Page 55 of One Day for a Valet

“Yes?”

“If you fell off your horse into the river, I think I might just jump in so you wouldn’t be the only idiot riding home sopping wet.”

Christopher grinned. “Yes, yes, I rather like you too. Come on. It’s late and I have a pint-sized lumpy settee calling my name.”

Twenty

Depending upon which child you considered, the following day was thick with either anticipation or dread. Hundreds of stately torches surrounded the veranda, weaving through the garden paths in preparation for the crowds that would soon descend for the first ball at Northam Hall in five years. Despite the privacy that would be ensured for Zachariah, he had retreated from the company of his family and from every indication that anything unusual would take place eight hours hence. Nora, who was too young to attend the ball, was watching the activity and sighing dramatically with equal vigour.

Rather than trying and failing to maintain the children’s attention in their studies, Sofia had given them the day off.

On the veranda, Sofia and Nora sipped on their second cups of tea while Violet pushed away a plate of biscuits to tinker with a broken music box. Consumed by her task, she seemed to notice neither Nora’s sighs nor the servants’ scurrying as they adjusted flowers and hung long satin drapes. Sofia couldn’t repress the smile that tugged at her lips as she imagined Gabriel bent in concentration over that same music box as he broke it, likely only hours before.

“You’ll have plenty of years to dress in fine gowns, Nora,” Sofia reassured.

Nora made a face. “I don’t give a wit about fancy gowns, but I do love to dance!” Leaping from her chair, she did a little jig, then shrieked as she backed into the large smiling form of Oliver, who grasped her by the hand and spun her around.

“You’ve done it now, Mr Lioni. Nora doesn’t allow dance partners to escape once they’ve begun,” Violet mused without raising her eyes from her work.

“Quite all right. I think I remember a few steps.” He bowed to Nora, then tugged her into a lively waltz around the veranda. Nearby servants paused in their work, captivated by Nora’s beaming smile and the musical giggles echoing across the garden. Her plait whipped about her shoulders with every turn. “It’s been years since I’ve had such a charming partner. Not since your governess wore the tread off my dancing shoes.” Sofia smiled at his words.

“You’re much friendlier when you aren’t discussing politics,” Nora said.

Oliver threw his head back with a great booming laugh. “Si, I suppose I am. The way I behaved last night …” He shook his head. “It was poor manners to bait your papa. Aristocrats bring out the worst in me. Still, that is no excuse, and I do beg your pardon, my lady.”

Sofia struggled to keep the surprise from showing on her face. Not that concealing her reaction really mattered. Chickens could be launched from military cannons and the duchess would remain engrossed in her task … actually, she might take note of the situation long enough to rescue the chickens.

An ugly, unwelcome thought marred the carefree moment. As it had once before, the idea that Oliver was deploying his charm as part of a greater game, gaining the Ansons’s trust in order to access the old duke’s paperwork, had slithered into Sofia’s thoughts. She tried to push it away but could not.

She studied Nora and Oliver objectively as they swept about the veranda, Nora chattering animatedly while Oliver listened with rapt attention, as he had listened to Sofia when she was a girl. If his intentions with Nora were underhanded, Sofia was fooled as well. He laughed again at something Nora said and smile lines, long absent from his face, flexed into view.

Other changes had crept over Oliver during his weeks of sobriety. Soft, quiet changes that no one in the world would notice save herself. His eyes, once dull, gleamed with merriment and curiosity. Shoulders that had curled with the weight of his grief, relaxed. It was as if renewed purpose had sparked to life within him, burning away the gloom.

“It’s difficult for me to picture Miss Lioni dancing,” Nora said. Sofia chuckled to herself.

Distracted by her observations, Sofia didn’t notice Christopher’s approach until he was beside her, his palm extended.

“Would you do me the great honour, Miss Lioni?”

Christopher’s cheeks were flushed from whatever activity had preceded his arrival, and he awaited her response with a bashful smile. She placed her fingers in his and rose, allowing herself to be pulled closer than was strictly appropriate. He danced with her around the veranda to a much slower imaginary tune.

“I plan to claim a scandalous number of your dances this evening, Miss Lioni.”

“That would be difficult to do with me in the nursery with Nora and you in the ballroom.”

Violet’s head shot up. “Of course you must come, Sofia! We are near enough to the same size that one of my gowns can easily be altered. I should have thought of it myself.”

Sofia shook her head. “My place is upstairs with Nora.”

“My place is in Gabriel’s dressing room with his cravats, but I’m being made to attend.”

Sofia let out an exasperated sigh. “That’s different. You and the duke are friends. And I wouldn’t be comfortable crushed into a ballroom teeming with the aristocracy.”

“Neither would I,” said Violet with a wry smile. She laughed and set down the newly repaired music box. “I think you will find the guest list to be decidedly more tolerable than that.” She met Sofia’s gaze with an impish grin. “Say you’ll come, please.”

Christopher leaned close, his warm breath wafting across the curve of her neck. “Yes, Sofia, say you’ll come.” Heat crept up her throat at the double entendre, and she might have thought the phrase incidental had he not adjusted his grip, pulling her body fractionally closer. The hand he’d placed on her waist slid scandalously close to the swell of her backside.

“Oh, all right. I’ll come.”