He shook himself from useless maudlin thoughts and retrieved the letter from Naples from his coat pocket.“You wanted to discuss Nonna Vincenza?”
Father retrieved a similar letter from the desk, also from Naples but addressed to himself.“No matter how old one gets, you are still your parent’s child.”He tapped the letter on his desk.“Mama has rung a peal over my head for keeping you in England so long.”
Vincent quirked one eyebrow.
“I had good reasons,” Father said, a defensive note creeping into his voice.“You were too young and I could not accompany you.Then it was too dangerous to travel on the Continent.”
“And then you wanted me to win the medal that eluded you.”
They glanced at the shelf of ribbons and medals again.Father let out a gusty sigh.“It wounds my vanity, I admit it.Your voice is better than mine.I had such hopes that you would triumph this year.That we would finally win a medal from the Catch Club.”
We.Vincent wouldn’t let it sting.He was far from the first person whose father wanted to live vicariously through his son, putting so much importance on winning a medal that Vincent hadn’t cared about since he left Oxford.But for his father, he’d tried.Sung himself hoarse in rehearsal more than once.“It wasn’t for lack of trying,” Vincent said.“Who knew Ravencroft would sing with such depth of emotion to spark his creativity?”
“Perhaps if you fell in love and composed a tune for your bride, you could win next year?”Father raised his brows suggestively, humor lighting his blue eyes.
Vincent coughed.“I am going to travel.”He sat forward, resting his palms on his knees.“I was steeling myself to confront you the morning after the competition.To tell you that I’m going to Italy.Now.”He took a deep breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth, the same calming technique he used before beginning a performance.“My investments have done well.Even if you cut me off, I can finance an extended trip myself.”He kept his body still as he braced himself for yet another excuse for Father to attempt to keep him on a short leash.
“Of course I won’t cut you off, and you should certainly go meet your grandmother in person.”Father blithely waved away his concerns.“You two would have met long before now if not for the Bloody Corsican.”
Vincent fell back in his chair, the wind stolen from his sails.Permission to go, now so easily granted after years of repeated, firm denials.Perhaps he should have tried to enlist Nonna’s help all along.She had been hinting in her letters for him to come visit since he had finished at university, as she insisted she was too advanced in years to travel back to England.But Waterloo had only been fought last summer, and the Continent was still sorting itself out.
“How soon will you depart?”
Nonna Vincenza wasn’t getting any younger.“I’ll stay long enough to see Ravencroft leg-shackled, then leave immediately after the wedding breakfast.”
Chapter 1
Sidmouth, Devon, England
May 1816
“Miss Walden?”
Sophia Walden searched the busy Sidmouth innyard for the speaker.An elegant coach and four rattled past her and out of the innyard, the harnesses jingling.Now visible on the far side of the yard, a driver stood next to a pair of chestnut geldings harnessed to a landau, the capes of his greatcoat flapping in the stiff breeze.He called out her name again, his gaze traversing the yard.
“Over here,” she called, her shoulders relaxing in relief.She’d expected to walk to her final destination but hesitated at leaving her trunks behind here at the inn.
He strode over to her and tipped his hat.“With Mrs.Digby’s compliments,” he said, gesturing at the landau.“I’m Bickford.”He pointed at the two trunks stacked by her feet.“Do you have more?”
Sophia clutched the handle of her valise tighter.“Just these.”
Within moments he secured her luggage, helped her up, and they were rolling out of the innyard and down a tree-lined lane dappled in sunlight.Mrs.Digby sending a driver for her was a thoughtful bonus.After tipping the ostler who had helped with her trunks, Sophia was down to her last farthing and a handful of pennies.
Bickford kept the horses at a leisurely pace, giving Sophia the chance to revel in having the well-padded leather seat all to herself while she took in the lovely view and crisp, spring air.After a pleasant drive, they turned onto a neatly tended gravel road leading up to a manor of warm red brick whose back garden appeared to drop off right into the sea.
The front door opened as they pulled up under the portico, the building blocking the wind to a subtle hush.A footman came out to collect her luggage while the butler remained on the steps.He bowed and ushered her into the foyer.“Mrs.Digby is expecting you in the library, Miss Walden.”
Taken aback that she was not offered a chance to freshen up before meeting her new employer, she followed the butler down the hall.When she saw her valise had been stacked on top of her trunks at the bottom of the stairs rather than sent up to a bedchamber, her stomach twisted in knots.
Had the widow changed her mind about hiring Sophia?Had she wasted two days in cramped mail coaches and rapidly dwindling funds to come here?
After the butler announced her at the library door, Sophia allowed herself only a glance out the bank of bay windows at the breathtaking view of the Channel beyond the rolling lawn, and focused on Mrs.Digby.They had exchanged two letters each but this was their first time meeting in person.
“I trust you had little trauma on your journey?”Mrs.Digby stroked the terrier on her lap, releasing little white hairs that fluttered down to decorate her emerald green gown.She had excellent posture despite her casual position, seated in an upholstered armchair beside the fire, her stockinged feet propped on an ottoman, her shoes nearby.The dog had lifted its head when Sophia entered, ears perked, eyes tracking her every movement.
“Nothing worth mentioning.”Jostled at the busy coaching inns.Someone had pinched her bottom, twice.Squished in the rear-facing coach seat next to a bear of a man having a silent argument with his wife in the opposite seat.Unable to converse with the vicar on her other side because he fell asleep even before the coach set in motion, his head lolling against her shoulder as he snored.
She hadn’t been invited to sit yet, so Sophia remained standing just inside the door.
