Vim didn’t want to lie to these men, but neither was he about to admit he suspected Sophie Windham, for reasons he could not fathom, had gifted him with her virginity then sent him on his way.

“She lent you that great hulking beast of hers,” St. Just pointed out. “She’s very protective of those she cares for, and yet she let you go larking off with her darling precious—never to be seen again? I would not be so sure.”

Vim had wondered about the same thing, except if a woman as practical as Sophie were determined to be shut of a man, she might just lend the sorry bastard a horse, mightn’t she?

“I proposed to my wife, what was it, six times?” Westhaven said.

“At least seven,” Lord Val supplied.

St. Just sent Westhaven a wry smile. “I lost count after the second hangover, but Westhaven is the determined sort. He proposed a lot. It was pathetic.”

“Quite.” Westhaven’s ears might have turned just a bit red. “I had to say some magic words, cry on Papa’s shoulder, come bearing gifts, and I don’t know what all before Anna took pity on me, but I do know this: Sophie has been out for almost ten years, and she has never, not once, given a man a second look. You come along with that dratted baby, and she looks at you like a woman smitten.”

“He’s a wonderful baby.”

“He’s a baby,” Westhaven said, loading three words with worlds of meaning. “Sophie is attached to the infant, but it’s you she’s smitten with.”

All three of Sophie’s brothers speared him with a look, a look that expected him to do something.

“If you gentleman will excuse me, I’m going to offer to take the baby tonight for Sophie. She’s been the one to get up and down with him all night for better than a week, and that is wearing on a woman.”

He left the room at as dignified a pace as he could muster and considered it a mercy Lord Val hadn’t barked anything at him about leaving Sophie’s damned door open.

* * *

“That is just famous.” Westhaven scowled at the empty basket of rolls, wanting nothing so much as to summon Sindal back into the room—but for what?

“Yes,” Valentine said, though his expression was more puzzled than thunderous. “If Sophie and Sindal were in separate bedrooms several doors apart, how does he know she was getting up and down all night with the child? I slept in one of those bedrooms for years and never heard Sophie stirring around at night.”

St. Just smiled a little crookedly. “Because you sleep like the dead and snore accordingly. One wonders if Sindal has told Sophie about the debacle in his past. I don’t think the man’s forgotten it.”

“She wouldn’t hold it against him,” Val said, frowning. “We don’t hold it against him, do we?”

“His Grace thundered about it for weeks,” St. Just said. “You two were more concerned with getting back to school, but Sindal is only a couple years older than I am. It isn’t something a man would quickly forget.”

Westhaven got up and crossed the room to hunker near the fire. “Like we can’t forget he took liberties with our sister. His Grace will be calling for his dueling pistols if the truth should reach him.”

“I don’t think so.” Val kept to his seat and rearranged the cutlery on his empty plate. “I’ve come to realize His Grace picks up a lot more than we thought he did, and he chooses to overlook it.”

“Perhaps.” St. Just shifted in his chair and crossed his legs at the ankle. “That leaves us only with Her Grace to worry about.”

Westhaven rose from poking up the fire and regarded his brothers’ unhappy expressions. “’Tis the season, you lot. Cheer up. At least the man can change a dirty nappy. If he and Sophie have anticipated their vows, he’ll need to be handy in the nursery. Now, shall I beat you at cribbage seriatim or both at the same time?”

“And what if there are to be no vows?” St. Just asked.

Valentine answered as he crossed his knife and fork very precisely across his plate. “Then he’ll need to learn how to disappear from Sophie’s life and never show his miserable face in the shire again. We won’t have him trifling with her.”

Westhaven resumed his place at the table.

“But his family seat is in Kent,” St. Just said. “He can’t very well avoid that for the rest of his life, particularly not after he inherits.”

Westhaven smiled, not a particularly pleasant smile. “Exactly so. Valentine, fetch the cards; St. Just, we’ll need decent libation. As I see it, we really don’t have very many options.”

Fourteen

A quiet knock sounded on Sophie’s door, no doubt one of her infernal, well-meaning brothers come to check on her.

Come to make sure she hadn’t knotted her sheets and eloped with a stable hand to dance on café tables in Paris.

She opened the door and stepped back.

