by Wendy Vella
“Well you thought wrong!” Patrick growled, tearing the covers off her and lifting her into his arms.
“Did you have to yell at me?” Sophie said. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest that it hurt.
“The only time you will sleep apart from me will be when you have a contagious disease, and even then I believe there are masks I can wear,” Patrick said, ignoring her words in favor of his own.
Sophie giggled and burrowed into his chest.
Back in his rooms, he slipped her beneath the still warm sheets and climbed in beside her, pulling her into his arms.
“Is that understood, Countess?”
“Yes, my lord,” Sophie whispered, snuggling into him. In seconds, she was asleep.
“We are not proper in here,” Patrick whispered as he wound his fingers through a handful of curls, wrapping the silken strands around his fist. Yawning, he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. Then he, too, drifted off to sleep.
“I am pleased to meet you, Miss Pitt,” Sophie said, smiling at the housekeeper. She was not an overly tall woman, dressed in pale gray with a neat white lace collar. In fact, neat described Patrick’s housekeeper very well. Her hair was pulled back in a neat bun, her nails were neatly filed, she wore nicely polished neat black shoes, and the only thing at odds with her neat appearance was the huge bunch of keys around her neck.
“Are those keys overly heavy, Miss Pitt?” Sophie said, looking concerned.
Surprise flashed across Miss Pitt’s face. “Well, as to that, my lady, they do get a trifle heavy as the day progresses.”
“Perhaps you could remove some of the keys you use less frequently and place those on another chain,” Sophie said, remembering that this was in fact what the housekeeper at Monmouth did. “You could place them somewhere only you are aware of, then get them out when necessary.” If Sophie had said that she would like to bathe in lemon curd, the look on the housekeeper’s face would have been no different. Her jaw dropped open and her eyes widened alarmingly.
“I would never let my keys out of my sight!” Miss Pitt gasped, her hands clutching the aforementioned keys to her chest as if Sophie was about to steal them.
“I did not suggest that you lose sight of the keys, Miss Pitt. I would merely like to see you more comfortable by relieving you of some of your burden,” Sophie said, patting the housekeeper’s hand. “You see, it is very important to the earl and me that our staff be happy in their employment.” Sophie smiled.
Miss Pitt looked at her new mistress. Perhaps Mrs. Gumbrill was wrong in her assessment of the woman; she certainly seemed nice. After all, no one had ever inquired after her health or welfare before today.
“Thank you, my lady, I shall think over your suggestions,” Miss Pitt said, sinking into a curtsy as she prepared to leave.
Sophie watched Miss Pitt walked away from her, her shoes snapping neatly on the tiled floor.
“Luncheon is served, my lady,” Ribble said, appearing as if by magic before Sophie.
“Oh, thank you.” Sophie followed him. “I am afraid that all these rooms look the same to me, Ribble. I would have been walking for quite some time to find where his lordship takes his meals.” With a last glance over her shoulder at the retreating figure of the housekeeper, Sophie hoped she had not just caused a rift between herself and Miss Pitt on her first day at Plentiful.
“Ridiculous name for a house,” Sophie muttered as she walked past Ribble and into the room he was indicating with a wave of his hand.
“Did you have fun meeting Pitt the Pillar of Plentiful?” Patrick asked, standing as she walked into the room, Sophie took the seat he held out for her and then he reseated himself.
He looked wide-awake and very handsome. Sophie felt her cheeks heat as she remembered how he had woken her up this morning, their first morning as husband and wife. His lips had been kissing her neck, then shoulders, and his hands had been stroking her breasts, and then he had simply lifted her thigh and pushed himself inside her.
“She seems very nice,” Sophie said, lowering her head to hide the blush in her cheeks.
“Nice! She used to snap at me at any given opportunity.” Patrick grinned, which made him look less like an earl and more like a rogue.
“I bet you deserved it,” Sophie said, nodding at the young maid who poured her tea.
“Now what, my sweet wife, has put those roses in your cheeks?”
“Nothing at all, my lord, I merely grew flustered hurrying to meet with you.” Sophie busied herself cutting a piece of beef.
