“You look well, Miss Grant,” Mr. Mannerly said as he took his leave. “I am relieved that you have made a complete recovery from your earlier turn. May I say that the color that now touches your cheeks is most becoming?”
“You know very well you should not say such things,” Sophia scolded, but her heart was no longer in it. She let him kiss her gloved hand. She would have to buy a new pair—this one wouldbe squirreled away under her pillow, ready for her to savor the delectable memory (and the lips that had formed it) whenever she chose. She was walking on air.
Without thinking, she rose from her chair.
There was a gasp from Bess. The room went quiet. All eyes turned in Sophia’s direction.
“Whatever is the matter?” she asked.
“Are you tired? Shall I have a footman carry you to your room?” inquired George with some concern.
“That is not necessary. I feel quite fit enough.” Sophia felt as surprised as they looked. “Yes.” A broad smile echoed her realization. “I feel…I might walk to my chambers myself if someone offered me their arm.”
She was momentarily disappointed when Mr. Mannerly did not offer. It would, of course, have been inappropriate. But such was the wholesome nature of the man that she would have accepted gladly and not thought his intentions anything but honorable.
Henry, who was nearest to her of her brothers, stepped forward briskly and held his arm out to her. “Ready?” he asked, though his dubious expression suggested he did not think she possibly could be.
“Ready.” She nodded. His arm stiffened as she placed some of her weight upon it. It was enough. She would manage. Sophia turned to Mr. Mannerly. “Thank you for coming.” The simple words did not do justice to the impact his presence had had, but she was certain he knew this.
He bowed, his hand to his chest. “It has been…pure poetry.”
It would have been a fitting response to stride from the room like a queen, gliding on the euphoria of an evening unlike any other. Instead, Sophia walked slowly, taking great care not to give the appearance of shuffling. Out of sight of Mr. Mannerly, she stopped to catch her breath.
Henry put a supportive arm around her. “Would you like to sit a while?”
“I can do it.” She was panting slightly, but determined to see it through.
“Look, Fee, if anyone can do it with the power of sheer doggedness, it’s you. But nowhere is it written you have to do it all at once.”
“You promise not to fetch a footman?”
“I promise.”
She lowered herself gratefully onto a wide bench. Henry joined her. Despite his youth, and the playfulness suggested by freckles and strawberry-blond hair, he was just as patient and sensible as George. Sophia counted her brothers among the handful of blessings that remained to her. It was easy to be herself in their company. As it was with Mr. Mannerly…
She looked down to hide the blush she felt rising to her cheeks. Her eyes fell on the small table that stood beside them. It supported a wide-lipped vase. Being early spring, there were daffodils, irises, and snowdrops on display. She wondered who had picked them. It was something she had always done with her mother. Her blush evaporated as a chilly reminder took its place. Neither her mother nor she would gather flowers again.
And it was her fault.
The well of energy that had filled up during the evening poured out of her so suddenly that she slumped against Henry.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, buoying her up against his chest.
“I…I probably just overdid it.”
“Too much too soon?”
“Yes, that’s it. I’ll be fine once I’ve had a proper rest.”
“Say no more.”
And because Henry was a good brother and would keep his promise, he reached over and scooped Sophia up into his own arms and carried her to her room.
Katie fussed while undressing her, wishing aloud that her mistress would not take such risks with her health. But Sophia was too tired to listen. She watched from her bed as the maid carefully collected her black silk dress, shoes, and other paraphernalia, to be taken downstairs and cleaned.
As her eyelids began to close heavily, Sophia murmured, just loud enough to be heard, “Leave the gloves.”
Chapter Six
