Page 14 of Sophia’s Letter (Ladies of Munro #1)

A few days later, Lord Carthige found his nephew pacing in the entrance hall.

“He will be along in his own time, Tobias. I do not see what you hope to achieve by wearing out your shoes on the marble.”

“He did say eight o’clock, did he not?” Tobias asked, checking the wall clock for the fifth time.

“It is barely ten minutes past the hour. Do settle down. A man of his position is entitled to be fashionably late.”

“I rather got the impression he preferred punctuality,” Tobias countered.

Edmund Stopford regarded his nephew with some suspicion. “And I was under the impression you did not care for him a great deal. Yet here you are, like a puppy, waiting to meet your master at the door.”

Tobias stopped his tireless traverse of the foyer. “Perhaps I was a little hasty in my judgement,” he admitted. “Lord Howell is a gentleman of culture. And intellect. He has revealed as much in his appreciation for Sophia’s talents.”

“Dear boy…” Uncle Edmund shook his head. “You really do lack the subtleties of fine society. I must insist you not overwhelm our guest with your fondness for Miss Grant. After all, he is here to further the matters of his own heart.”

“And I have just the thing to rally the ladies to his cause.”

His uncle raised an eyebrow. “Indeed? This is most unexpected. I did not realize you had taken it upon yourself to help Lord Howell. It is very generous, Tobias. You are a good fellow.”

A good fellow. Tobias’s skin itched with guilt. His uncle was so trusting. And why should he not be? Nothing but respect and true companionship had ever passed between them. Now plots were made under the earl’s own roof. And he, Tobias, was a willing participant.

“Er…thank you, Uncle,” he replied. “Though to be honest”— How he wished he could speak the truth to its fullest! —“my motives are selfish and intended more to help Miss Grant.”

This was the truth, was it not? But Tobias knew his words had been carefully chosen to mislead. It shamed him deeply.

“I suppose,” his uncle said after a moment’s reflection, “you cannot help yourself. You will always put your heart before your head. It is often so in one’s youth.”

Although Tobias was weighted with remorse for his pending actions, his ego was pricked by his uncle’s words. “I’d like to think my heart will always be my true north,” he said, trying not to sound too defensive. “If that changed with age, my character would have to change also. Those of us who do not wish to live alone will always be led by our hearts.”

“I do not live alone,” Uncle Edmund pointed out. “I have chosen your company. And I have come to love you like a son. Yet I still have a clear mind, first and foremost.”

“Yes, Uncle, that is exactly my point. You have always been thus.”

“Have I?”

Somewhat taken aback, Tobias stared at his uncle, trying to make sense of his meaning. “That was my understanding,” he added. “That you chose this quiet life. That is why you have no heir, and your brother will inherit after you.”

A strange sadness descended upon his uncle’s features, a softening of his usually very controlled expression. “I suppose you are right,” he said with a deep weariness. “In a way, I did choose this. Yes, I can see why you would think that.”

A sliver of pure ice slid down Tobias’s spine, making the hair on his arms stand up in alarm. Had he gotten it wrong somehow? Did his uncle long for love? Had he merely given up, subsiding into this secluded lifestyle? And oh—terrible, nightmarish thought!—might Miss Sangford worm her way into that lonely space his uncle had almost forgotten existed?

The knock at the door made Tobias jump.

“Come, come, Nephew.” His uncle smiled, though it was once again the smile he reserved for the purpose of expressing kindness. A smile originating in thought rather than sentiment. An act of self-control, to choose which emotion to release at the desired time. It left Tobias feeling unsettled. What unreached tides of feeling lay in the reservoir of his uncle’s heart? What if Miss Sangford found the sluice and released the floodwaters?

Lord Howell entered and the footman closed the heavy oak door behind him. While the butler greeted him and the footman took the viscount’s coat and hat, Tobias tried to pull himself together. The evening had just begun and there was much at stake. But the uneasiness would not recede.

