Christopher paced theconfines of the kitchen, the dessert biscuits Mrs. Boyd had brought him left uneaten on the wooden table. Where was Sophie?
“My lord, you’ll cut a rut in my stone floor with all that pacing.”
He halted to find the cook striding toward him. “You’re sure she received the note.”
The woman grasped his arm and led him back to the table. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s not even half past the hour yet. It’s not her fault you’re early. Now, come sit down. I’ve brought you something to settle your nerves.”
It wasn’t until he was seated that he noticed the glass of amber liquid. “Thank you. I apologize for being such a boor.”
She waved off his comment. “You’re not a boor, you’re just in love. Now drink that, and I’ll get you another.”
He sniffed the glass and recognized fine scotch, most likely the duke’s store. “To you, Mrs. Boyd.” He threw back the whisky and handed her the glass.
“Now don’t you worry. She’ll be here as soon as she’s able. Those ladies drop into her room like it’s the newest French boutique to hit London. So be patient, like she is.”
He gave the woman a nod then proceeded to crack his knuckles. If they were to defy Lord Dowling, they’d need to do so beforethe Duke and Duchess of Northwick returned. Already they’d been gone a fortnight and could arrive at any moment. Since they were to send word when the newest Blackmore made an appearance, he was fairly certain he and Sophie had at least a day to prepare. The Scottish border would take at least two days to reach if they traveled quickly.
Fortunately, the hole in the roof on the east wing of Stoneleigh House was being repaired, thanks to selling a few of the remaining paintings Andrew had said were valuable. Lord Harewood had aided him with the much-needed seed, since he’d had an abundance and said it would rot. As for the stolen property, Christopher could tell Sophie she could choose what she wished to replace it with, when they were more stable. At least one of the principal bedrooms for he and Sophie was still intact and with a strong roof over them. It would take years to make all the updates, which made him question his actions. But the alternative, losing Sophie to another man, was something he couldn’t live with.
He hoped she’d enjoy the project. He would consult with her on almost everything. She had such a keen mind, and he would let her have free rein over the servants. He could almost picture her sitting—
Quiet footsteps in the corridor to the kitchens had him standing. As Sophie appeared in the kitchen, he couldn’t resist. He strode to her and kissed her.
She held him tightly, kissing him with a fervor he was hard pressed to ignore, but Mrs. Boyd clearing her throat behind them forced him to break it off.
“I brought you your whisky, my lord. And for you, my lady, some mulled wine.”
“You’re too kind, Mrs. Boyd.” Sophie stepped away from him and moved to the table.
He held back the need to sit next to her and instead returned to his seat. They had much to discuss. “You are much better?”
She blinked as if she didn’t remember falling into the ice-cold pondbefore giving a short nod. “I am. I’ve already put the incident behind me. Though I fear it’s left a lasting impression on Rose.”
He didn’t feel a lot of sympathy for Rose, so he ignored the comment, more concerned about Sophie. “I have spoken to your father.”
Curiosity filled her gaze. “Did he agree to your suit?”
“He did not.” He refrained from explaining that Dowling wished to use her as a pawn to increase his own standing.
“I thought that a strong possibility. He doesn’t take into account people’s feelings, only if something makes logical sense.” She took a sip of her wine as if they were discussing the latest winter storm instead of their future together.
“Yes, that was the impression I had from him. However, I don’t think we should let his answer deter us from our purpose.”
She set down her glass, her eyes widening. “What do you mean? Do you think you can convince him to allow a betrothal between us?”
“No, but we should marry anyway.”
“Tam, how can we?”
“You are of age, are you not?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then that’s all we need. I suggest we prepare to leave tomorrow night for Gretna Green.”
Her gasp was loud. “Scotland?”
She sounded as if she hadn’t thought of it, when it was the first idea that had come to him. “Yes, unless you have another suggestion.”
