“AND AFTER DINNER, we will play games, as we always do during the holidays.” Again, Mrs. Green didn’t make a suggestion so much as issue a command.
Sophronia wondered if the woman would take it amiss if she saluted in response.
And then wanted to laugh, because of course she would.
They’d spent another hour at the abbey, Jamie walking around the place with great strides and gazing at each of the objects in the gallery for far longer than Sophronia would have deemed possible.
For a man who claimed to be so restless, he was definitely able to be still when he was engrossed in something.
Sophronia shifted in her chair as the ramifications of that thought crossed her mind. She couldn’t seem to help it, she immediately looked his way, something she had done for most of the dinner. She’d barely concentrated on the food, actually, since her mind was swimming with images of him, his expression as he looked at yet another ancient dusty object, how intent he seemed.
There was something so moving about it, and yes, something so intriguing, as though she weren’t already intrigued.
(She was entirely intrigued.)
What would she do if he were to turn that attention, that specific, engaged attention to her?
He had somewhat already, but it was nothing like the way he had looked as he’d stalked around, picking something up and just holding it in his hand—that large, strong hand, for goodness’ sake, Sophronia, think of something else—regarding it with a keen interest that sent shivers down her spine.
What could she do to incite and engage his interest? Why was she even thinking about it?
Well, that last one she could answer—because she couldn’t seem to stop being intrigued by him, and she wanted to feel what it would be like to be the object of his scrutiny.
To have him hold her the way he’d held one of those items, to look at her with that intense interest.
“Lady Sophronia, are you interested?”
Sophronia gulped at all the ideas that put into her head, but didn’t think Mrs. Green meant to ask any of what Sophronia was mentally answering.
Although the answer to all the questions was “Yes.”
“Yes, Mrs. Green, I am.”
Mrs. Green smiled thinly, as though wishing Sophronia had said she was too old and tired and determined to remain a spinster for the rest of her life to play any holiday games.
Or it could be that Sophronia was imagining all that.
“I am delighted you feel you can participate in these humorous games, my lady. I would not have thought someone with your interests would want to do something so frivolous.”
Or she wasn’t imagining it at all.
“My Sophy is quite playful, actually,” James said. “She has too intricate a personality to be understood at first or even second meeting. It took me many weeks before I was able to peel back the layers and expose the woman underneath.”
Sophronia felt her cheeks—and lots of other parts of her—start to heat at his words. Peel back the layers and expose her.
Well, so much for not thinking about all of that. About all of him.
The worst part was she wanted him to peel back her layers and expose her, even though it would only be for a short time, and they both understood that.
Did that make it possible? That it was by necessity short-lived? And how did one broach such a topic? Excuse me, my pretend betrothed, but do you think we could pretend we were actually betrothed, so we could engage in things that actual betrothed couples do?
It would take someone far better with words to formulate that thought without seeming like an idiot.
Even her father wouldn’t have been able to do it, not that she would have asked for his help with that. He was a tolerant parent, but she had to guess he would draw the line at finding the right language so that she could embark on a meaningless but also meaningful limited-time relationship.
Now her head hurt with it all. She hoped they weren’t playing Dictionary tonight; she’d probably end up with definitions like “Thingy that does things” or “The opposite of dumb.”
Or “Inappropriately obsessed with a tall charming man.”
JAMIE HAD TO restrain himself, not for the first time, from just taking his fake betrothed and his mother and leaving. But his mother would be disappointed, and what was more, these were the people with whom she socialized—he’d be long gone, but she’d be here to deal with the aftermath of his behavior.
So he did what he could, but felt the prickles of disdain Mrs. Green shot toward Sophronia. All the young ladies, including Miss Green, seemed to understand that he was no longer available, but it appeared that Mrs. Green took it as a personal affront—and perhaps a challenge—that he had arrived encumbered with a wife-to-be.
Although that just gave him more of an excuse to be alone with her, so perhaps he should thank Mrs. Green and her unpleasant behavior.
Meanwhile, he’d be damned if he or Sophronia would be forced into an uncomfortable situation.
“Mrs. Green, if I may, I have a suggestion for a game we could play.” He donned his most charming smile, as though he didn’t wish her to hell.
“Yes, Mr. Archer?”
“It has been a few years since my mother and I celebrated the holidays together, and one game we used to play is You’re Never Dressed Without a Smile. I thought that would be fun.”
“Oh, excellent suggestion, Mr. Archer,” Mrs. Green’s daughter said, making him less annoyed she’d interrupted the potential kiss he had yet to get. “Mother, I do love that one.”
“You’ll have to tell us how to play,” the vicar whatever-his-name said. “I am not familiar with it.”
“Mr. Archer?” Mrs. Green’s tone, as usual, made it clear what she wanted to happen. In this case, for him to explain the directions.
“Yes, well, one person is It, and tries to make everyone else in the room smile. The first person to smile then becomes It. At the end, the last remaining person who hasn’t smiled wins the game. Simple, really.”
He allowed himself to glance over at Sophronia, intrigued to see her cheeks flushed pink and a bright light in her eyes. Ah, so it seemed his Sophy liked to play games, as well.
That added yet another layer to his depth of knowledge about her. Layers, like the ones he’d said he’d peeled away from her, just a few moments ago.
And he would like to do that. Very much.
