'Papa, Mr Wyre is only in the area for a week or so and he has business to attend,' Sophie reminded him. 'We must not take up all his time.'
The boys cried out at this and Perry listened to their protests as he scrambled into the saddle. He remembered Sophie's concern that her father was working too hard.
He said, 'If you can spare an evening from your writing, Monsieur, I should be delighted to join you.'
'Then it is settled.' The old man reached up to give him his hand. 'À demain, Monsieur Wyre.'
Perry glanced at Sophie. In the dark it was impossible to tell if this was what she wanted, but at that moment she looked up at him and the light from the lamps on the stable wall illuminated her countenance. She was smiling.
CHAPTER SEVEN
'Papa, what do you say to our dining with Mr Wyre in the great hall this evening?' Hugh looked enquiringly at her father across the breakfast table. 'It is high summer now, and August is the only time it is warm enough to be comfortable in there without a roaring fire.'
'Is it not perhaps a little pretentious?' His father sounded doubtful.
'Pretentious?' Hugh exclaimed. 'Where better to entertain than in the great hall, surrounded by arms and armour?'
'By Jove yes,' cried Armand, waving his knife in excitement. 'Perry is a great gun and will enjoy it enormously, I daresay!'
Their father shook his head. 'It would mean too much work for your sister, I fear.'
Finding herself subjected to beseeching looks from her brothers, Sophie considered the matter.
'The long table would be better for a formal dinner,' she agreed. 'And it would mean we could use the winter parlour as our drawing room, where we might retire afterwards.'
'Exactly,' declared Hugh. He saw his father was still looking undecided, and added, 'You were used to entertain there, when Mama was alive.'
'But that was when a half dozen of our friends would call. Not merely one guest,' replied Papa, looking amused. 'However, if you think it would suit, then I have no objection. I shall leave the decision to you, Sophie.'
Hugh turned to her, grinning. 'Oh, do say yes, Sophie. Surely you would like the chance to play the fine lady for our guest!'
She laughed and tried to ignore the blush that was warming her cheeks.
'I am sure no fine lady would spend the day cooking and cleaning for her own dinner party!'
'But we will help,' declared Armand.
'Of course we will,' agreed Hugh. 'We shall put ourselves at your disposal for the day, as long as Papa will give us a holiday from our books!'
Once it was agreed, the three young people threw themselves into the preparations. Sophie divided her time between helping Joan in the kitchen and directing the boys. When the great hall and the small parlour had been swept and arranged to her satisfaction she went back to the kitchen while the boys sallied forth into the woods. She knew there would only be enough blooms in the flowerbed for the parlour, so she had asked them to collect wild flowers and foliage to decorate the hall and its huge, empty fireplace.
It was a busy day and Sophie wondered if she would be too tired to enjoy the evening, but once she had washed away the dust and dressed herself in her best gown of cream muslin with its tiny puffed sleeves and decorated with green acanthus leaves around the hem and neck, she felt revived and made her way downstairs to make a final check of the reception rooms before their guest arrived.
Walking into the great hall she felt her heart swell with pride for her much-loved home. Sunlight shone through the high windows, glinting off the displays of old weapons fixed to the walls and making the dark panelling glow. Vases on the side tables overflowed with colourful displays of dog roses, honeysuckle, columbine and cornflower, while foamy cream clusters of meadowsweet, ivy and honeysuckle supported on young willow shoots filled the stone fireplace. Any space on the dining table that was not filled with sparkling glass, shining cutlery and candles was filled with small vases of kingcups between trailing ivy. The displays would not last, she knew, the wild flowers would droop and fade by the morning, but tonight it looked magical.
She heard a step and looked up to see her father. He came to stand beside her.
'Well, my love, you and your brothers should be very proud of what you have achieved here.' He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. 'We are not rich, but I am blessed a thousand times to have such a family.'
She turned and put her arms about him. 'As are we to have you, Papa.' She tightened her hold and voiced the worry that had been nagging her since Mr Grieves had called on them. 'I do hope we will not have to leave here.'
The distant clang of the bell told them someone was at the gate and they stepped apart. Her father's eyes twinkled as he smiled at her.
'Our guest is here. I have told Owen to show him into the parlour, so let us go and wait for him.'
The boys were already in the parlour when Sophie and her father arrived. She quickly ran her eyes over them. Hugh was nearly sixteen and considered himself too old for her to straighten his cravat, as she did for Armand, or to brush back the curl of fair hair that flopped over his brow, but she was satisfied that they both looked tidy and clean enough to meet their guest. Her heart fluttered and pounded against her ribs as she nervously anticipated the evening ahead. What did she know of Peregrine Wyre, save that he was a gentleman? He might be very rich, and disdain their efforts to entertain him. She tried to tell herself that he had been very much at his ease on his previous visits to the castle and would know what to expect, but it was no good. She was sure he was accustomed to much more sophisticated society than he would find at Duke's Folly and she hoped he would not be disappointed.
Then Owen was opening the door, announcing their guest, and there was no time for further worry. There was a flurry of greetings, refreshments were offered and accepted and after a short period of conversation, they went in to dinner. She became a little flustered when Papa insisted that Perry should take her arm and lead the way, but there was nothing but easy friendliness in his demeanour. He escorted her into the great hall and immediately complimented her upon the decorations.
