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Chapter Sixteen
Rafe did his best to keep the dinner conversation light and buoyant as he suspected she needed it—at least in such a public setting. Archie was a great help with that because he chatted incessantly and was so delighted they had company he could barely contain himself. Unsurprisingly, there was the odd moment where her smile was false and her eyes troubled, but she quickly recovered. Or seemed to. After all she had told him, it was a wonder she managed it. Especially as she had confessed, as her tears had finally subsided and they walked back to the house, that she hadn’t allowed herself to think upon any of it since her awful tragedy had happened. Hadn’t been able to, she had said, in case the grief broke her.
He could tell by the slight redness in her eyes that she must have cried several times since her breakdown in the rubble, and as much as he hated thinking of her in such silent pain alone, he also knew that it would all be cathartic in the long run. People had to grieve. It was unnatural not to and grieving went through many stages before it began to wane, as he knew from personal experience.
He had mourned the loss of his mother even though she hadn’t died, and almost eighteen months on from the death of his father, he was only just at the stage where he could think of him fondly without feeling the bitter sting of loss. With Archie’s visceral and heart-wrenching reaction to also deal with, alongside all the legal, career, financial and personal ramifications of their father’s sudden and unexpected passing, Rafe’s own grief had been pushed to the back of the queue. He had been angry for months as a result. Angry and lost and not sure what to do. But once he had found his feet and accepted that this was his new reality, that it was what it was and hardly either his father’s or Archie’s fault that Rafe now found himself a sole parent, bizarrely it had all got easier. That was when he had started to contemplate the future again rather than coping moment by moment. He made new plans and actually looked forward to carrying them out. Now—unwanted and troublesome new inheritance aside—he was rather content with the way his new life was going. Aspects of it were still bittersweet and always would be, and he would be a liar if he did not admit that sometimes he pondered how his life could have been different, but it wasn’t, so that too was something he accepted.
While Archie waxed lyrical about how wonderful his life was going to be as soon as his promised puppy arrived, Rafe watched her stare sightlessly into her post-dinner nightcap and wished he knew how to expedite the hideous grieving process for her. Or at least ease some of her burdens.
There was every chance she had already purged the shock and anger in those devastating initial days, but all the hurt which inevitably came after had not been allowed an outlet so it was likely as fresh today now that it was out as it had been a decade ago when she had buried it. But the past was just one aspect of what she was coping with. There was also the fresh and separate grief of losing her home. And if that weren’t enough to cope with all in one go, it was still shadowed by the dark cloud of her aunt who, while infinitely better than she had been, wasn’t out of the woods yet.
He had no control over any of that but at least there was something he could do. And he would prefer to do it when they were alone. He swirled the last dregs of his brandy in the glass and glared at his brother. ‘No ifs or buts, it is bedtime.’ Archie was a nightmare if he stayed up past midnight. Largely because he awoke like a cockerel at dawn no matter what.
‘I’m not tired.’ The younger Peel said this while stifling a yawn. ‘Why don’t we play cards or charades or something?’
‘Because when you are as old, decrepit and haggard as Sophie and I are, we need our sleep and we are both clearly exhausted. As are you.’ Rafe pointed to the door with his glass while he hoped his eyes conveyed to Sophie that he wanted her to stay put. ‘Bedtime, young man, and that is in order.’
‘I shall go to bed when you and Sophie go to bed.’ Like a pugilist in the ring, his gaze locked and held with Rafe’s.
‘We shall follow you up presently—but first I need to talk to her and what I need to say is private.’ He thought he’d add that in case she offered to walk his brother up the stairs.
‘What private things do you need to talk about?’
‘If I told you, then it wouldn’t be private, now would it?’ He shot his brother a pointed look and maintained it until he capitulated.
‘I hate answers like that!’ Archie huffed as he stood, severely put out. ‘But I suppose I shall still see Sophie at breakfast, luncheon and dinner every day anyway seeing as she lives here now, doesn’t she?’
Neither of them expected that question. While Sophie blinked, awkward, Rafe floundered, his gaze flicking to hers uncomfortable. ‘Sophie and her aunt...’
‘Are merely guests until my aunt is well enough for us to leave.’ She smiled at him as she came to the rescue. ‘We certainly cannot live with you.’
‘Why ever not?’
She brushed Archie’s cheek tenderly before she answered. ‘Well, for a start, you will be moving to your little horse farm in another part of the country and Aunt Jemima and I need a new home here in Whittleston.’
‘But Rafe is so rich now he could buy a huge horse farm with plenty of space for you and your aunt to join us.’
Her dark eyebrows quivered while she tried to think of a suitable answer to that objection, but settled once she smiled again. ‘As generous and tempting an offer as that is, I am afraid it wouldn’t be at all proper. It would be scandalous if a pair of old spinsters moved into the same house as a pair of fancy-free bachelors like you and Rafe. It just isn’t done, Archie.’
To cover his relief at that diplomatic and unarguable statement, Rafe sipped his drink, then promptly spat it out when his brother responded with the unthinkable.
‘If you marry Rafe you could move to the farm with us and not be scandalous at all.’ As this was apparently the most sensible solution to all their problems, Archie turned to his choking brother, grinning as if he had just invented the wheel. ‘Sophie is lovely, Rafe. Kind and pretty and not haggard at all now that she’s slept. And Papa always said you needed a nice wife.’ He spread his palms, beseeching. ‘Especially as neither of us liked your fiancée when we met her.’ He pulled a face of disgust at Sophie who was, for want of a better word, dumbstruck at the suggestion. ‘Annabel is horrible. Papa said she was mean and vain and full of her own importance.’
Her expressive eyebrows shot skyward. ‘You have a fiancée?’
Rafe opened his mouth to answer but Archie did in his stead. ‘Not any more he hasn’t because Horrible Annabel called it off! Broke Rafe’s heart she did too, so I doubly hate her now.’ Oblivious to Rafe’s wince of pure mortification, the wretch continued undaunted.
‘She had brown hair too—but yours is much prettier, Sophie, and I think your face is prettier too now that you’ve had some sleep because your eyes are nicer than hers were. And they are brown.’ Archie nudged Rafe with as much subtlety as a rock shattering a window and smiled with glee as if the reading of the banns was already a fait accompli and he had his brother to thank for it. ‘You love big brown eyes too, don’t you, Rafe? You told me that last week when I pointed Sophie’s out to you, and now that she’s proved she’s as lovely inside as she is on the outside and not at all the nagging old harridan that you thought she was, she’s the perfect choice. I am already quite decided that I want her for my new sister.’
Rafe blinked at this logic, his cheeks heating before he shook his head, baffled at the unexpected and cringeworthy turn this evening had taken. ‘Bed!’ He pointed to the door. ‘Bed right this second or I swear I’ll never get you a puppy as long as I live!’
Those were the magic words, those and the daggers shooting out of Rafe’s eyes at his annoying sibling, because Archie hightailed it out of the room and up the sweeping wooden staircase in a thunder of boots.
Alone, and only after a door slammed above them, Rafe offered her an embarrassed smile. ‘I’m sorry about all that.’
She waved it away with a chuckle. ‘Archie will be Archie.’
‘I just wish he would forget to be so resolutely Archie all of the time.’
