They sat in this manner, drawing courage from each other. The movement of the carriage both jostled and lulled the lovers within. Sophia’s breathing became more even, and Tobias allowed himself a few treasured moments of pleasure, his beloved within his embrace, the world outside a distant place that touched them not.
It was simple and wonderful, and it ended rather abruptly when Sophia pushed herself upright, crying, “I have it!”
“What is it?” Tobias asked, trying to quiet his racing pulse at the suddenness of her action.
“The invitation! You haven’t forgotten, surely? There must be a means of bringing Miss Sangford and Lord Carthige under the same roof.”
To be perfectly honest—Tobias admitted to himself only—the issue of the invitation had quite escaped him while Sophia rested in his arms. The scent of his beloved still lingered in his mind, as did the memory of her hair teasing his chin. His happy thoughts tried to shuffle aside to accommodate the urgency of this new conversation, but did so rather grudgingly.
“You have an idea?” He marveled that she had found a solution, especially since one of his own was entirely absent.
“I do. Though really it was you who gave it to me.’
“I did?” Tobias was genuinely puzzled.
But Sophia was already rushing ahead in the conversation.
“Of course, I alone cannot carry out this plan,” she said, her manner businesslike and serious. “However, you have access to a resource that is perfectly suited.”
“Oh, good,” Tobias enthused rather weakly.
“It is the one excuse for which Father will tolerate company, especially if it is to include me.”
Tobias perked up at once. “What is it? Tell me. What has your brilliant mind conjured up?”
Sophia clasped her hands together and brought them to her lips, which broadened into a smile.
“Poetry, Tobias,” she declared. Poetry.”
Chapter Fourteen
Afew dayslater, Lord Carthige found his nephew pacing in the entrance hall.
“He will be along in his own time, Tobias. I do not see what you hope to achieve by wearing out your shoes on the marble.”
“He did say eight o’clock, did he not?” Tobias asked, checking the wall clock for the fifth time.
“It is barely ten minutes past the hour. Do settle down. A man of his position is entitled to be fashionably late.”
“I rather got the impression he preferred punctuality,” Tobias countered.
Edmund Stopford regarded his nephew with some suspicion. “And I was under the impression you did not care for him a great deal. Yet here you are, like a puppy, waiting to meet your master at the door.”
Tobias stopped his tireless traverse of the foyer. “Perhaps I was a little hasty in my judgement,” he admitted. “Lord Howell is a gentleman of culture. And intellect. He has revealed as much in his appreciation for Sophia’s talents.”
“Dear boy…” Uncle Edmund shook his head. “You really do lack the subtleties of fine society. I must insist you not overwhelm our guest with your fondness for Miss Grant. After all, he is here to further the matters of his own heart.”
“And I have just the thing to rally the ladies to his cause.”
His uncle raised an eyebrow. “Indeed? This is most unexpected. I did not realize you had taken it upon yourself to help Lord Howell. It is very generous, Tobias. You are a good fellow.”
A good fellow. Tobias’s skin itched with guilt. His uncle was so trusting. And why should he not be? Nothing but respect and true companionship had ever passed between them. Now plots were made under the earl’s own roof. And he, Tobias, was a willing participant.
“Er…thank you, Uncle,” he replied. “Though to be honest”—How he wished he could speak the truth to its fullest!—“my motives are selfish and intended more to help Miss Grant.”
Thiswasthe truth, was it not? But Tobias knew his words had been carefully chosen to mislead. It shamed him deeply.
“I suppose,” his uncle said after a moment’s reflection, “you cannot help yourself. You will always put your heart before your head. It is often so in one’s youth.”