'This is quite delightful,' he declared, looking about him. 'If all this is in my honour then I am quite humbled, Miss Coutras. You must have worked very hard today.'
'Aye, we did all this for you,' Armand informed him cheerfully. 'Hugh and I helped to prepare everything.'
'Then I am impressed, for you have had so little time.'
The smiling glance he gave Sophie as he held her chair for her to sit down sent a wave of happiness surging through her. Really, he was the most delightful guest, he was treating her as if she were royalty. A princess, perhaps, rather than little Sophie Coutras, who could not even afford to buy a new gown this season.
It was like a fairy tale, she thought wonderingly, but the cautious voice in her head warned her that she must not take it too seriously.
Perry was enjoying himself. As an only child he had rarely dined with his parents, any meals they had taken together had been formal affairs, interminably long and boring. Here the conversation flowed easily between Paul Coutras and his children. He welcomed their opinions and was not above arguing a point with them. There was much laughter and chatter, and as the summer day faded into evening Perry sat back in his chair, watching the candlelight flicker over the dining table with its decoration of wild flowers. His eyes strayed to Sophie, sitting at the opposite end to her father. When he had arrived there had been a certain shyness and restraint, but that had disappeared as the meal went on and now she was at her ease, laughing at something her father said, adding her own contribution to the conversation.
What an excellent wife she will make for some lucky man.
The thought caught Perry by surprise. His hand shook and he put down his wineglass. He must be rational about this. Not only was he as good as promised to Honoria, but Sophie Coutras was not the sort of woman who could become a duchess. She could cook and clean and grow crops in the garden, but what did she k
now of Court presentations or society parties? What did she know of hosting dinners for the haute ton or conversing with royalty?
About as much as you, came the instant reply in his head. She is intelligent. She could learn, with your help.
No. He sat up straighter in his chair and reined in his wayward thoughts. In two weeks he was going to offer for Honoria. He and Sophie could only ever be friends. But he knew, even as he thought it, that once he left here he must never see Sophie again, or he would be prey to useless, destructive thoughts of what might have been.
A sudden movement captured his attention. Sophie was rising, retiring to the parlour with the boys and leaving him alone with Monsieur Coutras. A bottle of fine port appeared and they savoured a glass in contemplative silence, broken finally by his host.
'So, Mr Wyre―you have never said―what is this business that has brought you back to Hyndmarsh?'
'Oh, you know, the country life,' said Perry, vaguely. 'I am merely looking about me.'
'Indeed?' Paul Coutras nodded. 'Are you looking to buy a property? This is good land for farming, although the majority of the farms are part of the Cullenmore estate and not for sale. In fact, this castle belongs to the duke.'
'I know. That is,' he added hastily, 'I have been told as much. What do you know of your landlord?'
'I have never met him. All contact is through his agent.'
'Would that be Mr Grieves?' asked Perry, keeping his tone casual. 'He is the local land agent, I believe. Lives in Hyndmarsh.'
'Yes, but we have had little to do with him. We carry out all our own repairs here and ask nothing from the estate. Heaven knows we are grateful enough to have the castle as our home, at least for the moment.'
'Oh, do you think that might change?'
A shadow of care flickered over the older man's face. 'One cannot expect anything to go on forever. We have a new duke now. We were fortunate that his father did not wish to challenge our right to live here. I understand he was not much interested in his inheritance.'
'And the new duke, his son?'
'I believe he is a young man, keen to improve his estates. I have heard he is more like his grandfather. I knew him, you know, the seventh duke, but that was long ago. He was a good man and I was very sorry when he died.' The Frenchman's smiled faded. 'Those early years in England were very hard and I was grateful for his friendship, and that of others.'
Perry waited, aware that his host’s thoughts had gone to the past and loath to break his reverie. At last the older man gave himself a little shake and sat up again, smiling.
'I beg your pardon, Mr Wyre. Can I offer you more port?'
Perry declined, and they went off to the parlour to join Sophie and her brothers. As before, it was the boys who sought his attention, Sophie remained in her chair beside the table, where she was sewing by the light of an oil lamp. How he wanted to engage her in conversation, to hear her merry laugh, to see her eyes light up at some jest, but it could not be. It was safer to keep his distance.
When it was time for Perry to leave the boys offered to find Wragg and ask him to make the curricle ready. Having been given consent, they rushed off, almost fighting one another to be first through the door.
'I beg your pardon for my sons' manners,' Monsieur Coutras murmured, his twinkling eyes showing that he was not really put out by their eagerness. 'It is not often that we have visitors.'
'Pray do not apologise, I like the boys,' said Perry, smiling. 'They are refreshingly natural and lively.'
Sophie laughed. 'You would not say that if you had to live with them! They are rascals.'
'Why do you say that?' he asked her. 'Their manners are not at all bad. A credit to you.'
'A credit to Mama, who had the educating of them in their early years, and Papa, who now looks after their schooling.'