Fortunately, Uncle Edmund was not hamstrung thus and, waving the servants away, walked calmly with his guest to the drawing room. Tobias trailed behind, fretting and nervous, and anxious to appear as neither.

They seated themselves in front of the blazing fire. Lord Howell dwarfed the chair he had chosen, though to be fair, none of the furniture in the drawing room was designed to accommodate a man of his physique. This was not the case for Uncle Edmund, whose favorite chair was all but molded to his shape after years of use. Comfortably ensconced, he reached for his glasses and a stack of letters on the side table.

“I have had a considerable response,” he began. “My sister and her friends have been most industrious in their efforts to ascertain the existence and whereabouts of appropriate candidates. All with great discretion, of course.”

“That is good news, I suppose,” Lord Howell answered without much enthusiasm.

Uncle Edmund removed his glasses. “My dear Howell, we proceed at your pleasure. If you have changed your mind…”

“No, no, needs must.” Lord Howell spread his fingers over his knee and gave a short, sharp huff of frustration. “It is just such a damnable nuisance to be shopping for a bride when there are more urgent matters that demand my attention daily.”

“No doubt, when Lady Howell takes her place at your side, you will find these matters less irksome.”

“If you say so, Carthige.” The viscount shrugged. “Though it is hard to imagine drawing comfort from a stranger.”

“She will not be a stranger by the time you wed. A proper courtship will resolve this in a matter of months.”

“And if I have chosen unwisely? It’s not exactly like a meat pie that one can discard if the filling is not found to one’s taste.”

“Er, no.” Uncle Edmund, rather flustered at such an image, was momentarily put off his stride.

The fire crackled and spat. The viscount, by contrast, lacked any vigor. To Tobias, it was clear the man was seeking a partnership he neither craved nor relished.

“Ideally,” Tobias said, entering the conversation gingerly, “one would want the opportunity to meet these ladies before they are aware that they are… How did my uncle put it? Ah, yes. Candidates .”

“Certainly,” Uncle Edmund agreed. “It would put your mind at ease to determine who among them has, er… suitable filling.” He cleared his throat quite noisily to express his evident discomfort with his friend’s earlier expression. “What did you have in mind, Tobias? A ball?”

Tobias shook his head. The viscount—who had visibly tensed at the suggestion—sagged with relief. “Dancing is not to everyone’s taste. And the opportunity for meaningful conversation is limited, in my opinion. No, what we need is something to draw the interest of more refined ladies. Women who would prefer something intellectual. You are more likely to find a suitable match where your interests are shared.”

“Go on.” Lord Howell nodded, his interest piqued at last.

“Of course, if you hosted the event, the invitation to these ladies would come from you. That is not subtle.”

The now-characteristic blush appeared on the viscount’s cheeks. “Indeed, I would prefer to observe without obvious motive.”

“So, what we need is an intellectual event where your attendance would be considered natural and which would be attractive to women of sound education and promising character. We will have their aunts and cousins reach out to them with an open invitation. I doubt any will refuse once they know you will be there.”

The viscount tapped his finger to his lips, his gaze focused on a space several feet beyond his chair. “Hmm, I can see you have given this much thought, Mr. Mannerly. I doubt Carthige and I would have been as innovative.”

“I am happy to help, my lord. The search for love is a worthwhile endeavor.”

Lord Howell looked across at his friend, the earl. “I had not expected love to play a role at all. A degree of compatibility would be sufficient. Someone I did not detest before the year was out.”

“Forgive me, sir,” Tobias objected, “but that is a poor outcome indeed. If the intention is to have an heir…well…surely, it is not enough simply to tolerate your bride? If you’ll pardon my bluntness for saying so.”

The viscount tipped his head in Tobias’s direction but addressed the earl. “Passionate fellow, isn’t he? Probably wouldn’t do to tell him that my entire ancestral line was made in this fashion.”