“Liar. I think you were thinking about us in bed this morning.”
“Patrick!” Sophie hissed, looking around to see who else was in the room; thankfully, both Ribble and the maid had left.
“Sophie!” Patrick mimicked her. Just looking at her made his body ache. Hell, he wanted her again. He was like a rutting stallion. “We will go riding after lunch,” he said, thinking of a stream with a soft bed of grass beside it that he wanted to show her.
“No, thank you. I am to meet with Mrs. Gumbrill.”
Letty had told Sophie to meet with both the cook and housekeeper at the first possible moment. “They run the household, Sophie,” Letty had said, so after breakfast she had started with the housekeeper.
She certainly had an appetite, which was refreshing, Patrick thought, as Sophie started into her second helping.
“We will go after your meeting with Grouchy Gumbrill,” Patrick said.
“Do you have such names for all of your staff?” Sophie questioned, lifting one eyebrow.
Patrick shrugged. “I had to find some way to amuse myself as a child. I had no one else to annoy, so the servants took the brunt of it.”
Sophie studied the large, lounging earl opposite her. He seemed different here at Plentiful. It had only been one day, yet he was not the serious earl she had come to know. She was pleased that not all memories of his childhood were filled with his horrid parents and their indifferent treatment of him.
“I was a quiet child, as this seemed the best way to avoid my parents. Still I got into scrapes on the odd occasion.”
“Your parents deserved to be horsewhipped for their treatment of you!”
“Don’t frown, love,” Patrick said, leaning over the table to run his finger down her nose. “Everyone else loved me.”
He smiled as she rolled her eyes and snorted in disbelief.
“So about that ride,” Patrick said, taking a large gulp of coffee before he followed through with the urge to reach across the table and pull her into his arms.
“No, thank you. I cannot ride and have no wish to learn,” Sophie said, and Patrick knew by her closed expression that she thought the subject was not open for negotiation. She had a lot to learn about him, it seemed.
“And yet, I want you to learn, my sweet,” Patrick said smoothly.
“No.”
“Yes.”
Sophie glared across the table at her husband. “I do not like horses, they are large angry beasts, always stomping their feet …”
“Hooves,” Patrick supplied helpfully.
“And they slobber and bite and arch their backs so their seats …”
“Saddles,” Patrick supplied again, hiding his grin as Sophie sent him a filthy look.
“… come free and their riders are hurled through the air so they can break several bones.” Sophie shuddered.
“Still, I will teach you and no harm will befall you.” In this, Patrick was determined.
Sophie knew by his tone that he meant what he said. “Why must I learn?” she said, sounding peeved.
“Because we have hundreds of acres here at Plentiful, and I want to ride them all with you,” Patrick said, watching her.
“Can I not go by buggy or carriage?” Sophie asked, looking hopeful.
“No.”
“Can I walk?” she added desperately.
“Now you’re being silly.” Patrick threw down his napkin and climbed to his feet to signal the end of th
e discussion. “Now kiss your husband and then go and meet Grouchy Gumbrill,” he said, pulling Sophie to her feet.
Sophie sighed as she leaned into his chest and raised her head for his kiss. After only one day she was a shameless hussy where her husband was concerned.
“I will come for you after I have completed some estate business,” Patrick said, his voice sounding deeper.
Sophie nodded, watching him head for the door looking smug, knowing that he had indeed won the battle of teaching her to ride. Perhaps it was a streak of mischief she never knew she had, but the words had spilled from her mouth before she could draw them back. “I have a matching nightdress in scarlet. Perhaps I can show it to you tonight, my lord?” Sophie smiled softly as she brushed by him, letting her breasts graze against his chest as she left the room.
Patrick’s eyes crossed with lust. Instantly, he was harder than the table leg as visions of Sophie’s lush body wrapped in red satin filled his head. Suddenly, night seemed a very long time away.
