

“That is equal parts pathetic and adorable,” Christopher said, his face flushed with laughter, arms braced against the top of the large mahogany desk.

The duke ignored him, his back to the doorway as he fumbled behind the side access panel of a clock until there was an unnatural clang. “That should do it.” He slid a boot pick into his pocket, then gingerly closed the panel as if he had not been committing clock homicide only seconds earlier. The pleased expression drained from his face when he realised he had acquired an audience to the admittedly bizarre behaviour.

Gabriel cleared his throat. “It’s good to see you on your feet, Mr Lioni. Good evening, Sofia. I hear you and the children led a siege today against the west end pond. I hope no ducks were harmed in the assault.”

The duke clasped his hands behind his back and met Sofia’s befuddled stare. He didn’t blink. Not a single twitch to indicate that anything remarkable had occurred. It was extraordinary. The man had a mask of aristocratic composure so convincing that Sofia would have questioned the accuracy of her own eyes had it not been for Christopher’s silent, near-hysterical chortles.

“I dare say the water fowl fared better than the inside bits to that longcase clock you just massacred. What are you doing?” Sofia asked.

“Leave it to an aristocrat to destroy a clock that costs more than I’ve made in my lifetime,” Oliver muttered.

Sofia glared at her brother. Gabriel had the grace to pretend he hadn’t heard the jab. He glanced at the clock, then back to Sofia.

“It’s Violet. She hasn’t been herself recently.”

Sofia tried to fit the destruction of antiquities into the quandary of an unhappy wife, then gave up when it was still not going to make sense. “And so…” she led.

“Violet likes to tinker. To fix things. It makes her happy.”

The duke ran one hand through his curls and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. In that moment, there wasn’t a duke before her, just a man worried over his pregnant wife.

Sofia worked the brief explanation around in her mind until it began to take shape. “Violet hasn’t been herself, so you break things—perfectly intact things—so that she can repair them?” An image of Violet on the floor with the shattered dinner plate came to mind. “The plate?”

The duke shrugged. “It’s what she needs to be happy. Something to study, to figure out. Challenges. And her happiness makes me happy. So I…” his voice trailed off.

“So, you break things.”

“I break things.”

“That’s—” Sofia began.

“Remarkably sweet,” Oliver finished. “Utterly insane, but in a thoughtful way.”

Sofia wasn’t sure which of the two men appeared more embarrassed. Oliver, for admitting to the duke’s kindness, or Gabriel, for receiving the unorthodox compliment.

“Yes, well, hopefully Violet will discover the damage before Bennett notices and has the horologist out to repair it. At times, he is inconveniently aware of everything that goes on here. Speaking of Violet, I haven’t seen her since tea time.”

They followed Gabriel out the study door and down the stairs.

“She was with the children and I this afternoon, then left to visit Hamish,” Sofia offered. “Oliver found her making friends with an army of caterpillars and escorted her home.”

Gabriel nodded, pausing on the bottom step to catch Oliver’s eye. “Thank you, Mr Lioni.”