An Unlikely Suitor (33 page)

“You can’t.”
She’s not your friend.
“They wouldn’t fit you.”

Lucy turned toward the door. “I really need to go—”

“But why can’t I go too?”

Her regret in coming to the workroom deepened. “Because you weren’t invited.”

“Now, now, Lucia,” Mamma said. “It seems very convenient you are suddenly feeling better—just in time to meet a friend.”

“He’s not just a friend,” Sofia said. “Lucy has a beau.”

Lucy felt the heat of Mamma’s questioning eyes. Should she deny it?

“A beau, Lucia?”

Lucy flashed Sofia a scathing look—to no avail. Sofia busied herself with a bowl of buttons. “He’s a very nice man, Mamma. We met on the Cliff Walk. Actually, he saved me when I slipped down to a ledge.”

“You slipped?”

Lucy wasn’t sure whether to exaggerate her fall or act as though it were nothing. She decided to focus on the aftermath. “He pulled me to safety.”

“Tell me about him. What’s his name?”

Before Lucy could answer, Sofia did it for her. “Dante. Like Father.”

Lucy felt her cheeks flush. “That’s my name for him. He was a hero in saving me, and Father was my hero, so . . .”

“What’s his real name?”

Oh dear.

“Lucia?”

“Barth-something? I don’t really know.”

“You don’t know his name, yet you’re meeting him on some street corner?”

It did sound questionable. “We’ve had long talks, Mamma. He’s easier to talk with than any man I’ve ever known. He’s a good man. I know it.”

“They write each other notes,” Sofia added.

That was it. Lucy lunged at Sofia, making the buttons spill. “You little brat! You have no right—”

Mamma got between them and, thankfully, pointed a finger at Sofia. “You hush now. This is Lucia’s story to tell.”

Sofia couldn’t resist one more jab. “He was at church this morning.”

Since Sofia had seen the glance that had passed between herself and Dante, Lucy wondered who else had seen.

“Why didn’t you introduce me to him?” Mamma asked.

“I . . . I didn’t feel well, remember?” She glared at Sofia, trying to warn her to keep any additional comments to herself.

Oddly, her sister remained silent.

“I really have to go, Mamma. You need to trust me, trust my judgment.”

Mamma studied her face a moment more, then nodded. “Be wise and be good, Lucia.”

She’d try.

I’ll follow her.

If she hurried, Sofia could spy on Lucy with this wealthy man who’d captured her sister’s heart.

She headed for the door of the workroom.

“Where are you going?” Mamma asked.

“For a walk.”

Mamma gave her the look she deserved. “You leave your sister alone.”

Sofia saw an opening. “But I thought you didn’t approve—”

“I understandably have questions,
piccolina.
A mother always fears for her daughters’ hearts.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about mine. I’m not the one in love.”

Mamma looked heavenward.
“Grazie, Dio.”

Sofia realized too much time had passed to catch up to Lucy now. She had no idea if she was meeting Dante on the Cliff Walk or somewhere else, and now it was too late.

She put her hand on the doorknob. “I’m not following her, Mamma. I’m just going up to our room to read.”

“Promise?”

Sofia crossed her heart. What other choice did she have?

As she walked toward the main house, she glanced toward the stables. She
could
go talk to the stableboys. They seemed eager for her company.

Too eager.

She continued toward the house, where she went in the back entrance and up the stairs. But once on the first floor she noticed how quiet it was and remembered passing a certain room she really wanted to see. . . .

Holding her breath in order to listen for others, she heard nothing, which provided a boost of courage to move forward, down the wide hallway, to the room of her dreams.

The library.

She peeked around the doorjamb and found it empty—of people.

It was full, entirely full, of books. Shelf upon shelf, wall-to-wall books, just waiting to be read.

And she, the willing reader.

She entered and took a sharp left, which allowed her to remain out of sight from anyone walking down the hall. But within moments, her fear of discovery faded into the thrill of discovery. The volumes before her weren’t like her cheap dime novels, with flimsy covers and minimal pages. These were thick tomes, bound in leather, with gilt lettering and decorative detail on the spines.

Some titles piqued no interest:
Western Civilization
,
The Mechanics of Pulleys
, and
The Complete Works of Sophocles.
But others . . .

She chose one called
Little Women
, opened to the first page, and read:

“Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents,” grumbled Jo, lying on the rug.

“It’s so dreadful to be poor,” sighed Meg, looking down at her old dress.

“I don’t think it’s fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty things, and other girls nothing at all. . . .”

Sofia was hooked and backed into a chair, where she read three pages. Only the sound of voices brought her out of the story and into the fact that she was sitting in the Langdons’ library, reading one of
their
books.

She started to put it back on the shelf but desired the story enough that she simply moved the two books on either side of
Little Women
’s space toward the middle and tucked the novel into the folds of her skirt. She
had
to read this book, but she couldn’t do it here.

Sofia paused at the doorway, listened, and finding the voices to be from farther up front in the house, slipped into the hallway, where she scurried toward the back stairs.

But then . . .

“Miss Scarpelli!”

It was the butler’s voice, coming from the front end of the hall.

She turned around, but the movement caused the heavy book to move out of its hiding place. She quickly put it behind her back.

He strode toward her. “What do you have there?”

She pulled the book around front and clutched it to her chest. “I was just going to my room to read.”

