The Firstborn

Chapter Eighteen

Sophia stepped into Lady Rutledge's drawing room and shivered as the warmth from the fire brushed the last of the evening chill from her shoulders. Lady Rutledge sat in her favorite chair, her walking stick resting against the outer arm of it. The elderly gentlewoman reached out towards a dish of sweets at the center of the table beside her, but her movement was arrested when she gave her guest a look that reached from head to toe.

"And where is George this evening?"

"At home," Sophia said. "In the care of my sister."

Lady Rutledge's fingers pulled back from the silver dish filled with marzipan and fondant. "Really?"

Sophia grimaced at her tone, but could not find it in herself to blame Lady Rutledge for her reaction. "Yes, really. Lucy complained of a slight headache this afternoon, bading me to send her regrets for not joining us this evening. And then, before George rose from his afternoon nap, she offered to remain home with him in order that she might acquaint herself better with her son, as she put it."

"Hmm." Lady Rutledge's mouth drew into a thin line. "Are you certain this headache of hers has not addled her wits?"

"No, though she did complain about our lack of wine, as she claims it to be the only remedy of any use when her head pains her."

"Of course it is," Lady Rutledge murmured beneath her breath. After clearing her throat, she gestured towards the sofa on the other side of her chair. "Now, sit here and give solace to an old woman who has been bereft of your company for far too long. I read your letters, but ink and paper can be so confining. I much prefer to watch the change of expression on a person's face as they speak. It is often much more entertaining than the words that come out of their mouth."

Sophia pressed her lips together against the urge to smile. She took the offered seat, adjusted her skirts, and clasped her hands in her lap. "And what is it you most wish to know?" The question was superfluous, as she could already guess at the topic at the forefront of Lady Rutledge's mind.

"I gathered from your missives that your stay in Derbyshire with Lord Haughton and his sister went tolerably well. But what was it you mentioned about their offer for you to go and live with them?" Lady Rutledge's grey eyebrows pinched the dry skin of her forehead into several deep lines. "Surely you cannot mean to move there permanently!"

"We have not gone over all the details," Sophia began, weighing each word carefully. "But... Mrs. SISTER made it quite clear that I was welcome to make Denton Castle my home, even into the years when George goes away to school."

Lady Rutledge narrowed her eyes. "And Lord Haughton? Does he share this generosity of spirit?"

Sophia's mouth quirked. Now they were to the point of it. From what little she had been able to ascertain from Lady Rutledge's letters to herself, the gentlewoman's curiosity about Lord Haughton was not going to be satisfied by the few descriptions of her interactions with him Sophia had dared to put into her own letters. "I believe he wants what is best for his nephew," she said with utmost sincerity. "And, to tell the truth, it was his idea that George and I make our home in Derbyshire."

"Was it?" Lady Rutledge's eyes gleamed as she reached over to the silver dish, picked out a particularly large piece of marzipan, and began munching on the corner of it. "How good of him to take such an interest in George's upbringing, and your life as well," she added, the light in her eyes only shining brighter. "But from what I understood, he proved to be rather... difficult at the beginning of your acquaintance. Were you wrong then, in the unflattering portrait you sketched of him?"

"Oh, no!" Sophia assured her. "No, he was difficult, to say the least. We were always at odds with one another, and there was a time when the mere thought of him made me uncommonly angry. But now... Now, he... " She paused to lick her lips. Her mouth had gone dry, and she wondered how much longer until the bell for dinner when she could moisten her tongue with a spoonful of soup or a sip of wine.