The Reluctant Countess (32 page)

His pride had not allowed him to take the first step; she had taken his worry for her and thrust it back in his face. How could she have accused Patrick of being a tyrant when it could not be further from the truth? He was a kind, gentle man who cared for her and his people and she loved him. Sophie should have tried to understand his motives instead of getting angry over his high-handed ways. She needed to apologize and she needed to do it as soon as she and Amelia returned from the fete, before it was too late.

“That is three sighs in just three minutes, Sophie,” Amelia said.

“Sorry, it is just so nice to be out in the sunshine.”

“Really, and here I was thinking they were sad sighs.”

Ignoring Amelia, Sophie asked a question of her own. “Do you want to tell me what is going on between you and Stephen?”

“No,” Amelia said, looking out of the other window. “Do you want to tell me what is going on between you and the Dark Lord?”

“Dark Lord?” Sophie queried.

“I gave him that name the first time I met him; he was all brooding and quiet and … well … dark.” Amelia laughed at Sophie’s puzzled expression. “It is only with you that he smiles, Sophie. It
is obvious that he loves you, because when you are in the room, quite simply everyone else ceases to exist and his eyes follow your every move.”

“Oh, Mellie,” Sophie whispered, then looked down at her gloves. Was it true; did Patrick really love her? “Well, um … as to that … I … I …”

“He loves you, Sophie. Why would he have married you otherwise?” Amelia cut off Sophie’s next words. “So whatever is going on between you two, I suggest you fix it.”

“Yes,” Sophie said. “I will speak to him upon our return to Plentiful, I promise. And as we are confiding in each other,” Sophie added, “then I must say that Stephen cannot take his eyes off of you either, he seems quite taken.”

Amelia sighed. “Hmm … well, it is merely that I cannot think of Stephen or what he makes me feel until I have sorted out my relationship with mother.”

“She will come around, Mellie,” Sophie said firmly, and then she silently prayed for just that miracle.

Minutes later, they pulled up in the small village, which was a few miles from Patrick’s home. The fete was held on a large square of grass opposite the church. As the ladies stepped down, they were bombarded with sights and smells that made their mouths water. People milled around a group of stalls displaying a variety of items. There were smiles and laughter and small children running in several different directions.

Sophie thought it was a beautiful place, and was enjoying this new home of hers. The countryside seemed to roll in green undulating pastures as far as the eye could see. There were flowers and trees and streams and that was just on Patrick’s land. She was sure it looked miserable when it rained, like any other place, but right here and now it was beautiful. Sophie’s happiness would have been complete if Patrick had been at her side.

“I must have some of those,” Amelia said, towing Sophie toward the stall that had sweets on display.

Letty soon arrived with Timmy, who squealed in delight at all the new sights, his hands reaching for anything that came in range. Sophie took one hand and Amelia the other and together
they all strolled, looked, and laughed for over an hour. Timmy found a ball made of rags that he would not be parted from and Sophie some wool she would give to Mrs Gumbrill so she could knit something for her grandchildren. Amelia, like Timmy, spent most of the time with her mouth full of pastry or sweets.

“Don’t you dare moan to me this evening, Mellie, if your stomach starts to hurt.”

“How could anything so delicious be harmful to a person,” Amelia said around a mouthful of sweets.

Timmy was overwhelmed and quite often had to be coaxed out from behind his sister’s skirts to go and play with the other children.

Sophie introduced herself to most of the people she spoke to, knowing that Patrick was landlord to some of them and employer to others; she felt it was important. Most responded with a shy smile, but all said that the earl was a wonderful landlord and they had little to complain of. As she reached the end of the stalls, her arm began to ache and she was more than ready to find a seat.

“If I may have a word, my lady?”

Sophie turned to find a large rotund man behind her. Round rosy cheeks, heavily jowled, with not a hair on his head, he was a most unusual looking man, but it was his clothes that drew Sophie’s eye. He wore a startling puce and navy waistcoat embroidered with gold threads and teamed with primrose yellow pantaloons.

“I am Squire Pickles, my lady, and we would be honored if you would judge the pie contest,” he said, sinking into a bow that seemed to take a long time and a huge amount of effort. Just when Sophie feared he was cast, he righted himself with a loud bark of laughter.