* * *
It was easy to see why Mrs. Gumbrill had earned the nickname Grouchy Gumbrill, Sophie thought as she eyed the cook warily. The woman’s mouth formed a straight line in her round face, and her small brown eyes and large nose did little to soften the picture. Wiry gray hair was pulled under a white bonnet and a starched apron was tucked under a large bosom and ran to her knees. I bet she rules her kitchen with a large wooden spoon, Sophie thought, eyeing her hands, clearly those of a worker—they looked strong and capable, not manuicured like a lady’s hands.
“Would you permit me to enter your kitchen, Mrs. Gumbrill?” Sophie asked with a smile.
“There is no need for the lady of the house to enter such a place,” Mrs. Gumbrill said loudly, her back filled with starch, her mouth now forming a pursed circle.
Ellouisha Gumbrill eyed her new countess. A whippet of a thing she was, a good gust of wind would have her returning to London and that’s a fact. As she had told Ribble just last night, the earl bringing home a wife would only bring trouble for the staff. “She’ll be some upstart hoity-toity miss with airs and graces, who’ll be barking orders in no time, you mark my words.”
“I have no wish to interfere in any way with the running of your kitchens, Mrs. Gumbrill. The breakfast and luncheon you served today were the finest I have ever tasted,” Sophie said, still smiling, although now she was doing so through clenched teeth. “I merely wish to make sure your kitchen is equipped with everything you need and that there is nothing further that you require.”
“Well, as to that,” Mrs. Gumbrill said, wondering if perhaps she had been a trifle harsh on her new mistress. After all, she was the new countess and if she was trying to make changes, then who was she to dissuade her. As she had told Mr. Ribble over tea and scones this morning, “Never was one to bite the hand that feeds me, Arthur Ribble, no I ain’t.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“I have replaced both the Timpkins’ and the Smiths’ roofs as you requested, my lord.”
“Excellent,” Patrick said, pushing his chair back from the desk and slapping the last piece of paper onto the pile before him.
“That will be all, Tom. I will ride over and check the fences you mentioned and we can go over the changes to the back pasture when I have more time,” Patrick said, shaking his estate manager’s hand as he left his office. Now he would find his wife and take her riding.
She was not in their rooms, so he hunted Ribble down, which also took time, but eventually Patrick ran him to ground in the library, a rather impressive room with wall-to-wall books dating back several centuries.
“Do you know the location of my wife, Ribble?”
“The kitchens I believe, my lord,” said Ribble, putting down his silver polishing cloth.
“Now, that sounds ominous.”
“I believe they are going over the preserves, my lord,” he added, picking up his jacket and sliding his arms into it.
“I can find my way to the kitchens, Ribble,” Patrick said, halting his butler’s movements with a wave of his hand. “I spent enough time sneaking into them when I was younger,” he said over his shoulder as he left the room.
Patrick smelled the kitchens before he saw them. He smiled as Sophie’s laughter reached him. It was a sweet infectious sound.
“You want to be careful up there, my lady.”
“I will be fine, Mrs. Gumbrill, I have been climbing ladders all my life.”
Patrick felt his stomach hit his feet as he rounded the corner to find his wife perched on the topmost rung of a very tall ladder.
“Ah, I believe these are your rogue peaches, Mrs. Gumbrill.” Sophie grunted as she pulled a large jar off the shelf.
“Well I never. Fancy them getting all the way back there,” Mrs. Gumbrill said, holding out two large fleshy hands to receive the runaway peaches.
“If you will allow me.” Patrick moved forward to take the peaches over the head of Mrs. Gumbrill and placed them in his cook’s hands.
“My lord!” the cook gasped, clutching her preserves and backing out of the room to allow him to move further in.
“What do you think you are doing up there?” Patrick was proud that he managed to keep his voice steady as he ignored the gaping cook.
Sophie looked down into the dark, narrowed eyes below, “I was assisting Mrs. Gumbrill, my lord. We were taking stock of the preserves.”
“Come down from there, Sophie.”
“I intend to, my lord, if you will just step to the side,” Sophie said, ignoring his outstretched hand and placing her foot on the first rung. Obviously she was not moving quickly enough for him, as the next instant Patrick had placed his hands on her waist and lifted her down.
“Is there some problem, my lord?” Sophie said as her feet touched the ground.
