CHAPTER TWELVE
“You’re going to help me?” Christian asked, blinking at her incredulously.
“Why wouldn’t I? As soon as Mrs. Goatsocks and I return to London and say we’ve been visiting friends to the north, hopefully the gossip will die down soon enough. If you return to London just as the next Season begins, I’m certain I can help you before I become an old married lady myself.” She grinned at him and rubbed her hands together as she studied the chessboard.
Christian sighed and contemplated his defeat. “Go ahead. There’s my queen. Finish me off.”
Sarah did so in two easy moves.
“You’re quite good at chess,” he admitted.
“And you are quite good at carving.” She examined the queen closely. “It’s absolutely amazing how detailed the pieces are.”
“It’s just something I do to pass the time.”
“If this is something you do to pass the time, I’d like to see what you’retrulyskilled at.”
That statement hung in the air for a bit, making Sarah blush until Christian chuckled and said, “Obviously not at attracting ladies.” He gathered the pieces together to put them back in the wooden box he’d carved for their storage. “Anything else to teach me? About the fairer sex, I mean.”
“Oh, yes. I nearly forgot. When you pay the lady of your choosing a call, don’t bring roses. Anything but roses.”
“Why not roses?” He set the pieces gingerly inside the velvet-lined box.
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Everyone brings roses. It shows absolutely no imagination whatsoever.”
He cracked a smile. “Shouldn’t you merely be glad to have received flowers?”
“Well, of course, but if you want to stand out in a crowd of suitors, you’ll have to do better than roses.”
“Fine. No roses. Duly noted. Anything else?”
“Yes. Tell her that her hair looks pretty.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
Another eye roll. “Tell her regardless. We spend a great deal of time on our hair and we’re excessively fond of it.”
Sarah made her way across the room and curled up on the sofa, her feet under her, a quilt surrounding her. Soon, Fergus II was similarly curled up on the rug beneath her. Sarah reached for the knitting needles that sat on the side table next to the sofa and resumed knitting a second coat for the dog. If this snow didn’t let up, the pup would have a large wardrobe.
She glanced over at Christian, wondering for the dozenth time what he looked like without his beard. She’d drifted off to sleep last night wondering about it, actually.
“Did you bring those knitting needles with you from London?” he asked, jolting her from her thoughts.
She dragged her eyes away from the stitch she was making. “No. I found them in a drawer in the bedroom. Don’t worry, I have no intention of stealing them. I’m merely borrowing them,” she teased.
Christian frowned. “There were knitting needles in the drawer?”
She paused in her stitch. “Yes. Didn’t you know it?”
“No.” He smiled and her heart fluttered. “It might come as a surprise to you, my lady, but I don’t knit.”
She smiled back at him, then returned her attention to the little coat. “Perhaps your cousin left them here. Or your mother?”
The silence that followed was palpable. Sarah shifted uncomfortably in her seat as the awkwardness of the moment dragged on. She obviously shouldn’t have mentioned his mother. They’d been having a happy exchange until that point. She searched her brain for something to say, some other topic to switch to and make things right.
Moments later, he stood, made his way over to the door, and retrieved his coat from the rack. “I must see to the horse.”
Sarah nodded, but he didn’t see her. He was out the door in a flash, the cold wind whipping into the room as he opened and shut the door as quickly as possible. She bit her lip and continued her work on the coat, but her mind was racing. Why had Christian been so unwilling to say anything about his mother? And it had to be his mother that was the sore subject. He’d seemed happy enough to discuss his cousin with her before.
