One Day for a Valet

Chapter 23

Christopher managed to traverse a path to his room avoiding all but Jeremy, who blew him a kiss then laughed until Christopher was long out of sight. Tossing his clothes into the corner for washing and mending, he dressed quickly in loose-fitting trousers and wore a shirt open at the collar.

With his lust temporarily silenced, Christopher’s unease regarding Sofia’s exchange with her brother began to hang heavy and sour in his stomach. Whatever had passed between the siblings had been more than just a trivial quarrel. Christopher had felt her agitation as if it had been his own. Even hours later, the memory of her pallid skin and wide, distressed eyes constricted his throat. He swallowed hard and tried to convince himself that she was all right, as she’d assured him she was. That they were all right. But his body refused to settle.

Hopelessly lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts, he nearly passed Sofia by. She sat primly on a wrought-iron bench, tracing the looping acanthus scrolls with the tip of her finger. Every indication of their earlier activities had vanished from sight. He had the juvenile urge to muss her hair and kiss her lips red all over again. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat to keep from following through with the fantasy.

Her head jerked up, and she bloomed before his eyes with a soft, secret smile and warmth in her gaze. “Ciao.”

“Hello,” he returned, tucking her close when she stood, then looping his arm around her shoulders.

“Did you make it back to your room without incident?” she asked. They set off into the shadows.

“Very nearly. Jeremy accosted me on the stairs.”

“I suppose it could have been worse.”

“Indeed. It could have been Bennett.”

She giggled at his comically aghast expression.

Turning them towards the less cultivated area of the estate where they could disappear into the trees, Christopher fell silent, the memory of Sofia’s earlier distress once again creeping into his thoughts.

“Will you tell me what was bothering you earlier, with Oliver?”

She looked away. “It’s been perfect tonight. I don’t want to ruin it.”

He was considering how to respond when Sofia held up a hand and froze, pointing to a couple tucked together against a tree. It took only a moment to identify the pair as Violet and Gabriel.

Before they could turn and quietly back away, Gabriel spoke, and even with the privacy of the darkened woods, Christopher could see the desperation with which he clung to her. “You will have an uneventful, boring confinement, followed by the shortest labour in the history of Great Britain.” His voice was raspy, pleading. “A healthy baby will be born, pink and perfect and very much alive. She will scream so loudly and enthusiastically that the goats will hear her in the paddock and cover their ears with their hooves. And you will comment that any fears that might have plagued me were completely unfounded, as you were more taxed by sheep washing than by bringing our tiny child into the world.” Violet made a noise as if to respond but Gabriel cut off her words with his own. “You will be healthy and vibrant and goddamned alive when you are finished. That is what is going to happen, Violet, and I will not entertain the notion that anything less than blissful will occur.”

“Gabriel,” Violet responded in a patient tone, “I’ve seen goat does in labour. Even the best circumstances are far from blissful.”

Gabriel cut her off with a kiss, then tore his mouth away. “BLISS-FUL. Do you hear me, Violet Anson?”

Sofia looked up at Christopher with a satisfied smile, then indicated with a jerk of her head the direction of retreat.

“All right.” Violet said. “Blissful. May I just say one thing though? Then I promise I will allow you to live in whatever cloud of rainbows you wish to reside for the next seven months.”

“Very well, one thing. And then it’s back to rainbows and kissing for me. I’m going to need a lot of kissing.”

Violet’s voice continued to carry over the breeze as Sofia and Christopher carefully tiptoed into the shadows.

“I appreciate your valiant optimism, Gabriel, but it’s all right if you’re scared. I realise your fear is not an indication you’re not happy about growing our family further. I wanted to protect you from those feelings, even while I realised it was an impossible thing to do. I am not going to become less pregnant anytime soon. I love you, Gabriel. I won’t love you any less if you struggle your way through my confinement, counting the days until it’s over.”

Christopher paused just before they would step out of earshot, awaiting Gabriel’s reply.

“Thank you, sweetheart. But this is the only way I will be able to survive the next seven months. I need to hold onto the rainbows because the alternative is the kind of epic thunderstorm that will tear my heart from my chest. And I am going to need my heart to remain right where it is, because very soon I will have one more person to love.”

