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Chapter Twenty-Two
‘He has already had one offer on the land but has promised me he will not accept it until there are several suitable offers for us to choose from.’ Sophie sipped her tea and smiled at the rest of the ladies of the Whittleston-on-the-Water Friday Sewing Circle in reassurance. As much as she did not want to have to contemplate Rafe leaving Whittleston, her head told her it was for the best.
In the last ten days she had got rather attached to him. Their discreet arrangement was only ever meant to be temporary, and no matter how many times she reminded herself of the importance of keeping her heart quite separate from their secret nocturnal activities, he was a charming, lovable scoundrel who appealed to it regardless. Too many more days of easiness followed by nights filled with sublime passion, and she feared she would never be able to give him up. As it was, it got harder and harder to leave him sleeping to return to her own bedchamber each night, but she knew waking up next to him would be too intimate to bear. Too revealing. Too romantic. Too much like they meant something to one another and that was a familiar, slippery slope which she wasn’t prepared to risk. Nor did it seem to bother Rafe who was quite content with their arrangement as it was. By day, he was the perfect gentleman who never gave any hint or made any mention of what they did in private. Not even her wily Aunt Jemima suspected anything, which now that she was able to spend the day downstairs in a chair in the drawing room was a miracle when she usually saw everything. But by night he was...
She had to sip her tea again to hide her smile. Because at night he was the perfect lover. Attentive, generous, adventurous and vigorous. She would miss that when he was gone. ‘He has invited several interested parties to visit us a week Saturday and has asked me to help him show them around the estate so I can get a feel for their characters and ask them questions.’
‘Why should we trust your opinions, Sophie Gilbert, when you have nothing to lose any more?’ Mrs Outhwaite glared at her across the large communal sewing table. ‘Your aunt told me she is being given the deeds to the new cottage this week and the ground had barely been prepared.’ Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘A cynic would say that your new, conciliatory attitude to the new lord of the manor has come because you’ve already feathered your own nest.’ That stung. Probably because it wasn’t that far from the truth and she experienced enormous guilt over it. ‘Although goodness knows how you managed to crack through his standoffish exterior when he still avoids the rest of us like the plague.’
The insinuation was clear and, again, too close to the mark, so Sophie’s cheeks heated, but before she could counter, Mrs Fitzherbert rallied to her defence.
‘Are you suggesting she seduced those deeds out of him, Agatha, for if you are apologise this very minute for your filthy mind!’ Mrs Fitzherbert bashed her cane on the floorboards and glared. ‘Might I remind you that Sophie and Jemima nearly died thanks to his predecessor’s neglect! And they lost everything in that fire! The very least he could do was rebuild them a cottage and not one of the rest of us sat around this table begrudge them that!’
Mrs Outhwaite practically withered under the disapproving stares of the rest of the group, but even as her eyes dipped to her hands contrite, she couldn’t quite bring herself to apologise for the slur. ‘I just don’t see why Sophie should be the only one to vet the candidates when it no longer directly affects her, and we all have to live with the final decision.’
Put like that, Sophie could understand why Mrs Outhwaite felt aggrieved. ‘I am sure Lord Hockley will not mind some others tagging along.’ She would speak to him and suggest as much the second she got home.
Home? Where had that come from?
She brushed that errant thought away as a mental slip. ‘Rafe is actually a rather agreeable sort when you get to know him.’
‘Oh, it’s Rafe now, is it?’ Isobel Cartwright shot her a knowing glance. ‘Perhaps it isn’t Lord Hockley who has been seduced after all. Perhaps it is Sophie here who has had her fickle head turned.’ Then she nudged her, grinning. ‘Although I cannot say that I blame you if you have, for he is very easy on the eyes and fills his coats so well.’ He filled his breeches better but Sophie bit her tongue. ‘Is he coming to the assembly tomorrow?’
‘I haven’t asked him.’ Although with hindsight, she probably should have. It might do him good to see the villagers in a social setting rather than thinking of them all as the enemy. ‘But I will. I know Archie will enjoy it.’
She glanced over to the other end of St Hildelith’s village hall where Rafe’s brother was sat with Reverend Spears, trying and failing to teach Fred some tricks.
‘I fail to understand why we are now rolling over and accepting his plans to sell the village from under us.’ Mrs Outhwaite was like a dog with a bone. ‘What happened to our protest? To defending Whittleston at all costs via fair means or foul?’ She skewered Sophie with a look that would sour milk. ‘Your words, Sophie Gilbert, in case you have forgotten. Or did all your rallying calls to fight go up in flames the same night as your cottage?’ While several ladies gasped in shock at the vitriol, Mrs Outhwaite continued defiant.
‘We can still thwart this sale, and I say we stop using fair means to do it and resort to foul! If that man listens to you, Sophie, then make him stay and force him to stand up to his responsibilities! Need I remind you that, against my good advice, you were elected our leader because others...’ She glared at Mrs Fitzherbert. ‘Believed you were the best choice to save the village.’ She shook her customary quaking finger to the heavens, her voice rising an octave with every syllable. ‘Thus, your duty and loyalties should still be for this village first and foremost and none of us want this land sold! Not under any circumstances!’