“I wasn’t sure you’d still be awake.” Vim didn’t come into the room, just looked her up and down from where he stood in the drafty corridor.

“Come in, please. We’re letting in the cold.”

He advanced exactly three steps inside the door and still made no move to touch her. “I’ve come to spell you with Kit. I can take him tonight, and you can get some rest.”

And wasn’t that just fine? Vim would come for the baby but not to see how she fared or to speak with her privately.

“I’ll let you take him. I must accustom myself to being without him, mustn’t I?”

“Not necessarily.” He shifted half a step as Sophie closed the door behind him. “You can raise that child, Sophie. You’re a duke’s daughter, and your reputation has no doubt been spotless until now. Your family is of sufficient consequence you could take in a half-dozen children and nobody would take it amiss.”

“You’re wrong.” She rummaged in her traveling bag for some clean nappies and a rag. “They would say: Like father, like daughter. They would say: Like brother, like sister.”

“What does that mean?”

“Anna and Westhaven anticipated their vows, as did St. Just and Emmie. The proof is in their nurseries. I expect Val and Ellen did, as well, but time will tell. His Grace raised two bastards in the Moreland Miscellany, though I love my brother and sister dearly. I’m even named for the royal princess whom all believe to have whelped a bastard, though nobody will say it in public.”

“Sophie, what’s wrong?”

Now, he’d moved. He’d crossed the room silently to stand at her elbow. The bergamot scent of him, the Vim scent of him, tickled her nose.

“I’m tired,” she said, shifting away to sink onto the raised hearth of her small fireplace. “Seeing my brothers is wonderful, but under the circumstances…”

He lowered himself to sit beside her. “Under the circumstances, I’ve ruined your holiday.”

“Christmas is not my favorite time of year.”

“Mine either, and hasn’t been since a certain holiday gathering almost half my lifetime ago. I expect your parents will acquaint you with the details if your brothers haven’t already.”

This was news. She lifted her head to peer at him. “Is this why you dread coming to Kent? There is some scandal in your past?”

“My sisters were the victims of scandal, though I started the tradition well before they did, and I was not exactly a victim. I was a fool.”

“Soph?” Valentine’s voice called softly from the corridor. A moment later, a knock sounded on the door, and a moment after that, Val pushed the door open. Slowly—slowly enough she might have hastened to an innocent posture if she’d been, say, kissing the breath out of her guest. “Is the prodigy asleep yet?”

“You were a prodigy,” she said, rising from the hearth. “Though now you’re just prodigiously bothersome. Lord Sindal was coming by to collect Kit for a night among you fellows.”

“We fellows?” Val’s brows crashed down. “We fellows took turns the livelong freezing day, carrying that malodorous, noisy, drooling little bundle of joy inside our very coats. You should be missing him so badly you can’t let him out of your sight for at least a week of nights.”

“Ignore your brother, my lady.” Vim rose off the hearth, and to Sophie’s eyes, looked very tall as he glared at Valentine. “We will be pleased to enjoy My Lord Baby’s company for the night, won’t we, Lord Valentine?”

Valentine was not a stupid man, though he could be as pigheaded as any Windham male. Marriage was apparently having a salubrious effect on his manners, though.

“If Sophie says I’ll be pleased to spend the night with that dratted baby, then pleased I shall be. Coming, Sindal?”

And then, then, Vim kissed her. On the forehead, his eyes open and staring at Valentine the entire lingering moment of the kiss. “Sleep well, Sophie. We’ll take good care of Kit.”

He lifted the cradle and departed. Sophie pushed the nappies at Valentine, ignored her brother’s puzzled, concerned, and curious looks, and pointed at the door without saying one more word.

* * *

“Westhaven sent us a pigeon.” His Grace waved the tiny scrap of paper at his wife. “Says they’ve retrieved Sophie, and all is well. The four of them are on their way.”

Though it didn’t say precisely that.

“In this miserable weather too,” Her Grace replied. “I don’t worry about the boys so much, but Sophie has never enjoyed winter outings. Come sit and have some tea.”

He sat. He did not want tea, but he did want to share his wife’s company. She was the picture of domestic serenity, plying her needle before the fire in their private sitting room.

“They’re traveling in company with Rothgreb’s nephew,” His Grace said, flipping out his tails. “Is that a new piece?”