“Shall I braid your hair for you?” He rose from where he’d been kneeling by the cradle and prowled over to the vanity.

Or maybe it just looked to her like he was prowling, because her mind was in such a muddle. He took the brush from her grasp, and shifted her shoulders gently with his hands so she was facing the mirror.

“I want you to do something for me.” Sophie spoke quickly, lest she lose her nerve.

“Anything within my power, of course.” He used both hands to scoop her hair over her shoulders so it flowed down her back, a sweet, soothing caress that made Sophie’s insides melt.

“Are you familiar with the curate’s family?”

“I am not.” He started brushing her hair, long, slow strokes down the length of it. “Why?”

“Your aunt suggested they might be willing to take in a boy child. They have only girls and would likely dote on Kit.” Or work him to death. She didn’t say that. She closed her eyes lest Vim see the indecision she was wrestling with.

“Curates tend to move around, Sophie, at least until they gain a vicar’s living. Are you sure that’s what you want for Kit?”

She shook her head, and behind her, Vim went still.

He said nothing, not one word, while Sophie’s mind fumbled around for some coherent phrases to explain something so difficult to express. “I am not sure, which is why I’m going to ask you to interview these people and see if they might suit Kit.”

He hunkered at her side, so they were at eye level. Sophie forgot she wanted to do him bodily injury, forgot he’d been excruciatingly polite over dinner, forgot everything except the kindness once more in his eyes.

“You ought to be the one to make this decision, my dear.” He did not touch her, but his voice touched her heart. “You love that baby as if he were your own, and this is too important a decision to make secondhand.”

“But I can’t…” She swallowed and looked away, emotion welling. “I simply cannot.”

He rose and tugged her by the wrist over to the bed, then sat beside her holding her hand. “I will be your emissary, but you must tell me what my marching orders are.”

She wanted to throw her arms around him in gratitude—or in some excess of emotion—but he was being so… reserved. She marshaled her dignity, though it was a struggle.

“You simply go and look the family over. See if their circumstances are adequate to take on another mouth, offer them whatever coin you think they’ll need to provide for Kit. My pin money is lavish, and I’d spend it all to see Kit comfortable. Make sure the house is warm and the larder stocked. Look over their livestock and their root cellar, see if their children have shoes and warm clothes.”

His arm came around her shoulders.

“And look to make sure the roof isn’t leaking, and that the doors all close snugly. It would be nice if they had some toys… no, they must have toys. Sturdy toys a boy can’t break by playing with them too vigorously, not just pretty things and dolls for little girls. And something musical. I don’t expect a piano, but a guitar doesn’t cost much, or even a wooden flute…”

She trailed off and pressed her face to Vim’s shoulder as an awful thought occurred to her. “They’ll change his name.”

This struck her as more monstrous even than taking Kit on simply for the free labor he’d provide. To toss his very name aside, as if he were just a beast, a dog, an old horse passed from owner to owner…

“You can insist they address him as Kit, my dear, but for him to have a different last name from his family would raise uncomfortable questions.”

She nodded against his shoulder, it being impossible to wedge words past the lump in her throat.

“I’ll go first thing in the morning, if this is what you wish.”

It wasn’t what she wished. She wished she weren’t Lady Sophia Windham. Wished she were just some goodwife and Vim her yeoman, able to take on another baby to go with their own brood. She wished she could provide Kit family—brothers and sisters to tease and grow up with and still be his people when Sophie was dead and gone.

She wished…

She pulled away from the sturdy comfort of Vim’s body. Wishing never got anybody anywhere.

“I must do what’s best for Kit.” She untangled her fingers from Vim’s. “I meant it about the money. Westhaven is very generous with us, and I have enough frocks and bangles and bonnets to last a lifetime.”

She got up from the bed and returned to her vanity but didn’t sit down.

To her relief, he remained on the bed. “I have never seen you in a bonnet, never seen you wear a single item of jewelry, never seen you in a dress that wasn’t five years out of fashion.”

“What has that to do with anything?” She picked up her hairbrush, and lest she throw it, started swatting at her hair.

“Sophie, I cannot help but think you should take more time with this decision.”

He did move off the bed, then, and Sophie flipped her hair over the other shoulder so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

“Time will only make it harder on both of us. It’s been little more than a week, and already I grow confused about what should be a simple decision.”

He was close enough that she could catch a whiff of the bergamot scent of him, close enough she could feel the tempting, muscular bulk of him looming near, and still she merely brushed her hair.

“I will wish you good night, then, Lady Sophia.”

She paused and peered up at him. “I do not need to be Lady Sophia to you when we are private.”

“Yes, you do.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead, lingering near for so long Sophie was tempted to throw her arms around his neck and beg him to stay, to hold her, to love her, to talk her out of this awful decision regarding Kit.

“Sweet dreams, Lady Sophia. I will be about your errand directly after breaking my fast.”

And then he was gone, and Sophie had no one to talk her out of anything, not even the errand of placing her wonderful baby in the care of complete strangers.

Sixteen

“I thought you’d be gone to Morelands by now.”

Vim stood in the doorway to Sophie’s sitting room, watching as she played on the floor with a smiling Kit. They made such a lovely picture, thoroughly enthralled with each other, a picture no amount of practical reasoning could convince Vim should be drawn for Kit with any other family.

“I was outvoted,” Sophie said, picking up the baby and getting to her feet. “Valentine must tune the piano, St. Just is dickering with your uncle over the mare, and Westhaven is claiming certain unmentionable parts are not up to another ride in the cold without soaking them for a bit first.” She paused in her recitation and met his gaze. “Well?”

“The Harrads were from home.” The relief in her eyes was painful to behold. “They’ll be back this afternoon.”

And then the dread again. She cuddled the baby closer and kissed his ear. Kit turned to swing his little paw at her, but Sophie drew back, only to kiss his ear again when he dropped his hand.

“That child likes to play.” And Sophie adored to play with him, to lavish love and attention upon him.

“He’s been singing today, as well,” she said, taking a seat on the sofa with the infant. “Wonderful baby songs, odes to his toes, madrigals to his knuckles. I wonder when he’ll begin to speak. Mrs. Harrad will no doubt know such things.”

She was Lady Sophia this morning, a woman with no recollection of the glorious intimacies they’d shared. A duke’s daughter determined on her cause. He sat beside her, missing plain Sophie Windham with a fierce ache.

“The livestock look well fed, the fences are in good repair, the chicken coop is snug, and the house looks tidy and spruce. The windows are clean, the woodboxes are full, the porch is swept, and the walkway has been shoveled clear of snow. I hope this disappoints you as much as it did me.”