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She wasn’t sure where the humour came from when she felt as if the truth was eating her and she was dying inside, but it popped out regardless and caught them both unawares. Rafe’s response was part huff, part surprise and part laugh, but whatever it was, it triggered the same in her. Within seconds and still clinging to one another, they were laughing hysterically but at heaven only knew what.
But it felt good.
Necessary.
As cleansing as the rain which pummelled their faces and seeped through every fibre of their clothes.
To her complete surprise when her emotions were all over the place and her head and heart were filled with all the memories and grief she had banished for ten years, Sophie still slept away the entire afternoon. Aunt Jemima was wide awake when she finally checked in on her and remained so for most of the evening. While still in some pain and as weak as a kitten, her aunt was well enough to complain incessantly about all her new ailments and well enough that she was able to eat a whole bowl of hearty soup before the sleeping draft Dr Able stopped by to give her took effect. He was delighted with the progress, which for a cautious man spoke volumes, and that at least soothed one of Sophie’s churning emotions which had decided it would be suppressed no longer.
Feeling fragile, battered, vulnerable and more than a little embarrassed by the way she had broken down in front of Rafe earlier, she was quite content to remain ensconced next to her snoring aunt all night. But, and no doubt at Rafe’s insistence, Sophie was once again relieved of her post at the sickbed by the housekeeper who ushered her out and ordered her to go down to dinner which was being expressly held for her.
‘The ladies of the village delivered some gowns this afternoon while you were sleeping, so I have taken the liberty to have a couple pressed and laid out in your room, Miss Gilbert, for you to choose from as it is hardly appropriate for you to be wearing that old scullery maid’s frock in perpetuity. Mrs Fitzherbert has also asked for your measurements so that the sewing circle can make some proper outfits for you that fit.’
That simple kindness brought fresh tears to her eyes when she was certain that she had cried so many today there couldn’t possibly be any left. ‘It has been so long since I had any clothes made I hardly know.’
‘Then I shall measure you myself later before you retire for the night. Would you like a maid to help you dress and do something pretty with your hair now?’ The woman’s eyes glanced at the sorry state of her coiffure which likely resembled a bird’s nest after it had been rained then slept on.
‘Good gracious, no. You have all already gone to far too much trouble for me as it is and I wouldn’t want to delay your master’s dinner any longer than it has been. I am used to dressing myself.’
‘If you change your mind...’
‘I won’t.’ And in case the housekeeper pressed the offer further, she hurried back to her bedchamber and then groaned at the two choices she had been given.
The first was an austere, high-necked and matronly brown crepe which she just knew had to have come from Mrs Outhwaite who was always buttoned up in such expensive but dowdy garments. The second screamed Isobel Cartwright because while it might have been a subtle shade of green velvet with very sensible long sleeves, the neckline on the bodice was as daring as its flirty owner. The first gown risked Archie telling her she looked old and haggard again. The second would likely make her look a scandal. She glanced down at her chest and winced at the prospect because while Isobel’s bosom was undeniably generous, she was nowhere near as well-endowed as Sophie.
Caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, she plumped for Mrs Outhwaite’s monstrosity, but it was so tight around her generous bust she could not do it up without the risk of the seams popping the second she sat down. Which left her with Isobel’s inappropriate cast-off or the tatty scullery maid’s frock which was still damp from the storm, covered in dirt and soot and hopelessly crumpled from her exhausted afternoon nap.
Isobel’s it was then.
Ten minutes and much futile hitching up of the bodice later and she found Rafe and Archie in the drawing room. Archie unexpectedly in a pair of spectacles while he read to his older brother from a book.
‘There was a dog so wild and...and...’ Archie screwed up his face. ‘I can’t read this.’ He pushed the book towards his elder brother in defeat.
‘Sound the word out.’ Not wanting to interrupt what was obviously a lesson, she hovered in the doorframe while Rafe smiled at his sibling.
‘It’s too big!’ The youngest Peel glared at him in disgust then counted the letters out. ‘There’s ten letters! Ten!’ He had the same stubborn glint in his eyes that Rafe got when he wouldn’t budge. ‘You need to read it because I cannot!’
‘A word with ten letters is just as easy to read as one with four. Sound it out, Archie, or you’ll never know what happened to the dog.’ Rafe tapped the book with all the patience of a saint and closed his eyes, the ghost of a smile on his lips while his brother grumbled. ‘Which would be a great shame when you love Aesop’s stories about dogs more than all his other fables combined.’
‘Miss... Miss...chev...’ Archie traced the word with his finger. ‘Mis—chev—ous.’
‘Good. Now say it all together a bit faster.’
‘Mis—chievous. Mischievous! Like me!’
‘Excellent! Exactly right.’ Rafe grinned and Archie beamed in triumph, as pleased as Punch with the praise. ‘And yes, you are mischievous. When you are not being insufferable, manipulative and demanding, of course.’ The half-hearted insult was accompanied by an affectionate ruffle of his brother’s hair.
‘I hope my puppy Mary will be mischievous too, then we can be twins.’
As Rafe rolled his eyes at the unsubtle nag, a chuckle escaped her lips and he sat up a little straighter before he turned towards her. ‘Good evening, Sophie.’
‘Sophie!’ Archie forgot his book in his haste to bound over to her. His hug was so exuberant he knocked off his spectacles. ‘You look pretty and not the least bit old tonight! Doesn’t she look pretty tonight, Rafe?’
His gaze flicked the length of her as he politely unfolded himself from the chair. No mean feat when it was too low for his tall frame, and he only had one arm for leverage. ‘She does indeed.’ She could tell by the way his eyes lingered that he appreciated Isobel’s cast-off significantly more than she did, and somehow that gave her a little more confidence in it. ‘Green suits you.’ Then he winked and that did odd things to her insides. ‘It has obliterated all signs of any previous haggardness completely.’
He didn’t look too bad himself. The dark blue coat did wonderful things to his shoulders, even with one of them supported by a pristine white sling, and the buff breeches he had paired with them hugged his cavalry officer’s muscular thighs like a second skin.
‘Thank you.’ She bobbed an exaggerated and insincere curtsy, then aware she was displaying a lot more flesh than she had in years, fought the urge not to wrestle with the daring neckline again. ‘You both look handsome too. Especially you, Archie. Did you tie that splendid cravat yourself?’ The plain but neat knot was a mirror of his brother’s.
