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He made a show of pulling out his pocket watch, even though it was clear his frustration at his sibling had already switched to amusement at his foibles. ‘As Archie’s a devout early riser, my money is on six...maybe seven if he visits the chickens first to hunt for eggs, so we should probably be braced ready in case he gives her a fright.’ He said it as a joke, but she could tell he genuinely believed one of them needed to be there to prepare her aunt for the sight of Archie. It made her wonder how awful so many previous reactions had been to make him so very cautious about exposing his brother to strangers.
‘My aunt will adore him. So would the entire village if you would deign to give them the chance.’
Guilt washed over his face at that comment, closely followed by the understandable defensiveness, and she cringed at her clumsiness. ‘That wasn’t a dig by the way.’ At least not in the you’re a blind, stubborn idiot sort of way. ‘I have resigned as the leader of the resistance and not just because you saved my aunt and my mad cat. I really do understand your reasons for selling this estate, Rafe, and I respect them. I might not agree with the logic or any of the underhand ways you went about it...’ His blue eyes narrowed playfully at her mocking tone. ‘However, I appreciate you are doing what you think is best to protect Archie.’ As well as himself.
But she did not say that.
She wanted to. She wanted to shake him by his distracting shoulders and tell him not to keep hiding from life because he deserved better. That the Horrible Annabels of the world were outnumbered ten to one by good people. People who wouldn’t be so wary of his circumstances if they only understood them better. Protecting Archie was one thing, wrapping him in cotton wool quite another. He was such a cheerful, sociable young man it didn’t seem right to keep him away from absolutely everyone. Yes, of course there would still be some prejudice and spite from the ignorant. There was no reasoning with stupidity and having a crowd looking out for Archie would be safer than just one, and the both of them needed more than each other. The more she heard of Rafe’s background over their nightly after-dinner chats, the more she suspected his truly horrible experiences of village life growing up had as much to do with his father’s inability to pay the huge debts he ran up everywhere, alongside his flighty mother’s scandalous behaviour with her shipping merchant, as they did with Archie.
That was the trouble with a small community. Once everyone was upset and aggrieved by someone in their midst, everything else they did got added to the pot.
However, there was a great sense of belonging which came from such a close-knit village as she had discovered herself after her old life had imploded. A sense of community which had given her a sense of purpose again.
They were an inquisitive lot in Whittleston to be sure, and nobody had any clue how to mind their own business, but they looked after their own as the daily packages of goodwill containing everything from hairbrushes to haunches of venison were testament. Less than a day after the housekeeper had passed over Sophie’s measurements, the Friday Sewing Circle had mustered every morning since and they had already made Sophie three whole sets of undergarments and two nightgowns for Aunt Jemima. It was ridiculous how touched she had been by that kindness—a kindness borne out of the friendships of people who knew them and cared. Those friends understood that wearing a hand-me-down dress was one thing when beggars could not be choosers, but not the most intimate items. It was reassuring that the only skin which had touched the stays she was currently laced into was her own.
Rafe and Archie both needed and deserved more people in their lives who cared about them too. Just because they had been made pariahs in the wilds of Somerset, where perhaps the rural population were less enlightened, did not mean that would automatically happen here. Whittleston-on-the-Water was a stone’s throw from the capital and, as such, much more modern in its outlook, and many of the residents, herself included, had not been born here but had still been welcomed with open arms. Welcomed and smothered and rapidly absorbed into the eclectic whole as one of them.
That Rafe hadn’t was more down to his own stubborn reluctance to engage with the community than it was the villagers’ fault. In trying to protect Archie, he had made himself the enemy, when she could see he wasn’t enemy material at all now that she was coming to know him better and he would fit in here just fine if he stopped being so standoffish with them all. Which in turn, she supposed, made him his own worst enemy...
She needed to tread carefully broaching that or she’d become the enemy again too.
‘Not so long ago there was another village within spitting distance of here. It was called Hinkwell-on-the-Hill.’ He instantly stiffened at the mention so she rolled her eyes. ‘That wasn’t a dig either so stop being so touchy. I merely mention it for some context because there used to be a splendid haberdasher’s in Hinkwell which was run by a Mr and Mrs Gresham. They had two strapping sons and one daughter.’ She glanced back towards Archie’s bedchamber. ‘The daughter—May—was like your brother.’
‘She was annoying and stubborn and obsessed with boiled eggs?’
‘No, Rafe.’ She caught his arm. Tried not to enjoy the solid feel of it or remember what he had looked like naked from the waist up. ‘She was just like Archie.’ She pointed to her face. ‘So like him the pair of them could be twins.’
His head tilted as he digested this, his gaze wary but interested. ‘And...?’
‘And May was as accepted here by all and sundry as any other member of the community. She worked in the shop, attended the local assemblies, and nobody ever blinked an eyelid. Archie would be safe here.’
Curiosity at that warred momentarily with disbelief until his bicep hardened as disbelief won. That was when she realised she had pushed it too far too soon. That a man like Rafe—one who had real live experiences of prejudice and intolerances—would require categoric proof of such a bold claim with deeds rather than words. Real and tangible reassurance rather than just anecdotal. ‘I thought you had resigned your commission as General Gilbert of the whinging Whittleston Rebel Alliance.’
‘I have—but I shall always be an ambassador for them. I firmly believe you and your brother could be happy here.’
The shutters went down. ‘Goodnight, Sophie.’ He paused at his own door, his stormy blue eyes as cold as ice. ‘Sleep tight.’
‘Goodnight, Rafe.’ She went to turn, annoyed with herself for poking at his exposed nerve, then changed her mind. She had to keep prodding at that exposed nerve. For both the good people of Whittleston and for him. Because he deserved so much more than the hand life had so far dealt him. ‘I shall always be an ambassador for you too, because if my lofty opinion is worth anything, I believe with every fibre of my being that Whittleston could not only be the sanctuary you crave, but it would also be a much better place with you in it. As much as it pains me to admit it, you, my reluctant Lord Hockley, are one of the finest men I have ever encountered.’ Then to her surprise as much as it clearly was his, she rose up on tiptoes and kissed him on the lips.
