Chapter 15
“Are the men hunting this morning?” Sophie asked her mother as they walked arm in arm to the breakfast room on their first morning at Nunhaven.
“According to the itinerary, the hunting is scheduled for tomorrow,” Lady Carlisle replied, turning the corner and guiding Sophie into the room. “We are to play croquet today.”
Sophie inhaled the combined scents of egg, sausage, and fresh bread. She’d eaten well last night but was surprisingly hungry. The travel must have exhausted her more than she’d thought.
A dozen or so small round tables filled the room, and the food was laid on platters on sideboards. Neither Nicholas nor Baron Sylvestor were present, so Sophie relaxed and served herself toast with jam and an egg on the side.
Lady Carlisle led her to the table where Lady Wembley was already seated, her breakfast finished and a half-drunk cup of tea to her right. Sophie spread jam on her toast and had just picked it up when Lady Wembley addressed her.
“I understand you’re looking to secure a husband this season, Lady Sophie,” she said, her head cocked in question.
“I am,” Sophie confirmed.
“It was a strange choice for you to leave during the season, then.” Her eyes twinkled as she added, “Unless your prospective suitors are among our guests.”
“It’s a strange time for a house party at all,” Sophie replied, neither confirming nor denying the astute observation. She bit into the toast and relished the sweetness of the jam.
Lady Wembley gave a delicate shrug. “It has already grown much warmer over the past month. I think it was only sensible of me to make plans that will allow my guests to enjoy the outdoors without getting burned and parched during the heart of a drought. My only regret is that my husband cannot remain for the duration of the party.”
“I’m sure many of the gentlemen will have to leave at some point,” Lady Carlisle said, sending Sophie a look intended to remind her that she needed to act quickly before Baron Sylvestor was called back to attend to his duties in the House of Lords.
Sophie rolled her eyes. She knew that time was short.
There was movement in the doorway, and when Sophie glanced up, she saw that Nicholas had entered the room and was in the process of serving himself breakfast. His hair was tied at the nape of his neck, and he wore a blue-and-pink waistcoat she knew Kate would adore.
“He’s a good-looking man,” Lady Wembley said, following Sophie’s gaze. “More than one young lady has set her cap at him, only to be disappointed.”
Sophie turned back to her. “I’m well aware.”
Her mother harrumphed. “Mr. Blackwell has been most attentive.”
A pair of women strolled through the doorway, and one of them—a brunette perhaps ten years older than Sophie—sidled up to Nicholas and looked at him from beneath her lashes.
Sophie narrowed her eyes. How dare others look at him that way when he was supposed to be hers?
But he isn’t, she reminded herself. He’s a free man. He has no duty to you.
Her shoulders slumped.
“Take heart,” Lady Wembley said, refilling her teacup.
“Baron Sylvestor also seems to be sniffing around, and he’s certainly the marrying type.
” She leaned closer and lowered her voice.
“My niece has her heart set on him, but they grew up together, and I’m certain he views her as a sister.
I doubt there’s anything she can do to change that. ”
“Your niece?” Sophie thought she recalled who they were referring to, but she wasn’t certain.
“Miss Marianne Bloombury. She’s quite young but very pretty. Blond. Petite. You may have seen her at dinner last night.”
Sophie nodded. She had indeed seen Miss Bloombury and, further, recognized her as the woman whom Baron Sylvestor had seemed entranced by at one of the balls they’d both attended.
Hopefully, Lady Wembley was correct about how Baron Sylvestor viewed Miss Bloombury and Sophie had been mistaken. Otherwise, she might have serious competition for the baron’s affection.
Nicholas pulled a chair out and sat. “Lady Wembley, I must compliment you on your lovely home. I spent yesterday afternoon exploring and was quite impressed, especially by your gardens.”
Lady Wembley preened. “Thank you. Trevor oversees the design of the gardens. It’s a passion of his.”
“I was also impressed.” Baron Sylvestor pulled out the chair between Sophie and Nicholas and sank onto it.
Sophie started. She hadn’t noticed him approaching.
