Page 66 of One Day for a Valet

Once she was certain he had left for his own room, Sofia changed into the dress she had first worn to Northam Hall and retraced her steps back down the stairs and out the door, heading towards Oliver’s cabin. The door opened before she could touch the handle. Shirt rumpled and curls in disarray, he appeared to be every bit as restless and out of sorts as Sofia felt.

“You should be in bed … alone. Where’s Christopher?” He glanced behind her as if he expected to see a sandy-haired valet trailing behind.

“In his bed, I assume. Is Hamish here?”

“No. One of his sheep is giving birth. He left to check on her an hour ago and hasn’t returned. What are you doing here?”

“Move. I’m coming inside.”

Oliver sighed but relented, stepping to the side to make room for her to pass.

She met him directly, hands on her hips. “Christopher told me about your trip to town and your gambling debts, and still I didn’t make the connection. He said that a man’s threats continued even after you paid. That’s why we need to leave, isn’t it?” She threw her hands up in the air. “It’s not only the risk of someone on the estate noticing the resemblance. I’m so bloody stupid. Does that blackguard know, Oliver? Of course he does. He knows what you are, and he means to hurt us with the information! The blackmailer has become the blackmailed!”

All of her frustration and anxiety had gathered and sharpened, landing squarely in this moment. Oliver’s shame seeped into his expression, further feeding Sofia’s ire.

“Oh, Oli, no. How could you be so stupid?” She fell into a chair, temporarily giving into the feelings of disappointment spiralling through her. Her head in her hands, she sat mired in the crushing miscalculation of her situation and Oliver’s continued deception. She dug her fingertips into her temples, trying to force those feelings of disillusionment into something more productive. She stood up again and began to pace the small room.

“Sofi, I was drunk. I was an idiot. I wish I could take it all back. Don’t you know how fucking sorry I am?”

She stopped and whirled on him, preparing to cut loose with all the anger and hurt that had been bubbling inside her for years. But he stood there like a man condemned, without a shred of self-worth or fight remaining. And she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t inflict more pain. Instead, she gathered him up in her arms and he folded his large body into hers, his arms tucked between them as though he preferred to hide within the folds of her gown forever than face the shame of his past, the man he had been, and the irreversible damage he’d caused.

She tightened her grip around him. “We will go to him together. Explain that you were so drunk it’s a wonder you didn’t think yourself Prinny’s heir. We will make him believe. Where might we find him?”

“No, Sofia. He’s dangerous and it won’t work. I tried to tell him. He doesn’t believe me.”

“Then we will tell him again. Oliver, this is the only way.” Releasing him from their embrace, she curled her fingers into her hair and resumed her trek across the bowed floor planks.

“It’s true that you look like the duke, but with some mutton chops and a shorter hairstyle, no one will notice. No one noticed tonight! This blackmailer is the only thing standing between us and finally building a life together. This is where we belong. Where we both belong, and damn it, I won’t let you just roll over and quit on us again. Stand up and fight, you lunkhead. Fight for me!” Her fervour hit a hard wall and her legs began to shake uncontrollably. “Please, Oli. I need you.”

Oliver crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. “All right. All right. I will try. But it isn’t going to work, Sofi.”

His response was meaningless. She heard only his acceptance of defeat behind his tepid agreement. Oliver would go to appease her, but he would fight with one fist and walk away the moment he was pushed to the ground.

Well, Sofia had two good fists and a history of pulling herself back up to her feet. Oliver wouldn’t save her, she would save herself. She would save both of them. And then she would have her life with Christopher and his indomitable affection and she would keep Oliver by her side, lunkhead that he was. For once, she would have her happily ever after even if she had to scrawl the words with her own quill.

“Is he in the village? I could walk with you.”

“Yes. He plays at the public house, but no, you will not. This is my mess.”

If only it were just his mess. But that was the pattern of people in her life. Somehow, they could never fully grasp that their choices impacted the lives of those around them. That their every careless spill made its way onto her. And, while she couldn’t deny the changes she had seen in Oliver of late, the fact remained that the fires he had thoughtlessly set in the past were still blazing through her present. Nothing would be left of her future but charred rubbish unless she found a way to preserve it on her own.

She turned to her brother, impatient now to take her leave. “It’s late. We can figure this out tomorrow.” Grabbing him by his shirt front, she pulled him down to kiss his cheek.

“I’m so sorry, Sofi,” he whispered. “I’ll go in the morning.”

“I know, Oli.” And she did know. But she wouldn’t wait until morning and she couldn’t spare the time to stand around helping him feel better. It would take longer to get to the village in the dark, even if she moved swiftly. Considering the hours Oliver had kept while drinking at the tavern, she had every chance of finding the men he’d kept company with if she went now.

Sofia was thankful for the fullness of the moon as she walked, ran, and stumbled down the well-trodden path to the village. Tearing the inside seam of her dress, she pulled out the few coins she had sewn inside for emergencies and gripped them tightly in her hand as she cracked open the door to the tavern and stepped inside. The equally abhorrent aromas of rich, overcooked meat, cheap perfume, and sweaty male assaulted her senses, and she wished she could leave the door open.

An old man sat alone at a bar while two younger men at a low table in the middle of the room flirted clumsily with the girl that sat between them. And, in the corner, five men sat sprawled in their chairs playing a game of cards. The table was littered with cigar ash and chipped earthenware bowls of half-eaten stew. Flies circled hungrily around the bowls, ignored by the patrons. Something wet seeped into Sofia’s slipper, and the sole made a sticky squelching noise as she moved to find a table near the group of players.

“What can I get for you?” A plump older lady crossed the room, eyeing her suspiciously.

Sofia didn’t think her stomach would tolerate anything procured from this place, but sitting and staring was not an option.

“A tankard of ale, please.”

The woman nodded and arrived a moment later, the liquid sloshing onto the table as she set it down none too gently. “It’s late for a woman to be out alone. Drink it and be on your way, eh?” The matron glanced meaningfully at the men in the corner and back to Sofia.