Major Wyclyff's Campaign (A Lady's Lessons, Book 2) (8 page)

"Major, I have decided it is time for Bowen to visit his mother. He is our butler, you understand, but he neglects his poor parent so, I really feel I must insist he visit her more often."

Anthony frowned, wondering at this apparent non sequitur. What could the butler have to do with anything?

"My lady, if I could just speak with Sophia—"

"I shall have to find a replacement, you understand," she continued without pause. "Starting tomorrow." Her keen gaze once again fell full on his face.

Suddenly, he understood. He felt his eyes widen, and his shoulders pulled back with astonishment. "You cannot possibly think I would make a good butler!"

"Well, of course not!" returned the lady. "You will, no doubt, make a perfectly wretched butler, but for Sophia's sake, I feel I can make the sacrifice."

"Madame, I am the son of an earl!"

"Well, what is that to the point? I am the daughter of an earl, and yet I tend my own garden. If rank made a difference with Sophia, she would no doubt already be married to that stiff-rumped duke with the watery eyes and wandering hands."

Anthony clenched his teeth in anger. Sophia had not told him about any duke with wayward hands. But he was not given time to dwell on such things as Lady Agatha continued, her voice as sharp as his old nurse's.

"The only way to see Sophia is to come into the house. And the only way into the house is as a servant."

"Could you not just invite me in?" he asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

"Well, of course I could, but she will not come down. And she asks now if we have visitors to dine before coming to table. I told you, Major, she is as stubborn as that vine, but together we can move her."

Anthony flinched, not appreciating her analogy, but he was nevertheless forced to admit certain similarities. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because I must observe you two together." She turned to him, and her face softened into a mischievous smile. "And because you make her mad as I have never seen her before."

"But—"

"Never underestimate passion, Major. It stirs the blood to all sorts of things. Anger. Recklessness. Sometimes even love." Then Agatha wandered off, her basket once again on her arm. Her last words floated over her shoulder. "Do try not to get mud in the house, Major. As our butler, you must be more careful with your appearance."

Then she was gone.

* * *

Sophia's defense against the Major's "flanking maneuver" had been well planned. She left word with Bowen to refuse posies, sweets, or even impassioned letters; she refused to take trips into the village for fear of "accidentally" meeting him; and she even stopped her daily walks in the dale near her aunt's house.

Nothing happened. In the three days since the major's proposal, no letters were refused at the door. No trinkets were pushed through her window. Indeed, no impassioned cries came from the front walk. Anthony had disappeared from her life, no doubt riding back to London on his magnificent steed, leaving Sophia once again alone.

Perversely, the situation left her mood decidedly flat.

Obviously, her aunt had been exaggerating the major's intentions. As a practical and logical man, Anthony clearly understood her refusal and had left for London. She was now free to resume the normal course of life in Staffordshire.

Naturally, she was pleased that the situation had been resolved so easily, she told herself. It was merely the cloudy day that affected her mood.

So, on the fourth morning after the Major's tea time appearance, she dressed in one of her prettiest gowns to cheer herself up and went down to breakfast. She spotted her aunt immediately. Indeed, who could miss a plump woman adorned with more than a dozen pink bows, when suddenly a deep, rich, very male voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Good morning, Lady Sophia," the major called as he backed awkwardly into the breakfast room toting a tray of breakfast. "You look quite lovely this morning."

Sophia did not know how to respond. She simply stared at him.

"Would you care for some poached eggs? Toast?" he continued almost gleefully. "Cook's kippers are delicious this morning."

Sophia continued to stare. It could not possibly be true. But it was. It was the major, dressed in a butler's knee breeches and stockings, his limp masked by his careful pace. And he was serving her kippers.

"Close your mouth, Sophia," commented her aunt in a merry undertone. "You are catching flies."

Sophia snapped her jaw shut.

"Would you care for some eggs, my lady?" repeated the major.

Sophia lifted her gaze to look directly at him. His eyes were twinkling. Sparkling, actually, which was an odd thing for meltingly dark brown eyes to be doing. Still, somehow he had accomplished it. Just as somehow he had managed to appear in her breakfast room, serving her eggs and morning chocolate.

She swallowed convulsively. "Are you quite well?" she asked before she thought to stop her words. "Does your leg pain you?"

He grinned as he poured her chocolate. "Of course I am well. Thank you for asking. Eggs?"

She watched him a moment longer, searching his face for telltale signs of a fever. There didn't seem to be any.

"Kippers?" he inquired.

Slowly, she dropped her eyes to the cart. "No, thank you," was all she managed.

"You may go now, Major," called her aunt sweetly.

The man nodded and quit the room, his manners impeccable. Sophia watched, her mind still reeling from the sight. The moment the door swung shut behind him, she rounded on her aunt.

"What is he doing here?" she hissed.

"I told you last night that Bowen had left to visit his ailing mother."

Sophia clenched her fingers in her bright canary skirt. "Yes, you did. But I fail to see what that has to do with the major serving kippers to us."

Her aunt raised one finely drawn eyebrow. "Is there something wrong with the kippers?"

"I have no idea; I have not tasted any," she snapped.

"Oh, then did the major spill as he served your chocolate?"

Sophia gritted her teeth but was unable to keep the frustration from her voice. "You know quite well that he did not, although it was a near thing there for a moment." The major obviously was not used to handling fine china while wearing white gloves. Which was all the more reason to suspect her aunt of hidden motives.

"I fail to see the problem," claimed the older woman serenely.

"Well, I do. The major cannot act as our butler!"

