Page 27 of Sophia’s Letter (Ladies of Munro #1)

T he September sun shone brightly upon Rome, and the Spanish Steps in particular, coating their marbled form in a creamy hue. Tobias stepped out onto the balcony of their second-story villa, overlooking the midpoint of the steps where they curved and divided. The table had been laid for breakfast. Sophia was dusting the flakes of a croissant from her fingers. His uncle was sipping coffee and working his way through a small pile of correspondence.

“Is there anything left for me?” Tobias teased as he pulled a chair up as close to his wife as he could without crowding her.

Sophia’s eyes, like the rest of her, lit up at his nearness. Her cheeks, tanned and rosy from her recent weeks outdoors, plumped with good food and wine, creased into a wide smile.

“I have buttered a croissant for you,” she said, “but did not want to pour your coffee, lest it get cold. Shall I do so now?”

Tobias gathered her hand to his lips. “Are these the fingers that will pour for me?” he asked while planting kisses upon them.

“Not if you hold them ransom.” She laughed. But she did not pull them away.

“Perhaps I am not thirsty yet.” He held her gaze, his mouth shifting to the inside of her wrist. He felt the current pass between them. The moist tip of his tongue tasted her skin. The fine hairs on her arm stiffened.

“Ahem.” Uncle Edmund cleared his throat. “I thought to visit the Villa Medici before the day grew too warm. It is the official residence of a number of sculptors and painters, studying the great masters. Are you interested in joining me?”

He directed the question to Tobias only. The route would take them up the famous steps and onward up the hill—too much exertion for Sophia, although she had grown stronger and was walking shorter distances with great confidence.

“I do not like to leave Sophia alone too long,” Tobias answered.

“Perhaps we could cover the distance in stages,” Sophia suggested. “I could rest on the steps and catch my breath. It will take longer, but I would like to try.”

“I will leave that up to the two of you to work out,” said Uncle Edmund. “But we should start as soon as possible. I will be ready once I have done with these.” He indicated the letters before him.

“Is that the Howell crest?” Tobias asked, inspecting the unopened correspondence while Sophia, whose hands were free once again, poured his coffee.

“It is,” his uncle confirmed, removing the seal and folding open the page. He read in silence while Tobias sipped his coffee and watched the occasional pedestrian traverse the Spanish Steps barely twenty yards from them. The pergola above the balcony was draped in vines and festooned with hanging baskets, some still in flower, providing a measure of privacy from which to watch the world without being watched in turn.

“Is he well?” Tobias eventually asked as his uncle placed the letter back upon the table.

“That depends on how you look at it, I suppose,” Uncle Edmund answered. “As you know, he had no joy from any of the introductions at the poetry reading. So he has taken matters into his own hands. A rather drastic action, from what he tells me.”

“That sounds ominous,” commented Sophia. “What has he done?”

“Apparently, he was made aware of a suitable candidate at a dinner he attended. The young lady is out in society in name only. Her father has great ambitions for her and does not permit her to loiter among regular gentlemen at dances or gatherings of a social nature. He intends to handpick her husband.”

Sophia shook her head. “Her father appears scarcely better than mine was. It seems she will move from ownership under her father to a similar fate with whichever husband he chooses. Poor girl!”

Tobias considered the news. “I don’t understand. How is she more qualified than the ladies he was introduced to at the Grants’? He hasn’t even met her.”

“That,” explained his uncle, “is apparently the very element that encourages him. Her sheltered life gives him hope that she will be unlike so many of the ladies of Munro, who, as you know, rarely act like ladies at all. He is counting on her to be untainted by their influence.”

“That’s all very well, but how will he go about the courtship? We’re not there to assist with a meeting. And he is not what one might call confident in such matters. What are his plans?” Tobias scoffed. “To woo her through her father?”

“Er, yes.” Uncle Edmund put up a defensive hand. “I know, I know. You can’t imagine such a soulless route to marriage. But not all men have your passionate conviction, Nephew. Some merely survive. He needs a wife, preferably one who will at least be a little kind. And Miss Trenton’s father will happily accept a wealthy viscount for his daughter. It is a question of negotiation at this point.”

“He’s not even going to write to her?” Sophia remembered the letter that had changed her life.

“It seems not.”

“She might offer him more than mere kindness if he did,” Sophia insisted.

“You are probably right”—Uncle Edmund sighed—“but that is not the route he has chosen. One can only hope that Miss Trenton is ready for the challenges of an arranged marriage. Perhaps it is for the best. They can discover each other and build their relationship in the privacy of their shared home. Lord Howell has not had that advantage before. All his previous efforts have been in the public eye, and the constant scrutiny has been tortuous.”

“Well, we wish them the very best,” said Tobias, reaching for Sophia’s hand once again. “I am grateful our own challenges are a thing of the past.”

“Or at least limited to climbing the Spanish Steps.” Sophia grinned, a now familiar glint of mischief in her eye.

“Shall we make a start, then?” inquired Uncle Edmund. “It already grows warm. I shall finish my correspondence later.”

Sophia sent Katie to collect better shoes for walking, and a parasol to shield her mistress from the extremes of the Italian sun. The four of them bundled out by the ground floor entrance and turned right to ascend the steps. Sophia, leaning on Tobias’s arm as much for affection as support, took the stairs slowly, so as to pace herself. Their uncle walked ahead with his long stride, waiting patiently when he drew level to the balcony where they had talked and dined but a few minutes before.

When Tobias, Sophia, and Katie— avec parasol —caught up to him, Sophia was ready to rest.

“I fear it is already growing hot.” Uncle Edmund fretted. “The entire expedition is upward, even beyond the steps. Perhaps we should resume this outing tomorrow. We could start earlier. Or hire a trap to take Sophia the long way around.”

Tobias saw the disappointment in Sophia’s face. She hated a fuss. And she was just as keen as the rest of them to visit the famed art academe.

“That won’t be necessary,” he replied. He put his arms around his wife and whispered, “Hold on tight.” Then he lifted her up, as if once again carrying her over the threshold. They ascended the steps together, Sophia nestled against his shoulder, her gentle breath on his neck.

The heat of the day did not compare to the warmth in his heart as he climbed steadily onward, his beloved safely in his arms. Onward to their day together. Onward to their lives together. And when Sophia kissed him on the tender skin beneath his ear, he felt he could climb on and up to the moon and stars, his lover against his breast, his happiness complete.