“And, as always,” he continued, “you are the consummate hostess.”
Lady Wembley giggled. “You’re too sweet, my lord. I don’t know where you learned to wield your silver tongue for it surely wasn’t at the same school that taught my Trevor.”
Baron Sylvestor grinned. “I’m afraid to say it was. While Trevor was becoming an expert in botany, I was a layabout, more interested in practicing my social graces.”
Sophie snorted, then covered her mouth, horrified by the undignified sound. Baron Sylvestor winked at her. Nicholas scowled. Sophie tried not to laugh again.
“Have you visited this part of the country before?” Baron Sylvestor asked, directing the question to Lady Carlisle and Sophie.
“I have,” Lady Carlisle replied. “But I don’t believe any of my daughters have been this far north.” She grimaced belatedly, as if remembering too late that Violet had eloped to Gretna Green and definitely had come this far north.
Fortunately, no one commented on the faux pas.
“And do either of you enjoy outdoor pursuits?” The baron cut his sausage, the knife tinkling against the plate. Nicholas’s eyebrow twitched in time with it. “Like most gentlemen, I’ll give hunting a go, but I must admit, I prefer a brisk walk or ride.”
Sophie finished her piece of toast and washed it down with tea. “I enjoy riding. I can’t say I’ve ever had any interest in hunting.”
“No, hunting is a most unladylike activity,” Lady Carlisle agreed. “I am not much for riding, but a stroll through a beautiful garden is always a pleasant way to spend an afternoon.”
“The gardens at Nunhaven are lovelier than most,” Nicholas said, flashing Lady Wembley a wide smile.
“Indeed, they are.” Baron Sylvestor set his cutlery down. “I know them very well from spending days exploring in my youth. If any of you would like a tour and Lady Wembley is otherwise engaged, I would be more than happy to oblige.”
“I may take you up on that, my lord,” Sophie said.
They chatted for a while longer before moving outside. A table had been set up for those who did not wish to join the croquet, where they could either sit and observe or play cards and other games.
The lawn around the side of the manor was flat and spacious, framed by trees at one end and gardens elsewhere. A number of wickets had been arranged, and the mallets were leaning against the table, waiting to be claimed.
Sophie immediately grabbed the mallet with a green head because it matched her dress. Perhaps at any other time, she might not be prone to such vanity, but if there were ever a time to indulge, it was surely while attempting to win the attention of the man one intended to marry.
She positioned a ball and made a show of lining up the mallet and preparing to hit it.
“If you hold the mallet like that, the ball will likely pull to the left,” a male voice said from a few yards away.
Turning, Sophie shielded her eyes, a little irritated at being corrected when she was perfectly competent at croquet.
It was Baron Sylvestor. What a shame.
It seemed the baron wasn’t above holding his own opinion in high regard and assuming women were incapable. She shouldn’t be surprised. Most men were the same.
“Why don’t you demonstrate the proper stance?” she suggested, offering him the mallet.
With an amiable smile, he took the mallet and lined it up to the ball in much the same way she had.
“It’s all about the way you grip it.” He removed one hand at a time from the mallet handle and emphasized the way in which he put it back. “Like this. Why don’t you try?”
She accepted the mallet and positioned her hands as he had done.
“That’s it!” He beamed, then looked around. Their companions had all chosen mallets and were ready to begin. “Why don’t you go first? Unless Lady Wembley would prefer to begin?”
Lady Wembley gestured for them to go ahead. She had a glass of sparkling drink and a handful of cards and didn’t look the slightest bit inclined to take part.
Sophie discreetly rearranged her hands so they were how she had them in the beginning, swung her mallet, and set the ball neatly through the first wicket. She glanced up in time to see Baron Sylvestor’s mouth fall open.
There was a muffled chuckle, and when she looked for the source, she found Nicholas smirking and looking quite pleased. She followed the ball and hit it again, grinning smugly when it passed through the second wicket.
Take that, you overbearing man.
The next participant was the lady from the breakfast room who’d been making eyes at Nicholas. She was holding her mallet all wrong and kept fluttering her eyelashes in Nicholas’s direction.