Sofia gave a sharp tug to Christopher’s arm, coupled with a meaningful glare, and he promptly followed her footsteps.

“I’m glad for them,” Sofia said once they had circled back to the privacy of the rose garden.

“He’ll be a bear to live with for the next seven months,” Christopher said with the hint of a smile in his voice, “but I am proud of him. He’s fighting for the life he wants. Fighting for his joy. Falling in love is effortless. Any idiot can do it. It’s everything that comes after that takes bravery.”

She rested her head against his shoulder, and he turned to breathe in the scent of her hair.

“Is it bravery to stay and fight when the battle may be impossible to win? Or is it merely foolishness?” Sofia asked. “If your duke knew Emma would die in childbirth, that he would lose his late wife and his heart, would he have married her anyway?”

Christopher raised his eyes to the stars, tracing the constellations with his gaze, and let the memory of Emma wash over him. “He would have chosen to love her for a single day if that was all he could have. And it’s the same now with Violet, but all the sweeter for knowing the precariousness of life and love.”

“What about your papa? Death is but one way to crush a heart. Would he have loved your mother knowing that she would choose to leave? That she would willingly walk the path that led her away from him?”

Christopher shook his head and looked at the ground. “I don’t know, Sofi. What’s this about?”

Cold rippled across his skin and he shivered despite the balmy August air. His feet drew him closer to the warmth of her, and he took one of her hands between both of his. It was slack and chilled, and he squeezed her fingers as if he could circulate life and determination back into her body after their brief conversation had somehow leached it all away.

Again, he turned his gaze to the sky, admiring the scattered stars that gave relief to the pitch black above and searching for the words that would draw her back to him. A streak flashed across the sky, brilliant for a moment, then fell away into the vast abyss. It seemed wrong to wish upon the death of something so beautiful, but he did it anyway, then cleared his throat before continuing.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what my father would have done. I saw their marriage through a child’s eyes. Maybe my papa only fought for her once it was already too late, or maybe she never loved him in the first place.” Christopher took her face between his hands, silently imploring her to meet him there. “I only know my own heart, my own feelings. And Sofi, if you left me, I would follow. It wouldn’t even be a conscious choice. Tumble from the heavens, my shooting star, and I will break from my orbit in search of your light.”

She dissolved into his body, clinging to him as if he was the last safe place in the universe. And Christ, he would be that for her if she would let him. He wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair. “And maybe you don’t know what that means, but I do. And I will keep loving you until you figure it out.” He kissed her curls, ran his fingers up and down her back, and listened to the sounds of the night all around them. He wouldn’t ask her to explain. He knew it was more than she could give. Christopher had learned so much of Sofia by carefully considering the gaping holes of herself that she would not discuss.

When she loosened her grip and found his gaze, there was renewed determination and certainty there, as if she had skipped to the last chapter of the book and learned that everything would be okay. That beyond all the suspense and heartache of the climax, the hero and heroine would cling to their implausible dream and trample the odds. She was never more beautiful than in that moment, her eyes alight with hope. And when she kissed him, dawn broke over his soul.

Christopher’shalfhearted attempts to shoo Sofia off to sleep amidst tender kisses and incendiary caresses made for a long, slow walk to her door. After a final heated kiss goodnight, and one last longing gaze at her bed, Christopher finally tore himself away and left her to sleep.

Her thoughts were reeling.

Once she was certain he had left for his own room, Sofia changed into the dress she had first worn to Northam Hall and retraced her steps back down the stairs and out the door, heading towards Oliver’s cabin. The door opened before she could touch the handle. Shirt rumpled and curls in disarray, he appeared to be every bit as restless and out of sorts as Sofia felt.

“You should be in bed… alone. Where’s Christopher?” He glanced behind her as if he expected to see a sandy-haired valet trailing behind.

“In his bed, I assume. Is Hamish here?”

“No. One of his sheep is giving birth. He left to check on her an hour ago and hasn’t returned. What are you doing here?”

