Page 10

“No proposals. No botanical specimens. No books or notes or even speaking to me unless it is in a professional capacity.”

His head cocked to the side as if her demand required a great deal of consideration. Then he gave a single decisive shake of his head. “No. That won’t do. My arithmetic is already exceptional, and I don’t believe you require any of my services … although, come to think of it, you might look rather dashing in a cravat.” He continued talking as Sofia stared at him. “Not a black one though … perhaps a majestic purple or a soft gold to bring out the warm tones in your skin.” He snapped his fingers, his eyebrows darting to his hairline, and Sofia jolted at the unexpected sound. “I’ve got it! Blue. Not royal blue, of course. Something more understated, elegant.”

“If you're quite finished dressing me in imaginary menswear⁠—”

“Yes of course. My apologies! It’s an occupational hazard. My point, love, is that you don’t require my services and I don’t require yours, which would leave nothing at all between us.”

She rolled her eyes. “Finally. You are beginning to understand my point.”

She closed her eyes then, and drew a slow deep breath. Mr Keene matched her silence as she endeavoured to regain her unravelling control. When she opened her eyes, he spoke again, all the teasing in his voice gone. “Can’t we be friends, Miss Lioni?”

Before she could find the words to cut him down, Sofia made the mistake of looking at him. Truly looking. Eyes wide and earnest, he held her gaze with such sincerity that all the perfectly logical reasons not to befriend him lost their traction and slipped away.

He shifted closer, his voice dropping to a low, intimate purr. “I know how difficult it can be as the newest member of the staff, and I only wish for you to feel comfortable here. Happy.”

Oh. Good grief, he smells delicious. She breathed through her mouth. In doing so, she realised, she was ceding some high ground … but it was a far sight better than the alternative, which was twitching her nose like a rabbit in the hopes of picking up more of his clean, tantalising scent. “So you provide every new servant with books from their native country and a complementary fruit tree?”

“Most new arrivals are English, so it stands to reason that they can procure any number of books on their own from Gabriel’s library. He lends them freely.”

“And the pear tree?” she prompted.

He floundered.

Sofia could admit to herself that she was vaguely disappointed when Bennett strode up, depriving Sofia of the experience of watching Mr Keene attempt to explain his way out of a fifteen-foot pear tree.

“I’m sorry for the interruption, Miss Lioni. Keene, the dowager has arrived.” Bennett looked at Keene with an expression that made Sofia wonder if he was indulging in a fantasy involving violence toward Mr Keene with the prickly end of a broom.

Sofia observed the pair with reluctant amusement. Keene appeared for all the world like he might dally longer just to watch the annoyed twitch of Bennet’s eyebrow. With a resigned sigh, however, Keene returned his attention to Sofia. “My apologies. I need to wake His Grace and warn him that we are under siege.” And with that, he dashed out the door as if someone had set fire to the curtains on the second floor of the mansion.

It was remarkable what adequate nourishment could do for a person’s energy. Sofia made it to town, purchased two unattractive but serviceable dresses, acquired as much food as she could easily carry, including a pair of meat pasties, and meandered her way to Oliver’s hunting box, all before lunch. Following the menacing crack of an axe blade through wood, Sofia found her brother sweaty and exhausted beside a mouldering oak.

At thirty-eight, Oliver was ten years her senior. Since his return, however, he looked old enough to be her father. His curls, once glossy and wild, now hung limply in a queue. His bones and muscles, meanwhile, were burdened with more weight than his athletic frame was meant to carry, and his normally rich chestnut-brown skin stretched rough and blotchy across his cheeks. An eerie emptiness had overthrown the glint of intelligence in his eyes, and without it, he looked like an entirely different man.

Dropping the axe to the ground, he lumbered over to meet Sofia, calling out in their native tongue, “Thank God. I’m starving.” Sofia tried not to react to his gross exaggeration. After all, she would never wish for her brother to suffer actual starvation, as she had. During his absence, pilfered fruit from the university greenhouse and discarded crusts of bread had often been the only relief from the dull ache in her stomach … and that was only when she managed to be faster than the pigeons. He reached for a pastie and took several massive bites before pulling her in for a hug.

Sofia grimaced at the touch of his slippery skin but did not pull away. It still felt too good to have him back in her life to complain that he was dirty. Well, perhaps a little complaining. “You smell. Go wash up in the creek.” She attempted to grab the pastie from his hand, but he laughed and held it well above her head. “Little flea, stop ordering me about. Did you bring me anything to drink?”

Fully aware of the sort of drink he was seeking, she answered with an innocent shrug. “There is a skin of fresh water in the satchel.”

He scowled. “Not that kind of drink.”

Ignoring his grumbling, she followed him through the thick underbrush to the riverbank.

“I take it from your absence that the family hired you on?” Oliver bent down to splash cold water onto his face and neck.

Sofia stepped in beside Oliver, rinsing her hands. “As their governess, actually. The salary is more than generous.” She stood and shook the water from her hands. “This is the opportunity we need, Oliver. If I remain with the Ansons, even for a few months, we'll have enough money saved up for a fresh start … somewhere else.”

Oliver’s jaw tightened, and the icy contempt in his narrowed gaze sparked an unexpected flinch deep in Sofia’s muscles. This was her brother. Her protector. The smiling adolescent who had invented silly stories when she couldn’t sleep. The one who had safeguarded her happiness at the expense of his own countless times. He will not hurt me.

After her father had died, Sofia had been alone with naught but her own wit and tenacity to rely upon. And she had been brave. Where had all that courage gone? Annoyed by the fear that had silenced her tongue, Sofia clenched her fists, tipping her chin higher in defiance of her brother and of the wilting coward who had somehow taken up residence inside her.

“It’s not too late to stop this, Oliver. You can change your mind. We can make a new plan together.”

“Not too late? I’ve travelled eight hundred miles and invested countless months learning about the man. Don’t start this again, Sofi. I’ve made my decision, and I thought you were on my side.”

Ignoring the rising colour in his cheeks, Sofia pressed on. “From everything I’ve seen, the duke is kind to his servants and tenants. Her Grace is thoughtful and generous. Even their daughter is terribly likeable! There is no reason to upend their lives beyond your own selfishness and your hatred of a man who is long dead in the ground. What you’re suggesting isn’t some childhood lark. It’s dangerous and⁠—”

“Stop!” Oliver barked. Sofia took a half-step back at his blatant loss of self-control. He began again, his tone more moderated. “Is it selfish to want just a little bit of what so many have in abundance? Is it selfish that I do not want to see my baby sister starve?” He reached out with one large hand to cup her cheek, his expression pinched with remorse. “Sofi, it’s my fault that you have fallen into this state, but finally there is something I can do about it, some good that will come of my past and all the sadness it has brought us both. You must do this for me. Do this for us.”