“I’m afraid I’ve never played croquet before.” She swung and missed. “You must help me, Mr. Blackwell. I’ve heard you are quite the expert.”
Sophie’s grip on the mallet tightened, and she wondered what the woman would do if she smacked her foot with it. While it was obvious she genuinely didn’t know how to play, it was equally obvious that she had more interest in Nicholas than in learning to do so.
“I am sure that Baron Sylvestor would be happy to assist,” Nicholas drawled, one hand propped on his hip. “After all, he did so well teaching Lady Sophie.”
The baron bowed and approached Lady Somerset. “Of course. I’d be glad to.”
Nicholas’s smirk deepened as Baron Sylvestor hastened to assist her. A tightness in Sophie’s chest eased.
Lord, she hadn’t thought this plan through. It hadn’t even occurred to her that Nicholas might consider taking a lover while they were here. She didn’t think she could stomach watching him flirt and touch someone else.
Perhaps they should have discussed the matter. She could have made it sound like she was just worried that his suit would not appear to be genuine if he were to engage in an affair with another woman.
She feared it was too late for that now. She would have few opportunities to get him alone to talk.
Lady Somerset struck the ball harder than Sophie had expected, and she had to dart out of the way. It missed the wicket by several feet, but Lady Somerset didn’t seem deterred. She marched up to it and knocked it back in the other direction.
Sophie hit her own ball again, wanting to be out of the way in case anyone else overshot the mark.
As the game progressed, she became certain that Lady Somerset was trying to hit her. Several times, the lady’s ball had flown directly at Sophie even when she wasn’t anywhere near the wicket.
If she hadn’t been so worried about getting injured, she might have been quite impressed by her determination.
She was tempted to respond in kind, but instead she gritted her teeth and sent her ball through wicket after wicket. She would have to settle for trouncing Lady Somerset, since she couldn’t bring herself to be violent.
She wasn’t the only one aware of the tension between them.
After an incident when Lady Somerset’s ball became airborne and Sophie had to stumble aside so as not to be taken out at the kneecap, Lord Wembley, who was supposedly officiating, grumbled something about not having expected women to be so damned competitive.
When it was finally over, Sophie was grateful for a servant who was circulating with a tray of lemonade. She grabbed a glass and drank it down, thirsty from her hard work.
Nicholas ambled toward her, his hands in his pockets. “Was that little display for my benefit?”
Her cheeks burned, and she looked over her shoulder, pretending to find something fascinating behind him. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
He looked amused, the cad. “Don’t worry, you have nothing to be concerned about. I’m here to help you, and I have no interest in other… extracurricular activities.”
“Extracurricular,” she muttered. “More like extramarital.”
His gaze turned sharp. “Now, now, kitten. Pull in your claws.”
She dipped her chin and bit the inside of her lip, reminding herself that she had no reason to make unpleasant comments like that. She had no claim on Nicholas.
She just wanted one.
Trevor joined them before she could think of a suitable reply. “Will you be accompanying the hunting party tomorrow?” he asked Nicholas.
Nicholas lifted one shoulder and dropped it. “I’d rather not be out of bed that early.”
Trevor laughed. “It’s the country. It isn’t early unless it’s before dawn.”
“I’m not certain I can bring myself to rise in time for the outing. If I wake, I’m willing to come along, but if I sleep through, I won’t be disappointed.”
“Lady Sophie?”
Sophie pivoted toward Baron Sylvestor, who gave her a shallow bow.
“Have you walked in the gardens yet?” he asked.
“I’m afraid I haven’t had the time.”
He offered his hand. “Won’t you join me? I’m told I’m an excellent guide.”
Sophie glanced from his hand to Nicholas, who was currently distracted by Trevor, then to her mother, who was watching them keenly. Finally, her gaze landed on Betsy, who was hovering in the shade nearby in case Sophie required a chaperone.
She sighed. She was here to secure the baron as a husband, so much as she was loath to leave Nicholas, she reluctantly laid her hand on his. “I would like that, my lord.”