'Both Hugh and Armand have lively and enquiring minds,' he observed. 'I am sure they are able scholars.' Perry glanced across at his host, expecting him to respond, but the old man was staring into the black shadow of the hearth, lost in thought. He turned back to Sophie.
'Tell me about your mother,' he urged her. 'She was an earl's daughter, I believe?' He added, when she looked a little startled, 'I remember Armand mentioning it, on my last visit.'
'Yes. Her father was Lord Ryburn, the seventh earl, who died about ten years ago.' She put aside her sewing and folded her hands together in her lap, a tiny smile playing about her lips. 'It was a love match, I believe, from the first moment they met. The earl could not have wished his youngest daughter to marry an impoverished émigré, because he was far from rich himself, but he did not object. Mama was a very practical person. It was she who suggested we should plant fruit trees and vegetables on the island, not only to provide food for the family but because it was a way of encouraging Papa to spend at least some of each day out of doors.' She glanced across at her father, who was dozing in his chair, and added fondly, 'Papa works very hard at his writing and the garden. He is frequently exhausted by the end of the day.'
'And do you keep in touch with your mother's family?'
'No. The family washed their hands of us once Mama died.' He did not miss the note of sadness in her reply. 'I think we are too eccentric for them. Or perhaps they are afraid we will become a drain on their already stretched finances.'
She stopped, her brow furrowed in thought, then she looked at him.
'Perhaps you would advise me,' she said. 'Papa is determined not to approach the current Lord Ryburn under any circumstances, but I wondered if he might help us. Not financially, you understand, but in other ways. You see, Hugh wishes to go to university but we have no idea how to go about that. He is very clever, and Papa has taught him well, but there must be exams.' She spread her hands. 'Most of Papa's influential friends are dead, and if the boys are to make their way in the world they will need patrons, or at the very least letters of introduction. Do you think it would be wrong of me to write to the earl and ask if he will help us? Papa will not like it, I know that, but I do not think he would refuse to accept help for the boys if it was offered by their uncle, do you?'
'One would hope not.'
Perry shifted in his chair. He wanted to tell her that he would happily sponsor the boys, but it would mean revealing his true identity and he did not want to do that, not yet. They would discover it soon enough, once he had met with Claud Grieves, and it would change things forever. Sophie and her father would be shocked and hurt by his deceit, and even if they forgave him, the disparity in their stations could not be ignored. There would be restraint and a deference for his title. He had seen it in others, even friends he had known since childhood. There would be no more invitations to dinner, he would no longer be able to sit in this cosy little parlour, talking with Sophie while her father snored gently in the corner. The thought was so uncomfortable that he stood up abruptly.
'Wragg must have the curricle ready by now, I must go.' He put up his hand. 'Pray do not wake your father, I will find my own way out.'
She rose, pulling her shawl from the back of the chair. 'I will come with you.'
Part of him wanted to object, to tell her to remain with her father, but the thought of walking with her in the moonlight, even if it was only across the castle yard, was too tempting. He moved closer to help her arrange the shawl over her shoulders and as he did so he was aware of her perfume, the faint scent of summer flowers overlaid by a hint of lemons.
'Thank you,' she said. 'And thank you for accepting Papa's invitation. It has done him good to have you with us this evening, else it is most likely he would have taken another dinner in his book room and continued to work until the early hours. It cannot be good for his health.'
Perry glanced across at Monsieur Coutras, sleeping in his chair. His thin, kindly face was lined and in repose it was clear to see that he was not a young man, and not a strong one, either, Perry guessed. He was more used to labouring over his writing than out of doors. It could not be easy for him, raising his daughter
and two such lively boys.
They walked together across the yard, close but never touching. Lamps outside the stable showed Perry that Wragg was waiting with the curricle, Hugh and Armand chattering away to him in their usual friendly, uninhibited manner. They needed more society and a broader education than they were getting here, however well-intentioned. University for both of them, perhaps. Or maybe the army for Armand? He would look into it. As Duke of Cullenmore he could ensure they had their chance.
He said, 'Do not worry too much about your brothers, Sophie. All will be well, trust me.'
She looked up at him, as if she wanted to question this sudden and enigmatic speech, but they had been spotted and Armand was now running towards them.
'I do beg your pardon for not coming to fetch you, sir, but we have been having the most interesting discussion with Wragg. He says you have dozens of horses for both riding and carriages!'
Wragg spoke up quickly. 'Beggin' your pardon, sir, but they was very interested to hear about the cattle we keep. I didn't think it could do any harm to tell 'em about the stables.'
'And no doubt exaggerated grossly,' Perry retorted, glaring at his groom. He turned back to Sophie and was relieved to see that she was laughing.
'I told you my brothers were rascals.'
'You did indeed.' He took her hand. 'Thank you for inviting me here this evening.'
She shook her head. 'I am sorry if dinner was not as lavish as you are accustomed to.'
'It was excellent. I have rarely enjoyed such a delightful evening. Pray give my regards to your father and thank him for his company this evening. You may tell him I shall call again tomorrow, although it will not be until late afternoon, to thank him in person.'
'He would like that, I think.' She looked up, a shy smile on her lips. 'We would all like that.'
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