Prince of Ravenscar (Sherbrooke Brides 11)

With Corinne’s spy Jory doubtless on his heels, Roxanne thought, and nodded. And maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. She wanted to know more about Richard Langworth, if he posed a threat to Sophie.

Sophie was humming as Mint assisted both her and Roxanne out of their evening cloaks. She realized she was happy. She felt light, her feet gliding above the floor. She breathed in and laughed. If it had rained, she didn’t think she would have minded at all. She realized in that moment she hadn’t laughed much since her mother had died.

She turned to speak to Roxanne, when Mint drew in a deep breath and blurted out, “Your sister is here, Miss Roxanne. Lady Merrick.”

Oh, no, not Aunt Leah. Sophie’s feet hit the floor with a solid thunk. She sobered very quickly. She hadn’t seen her aunt Leah since her mother’s funeral, but she well remembered her endless criticisms of Roxanne, heard throughout her life, comments not meant for her ears. She saw Roxanne had stilled.

The glorious days of champagne and laughter, she thought sadly, were over.

15

The next morning, Roxanne eyed her elder sister across the breakfast table. Sunlight flooded through the bow windows, haloing Leah’s head, and it made her look quite angelic, which, Roxanne thought, had to give one serious pause about angels.

Leah was here, actually here, and what was one to do? She hadn’t said last night why she’d come, merely kissed her sister’s cheek, nodded briefly to Sophie, and taken herself off to bed. Elvira, her maid of ten years, plump and merry, followed behind her, looking exhausted, Leah’s jewelry casket hugged close.

Leah had married two weeks before her twentieth birthday to a naval man who’d had the misfortune to drown five years later when the ship he captained ran aground during a violent storm off the northern coast of Portugal. The first mate had perished as well. No one was able to explain why Captain Merrick hadn’t been piloting the ship during a storm or why he’d fallen overboard, much less why his sailors hadn’t saved him. Like most sailors, he couldn’t swim, and that surely made no sense at all.

Leah Cosgrove, Lady Merrick, had worn black gloves for twelve months, and not a day longer. She was now twenty-nine, two years Roxanne’s senior, quite lovely with her nearly white blond hair, fair complexion, and a reputation as the most graceful of the three Radcliffe sisters, a vision to behold when she waltzed. And the meanest, Roxanne thought, staring at her sister calmly sipping her tea, her eyes locked on Sophie, who was picking at her eggs, keeping quiet, smart girl.

Leah said finally, her voice so sweet, it nearly dripped, “Father was worried about you, Roxanne.”

What was this about? “He was? I received a letter from him yesterday. He said nothing about worry. Indeed, he hoped Sophie and I were enjoying ourselves.”

“He would not want you to think he felt you were incompetent, and so he asked me privately to come to assist you with our niece.”

Sophie looked ready to leap at Leah.

No, don’t move, Sophie, keep quiet.

Roxanne smiled. “I don’t think Sophie needs assistance from anyone. She is smart, bright, and not a fool.” Excellent words, but still, she sounded defensive, Roxanne thought, a weakness her sister would exploit. She eyed Leah, wondered how she could get rid of her, decided it would take a dozen strong men to haul her away, and unfortunately she knew only two such men who might be willing—Devlin and Julian. Life, she thought, wasn’t fair. Why hadn’t her father warned her? Ah, he would have warned her, and that meant he hadn’t known Leah was coming.

Leah said, “Well, then, I shan’t have to be bothered with Sophie, since she is so smart and bright. I can shop to my heart’s content, and see—never mind that.”

See what?

Sophie said, “I haven’t seen you since my mama’s funeral, Aunt Leah. What have you been doing?”

“Doing? I have servants to do things, Sophie.”

“Forgive me, such a stupid thing to say. How have you been amusing yourself?”

“It is difficult being a widow; one is never quite a part of things.” But she was smiling, and why was that?

Roxanne said, “Farleigh’s mother lives in Battlesdean, only ten miles distant from York, does she not? Do you not visit her occasionally?”

“She’s old and boring, and all she can talk about is how it is the Navy’s fault her poor Farleigh drowned.”

“How is the Navy to blame?” Sophie asked blankly.

Leah shrugged as she picked up a slice of toast, smeared it with butter and elderberry jam, and bit in. “She claims the first mate was d

runk, and a spy.”

“A spy for whom?” Roxanne asked.

“Who cares? Then she accuses me of having forgotten him much too soon.”

Roxanne said, “Why would she say that? You wore black gloves for a year.”