“You could have fallen and broken your neck amongst the pickled onions,” Patrick replied, feeling foolish now that his pulse had calmed and he had Sophie safely in his arms.
“That is where the tomatoes are kept,” Sophie said solemnly.
“You have a smart mouth, wife.” He tried not to smile down into her twinkling eyes, especially when she was laughing at him. It was a new experience; people did not usually laugh at the Earl of Coulter.
“And there I was, thinking you were going to be sweet and pliable,” he muttered, planting a loud smacking kiss on her lips, which elicited a small chuckle from Mrs. Gumbrill.
“Patrick!” Sophie gasped, trying to free herself. Had he been made of stone, perhaps it might have been easier.
“Come, Countess Coulter, I am sure Mrs. Gumbrill will be most pleased to be rid of you,” Patrick said, taking Sophie’s arm and leading her from the kitchen.
“My lord,” Mrs. Gumbrill growled when he filched a fresh biscuit as he walked past.
“Good lord! I was immediately transported back to my youth just then,” Patrick laughed, towing Sophie behind him as they left a chuckling cook behind.
It was a warm day, and only a few wisps of cloud marred the perfect blue sky as the Earl and Countess of Coulter walked toward the stables. Both were content with the silence and Patrick marveled at how good he felt having Sophie here at Plentiful with him. He did not fool himself that he would have everything his own way, yet she seemed to fit him and he her. They still had much to learn about each other, but right here and now, Patrick felt more content than he had in many months, in fact he was probably more content than he had ever been.
“Patrick?” Sophie said as she pulled off her glove and plucked a leaf from a large bushy tree as they passed by.
“Mmm,” he said, still deep in thought.
“Did my … ah … manner disturb you just now in the kitchens?” Sophie asked, looking up at her husband. “It was never my intention to make light of your words or embarrass you in front of Mrs. Gumbrill.” He was after all an earl, and Sophie wondered if she had overstepped the mark. It was of course his fault that her tongue had loosened; he had made her happy, happier than she
had felt in a long time, and that in turn had made her relax.
Patrick stopped suddenly, his hands moving to steady Sophie, as she would have tumbled headfirst into a lavender hedge. Lifting her chin, he looked into her uncertain green eyes. “Never guard your true self from me, love. I have been surrounded by fakes and frauds my entire life, I would not have that from my wife.”
“Oh,” Sophie whispered. Patrick had noticed this was the word she often used when none other came into her head. He brushed his thumb beneath her eye where a tear fell.
“Why the tears, Sophie? I would have you happy, not sad,” he said with a gentle smile that seemed to make matters worse instead of better.
“ ’Tis merely the sun, my lord.” Sophie pulled away to continue walking toward the stables. Coward, she screamed inside her head, tell him you love him, he is your husband.
Patrick watched the gentle swing of her skirts and knew that she had been about to tell him something else. It would wait. After all, they would have a lifetime together, he thought as his long strides caught up with her.
Despite her intense dislike for horses, or any other large animal for that matter, Sophie was intrigued with Patrick’s stables, as she had never really spent any time in them. Her senses tried to make out the differing smells as they walked into the long low building. There was undoubtedly hay, plus horse, but also leather and other scents she could not define.
“My lord,” a large burly man said, walking toward them.
“Mac.” Patrick shook the offered hand. “This is my wife,” he said, introducing Sophie.
Sophie also offered her hand, which surprised Mac, but he accepted it all the same, and then she wandered off and left the two men to talk. She walked big half circles around the horses as they poked their heads over the stable doors to look at her. It was when she came to a pretty silver head with ridiculously long eyelashes that Sophie stopped. The little horse seemed so sweet, almost like she stood on her toes to peek over the door like her big companions. Pulling off her gloves once again, Sophie picked up a wisp of straw and walked slowly toward the horse. Giggling as the soft lips tickled her palm; she let the animal eat the straw from her hand and then, feeling brave, she rubbed her fingers down its neck. It was warm and downy soft and Sophie enjoyed the feeling, laughing as the small horse nudged her shoulder when she tried to stop.