“Lord Coulter, it seems, is running behind schedule,” Squire Pickles boomed as he looked at his gold pocket watch.

Sophie was not overly fond of pies and had already eaten her fair share of Amelia’s sweets, yet surely it would be churlish to refuse, especially as she had a feeling that Patrick’s absence was in some way due to her.

“A Coulter has judged the pie contest at the annual fete for as long as I can remember,” Squire Pickles prompted.

Well, that sealed it Sophie thought. It would be wrong of her to refuse now. “Of course, Mr. Pickles, I would be delighted.”

“Excellent, excellent! If you will follow me, my lady, we shall begin.”

“Sophie! You are tired and surely it is time to rest your arm,” Letty said, as they followed the squire toward the stage.

“Yes, Sophie, I am sure his lordship will be most displeased with all of us if you come home looking wan,” Mellie said. Timmy was clasped in her arms, his sticky fingers were wrapped around her neck, and his eyes were almost closed as he fought sleep.

“It will not take long I am sure, and I am wearing my sling,” Sophie added. She was indeed sore and tired, but this was important to the townspeople; surely a few more minutes would cause her no further harm.

“I will take Timmy home then, Sophie, and you and Amelia will follow shortly,” Letty said, taking the sleeping boy from Amelia.

“I will sit here to wait for you, Sophie.” Amelia pointed to a group of seats close to the small stage, upon which were several trestles filled with pies. “We will be leaving as soon as you have finished,” she said, giving Sophie a determined look.

“And to think that when I first met you, I thought you were a sweet-tempered young lady,” Sophie said, smiling sweetly at her grim-faced friend. Kissing Timmy and Letty good-bye, she climbed onto the stage.

* * *

“At least you get to try a piece of them all; I have to buy one of each if I want the same privilege.”

Patrick snorted at Stephen’s words, but kept riding. The village was deserted, which meant everyone had assembled for the prize-giving. He was late—the judging for the pie contest should
have started ten minutes ago, and for as long as he remembered, a Coulter had awarded the winner her prize.

It was Sophie’s fault; she had robbed him of his usual ability to think. Lifting his hat, he ruffled his hair. How the hell had everything turned on its head in just a few hours and, more importantly, how did he correct it? Patrick knew he had hurt her with his words and didn’t know how to soothe that hurt. He also knew that it had been inexcusable of him to bring up her past to strengthen his argument. God, how he ached for her. Every time he saw the hurt in her eyes, he wanted to hold her. Every time she winced in pain, he wanted to yell at her for moving. If this was love, someone had played a foul trick on him. All those prettily worded odes and sonnets were lies—love was bloody torture.

“If you just told her you were sorry and that you loved her, then all the sighing and wringing of hands would cease,” Stephen drawled from beside him.

Patrick pulled his mount to a halt and looked at Stephen. “I have never once in my life wrung my hands,” he snarled.

“You never sighed before either, and let us not forget the fact that you did not dispute the love claim,” Stephen said, moving a couple of paces from Patrick’s whip, which was twitching in his large hand. Throwing his horse’s reins to a waiting boy, he dismounted.

“Shut up, Sumner, and sort out your own love life before you start venturing an opinion on mine,” Patrick said, doing the same.

“Do you know, Colt, I just might do that,” Stephen said, following his large friend as he stomped toward the pies.

Patrick walked to the village green where everyone had gathered. He acknowledged people as they moved aside to let him and Stephen through. Being taller, he was able to look over the heads of the crowd that had gathered to oversee the judging. He saw her before she saw him, nibbling on a pie.

“Is that Sophie judging?”

“Yes,” Patrick said. The day suddenly seemed brighter just because she was here.

“She looks tired, but at least she’s wearing her sling,” Stephen added.

She did look tired, and sad; the smile she was giving old Mrs. Luttice did not reach her eyes.

“Good lord, did you see that, Colt? Mr. Luttice just blushed, and Sophie was merely smiling at his wife. Lord, that woman could charm the warts off a toad,” Stephen laughed.