“Move. I’m coming inside.”

Oliver sighed but relented, stepping to the side to make room for her to pass.

She met him directly, hands on her hips. “Christopher told me about your trip to town and your gambling debts, and still I didn’t make the connection. He said that a man’s threats continued even after you paid. That’s why we need to leave, isn’t it?” She threw her hands up in the air. “It’s not only the risk of someone on the estate noticing the resemblance. I’m so bloody stupid. Does that blackguard know, Oliver? Of course he does. He knows what you are, and he means to hurt us with the information! The blackmailer has become the blackmailed!”

All of her frustration and anxiety had gathered and sharpened, landing squarely in this moment. Oliver’s shame seeped into his expression, further feeding Sofia’s ire.

“Oh, Oli, no. How could you be so stupid?” She fell into a chair, temporarily giving into the feelings of disappointment spiralling through her. Her head in her hands, she sat mired in the crushing miscalculation of her situation and Oliver’s continued deception. She dug her fingertips into her temples, trying to force those feelings of disillusionment into something more productive. She stood up again and began to pace the small room.

“Sofi, I was drunk. I was an idiot. I wish I could take it all back. Don’t you know how fucking sorry I am?”

She stopped and whirled on him, preparing to cut loose with all the anger and hurt that had been bubbling inside her for years. But he stood there like a man condemned, without a shred of self-worth or fight remaining. And she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t inflict more pain. Instead, she gathered him up in her arms and he folded his large body into hers, his arms tucked between them as though he preferred to hide within the folds of her gown forever than face the shame of his past, the man he had been, and the irreversible damage he’d caused.

She tightened her grip around him. “We will go to him together. Explain that you were so drunk it’s a wonder you didn’t think yourself Prinny’s heir. We will make him believe. Where might we find him?”

“No, Sofia. He’s dangerous and it won’t work. I tried to tell him. He doesn’t believe me.”

“Then we will tell him again. Oliver, this is the only way.” Releasing him from their embrace, she curled her fingers into her hair and resumed her trek across the bowed floor planks.

“It’s true that you look like the duke, but with some mutton chops and a shorter hairstyle, no one will notice. No one noticed tonight! This blackmailer is the only thing standing between us and finally building a life together. This is where we belong. Where we both belong, and damn it, I won’t let you just roll over and quit on us again. Stand up and fight, you lunkhead. Fight for me!” Her fervour hit a hard wall and her legs began to shake uncontrollably. “Please, Oli. I need you.”

Oliver crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. “All right. All right. I will try. But it isn’t going to work, Sofi.”

His response was meaningless. She heard only his acceptance of defeat behind his tepid agreement. Oliver would go to appease her, but he would fight with one fist and walk away the moment he was pushed to the ground.

Well, Sofia had two good fists and a history of pulling herself back up to her feet. Oliver wouldn’t save her, she would save herself. She would save both of them. And then she would have her life with Christopher and his indomitable affection and she would keep Oliver by her side, lunkhead that he was. For once, she would have her happily ever after even if she had to scrawl the words with her own quill.

“Is he in the village? I could walk with you.”

“Yes. He plays at the public house, but no, you will not. This is my mess.”

If only it were just his mess. But that was the pattern of people in her life. Somehow, they could never fully grasp that their choices impacted the lives of those around them. That their every careless spill made its way onto her. And, while she couldn’t deny the changes she had seen in Oliver of late, the fact remained that the fires he had thoughtlessly set in the past were still blazing through her present. Nothing would be left of her future but charred rubbish unless she found a way to preserve it on her own.

She turned to her brother, impatient now to take her leave. “It’s late. We can figure this out tomorrow.” Grabbing him by his shirt front, she pulled him down to kiss his cheek.

“I’m so sorry, Sofi,” he whispered. “I’ll go in the morning.”

“I know, Oli.” And she did know. But she wouldn’t wait until morning and she couldn’t spare the time to stand around helping him feel better. It would take longer to get to the village in the dark, even if she moved swiftly. Considering the hours Oliver had kept while drinking at the tavern, she had every chance of finding the men he’d kept company with if she went now.