Tobias was far from discouraged. Despite his lordship’s wry humor on the subject, everything was proceeding swimmingly. One or two more details, and the deal was done. They might even find the viscount the perfect wife in the process. He was almost giddy with the thrill of it.

“I feel optimistic that your hopes will fare better than your expectations,” he told Lord Howell. “We shall certainly give it our best effort. Needless to say, my uncle and I will attend to offer you courage and support.”

He had slipped it in quickly, hoping to sound casual, counting on Lord Howell to accept their loyal presence before his uncle could protest.

There was a brief, pointed look from Lord Carthige. “I would thank my nephew to let me speak for myself.”

Tobias froze. His head filled with a roar of blood.

“However, he is right.”

The pounding in his ears subsided.

“There is no question. We will accompany you, of course. Especially if the occasion is to be stimulating to the mind.” He glanced at Tobias. “What, exactly, were your thoughts on this?”

Tobias steeled himself. His uncle was going to have definite opinions about this.

“I had in mind a poetry reading by Miss Sophia Grant.”

Lord Carthige clenched with obvious disapproval. “Really, Tobias, I hardly think his lordship…”

“No, hear me out, Uncle. I…”

“We are all aware of your enthusiasm for Miss Grant and her artistic skills, but to use my friend’s predicament to further her career…”

“That was not my intention at all!”

At Tobias’s raised voice, Lord Carthige grew stern. “I am not accustomed to being shouted at in my own home. And in front of a guest, no less. You forget yourself, Nephew.”

Tobias fought to control himself. He should apologize. Pace himself. Speak calmly. It was just so infernally frustrating! He loathed the meandering route of polite speech. He wanted to say what needed to be said, work out the practicalities. Not bob and weave through social niceties.

Lord Carthige was still waiting.

Tobias took a bolstering breath.

“I am sorry, sir. I only wanted to assure you that I would never abuse your kindness or hospitality for the sake of Miss Grant.”

As he said these words, an immediate heaviness of conscience descended upon him. He half-expected a cockerel to crow at his betrayal.

“I accept you at your word,” his uncle replied.

Instead of bringing peace to Tobias, the conciliatory speech was bitter to his ears. He did not deserve it. He burned with shame. But there was to be no reprieve. For he must forge ahead with his plan. He was almost there. And, if it worked, Miss Sangford and the division she wrought would be a thing of the past.

“Actually, Carthige,” said Lord Howell, chiming in, “a poetry reading is just the ticket. And if Miss Grant is willing, that is an added blessing. Her caliber of writing will only attract the most discerning audience. I don’t know about you, but I hardly have the time to be corresponding with poets and such to see who might be available. This is awfully convenient.”

“Yes,” Tobias added with happy relief, “we could have the letters sent out tomorrow. Shall we set the date for two weeks hence?” He crossed his fingers inside his coat.

“Two weeks!” His uncle spluttered. “We don’t even know if Mr. Grant will allow visitors in his home!”

“Miss Grant has the matter in hand.” Tobias spoke boldly, but the truth was that he hadn’t the foggiest idea how she would manage it. All he knew was that they had a finite amount of time and everything had to fall into place just so .

Lord Carthige muttered his doubts a while longer, while Tobias sought ways to appease them. In the end it was the viscount who set the date. “I don’t have any desire to drag this out. The sooner I get it done, the better. Let them come. I shall do my duty.”

It was hardly a romantic pledge, but Tobias was grateful, nonetheless. Just because Lord Howell didn’t see the promise the occasion held did not mean Tobias shared his pessimism. After all, if Mr. Grant would allow a multitude of strangers into his home, a single suitor a few weeks hence might not, in comparison, seem as arduous a presence. Regardless, they would finally meet. Tobias would be able to get the measure of the man.

All in all, the evening ended well. And, while the two lords pored over the letters, selecting the families who would receive invitations, Tobias sat back and daydreamed about Sophia. Her eyes that drew him in. Her skin like alabaster. And the way the fates were working to bring them to the altar at last.