The Baron Next Door (Prelude to a Kiss) (27 page)

“T
hat’s new.”

Charity squeaked in surprise, her fingers abruptly ceasing their play. She swiveled on her bench to find Hugh lounging in the doorway, looking devilishly handsome in the early-afternoon light. She grinned and started to greet him when all at once she realized why he was there.

“Oh no! What time is it?” Her gaze darted to the clock. Of course, she was late again. She was supposed to have gone back to the main house ages ago to change for the festival. It was just that she was
so
close to finishing her niece’s lullaby, she had gotten a little carried away.

He smiled knowingly and shook his head. “Time for you to change, my dear. The villagers would have my head if I didn’t bring their favorite baroness, as promised.”

His polished black Hessians tapped a neat beat on the hardwoods as he made his way across her cheery little music room. The warm ocean breeze slipped through the open windows, ruffling his hair and catching at the folds of his expertly tied cravat. His features were relaxed, an easy smile lifting the corners of his lips. There were two faint purple half-moons beneath his eyes, remnants of his episode two nights ago, but otherwise his skin was golden and his eyes bright.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said, accepting his proffered hand and allowing him to pull her to her feet. He tugged harder than necessary, bringing her flush against his chest. She lifted an eyebrow, “And I can see for myself that you are feeling very well today.”

These days, his attacks were less and less frequent and blessedly mild. Between his ocean swims and
tui na
therapy twice a week—not to mention her own efforts at massage, though those always tended to end in tangled sheets and secret grins at the breakfast table—his life was rarely interrupted by pain anymore. When the episodes did happen, they had a routine of sorts that helped to lessen it before it got out of hand.

She liked knowing that she could help him. He had brought so much joy to her life, it felt good to be able to reciprocate.

“I am,” he said, sliding his hands over her hips before clasping them just above her derriere. “I’m actually looking forward to socializing, believe it or not. Although,” he added, dipping his head to nuzzle her neck, “I could be persuaded to be a bit late.”

She shivered, gooseflesh peppering her arms as his hot breath fanned across her skin. Never mind the fact they had been married for months; she still couldn’t get enough of him. “Mmm, don’t tempt me.” Even as she said the words, she tilted her head, granting him greater access.

“Why not?” His lips followed the slope of her exposed shoulder as his hands tugged her firmly against him.

Why not? The reasons slipped away from her grasp as she closed her eyes in pleasure. It was always like this with him. He could rob her of all sensible thought with little more than a simple touch, and she loved him all the more for it.

“Ahem.”

Charity’s eyes popped open at the unwelcome intrusion. She started to pull away, but Hugh didn’t move an inch, firmly holding her in place. “Go away, Felicity,” he called out.

“Oh no,” she said, laughter coloring her words, “we must leave within the hour if we are to arrive on time. Lady Effington clearly knew what she was doing when she sent me to fetch the two of you.”

Ah, Grandmama.
Charity should have guessed. Grandmama claimed she had accepted their invitation to move to Cadgwith because of the medicinal qualities of the fresh ocean air, but Charity suspected she enjoyed keeping an eye on two of them. Which was just as well, since Charity liked keeping an eye on her grandmother whenever Squire Baumgartner came calling. Which, incidentally, was probably why she was anxious to leave for the festival. Charity grinned at the thought.

She looked up at Hugh. “I suppose I should go and dress.”

Sighing greatly, Hugh pressed one last kiss against her lips before turning to address Felicity. “Fine, fine. Take her away if you must.”

Felicity grinned all too knowingly. “So sorry to have interrupted your fun,” she said with a wink. By now Felicity was every bit as close to her as a sister, but it didn’t stop the blush from rising up Charity’s cheeks.

“Yes. Well, I need to look over my first official Flora Day speech again, anyhow.” He slipped his fingers through Charity’s and squeezed. “And I must say, I am quite looking forward to seeing you in your peach silk gown again.”

His raised eyebrows told her the rest of the words that remained unspoken: He was looking forward to seeing her
out
of the gown, as well. Her blush deepened; at least that’s what she
hoped
he was thinking. “Then I shall wear it just for you.”

She lifted their joined hands and brushed a kiss against the warm skin of his knuckles. All at once, gratitude swept over her, stealing her breath with its intensity. Here in this place, this tiny, perfect little corner of England, she had everything she ever dreamed of. A sister in Felicity, who had so joyfully welcomed Charity to Cadgwith. An adorable niece who brightened all their lives and for whom Charity hoped a cousin may soon be on its way. A grandmother who enriched her life every day. Dear friends who not only corresponded with impressive dedication, but who planned to reunite in Bath in less than two months for the second annual Summer Serenade in Somerset.

