“You will be fine.” She held a grinning, drooling Kit up before her. “You are charm personified, and they will love you before the sun sets. Lord Sindal has assured me the Harrads are decent, hardworking people devoted to their children and their church. You’ll thrive there, tease your sisters, and be a comfort to your parents.”
They’d call him Christopher, though, Kit being too far removed from the theological origins of his given name.
“Chris-to-pher. That shall be your name.”
She cuddled him close when he squirmed. “You shall be Christopher Harrad, and you shall want for nothing.”
“Sophie, the horses are saddled, and your brothers are waiting.” Vim stood in the doorway of her sitting room, looking handsome and grave. In his eyes, Sophie saw concern but no hint of the passionate lover she’d held just a few hours previously.
The man she’d said good-bye to with every kiss and caress she’d given him.
“I’m ready.” She would never be ready.
“Come.” He held out a hand to her, and Sophie expected him to wing his arm and provide her a proper escort from the house. Or perhaps he’d take the baby and steal a few minutes more of Kit’s smiles and sweetness.
His arm slid around her shoulders, his chin rested on her crown. “I wish you’d reconsider this. He can always join the Harrads in spring or when he’s started to walk or speak.”
He meant this as a kindness, but Sophie felt the suggestion as something like a betrayal, sloshing about amid all the other pain she was carrying around in her heart. “If I don’t do this today, now, I won’t ever be able to. Not ever.”
She felt him nod, but he didn’t let her go, and she didn’t step back. For a long moment, she leaned against him and took for herself some of his strength and warmth. “I don’t want to do this.”
“My dear, I know.”
It was as much comfort as she’d have, the consolation that Vim knew exactly what this decision would cost her. Kit fussed and kicked between them, and Sophie moved away.
Or tried to. Vim kept his arm around her shoulders as they traveled through the house, then took the baby from her when they walked out into a sunny, cold day.
“At least it’s still. You should make Morelands easily.”
Sophie paused at the bottom of the front steps. “You’re not accompanying us?”
“He is.” St. Just led a big bay horse up to the mounting block. “We took the liberty of having a mount saddled for you, Sindal. It’s a pleasant day for a ride.”
“I’d thought to look over account books with my uncle this morning.”
And the winter day was about as pleasant as the coldest circle of hell by Sophie’s lights.
St. Just smiled a smile sporting more teeth than charm. “To hear your aunt tell it, the account books have languished for years without your attention to them. Surely you’d rather accept our invitation for a short jaunt on this sunny day?”
Valentine and Westhaven rode up, halting their horses on either side of St. Just.
“It’ll clear the cobwebs,” Westhaven said.
“And you can tell us all why you’ve been such a stranger at Morelands these last years,” Valentine added. “Sister, I can take the infant up with me.”
Vim glanced from one brother to the other, something like a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. “I would be pleased to join you, and Kit rides with me.”
He passed Kit to St. Just, gave Sophie a leg up, mounted and retrieved the baby, and then they were moving down the driveway, a silent cavalcade in the sunny, bitter morning.
It took no time at all to reach the curate’s little house beside the church, a mere span of minutes by Sophie’s reckoning, while she tried not to watch Vim holding Kit, occasionally speaking to the child, cradling him close against the brisk air.
Already, she felt an empty place under her heart, a place that ought to be filled with gummy smiles, baby-songs, and a tiny flailing hand intent on capturing the nearest adult nose, chin, or heart.
“Take him for just a moment.” Vim was regarding her with steady blue eyes, while Sophie’s throat closed and her chest began a slow miserable tattoo of impending loss. She shook her head.
“Just while I dismount.” Vim passed the baby over, despite another shake of her head, and then Sophie was cradling Kit close, shutting her eyes to memorize the sweet, baby scent of the child, to block out the sight of a tidy, tired young woman coming from the house in a plaid shawl.
“Sophie.” Vim, standing by her horse, waiting for her to give him the child. “You can come by later and visit with Mrs. Harrad. We should get Kit out of this weather.” He spoke gently, his voice pitched so the others would not hear.
This was why her brothers had impressed Vim into coming with them: so Sophie could hand the child to him, not to the woman shivering at the bottom of her steps, trying to look anywhere but at Sophie or the baby.
She handed Kit down and looked away, off toward the rolling terrain of Morelands just outside the village. She forced herself to take in air, then expel it, take in air, then expel it.
She counted her breaths—four, five, six… while Vim passed the child into the waiting woman’s arms and out of Sophie’s life.
“I’ll ride to the Morelands gates with you.” Vim swung up and shifted his horse so he was alongside Sophie’s mount, but he kept his silence while they rode.
“You’ve made the best decision, Soph.” Valentine shot her a glance that held a world of understanding, and all Sophie could do was nod and stare straight ahead, lest her brother’s compassion destroy her composure. He seemed to comprehend how tenuous her nerves were, because he rode on, joining their brothers in the lead.
“I can tell you it will ease,” Vim said very quietly. “I pray for you that the hurt will ease, Sophie Windham. Some things just take a great deal of time.”
He didn’t castigate her, didn’t try to reason with her or cheer her up, but Sophie was grateful for his presence nonetheless. All too soon, they were at the Morelands gates, the wrought iron wings standing open in welcome.
Vim drew his mount to a halt. “I’ll turn back here and thank you all for both your companionship on the journey and your willingness to provide my relations their first houseguests in quite some time.”
He was leaving her now ? Now when there was no compulsion, no urgency whatsoever, and her heart was never going to mend? “You won’t come in for a cup of tea?”
“Sophie.” Westhaven sounded serious indeed. Val and St. Just looked equally grave. St. Just shook his head subtly, but the message was clear.
She was not to push Morelands hospitality on Baron Sindal.
Vim moved his horse right next to Sophie’s, leaned over, and there—before her three solemn brothers—gave her a lingering kiss on the cheek. “You will send to me if there’s need.” He spoke very quietly, and it was not a question. Then he turned his mount and steered it in the direction of Sidling.
While Sophie watched Vim walk out of her life, her brothers maneuvered so their horses were beside her, Valentine to her immediate right, Westhaven and St. Just to her left.
“Shall we?” St. Just kneed his horse forward, and Sophie’s mount walked on, as well. All too soon, they were ambling up the drive to Morelands, the house sitting in winter splendor just a hundred yards ahead.
“I don’t know how I’ll face Their Graces.”
Sophie realized she’d spoken aloud when all three brothers were looking at her with concern.
“A headache might do,” Westhaven said.
“Fatigue would be convincing,” St. Just added.
Valentine cocked his head, his expression hard to read. “You’re a grown woman. We’ll make your excuses, Soph. Just go to your room and leave orders you’re not to be disturbed until dinner.”