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“He ate not so long ago.” Sophronie scratched his head as he began purring contentedly in Larissa’s lap. “He’s particularly fond of kippers.”
“He can have mine then. I canna abide them or trout either.” Larissa pulled a comical face. “Grandmother Larimore told me from the time I was a toddler that I’d learn to like them when I became an adult. She was wrong.”
Evan’s family had welcomed Sophronie into their depths with graciousness and warmth she hadn’t expected. No one had questioned the hasty marriage nor made her feel unwanted.
A mud-spattered but obviously quality coach rumbled up the drive, and Larissa and Sophronie glanced out the rain-streaked window. Someone was either daring or extremely bored to venture out in this torrent.
“Are you expecting visitors today?” Sophronie asked her new sister-in-law.
Forehead scrunched, Larissa shook her head. “Nae.” Her scowl deepened. “And certainly not her. Given the circumstances, she really should’ve sent a note ’round first.”
A footman had run down the steps and held an umbrella over the woman's head, obstructing Sophronie’s view. She squinted and angled her head to get a better view. “Who is it?”
“Leah Wesleyan.” Larissa’s unfriendly tone held no welcome.
Sophronie flashed cold, then hot, then cold again as rage sluiced through her. That woman dared to call here? After she’d sent Papa to an early grave?
Did she think she’d not suffer any consequences for what she did?
Good manners had required Evan to respond to Miss Wesleyan’s parents’ inquiry after Papa’s health. After all, he’d collapsed at their house, and naturally, they were concerned. Evan told Sophronie he’d briefly explained that George Slater had quietly passed from this world in his sleep in the early morning hours.
Nevertheless, that viper had no right to intrude upon this household.
In an instant, Sophronie was on her feet and brushing the wrinkles from her gown. Forming a glacial smile, she yanked the bell pull and said over her shoulder, “Would you and the rest of the family care to join me in the drawing room when I receive her as the new duchess?”
“Och, aye!” Larissa set Sir Peppermint down and leaped to her feet, a mischievous grin splitting her pretty face. “I wouldna miss it for the world, and I’m sure they wouldna either.”
A moment later, Coira, one of the maids, entered. “Ye rang for me, Yer Grace?”
No matter how often Sophronie told the servants not to address her with the honorific, they continued to do so.
“Please ask Blige to show our guest to the drawing room and ask Cook for tea and dainties. I shall be down shortly.” As Sophronie turned toward her dressing table, she paused. “Please make sure no one mentions the duke’s and my marriage.”
Eyes huge and brimming with curiosity, Coira bobbed a curtsy. “As ye wish, Yer Grace.”
“I’ll go tell the others, Roni.” Larissa pressed a swift kiss to her cheek. “Ye needn’t fret. We’ll stand with ye. Ye are family now.”
With that, she rushed from the room, no doubt eager to tell her relatives of the brewing storm.
Sophronie took several minutes to tidy her hair, pinch her cheeks to add a bit of color, and don a pair of black jet and diamond earrings. She might be in mourning, but she needn’t look frumpy. After kissing Sir Peppermint on his soft forehead, she said, “I’m off to face the dragon, my sweet friend.”
He batted at her earring, and Sophronie laughed. That she could amid such gut-wrenching sorrow astounded and encouraged her. Life would go on. She would go on and eventually know joy again. Somehow, even thinking such thoughts so early after Papa’s death seemed traitorous.
“I have to leave you for a bit, darling. There’s an evil witch below who needs putting in her place.”
The lowest bowels of hell would serve nicely.