He held out his hand. Now she was in trouble. There was no way she could ever claim this fine book as her own. She decided no explanation was better than a feeble one. She gave him the book.

Timbrook read the title and harrumphed. “It sounds decadent.” Then he nodded toward the library. “And you stole it.”

“I did no such thing. I simply borrowed it, to read.”

His eyebrows rose. “You? Read?”

It was beyond insulting. “Yes. I. Read. A very lot, if you must know.”
More than you.

He grabbed her upper arm and pulled her down the hall toward the front of the house. “You will make your excuses to the mistress. Let’s see what she wants to do with your pilfering.”

“But I didn’t—”

“That won’t be necessary, Timbrook.”

They both turned around to see Rowena’s brother standing near the doorway to the library. He motioned toward Sofia. “Come, Miss Scarpelli. Retrieve your book, and then come back to the library. There was another book I wanted to show you that you might enjoy.”

Back to the library? Had he been in there the entire time?

In taking the book from the butler, Sofia could feel the nettles flow off Mr. Timbrook into the air between them.

“Pardon me, Mr. Hugh,” Timbrook said. “I didn’t know she was in the library with your blessing.”

Hugh motioned for Sofia to join him—which she was very willing to do. “And in my company. Someone has to read all these books,” he said. “And it’s certainly not me.” Once Sofia was safely in the library, Hugh added, “Thank you for your diligence, Timbrook. That will be all.”

Sofia took a position on the far side of the room. Hugh came inside and closed the sliding doors behind him. She sensed Hugh was wild and was used to getting his own way. She would rather deal with Mr. Timbrook and Mrs. Langdon than be in here alone with him.

“Well, now,” he said with a grin.

She held the book against her chest. “Thank you for your assistance.”

He strolled into the room, tracing a hand over the top of the chairs. “Assistance? I think it was far more than that, Sofia. I saved your hide.”

She didn’t like his attitude. “I didn’t need saving. I wasn’t stealing the book; I was merely borrowing—”

“Same thing.”

“No it’s not. As you stated,
someone
has to read these books.”

“Touché.”

“What?”

He went to the shelves and pulled out a book. “Here. Read this one.”

She read the title. “
The Three Musketeers
?”

He put one arm curved behind his head and thrust his other out toward her. “
En garde! Touché!
All for one, and one for all!”

She still didn’t know what he was talking about.

He put his arms down. “Read the book. It’s all about honor and valor and love.”

It sounded like her kind of story. But beyond that, she’d caught him in a lie.

“You’ve read the books in here.”

He put a finger to his lips. “It’s best people don’t know.”

“Why?”

“Because then they’d expect something of me.”

“But don’t you want people to expect—?”

He swept his arm toward a couch. “Please. Sit.”

Sofia sat and Hugh fell upon a chair nearby, slumping into its cushions, his hands taking the armrests captive.

There was an awkward moment when they simply looked at each other. Ordinarily, Sofia would have been the first to look away. But this time, she felt oddly emboldened and stared back, eye to eye.

And, oh, such handsome eyes . . .

Finally, he waved a hand and said, “You win, you win!” He shook his head. “I thought you were supposed to be the meek little sister.”

She felt her ire rise. “Who said that? Did Lucy—?”

Hugh raised his hands in the air. “Don’t fire! I surrender.”

Sofia felt foolish for overreacting, yet she hated that Lucy had portrayed her as . . . as . . .

What she was.

“What happened?” Hugh asked. “I didn’t mean to quench your fire.”

“I . . . I . . .”

“I don’t like living in my sister’s shadow either.”

His candidness surprised—and pleased her. “You feel you’re in Rowena’s shadow?” she asked.

He pulled a footrest close with a toe, then crossed his ankles upon it. “Completely enveloped.”

“But you’re the heir.”

“But she’s the martyr.”

Sofia remembered hearing the story of Rowena’s accident, and how she’d hurt herself saving Hugh. If he didn’t say more, she wouldn’t bring it up.

“Did you know I caused her injury?”

She was surprised he’d continued with the subject. “How did you do that?”

“I was being reckless on the boat and nearly slipped overboard. Rowena saved me. She’s a hero, she’s my messiah, and I’m scum on the bottom of a boat.” He shook his head, as if removing himself from a bad memory. “Yes indeed, she’s the good child, the virtuous child, the loyal and obedient child.”

“And you’re . . . ?”

“Not.”

Sofia empathized with him. “Add capable, trustworthy, and dependable, and you have my sister.”

“And you’re . . . ?”

She smiled. “Not.”

He pushed the footstool away and stood. “Would you like to go for a sail?”

“A what?”

“Would you like to go sailing with me in my sailboat?”

Sofia remembered seeing the boats sailing in the harbor. . . . “I’d love to.”

“Take your books upstairs and grab a hat. I’ll wait for you outside.”

Her mind raced with a hundred reasons why she shouldn’t go, but she knew she would be dissuaded by none of them. He opened the library doors, then looked back to her. “Are you coming?”

Oh yes.

Sofia was impressed. Down at the harbor Hugh seemed to know everyone, from the scraggly fishermen to his fellow yachtsmen. Gone was his cockiness. Evident was his love of all things seaworthy and of the sea. He stopped at a cart and bought sandwiches, apples, and a glass flask of beverage. Then he took her hand and led her to a short pier between two sailboats. The boats were much larger in person than they’d seemed from the steamship.