The Firstborn

Chapter Twenty-Three

They sat together in silence as the mantel clock ticked away another five minutes. Before them, George alternated between attempts to walk and quick bouts of crawling accompanied by shrieking laughter as he pushed through rows of blocks and sent them scattering in all directions.

"And what of your brother?" Sophia ventured to ask when she was certain she could trust her voice again.

There was that hesitation again. "To tell the truth," he began, and rested his elbows on the arms of the chair before steepling his fingers in front of his chest. "I have yet to decide what course of action to take with him. I could force him into the army, though I fear his ability to wreak as much havoc while wearing a uniform as he does without one. But he is my brother. Bess would wish me to be lenient, or at least not so harsh that we cut him out of our lives forever. It is fine line, I think, and it's difficult to see on which side lies the proper choice."

Sophia held out her arms to George as he crawled over to her and began to clamber up into her lap. Without delay, he started plucking at the buttons of her dress, grunting in frustration when they wouldn't immediately pop off into his chubby fingers. "I will see Lucy again," she said, and smoothed down a patch of George's hair that was determined to stick straight out from his head.

She had spoken the words without giving them a thought, but as soon as she heard them with her own ears, she trusted in the truth of them. She would see her sister again, be it a matter of a few days or a few years, but she would see her again. Though the two of them were often at odds with one another, they did care about each other. They loved each other. And Sophia hoped that Lucy loved George. No, she knew that her sister loved her son. She simply... She simply wasn't ready to be a mother, or if that was ever going to be a role she was meant to fulfil.

"And what of you?" Haughton's question broke through the fog of her thoughts. "Will you return to Stantreath now?"

"Yes," she replied, and looked up quickly enough to see a shadow of despondency darken his brow. "But," she continued, her gaze still on his face. "If the offer still stands, I think I would like to then make my way to Denton Castle. If not permanently, at least for an extended stay."

His shoulders visibly relaxed. "Of course, I will write to my sister at once, let her know of your plans."

"Thank you." She kissed George's head before he squirmed out of her lap and took three steps away from her before dropping again to all fours. "I will, of course, need time to pack up my things, to give my farewell to Lady Rutledge, but... I cannot imagine that should take up more than a few days. The cottage is small and there is not a lot in it, as I'm sure you remember."

She tried to smile, but failed miserably in the attempt. Now that George had been returned to her, that Lucy had been given what she wanted, that David was currently under the watchful eye of Mr. Winston, and the decision finally voiced aloud that she would be returning to Denton Castle, it seemed that all of the former impediments of their acquaintance had been cleared away. He was no longer the cold, haughty member of the peerage come to impose his rule on her. She was welcome in his home—homes, she amended to herself—and even sat with her now, quietly, companionably, as if their first meeting had not been heated enough that she had been sorely tempted to strike him.

"I will leave you now, as I'm sure you're still exhausted, and will need your rest if your intention is to leave tomorrow." Haughton rose from his chair as she did and bowed towards her. "Sleep well, and I will see you in the morning, if not before."

She stood there as he left the room, only a step forward from her chair while George continued to scatter toys and crawl in and out from beneath the hem of her skirt. Haughton was only being courteous in coming to speak to her in her room, she told herself, only wanting her to feel welcome and wanted after all the difficulties of the last few days. But she couldn't help feeling that something had shifted in their acquaintance. That enigmatic expression on his face... the light in his eyes that she had so much difficulty trying to identify...

He's taken with you...

David's words flickered through her mind. She tried to assure herself that he had said such things solely to unnerve her. There couldn't be any truth to it, surely not. But still she played those words over and over in her mind, even as she knelt down onto the rug and began lining up the wooden soldiers for George.

He's taken with you...

She thought of Haughton's eyes, how cold they had always seemed to be, so many weeks ago. She realized she hadn't seen that same chill in them for quite some time. And when she'd slipped her hand into his only a few moments ago, she'd had the distinct feeling that Haughton hadn't really wanted to let go.

"No," Sophia said aloud, and tried to shake such thoughts out of her head. Her exhaustion was getting to her. That must be it, nothing more. Once all of the preparations for her return to Stantreath were made, and she was once again on the road with George tucked in beside her, well... everything would be so much clearer, she was sure. No more muddled thoughts or idle fancies that Haughton—Haughton, of all people!—was falling in love with her.

"No, certainly not," she said, and bit at the soft flesh inside her bottom lip. And she definitely wouldn't pause to wonder why that repeated assurance should bring out such a dismal feeling from within her.

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Goodness! Only one more chapter to go (and it is a good, long one)! That should go up tomorrow, and then the story will be finished! Well, until it undergoes a good, final edit and attack from the Red Pen of Doom.

Thanks, again, to all of you wonderful readers. You have made these last few weeks incredibly enjoyable!

Quenby Olson

ETA: You can now check out my latest Regency romance, The Bride Price, currently in-progress here on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/65174398