“Ah, yes. Now that I think of it, I have come across a small volume of her works. She has an excellent grasp of the human condition. And yet there is a strong note of the classics.”
“Miss Grant is fluent in Latin and Greek,” Tobias boasted, as if they were his own achievements. “And she corresponds with the likes of Lord Byron, Mr. Wordsworth, and several notable academics.”
Lord Howell nodded. “You are well matched, by the sound of it. You have been most fortunate.”
“Not as fortunate as you might think,” Uncle Edmund countered. “Her father is Mr. Conrad Grant, my neighbor.”
Lord Howell sucked the air in between his teeth. “That does complicate things.” He looked at Tobias with pity. “I had not realized. I am so sorry.”
“I do not fear Mr. Grant.” Tobias stuck his chin out. “He will soon see the difference in his daughter now that she has been freed of her past. When he returns from London, it will be a time of celebration, I think.”
Uncle Edmund and Lord Howell exchanged glances.
“What?” Tobias asked. “You do not believe me?”
“Oh, it is clear you are devoted to Miss Grant,” the viscount answered. “And there is little doubt she is the better for it. But Mr. Grant might cling to the past a little more…insistently.”
Tobias opened his mouth with a ready retort, then snapped it shut again. There was no point in trying to persuade the duo of hopeless bachelors of the merits of true love. They had not seen the change in Sophia. But her father would see it. It would gladden his heart. In no time at all, their families would be united in love and matrimony.
He remained less communicative for the remainder of the evening. The pleasantness of having company had been marred by his companions’ persistent pessimism. He listened as they debated the merits of families farther from Munro. Uncle Edmund offered to write to his sister and discover the chatter surrounding the season’s debutants. A woman’s perspective would be useful, and Tobias’s mother was sensible to boot. She might even be willing to reach out to her friends in other counties to hear if any hidden gems were waiting to be discovered.
Tobias listened, yes, and wondered at the chance of success of such an arrangement among strangers. He counted himself lucky indeed to have found his beloved almost on his doorstep. Tomorrow, he would visit again. And the day after that. And, in a few short months, he would ask Mr. Grant for her hand.
Uncle Edmund might have his books, and Lord Howell might one day have his heir, but he, Tobias Mannerly, would have the happy ending.
Chapter Eleven
How was itpossible—Sophia pondered, as the carriage rattled along the country road—that in the short space of a month, she had completely shrugged off her morbid apprehension of Mondays? Even with Papa back home, she had recovered quickly from his restrictive presence, shoving aside the influence he would normally exert over her mood. After all, come each Monday, he would be away, and the day would be filled with promise.
She glanced at Tobias beside her, his warm hand holding hers. He was peering through the window at the meadow, which was awakening to its first flowers. Sophia knew if he should turn to her, the buds of spring would be forgotten. His gaze would consume her. Just the thought of it made the heat rise to her breast. She scarcely felt the April chill.
She had missed this—seeing nature stir from its sleep. She felt as if she were doing the same, drifting into consciousness after a long absence from the world. Father had forbidden her to leave the house, except in high summer, when he believed the risk to her health was minimal. In some ways, however, summer was too rich for her blood. Its sumptuous beauty and lushness contrasted too starkly with her own existence. The sudden opulence overloaded her senses.
Spring was shy and quieter. Not all birds had returned from their annual journey, and their song was less overwhelming.Green tips hinted at new growth. It was, as seasons go, more subtle. This was something a poet could appreciate.
Like the spring, Sophia felt a new vitality. Her heart was sending its roots deep into fertile soil. Her mind explored new possibilities. Even her limbs grew a little stronger, as if they were inspired to keep up with the rest of her. The more she threw off the shackles of her past, the easier it was to reach for her dreams.
She curled her fingers tighter around Tobias’s. His head swung toward her. And there it was…that look. Her toes wriggled with pleasure inside her soft, leather boots. She no longer blushed. Well, not much, anyway. She was becoming used to the consistency of Tobias’s affection. He never wavered in his devotion to her. Gradually, she was allowing herself to simply enjoy it.
He drew her hand to his lips, pressing their soft warmth against the inside of her wrist. The rush of heat surged up her arm. She leaned more tightly against his powerful chest. His embrace enveloped her, his breath in her ear. Exhilaration thrilled through Sophia, a tremor of delight. She felt both safe and reckless.
Tobias uttered a low groan and pulled back.
“You are almost home,” he said, his voice husky with restrained desire.
The carriage wheels made a familiar grinding sound as their muddy rims picked up bits of gravel from the drive leading up to the house. Sophia tucked her curls in place. Assuming a prim posture, she waited for the steps to be lowered, casting her gaze across the drive.
Adriana was standing at the top of the entrance stairs, wearing her warmest coat. She was likely waiting to take the carriage into town.
A movement just inside the doorway caught Sophia’s eye. She recognized Freddy Wynn at once. No doubt he was alsotaking advantage of Papa’s absence. But a moment later, her sister hurriedly shooed him back into the shadowy recess of the entrance.
That was odd.
Adriana smiled and waved as the carriage approached, but her eyes flicked back to Freddy with nervous energy. She clutched her skirts, even though no wind tugged at them. As the carriage drew closer, Sophia could just make out a large, dark object jutting out from behind one of the stout pillars.
It was Mama’s travel chest.
Sophia’s stomach lurched. Her heart pounded painfully against her ribs as the footman fumbled with the folding steps. The moment he stepped back, she threw herself out of the carriage and took the stairs two at a time, stumbling into Adriana’s arms when her legs gave out.