‘She does have a point, Sophie.’ Mrs Fitzherbert pulled a face as she reluctantly agreed with the other woman. ‘Lord Hockley—for all his standoffishness—is obviously a decent sort beneath all the bluster with a good heart.’ Her wily old eyes swivelled to Archie pointedly before locking with hers. ‘I think I speak for all of us when I say we would much prefer the devil we know than some stranger with a fat purse and delusions of grandeur who will likely say anything to get his hands on such a prime piece of land.’ Several ladies around the table nodded. ‘If we put it to the vote, Sophie dear, I am convinced it will be unanimous that none of us want him to sell and you do seem best placed to talk him around to our way of thinking. He likes you.’
‘Ned says that he looks at Sophie with covetous eyes.’ Isobel Cartwright nudged her hard in the ribs again as she sighed with theatrical aplomb. ‘And we all know that a man besotted is putty in the right woman’s capable hands. If Ned is right, then you are the right woman.’ She batted her eyelashes for good measure in case Sophie did not get the gist.
‘You could seduce him to our way of thinking.’ That came from Mrs Fitzherbert who grinned at Sophie’s appalled expression at her turncoat effrontery.
‘So much for filthy minds!’
‘Oh, pish.’ The incorrigible nonagenarian rolled her eyes. ‘It would hardly be a chore. As Isobel quite rightly said, he is very easy on the eyes.’ She winked at Isobel. ‘I’d do it myself if I were ten years younger. I would sacrifice my virtue to the handsome brute and gladly.’ She cackled at the irony as they all knew Mrs Fitzherbert had been married three times. ‘And I would try to enjoy it for the sake of the village.’ Several of the married ladies—including Mrs Spears the reverend’s wife—tittered knowingly.
‘I do not believe what I am hearing!’ Sophie’s cup clattered to her saucer. ‘Are you seriously asking me to seduce Lord Hockley to get what you want?’ Because that felt wrong on every conceivable level. ‘Never mind what you are suggesting is both immoral and improper...’ What a hypocrite she was to bring up propriety after last night’s vigorous session which had occurred because she had indeed seduced him again and without any additional incentive or motive whatsoever. ‘Might I remind you all that I owe that man my life! That he risked his own to save my aunt and my grumpy cat and nearly got himself killed in the process!’ She was hissing now, hunched like her grumpy cat in case Archie heard and came running to assist and then tattled all of this shocking nonsense to his brother. ‘He took us in! Is rebuilding our home!’ She jabbed an incensed finger at both Mrs Fitzherbert and Mrs Outhwaite. ‘I owe a huge debt of loyalty to him too!’ The thought of her betraying him in that way was inconceivable.
‘You do not actually have to seduce him in the physical sense.’ Mrs Fitzherbert patted her hand, unaware that that stable door was already wide open and that horse had long bolted. ‘All we are asking is that you use your unique influence to encourage him to see reason. Point him in the right direction. Ease him down the correct path. Wear him down with sound, logical, charming arguments that bring him around to our way of thinking.’ She patted her hand again as if what she was asking were already a foregone conclusion. ‘You are our Trojan horse, Sophie Gilbert. Not to mention our only hope.’ Then she addressed the rest of the table in her own persuasive, Machiavellian way. ‘Diplomacy is its own form of seduction, after all, and perhaps it is something we can all play a part in? If Sophie provides us with the opportunities, of course.’
As the other ladies all nodded as if the vote had already been unanimous, Mrs Fitzherbert bashed her cane on the floor again and prodded Sophie with her finger. ‘Bring him to the assembly tomorrow and we can all charm him, then collectively but with subtle haste we can all seduce him into staying at Hockley Hall for ever before he accepts any offers.’
Rafe couldn’t find Archie anywhere.
Nobody had seen him since mid-morning after he had helped brush down the horses. As that had only been two hours ago, and because there was no sign of Sophie or Fred the puppy either, he tried not to panic. The pair are them were probably walking the grounds together. Something the three of them had taken to doing daily at around this time. As his brother was a creature of habit, he’d likely dragged Sophie out anyway in his impatience for Rafe to finish working in his study.
To be fair to him, the meeting with the solicitor had dragged on over an hour longer than Rafe had expected. But then, they had been discussing both the deeds to Willow Cottage and Stephen Bassett’s generous offer, so there had been much to talk about. Bassett had countered his original offer of the asking price to one well above it so long as no other offers were considered, and the papers were signed within the fortnight. As Rafe had promised Sophie she would have at least two buyers to choose from and because he had already arranged for ten potential buyers to survey the estate in eight days’ time, they had needed to draft a letter to Bassett explaining that as politely as possible without losing him completely. If it meant losing eight thousand pounds on top of the asking price of fifty thousand, so be it, but he had to appease his conscience and he had to do right by her.
Her!
Rafe groaned aloud into the empty, cluttered hallway.
Blasted woman had not only got under his skin, she was already burrowing her way into his foolish heart. Even though he knew she wasn’t the least bit interested in anything beyond the physical and was still in love with a ghost. And even though she had made it plain their liaison, for want of a better word, was temporary, he knew without a doubt he was in grave danger of falling for her anyway and falling hard. In truth, he likely already had no matter how many times he tried to convince himself otherwise.