When she so chose, Aunt Agatha could look like a cherub being cruelly and unjustly tortured. Now was one of those times. She placed one hand on her chest and opened her eyes wide with shocked horror. "Goodness, Sophia," she gasped. "You must know I had to hire another butler until Bowen returned."

"Of course, but—"

"And the major came to me looking for employment."

Sophia gave her a skeptical look. "Really? The stiff major, an earl's son, came to you looking for employment?"

Her aunt colored. "Well," she answered slowly, "he is only a younger son." Her voice trailed away.

"Out with it, Aunt Agatha. What have you done?"

The dear lady stiffened, her face flushed with embarrassment. "I could not allow one of our dear casualties of war to starve. Especially when I had a job available."

"He is not on the point of starvation!" Sophia snapped.

"Well, I fail to see how you could know that. After all—"

"Aunt! Why is he here?"

Aunt Agatha looked down at the lacy tablecloth, her expression too innocent. "We, um, had a long conversation yesterday."

"Regarding?"

The older woman lifted her gaze until her light green eyes were flashing irritation at her niece. "Regarding your ridiculous refusal to see him. Goodness, Sophia, you have practically gaoled yourself in this house."

"I have not!"

"Excuse me, Lady Agatha," interrupted the major's deep voice. It was so unexpected that Sophia nearly jumped out of her chair. "The gardener wishes to speak with you," he continued. "Shall I bid him wait?"

Sophia frowned at their erstwhile new butler, showing every ounce of displeasure available to her. "It is customary to wait until we bid you to speak, Major. My aunt and I were in the middle of a discussion." Her tone was haughty, almost rude, and she had the satisfaction of seeing the major's face flush with the effort to hold back his response to her words.

Taking advantage of the man's temporary silence, Sophia turned back to her aunt. "Surely you can see he is not fit to be a butler. A general, certainly, but not our butler."

Her aunt did not respond. She simply gave her niece a serene smile as she turned to the major. "I will see the gardener directly. Thank you." Then, with a slight nod to her niece, she stood and withdrew from the room, the delicate wave of her pink ribbons her only good-bye.

Which left Sophia alone with her increasingly cold breakfast and her suitor.

Sophia was not by nature a confrontational person. She preferred polite inanities to open arguments. In fact, it was one of the things she most disliked about the major—that whenever she was with him, even in the hospital, they seemed to descend into heated debates about one thing or another.

Here again, she thought with a deep sense of injury, he was forcing her into a clearly adversarial relationship. Well, she would not stoop to that. She would speak to him reasonably, calmly, like a rational adult. He would just be made to see he could not get around her by becoming a servant in her aunt's household.

She lifted her chin and pinned him with her steady regard. "What are you doing here, Major?" she asked, her voice cool yet civil.

He looked up, his expression completely bland, his tone clearly deferential. "I am clearing your aunt's dishes. Shall I return at a later time for them?"

Sophia kept firm control of her temper and focused on speaking calmly, rationally. "No, you should not return," she said. "You should not be here at all."

He raised his eyebrows. They were thick, arching over his dark eyes. She found the sight oddly mesmerizing. "Is there something wrong with my service?" he asked, his manner excruciatingly polite. "Perhaps I should lay the dishes out on the sideboard in the mornings. Would that be satisfactory?"

Sophia shook her head. She knew he was being deliberately obtuse. She had to focus on the meaning beneath his actions. "I suppose this is what is meant by a flanking maneuver," she grumbled.

"I beg your pardon, my lady?"

She sighed, feeling the strain on her control. It was clearly time to be blunt. "Why are you here, Major?" she asked again.

He frowned and gestured to the dishes.

"That doesn't fadge, and you know it. I cannot credit that a man of your standing, an earl's son, no less, would stoop to become our temporary butler."

She did not see how it happened. One moment the major was across the room, bowing his head and looking very servile. The next moment he was towering over her, using his full height to impressive advantage as he glared at her with outraged dignity.

"Do you imply that the position of butler is a dishonorable occupation?"

Sophia blinked, tilting her head back to look him in the eye. "Of course not," she stammered.

"Or that I, the son of an earl, should disdain such lawful employment?"

She shook her head. "Naturally you should work at whatever occupation you choose—"

"Then you have some objection to my person? Perhaps I have an offensive odor."

"Not that I can detect," she said, feeling her temper slip past its restraints.

"Am I perhaps too ugly?"

"Do not be ridiculous," she snapped, frustration making her curt. "You are quite handsome, as you well know."

He grinned, clearly pleased with her unintended compliment. "Then I fail to see why you object to my employment."

"Because you are doing this simply to get me to marry you!" She blurted the words out, heedless of her intention to remain cool and detached. But even so, she did not regret them. She spoke the truth, and they both knew it.

Except he apparently did not. If ever there was an expression of outraged shock, he was wearing it. If one discounted that ever-present twinkle in his eyes.

"I beg your pardon, miss, but I fear you have gravely mistaken the situation." He paused, as if suddenly struck by a confusing thought. "Do you often consider new employees are angling for a proposal?"

She glared at him. "You are not an employee."

"You are sacking me?"

"Do not be ridiculous!"

"Ah," he said with an understanding smile. "Then you are proposing to me. I must say this is an odd turn of affairs. Was it my overwhelming beauty that first attracted you, or my lack of a distinct odor?"

"You are insane!"

He frowned. "Not last time I checked, but if you would like, I shall obtain a doctor's certificate affirming my sanity. I perfectly understand how you would not wish to marry a madman."