A Holiday by Gaslight(25)

“My mother?”

“Who do you think told me where to find you?”

Sophie dusted off her hands. “No. It’s not off-limits. But we shouldn’t be here alone together, as well you know.”

Ned crossed the attic floor, navigating carefully around the clutter. “We’ll have to keep it a secret, then.”

“There are no such things as secrets at country house parties. Haven’t you heard?”

His lips quirked. “Point taken.”

For a moment, she was tempted to smile. To try and recapture a little of the magic of their morning walk in the snow. But her nerves wouldn’t permit it. The image of him riding off with her father was seared on her brain. “Where have you been all day?”

“Where have you been?” he countered. “You weren’t at breakfast.”

“There was a small crisis with my sister. By the time I came downstairs you were already gone.”

“Your father invited me to go riding.”

“Yes, I saw the pair of you from Emily’s window.” She regarded him with a worried frown. “Is everything all right?”

“With your father?” Ned shrugged. “It’s fine. He was very civil. He took me to see the gas works.”

“I thought as much.” Sophie continued to look at him, unable to quell a rising sense of dread. “You were gone a long while.”

Ned seemed to hesitate. “Your father wished to speak with me in his study when we returned.”

“What about?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

Sophie huffed. “What a thoroughly patronizing thing to say.” She turned back to the trunks. There were only two things Papa could wish to speak to Ned about. One of them was her. The other was money.

“What have you there?” Ned asked, coming closer. “Are those your Christmas decorations?”

“They’re half full of rubbish, I expect. I’ll have to go through them.”

“I’ll help you, if you like.”

“Please yourself.” She knelt in front of the largest trunk. Her skirts billowed out around her over a sea of petticoats and crinoline. It left little room for Ned. He didn’t seem to mind. He sank down atop one of the trunks at her side. The toes of his leather boots slid beneath the hemline of her skirts.

Heat crept up Sophie’s throat.

He rested an arm across his knees. “Are you going to open it?”

“Of course.” She unfastened the metal latch and pushed back the lid. Within were a carelessly packed jumble of holiday artifacts. She scanned the contents. “This must be the wrong trunk.”

“Aren’t those Christmas decorations?”

“They are, but what we want are the ribbons and tinsel. There are foil stars, too. At least, there should be. If not in these trunks, then somewhere else.”

Ned leaned forward. “What’s that?”

“This?” Sophie withdrew a partially wrapped porcelain figure. She held it up for Ned’s perusal. “One of the shepherds from our old Nativity set.”

“That must be worth salvaging.”

“No.” She looked at the chipped figurine, remembering the last Christmas it had been displayed. It was more than ten years ago. A veritable lifetime. “We haven’t used it in ages.”

“Why not?”

“The set is incomplete.” She paused before adding, “Papa lost his temper one year and smashed the baby Jesus to smithereens. Emily wanted to place an egg in the manger instead, but Mama said it would be sacrilegious. She wrapped up the remaining pieces and packed them away. We never speak of it now.”

Ned looked mildly scandalized. “Why in the world would your father destroy the baby Jesus?”

Sophie placed the porcelain shepherd back in the trunk and closed the lid. She turned to look at Ned. “When I was twelve, my mother and father had another child. A little boy. He lived but one day. There were difficulties. Indeed, we were fortunate not to lose my mother as well. The doctor said there would be no more children.”

Ned’s brow creased with understanding. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“He would have been my father’s heir. When he died…Papa was grieved, but he was also quite angry. He raged at everyone.” She reached to open the next trunk, her fingers hesitating over the latch. “Do you think sons are more valuable than daughters?”

“Not to me they wouldn’t be.”

She gave a slight smile. “That’s easy to say now, but what if all you had were daughters?”

“I would thank God for them.”

“Would you?”

Ned’s expression turned grave. “My parents lost several children before I arrived. Most of them lived no longer than your brother. Healthy children are a miracle, whatever their sex. One must be grateful for them.”

She stared at him for a long moment. “How little I know of you.”

“There’s not a great deal worth knowing. Not by society’s standards.”

“Isn’t there?”

“I have neither birth nor breeding. I never attended Oxford or Cambridge. I’ve never toured the capitals of Europe or met the Queen. Some might argue that I’m not even a gentleman.” His blue eyes were as solemn as ever. “I’m just a man, Sophie.”