And, most of all, a husband who loved her the way she had always dreamed of being loved, and whom she loved every bit as much in return. A man who wasn’t perfect, but who was absolutely perfect for her. A grin came to her lips as she remembered her thought last summer after their first meeting:
This, Lord Cadgwith, means war
.

No,
she thought, giving him an impromptu hug.

This, Lord Cadgwith, means love.

S
ophie Wembley had always prided herself on being able to find the bright side of any situation. When she was compelled to play the oboe, when all the other girls were learning violin or pianoforte, she’d chosen to embrace her mother’s belief that the more unique the instrument, the more memorable the musician. Yes, in the beginning, the tricky little instrument had sounded more like a duck than a songbird, but in time she’d learned to play quite well.

When she’d discovered how embarrassingly modest her dowry would be, she’d brushed off any disappointment. At least she could be sure that no self-respecting fortune hunter would ever consider her prey. Any man wishing to marry her would do so because of his regard for her, not for her money.

Finding the silver lining today, however, was proving somewhat more elusive. But, then again, hearing the words “Your sister has eloped” did tend to drown out all other thoughts in one’s head.

Without the slightest twinge of guilt, she reached for yet another shortbread biscuit. It was her fourth of the morning, but with news of the elopement sending her mother into such a dither, Sophie’s indulgence was the least of their worries. Taking full advantage of Mama’s distraction, Sophie bit into the crisp treat, savoring the buttery goodness. It was
absolutely divine. So good, it
almost
made up for the minor issue of Penelope ruining the family’s good name by running off to Gretna Green with the estate manager’s son.

Sophie sighed, still unable to believe her sister could have done such a thing. If the missive hadn’t been written in Papa’s own hand, Sophie could have easily believed the whole thing was a cruel joke.

One look at her mother confirmed that this was no laughing matter.

“What could she possibly have been thinking, Sophie?” Her mother paced past the sofa table for perhaps the hundredth time, her hands red from hours of wringing. Tearstains marked the pale skin of her cheeks, though thankfully the tears themselves had finally abated. “Does she hate us so very much? Does she think herself above the lot of us?”

Swoosh
. Her emerald skirts billowed out behind her as she turned for another circuit of the tidy little drawing room. “The
ton
will have a field day with this. I’ll never be able to show my face in polite society again. And you,” she said, shaking her head with the quick, jerky movements of one who had consumed entirely too much tea. “You and Pippa will never find husbands now. Thank God Sarah is safely wed.”

Sarah’s marriage last month was the only reason Mama had allowed Sophie to travel to the first annual Summer Serenade in Somerset to begin with. So far, the music festival had been everything she had hoped it would be, filled with musicians and music lovers from the world over, and with so many events and activities, there had yet to be a dull day in the whole first month. It was absolute heaven.

Her mother had claimed the trip was a special treat during which Sophie could relax after such a whirlwind spring, but Sophie knew better. The festival had drawn many an eligible bachelor, and where there was an unmarried gentleman, there was opportunity for matchmaking.

Or at least there had been.

She took another bite, willing the goodness of the biscuit to overwhelm the dreadfulness of the morning. Numbness had settled deep in her chest. In a few weeks’ time, when news of the elopement got out, she’d be a pariah. All the things that she had taken for granted these two years since her debut—the grand balls, the lavish dinners, the friendly waves during rides at Hyde Park—all of it would be gone.

As she swallowed, a new thought occurred to her. What about the musical trio she had formed only a month ago, but which by now was as dear to her as family? And what about the recitals she was supposed to have with Penelope next spring? Sophie had actually been looking forward to them—the recorder was so much more complementary to her oboe than Sarah’s bassoon had ever been.

Taking a deep breath, Sophie pushed back against the fear that threatened to dislodge the numbness. This wasn’t the end of the world. They’d figure something out—hopefully
before
life as she knew it ceased to exist. Hadn’t she spent the last two years wishing that Mama would stop pushing so hard for her to make a match? She almost laughed.
Be careful what you wish for.

Setting down the uneaten portion of shortbread, she wrapped her icy hands around her still-steaming teacup. “At least we have a bit of time before the news becomes known. We might even be able to make it to the end of the festival! Since there is nothing we can do to change what Penelope has done—though hopefully Papa will come up with something—I say we make the most of the time we have.” She offered up a helpless little grin. “Why walk the plank when we can waltz it instead?”