It wasn’t just the missed kiss opportunity that was piquing his interest; it was how she asked him what he felt about the objects in the abbey, and how she paid attention to him as he spoke about what he saw. As though she were truly engaged and interested, not merely being polite.
Even though she was, absolutely, and perfectly, polite.
Perhaps he should have suggested Hide and Go Seek, and then he could have found out for himself just how impolite she was willing to be.
Or no; perhaps later on in the visit, when they had gotten to know one another better. That would be something to look forward to, a prickle of anticipation to help steady his course.
“That sounds delightful,” Mrs. Green replied in a voice that indicated it was anything but. Perhaps she just always spoke that way? That would make him very sorry for Mr. Green, although that gentleman didn’t seem to mind things one way or the other.
IT WAS AFTER DINNER, and the party had all moved into the drawing room, which was arranged for general entertainment—a piano in one corner, several couches scattered about, and a few shelves of books. They hadn’t yet started playing the games since there was tea to be had first.
“My Jamie is so clever, don’t you think?” Mrs. Archer leaned over to speak in Sophronia’s ear, as though sharing a secret, and not something that everyone in the room knew Mrs. Archer thought.
She really was a sweet woman. “He is.”
“I am so pleased you’ll be joining our family. It’s just been me and Jamie for years now, and he deserves some happiness.”
And now she felt like the worst kind of lowly worm, fooling this lovely, gentle woman.
“James isn’t in town that often, is he?”
Mrs. Archer shook her head regretfully. “No, he is always going off to one place or another. It’s been the same ever since he was small. I’d send him out to play, and then he’d end up in the village, or down at the lake, or in the fields. We lived in the country until Jamie was about twelve years old. Then his father—Mr. Archer, that is—found he was required to be at his place of business every day, and so he moved us into London.” She sighed. “Jamie takes after his father. My late husband was always off doing things until we got married.”
It was on the tip of Sophronia’s tongue to ask if James had any brothers and sisters, but she had to think that a normal about-to-be-married couple would have discovered that kind of information about one another already, and while Mrs. Archer did not appear to be a suspicious type of person, her suspicions would certainly be aroused if the topic of family hadn’t come up already.
She could, however, safely ask Mrs. Archer questions about herself. “Do you like living in London?”
Mrs. Archer glanced around as though to ensure nobody was listening in. They weren’t; prior to the start of the games, Mrs. Green had insisted that James examine yet another artifact—or “arty fact”—and Miss Green had dutifully brought it out from one room or another for him to see, as well as for the guests, presumably, to admire.
To Sophronia’s eyes, it appeared to be a misshapen drab piece of pottery. She would not be sharing her opinion with Mrs. Green.
“I don’t really enjoy London,” Mrs. Archer said. “That is, I do like the conveniences, and when Jamie returns to England he invariably has business in London, so there is a greater chance I will be able to see him. I do miss him.” She sighed and looked over to where her son was staring intently at the misshapen drab. “I did always hope—well, it’s foolish.”
“What did you hope for?” Sophronia asked, wanting to know even as she was dreading the answer—it would likely be something involving her son staying nearby with his wife and their brood of not-yet-existing children.
“I always hoped that when Jamie settled down he would truly settle down. Like his father did with me. Perhaps in the country, a town like this one, or like the one where we lived before. A place where I could see him, and his wife,” she added, with a warm smile toward Sophronia, “and where it was less of a commotion.”
She was right to have dreaded the answer. It was precisely what she would have imagined the woman wanted, and precisely opposite what her son was determined to do.
She did feel terrible for the deception, but on the other hand, she could feel just how bound up and stifled it made him feel to be in one place for too long.
“I understand that,” she replied. “I’ve always lived in London, and so I am accustomed to it, but I am finding it quite pleasurable to be here in a much quieter place for a while. Even though of course there are plenty of things to do, and plenty of entertainment. But it feels more peaceful, despite the party.”
Mrs. Archer beamed at her, as though she had said something entirely clever. When Sophronia had just spoken what was in her heart—she did like it out here, she liked the quiet, and the soft stillness that settled over the place in the evening.
“It is time for the game,” James said, addressing them. The misshapen drab seemed to have been put away. He stood in front of them, his expression soft and warm as he looked at his mother. Sophronia felt her heart ache, just a little. She couldn’t look at her father anymore, even though for some months after he’d died and she’d discovered how he’d left things, she’d wished he were there so she could rail at him.
But as time had gone on, she’d realized she would be fine, no matter that he hadn’t quite taken care of her that way. He had taken care of her by letting her know she was loved, and cared for (at the time), and he respected her opinions and feelings.
She missed him. And she felt regretful that Mrs. Archer would not be her mother-in-law in truth, since she wished she could have that again.
“I will just watch, you know I laugh immediately anyway,” Mrs. Archer said, waving her hand at her son. “You are so clever, I was just saying that to your beloved Sophronia here.”
His gaze traveled to her, a knowing smile quirking his lips. “My beloved Sophronia has yet to discover just how clever I can be,” he said, and it sounded as though he were talking about far more than just a game. Sophronia’s breath caught, and she felt her cheeks flush—again—and her heart flutter just a bit in her chest.
He held his hand out as he spoke, and she took it, nearly gasping as she felt the strength of his grip and the heat of his fingers through his gloves. She stood on shaky legs, and smoothed her gown, him keeping hold of her hand all the while.
“Let us play,” he said, that grin deepening.