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.
Tuant:
1. Cutting, biting, keen, trenchant.
2. A meringue flavored with almond.
3. Careful, precise.
Chapter Ten
JAMIE WON, OF COURSE, as she could have predicted. He’d been so infectiously charming everyone had to laugh, even Mrs. Green, eventually.
And no one had been able to get him to even crack a smile. Sophronia was surprised to find how competitive she’d been at the game, trying her best to make him at least smile.
But no. He remained implacable, a startling change from the charming man she’d come to expect.
She would have to challenge him to a private game of it sometime, perhaps, to see if she could break his composure.
And wasn’t that a thought she should absolutely not be having.
“What are you thinking about, my lady?” Maria asked her, pausing midstroke as she was brushing her hair.
Sophronia felt her cheeks immediately begin to burn, and she swallowed. “Nothing. Not a thing.” No need to say it again, Sophronia, she heard her father’s voice say. “Why do you ask?”
Maria shrugged, beginning to brush her hair again. “Because you made this funny noise, and then you looked all different for a second.”
Wonderful. So when she thought about things like that, she made funny noises and faces. Maybe that would be the thing to make him laugh.
“What are you doing tomorrow?”
Whatever Mrs. Green wants, Sophronia thought. “I believe we are spending the day at the house, making plans for Christmas. The Greens host a party for the villagers, and so everyone comes and has wine, and food, and there is singing and some dancing.”
It sounded delightful, especially since Sophronia had attended very few parties in her life. But also sad, since it meant the visit and the charade would be almost over, and she would be heading to her cottage with Maria, taken care of, but not cared for.
“That sounds a treat,” Maria said, her tone showing only delight at the prospect. “And there is that one gown that is perfect for the party—it is cream-colored, with dark green ribbons, and you will look perfect for the season.”
“Thank you, Maria, I have no doubt you will make me look lovely.” She had to admit to enjoying the look in her pretend betrothed’s eye when she appeared dressed in one of her new gowns. She’d never realized before just how much some fabric, buttons, and stitching could alter a person’s appearance. Yet another benefit to this whole lying-to-a-perfectly-nice-woman-because-her-son-couldn’t-tell-her-the-truth thing.
And with that depressing thought, Sophronia dismissed Maria and took herself off to bed, trying not to count the remaining days.
“DO YOU EVER LOSE?” Sophronia—his Sophy—sounded entirely disgruntled. They had been at the Greens for close to a week, with only a week and a few days left to go in the visit.
Jamie didn’t think he’d ever spent so much time just socializing. And since it was with all the same people, he’d run out of things to say by about the third day, which meant he was reduced to playing games so he wouldn’t die of boredom.
Plus he was, as his pretend betrothed had soon discovered, very good at games.
They had escaped the drawing room after dinner, when Mrs. Green had decided anyone with musical talent had to perform. Jamie had none, and was delighted to discover that neither did Sophy. Another thing they had in common.
They’d told their dismissive hostess that they would prefer to read, so here they were in the library.
Not reading.
Instead, they sat at either end of one of the sofas in the room, him with his legs crossed and leaning back against the sofa, while she sat perfectly straight, her hands placed just so in her lap.
He’d thought he might have tired of looking at her—he tended to tire of things far more quickly than other people did. But he hadn’t. If anything, he wanted to look at her more, to see the range of emotions that flittered across her face in the course of minutes.
“I’ve lost,” he said, knowing his saying it so self-righteously would irk her.
She rolled her eyes. “You might have lost, once, but it wasn’t to me.” She lifted her head in that goddess pose he was coming to adore. “I am not accustomed to losing.” Then she shrugged. “Although to be fair, these are not the games I’ve played in the past. Still,” she said, and he wanted to laugh at her aggrieved expression, “it does not seem fair that I have lost each and every game we have played.”
“You were so close when we were playing Similes.” He shook his head mockingly. “But then you had to say it was strong as a mule, when it’s an ox. Mules are the stubborn ones.”
She frowned, twisting her mouth up in an expression of disgruntlement. “I could have sworn it was a mule, not an ox.”
“What games are you accustomed to playing?” he asked, tilting his head to look at her.
He could hear the strains of music coming from the drawing room, and knew they had some time before anyone would notice they hadn’t returned with their books. He was finding that a good thing—perhaps the only good thing—about a house party was that the rules were just slightly more relaxed out here, so chaperones weren’t always required, and besides, he was engaged to be married.
That is, he was purportedly engaged to be married.
Her expression got dreamy, as though she were recalling a memory. “My father and I played Similes, but we usually made ourselves extend beyond England. In fact, it was a rule that we couldn’t use any similes that were in the common vernacular.”
“Sounds . . . edifying.” He couldn’t keep himself from sounding skeptical.
She rolled her eyes again. “Of course it wasn’t that, it wasn’t as though we deliberately sat around and made ourselves seem important because of our obscure knowledge.”
“Good to know,” he replied, sounding dubious.
She was about to roll her eyes again, he could tell, but then she paused, and instead, she got a wicked smile on her face.
That smile promised many things, and h
e hoped he would be the recipient of at least a few of them.
Actually, of all of them.
“I have thought of a game we could play where I will win.” She sounded so certain he couldn’t help but be intrigued. As though he weren’t entirely intrigued already.
“What game?”
“You’re Never Dressed Without a Smile.” She accompanied her words with, of course, a smile. That same wicked one that promised all sorts of things, probably three-quarters of which she wouldn’t know herself.
He would like the chance to teach her, however.
“We played that, and I won. We played a few times, didn’t we?” He tapped his mouth with his index finger. “And I believe I won every time.” He lowered his hand and looked at her, lifting one eyebrow as he spoke. “Why would tonight’s game be any different?”
WHY WOULD TONIGHT’S game be any different? She hoped he wouldn’t regret asking that, since the game she intended to play—that she intended to play with him—would be very different indeed.
She swallowed, feeling her eyes flutter closed for a moment as she braced herself. Not that what was about to occur was unpleasant—it would hopefully be the opposite of that—but that she had never been so forward before. And she was planning on it this evening.
“Because the game will be played with just us,” she replied. She scooted closer to him on the sofa, keeping her eyes on his face. His handsome, commanding, far-too-gorgeous-for-her face, only it was also his clearly-interested-she-wasn’t-stupid face.
She just hoped the interested section of him trumped the out-of-her-league section.
Now she definitely had his interest. She felt herself exhale, just a bit, out of relief. His expression had tightened, sharpened somehow, and she was keenly, even more so, aware that they were in the library alone, that Mrs. Green and her group of Somewhat Talented Musicians were still playing away in the other room, and this—whatever this was—was going to happen.
One way or the other.
“And how do you think to make me smile, much less laugh?” he asked in a serious tone. She could tell he was schooling himself not to smile, but the glint in his blue eyes belied his sober mien.