Sofia was thankful for the fullness of the moon as she walked, ran, and stumbled down the well-trodden path to the village. Tearing the inside seam of her dress, she pulled out the few coins she had sewn inside for emergencies and gripped them tightly in her hand as she cracked open the door to the tavern and stepped inside. The equally abhorrent aromas of rich, overcooked meat, cheap perfume, and sweaty male assaulted her senses, and she wished she could leave the door open.

An old man sat alone at a bar while two younger men at a low table in the middle of the room flirted clumsily with the girl that sat between them. And, in the corner, five men sat sprawled in their chairs playing a game of cards. The table was littered with cigar ash and chipped earthenware bowls of half-eaten stew. Flies circled hungrily around the bowls, ignored by the patrons. Something wet seeped into Sofia’s slipper, and the sole made a sticky squelching noise as she moved to find a table near the group of players.

“What can I get for you?” A plump older lady crossed the room, eyeing her suspiciously.

Sofia didn’t think her stomach would tolerate anything procured from this place, but sitting and staring was not an option.

“A tankard of ale, please.”

The woman nodded and arrived a moment later, the liquid sloshing onto the table as she set it down none too gently. “It’s late for a woman to be out alone. Drink it and be on your way, eh?” The matron glanced meaningfully at the men in the corner and back to Sofia.

Sofia tried to smile, but landed short of the mark. Alone at the table, she stared into her drink, watching the light reflect against its surface and searching for the courage that had somehow fallen away halfway to the village.

She pictured Christopher’s familiar face, alight with warmth and affection, and allowed herself a moment to imagine how good it would have felt to turn to him with this impossible problem. To let him help her. But the risk of him discovering her secret, the additional lies she would have to tell, wasn’t worth the relief that would have come from avoiding this moment. She shoved her chair back, rising before she could lose her nerve again.

“Excuse me, gentlemen. I wonder if any of you have seen a man by the name of Oliver Lioni? He’s tall—over six feet—with broad shoulders and dark skin and hair.”

A few of the men ignored her entirely, but one looked up and acknowledged her with a grunt. Her hands were shaking, and she clasped them together to hide the tremor.

“Yeah, we knows him.”

“Bene. Good. I’m his sister, and I’ve been trailing him for weeks now from village to village, trying to find him. He’s been drunk more than sober. Lying. Stealing. He told someone in the next village over that he was the Baron of Waysworth and tried to swindle them out of their hard-earned coin. I’m absolutely livid, fed up with his behaviour.” She pushed as much starch into her voice as she could manage and was pleased with the result. “I need to find my wastrel of a brother and get him back home before he does any real damage. Luckily, so far none of the men have been gullible enough to believe his tales, but sooner or later some poor sod will actually swallow his stories.”

She was glad she didn’t have to fake her annoyance with Oliver. “Really, he should at least come up with a believable lie. One look at him and anyone with half a brain knows he is no peer.” She forced her expression into one of blatant incredulity and then congratulated herself on her performance.

The men at the table chuckled. “Aye. He’s as brown as dirt.”

For the first time in her life, Sofia found cause to be pleased at the ridiculous notion that the colour of one’s skin was a determining factor in his worth.

“Yes, well, have you seen him of late?”

“Aye. He came in and paid his debts a few days ago, but we ain’t seen him since.”

She nodded and tried to pin a look of disappointment on her face.

“If you see him, can you let him know that his sister is looking for him? For all the good it’ll do… he’s probably off to the next village by now.”

“Sure, miss. We’ll tell him. Now how’s about you come have a little rest on my knee here, little bird? Surely you need a break from chasing after your brother. Tiring work, that is, and you look as if you might change my luck at the tables.”

“Don’t hog her, Tom,” another of the men piped up, patting his own lap. “Come sit with Simms, love.”

“Another time, perhaps.” She gave him a tight-lipped smile, then dropped a coin on the table for their time and another on her table for the ale. She nodded to the barmaid and stepped into the blissfully fresh air.