Patrick snorted. He had been the recipient of Sophie’s smiles and knew their effect. He forgot everything then. He forgot to be angry because she was here. He quickly forgot why they were fighting. Suddenly he just wanted to hold her and tell her everything would be all right again. His wife, he thought as he jumped onto the stage in one leap, reaching her side in seconds. Nothing mattered except that she was here with him. Slipping an arm around her waist as she turned to face him, Patrick kissed her cheek, whispering “Sorry” into her ear.

“No, it is I who am sorry,” Sophie said, looking up at him with her heart in her eyes.

“We will talk later, love,” he said, giving her a gentle smile. “Will you let me help you with the judging?”

“Oh, yes please, I … I am rather full,” she said, looking a little green as she studied all the pies she had yet to taste.

“Stand aside then, my love, this is not a job for the fainthearted—however, it is the perfect job for a man who has forgone his midday meal.”

Stephen, who had found Amelia seated in front of the stage and looking far too lovely for his peace of mind, had watched the touching display between Patrick and Sophie along with the rest of the village.

Amelia sighed. “Look, all the women are smiling at Patrick and Sophie. He was very gallant to her, don’t you think?”

“Yes, and all the men are groaning, as next their women will expect such a display from them,” Stephen said, giving Amelia a look she had no idea how to interpret.

“You do not often see such love and devotion,” Amelia added, smiling as Sophie blushed prettily when Patrick kissed her cheek again.

Stephen harrumphed because he couldn’t for the first time in his entire life find anything else to say. Then he sat down beside Amelia so that his thigh was brushing hers, her little shiver making him smile.

Patrick asked Squire Pickles to bring forward a chair, which he lowered Sophie into, and then, giving her a wink, he started eating. There were over twenty pies and each was cut up into small segments. The savory were at one end and the sweet the other end of the table.

“I have tasted a few of the savory, my lord,” Sophie said from behind him.

“I will confer with you, then, after I have sampled them,” he said around a mouthful of beef pie.

Sophie giggled as Patrick turned to face her and waggled his eyebrows to indicate he liked what was in his mouth. Suddenly the sun seemed brighter and she felt lighter; everything was once again perfect because they had both said sorry. Love swelled up inside her chest as Sophie watched her husband slowly sample each pie, closing his eyes with each mouthful as if to savor the flavors.

The village people watched them closely, with special attention given to the young earl as he moved through the pies. They had known Lord Coulter for many years. Some had watched him grow and others had had dealings with his father and grandfather before him. He had always seemed to them a serious young man who did his duty to his people, but now, watching him kiss and care for his wife, they knew that their young lord had also found love.

“Fair brings tears to your eyes,” Grandma Puckett said to Mrs. Stigg.

“ ’Bout time, I’m thinking,” Mrs. Stigg agreed, then held her breath because the young lord had reached her pie. She had a secret ingredient that Grandma Puckett had been trying to sniff out for years. She kept it close to her ample chest; even her daughter Bessie didn’t know it. The young lord smiled as he swallowed the last crumb.

“Who knew he had a dimple,” young Bessie Stigg sighed, as she moved closer to her ma.

“That smile has to be a good sign,” her mother said.

“We’ll see.” Grandma Puckett pursed her lips until her whole mouth seemed to fold in on itself.

When he finished tasting the last pie, Patrick knelt in front of Sophie so their eyes were level. She smiled that special smile she reserved just for him, then pushed a curl off his forehead.

“Which one did you like, my love?” Patrick whispered.

“The last one you ate,” she replied and was relieved when Patrick nodded.

“Yes, me too. I bet it is Mrs. Stigg’s; she always seems to win, drives Grandma Puckett crazy.”

“Maybe Grandma Puckett will take second place then,” Sophie added.

“Maybe,” Patrick said, running his finger along her bottom lip and climbing to his feet.

“I haven’t tried all the sweet ones yet. I’ll follow behind you,” Sophie said, rising slowly.

Patrick didn’t argue, just helped her up and passed her the first piece of pie. Together they sampled, made the appropriate noises, and finally came up with all the winners. Patrick presented the awards for the place getters in the best sweet pie category while Sophie pinned the sash to Mrs. Stigg’s dress for the best savory pie and congratulated her on her win. Patrick presented second place to a disgruntled Grandma Puckett.