Mama blinked once, twice, then not at all, staring at her as though she’d quite lost her mind. Perhaps she had. Why else would she suggest they carry on as though their family hadn’t just been shaken by what was sure to be the scandal of the summer? It was fanciful thinking, born of desperation.

Sophie stuffed the rest of the biscuit in her mouth and flopped back against the sofa. What were they going to do? They’d undoubtedly be packing for home before the day was out. For the first time, a spark of anger pushed past the shock. Why did Penelope have to do something like this now, just when things were going so well? This had been the best summer of Sophie’s life so far, and she wasn’t ready to give it up yet.

Blast it all. She wished her friends were here with her. May would know exactly what to do. She was bold and fearless and unswayed by such insignificant trifles as scandal and rumor. And Charity would know exactly what to say to calm the emotions building in Sophie’s heart like steam in a teapot.

But Charity was away for a funeral until next week, and May’s aunt had decreed that Sundays were strictly for worship and reflection, so Sophie was well and truly on her own until tomorrow at the earliest.

“You are right.”

Sophie looked up, startled by Mama’s pronouncement. “I am?” she said around a mouthful of biscuit. It was not a sentiment she was used to hearing from her mother, particularly when Sophie herself wasn’t sure if she was right or simply delusional.

Nodding with impressive confidence, Mama swept her skirts aside and sat for the first time since receiving Papa’s letter. “Indeed you are. I imagine we’ll have two, perhaps three weeks before the gossips catch wind of the scandal. That is more than enough time, if one is committed.”

She leaned forward and poured herself yet another cup of tea, as though the entire issue had suddenly been resolved. Sophie eyed her mother suspiciously.
Is this what hysteria looks like?
Calm, rational words said with overbright eyes and the nervous tapping of one’s foot? Should she ring for a footman just in case Mama suffered a fit of vapors from the stress of it all?

Brushing the crumbs from her lap, Sophie tried to work out what exactly her mother meant. After a minute, she finally gave up and asked, “Committed to what, exactly?”

Mama held up her index finger as she took a long sip of her tea. Soft morning sunlight filtered through the pretty white sheers on the windows overlooking the street, lending a much cheerier atmosphere to the room than the subject warranted.

“We must carry on as we have been. Parties, recitals, dances—we shall attend as many as possible for the next two weeks.”

So they weren’t going home after all? They were merely postponing the inevitable. “To what end? Do we pretend that all is well, laugh, dance, eat, and be merry until the moment someone points in our direction and brands us outcasts? No, thank you.”

The determination tightening her mother’s mouth was unmistakable. “No, my little magpie,
I
shall laugh, dance, eat, and be merry.
You
shall laugh, dance, eat, and catch yourself a husband.”

Choking on her shock, Sophie reached for her tea and nearly knocked it over before getting a proper grip and downing the contents of the cup. “A husband?” she gasped. “You can’t possibly be serious! If I haven’t caught a suitor’s attention in two years, what on earth makes you think I could catch one in two weeks?”

Her mind spun. It was absurd in the extreme. She wanted a husband she could adore and who could adore her in return. She was even mad enough to hope for a love match, despite what the
ton
thought of such a thing. Finding such a man took time and, well, more
time.
She put a hand over her suddenly rioting stomach, heartily wishing she had stopped at biscuit number three.

Mama’s eyes changed in an instant, narrowing on Sophie with utter seriousness and disconcerting intensity. “You haven’t a choice, my dear. I don’t care how you go about it; I don’t care who you choose. But by the end of a fortnight, you
will
be betrothed.” She stood, smoothed her skirts, and smiled. “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to write your father. Be ready in an hour, if you please. The husband hunt begins today. I do hope you have someone in mind.”

Sophie watched in openmouthed shock as her mother swept from the room, a vision of efficient determination. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even think. Oh, dear heavens, what had just happened? She couldn’t possibly be expected to woo a man in a fortnight. She wasn’t beautiful or alluring or the least bit captivating. Though she normally talked entirely too much, she hadn’t even been able to say two words to the man she’d—

She sat bolt upright, her heart nearly leaping from her chest.
To the man I’ve secretly admired for the past two years.
Actually,
admired
was much too tame a word.
Adored
was more apt. A
tendre
to end all
tendres.

She pressed trembling fingers to her mouth, her pulse pounding wildly in her ears. He was here for the festival. She’d seen him twice now, and both times she had made a ninny of herself, grinning like an idiot and stammering her greeting. He was kind and jovial and terribly handsome as always, but with her stomach doing somersaults, she had been keen to escape.

Drawing in a long, deep breath, she dropped her hands to her belly. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

It was time to woo the earl.