She had done it. She was almost certain the men had believed her. Oliver would be angry at the danger she had put herself in, but it had been worth the risk. Any risk was worth it to keep both Oliver and Christopher in her life and to keep the Anson family safe and living as they always had. As they were meant to live. She would go back to her rooms and sleep for a few hours before the picnic, then find Oliver after and explain what she had done.

Her pace had slowed substantially at the behest of her sore feet and she was considering a short rest when the unmistakable sound of a snapping twig brought her about. She froze, scanning the path where it dipped down a gully and around a bend, her heart pounding. Nothing. Likely a deer. She listened for a moment more anyway, just to be sure.

But then there were more rustling leaves and Sofia’s brain screamed at her to run. She whirled around and took off, stumbling and switching direction to avoid one of the men from the tavern—Simms— as he stepped out to block her path. Another appeared. Then a third.

“There’s no point in running. Five of us, one of you.”

“I count four.”

“John’s a fat slob, but he’ll catch up.”

Sofia forced herself to take deep breaths, trying to slow her body’s frantic response, and planted her feet on the ground. It was as if all her thoughts had been flung into the air and scattered about her, too numerous to pick up. She couldn’t focus on anything except the fact that she was an idiot. She should have gone to Christopher. He wouldn’t have pressed for answers, he never had. He’d only ever offered his unconditional support, even when she was too cowardly or too proud to ask for it. Idiota.

“What do you want?” Her voice was surprisingly steady despite the shivering that wracked her insides.

“You left so fast we didn’t have time to tell you that we knows you’re a lying bitch. And I hates a lying bitch.” He spat on the ground and took a step closer. “See, we’ve been watching your brother up in that fancy mansion. We’ve seen you too. You ain’t been searching for him. So we figure if you’re lying about that, you’re likely lying about all the rest as well. We don’t know how a man like him could be a duke, but something’s not right, and we think he’ll probably pay a bucket of coin to get his pretty sister back. Course, there’s plenty of time to have fun with you while we wait. I promised Tom first go at you.”

The man to his left licked his lips. “Looks like you’ll be sitting on my lap after all, little bird.” He cupped and adjusted himself, then flashed a smile of greying teeth.

Fear had begun to solidify into rage and Sofia’s eyes landed on a tree branch a foot away. She lunged for it. None of the men tried to stop her, more amused than concerned.

“Oh, I hope she puts up a good fight. Nothing turns my dick to stone like a good tussle,” Tom said, leering.

His laugh turned to a groan as Sofia landed a solid jab between his legs and a second across his collarbone. Spinning, she felled another attacker with a resounding thwack to his knee, and Simms choked with a gurgle as her makeshift foil found purchase on his throat. When the last man reached for her, she dodged his clumsy grasp easily and struck him once in the stomach and a second time on the head.

Sofia dropped her stick and ran. The sounds of the forest drowned out beneath the rhythmic whooshing of her heart. She leapt over a fallen tree, then rolled onto her back, confused to find herself prone rather than still upright and dashing down the path. There had been a loud bang. And then she noticed it—an intense searing pain in her shoulder. She reached for the source of it, and warm, sticky blood coated her fingers.

A beefy, out-of-breath man leaned against a nearby tree reloading his gun. Simms was back on his feet and caught up as well, a trail of blood trickling from the angry slash across his throat.

“Aye, John’s slow, but we keep him around because he’s a crack shot with a pistol.”

Someone else spoke, but she couldn’t understand. Everything felt out of reach, blurry and garbled. She mashed her eyes closed and tried to push to her feet, collapsing with her cheek in the dirt when a wave of dizziness rippled through her. She tried a second time to get her knees beneath her, scrambling her toes against the too-slippery path.

Tom caught up then. “My God, but she’s a feisty bitch. Such fire. I can hardly wait to get my dick inside her.” He unfastened his suspenders.

“Disgusting bastard. Touch me and I’ll kill you,” she ground out.

“Tough words for a woman who’s lost a pint of blood on the ground. Don’t worry, little bird, I’ll not have you here. I want to be able to take my time with you.” He reached for her wrists and bound her with his suspenders. She struggled through her pain until everything went black.