Page 1 of One Day for a Valet

One

DEVONSHIRE, JUNE 1826-

“Sofi, have you heard a word of what I’ve been saying for the last five minutes?”

Sofia stopped walking, her lips pressing into a thin line, but the truth was, she hadn’t been listening. From the stiff English dress scratching like tree bark against her skin, to the stab of unforgiving pins in her too-tight chignon, everything chafed, her conscience worst of all. Listening to her brother repeat everything he had been droning on about for weeks didn’t seem likely to improve her state of mind.

Pausing, Oliver glanced over his shoulder and grimaced as if she was the disappointment. “I said, I will come back at noon and wait just there on the outskirts of the apple orchard. If you don’t arrive within an hour, I’ll assume they hired you on.” Pulling a flask from his coat pocket, he drew several deep swallows before sliding it out of sight. “I know you’re not happy about this, but you’ll just have to trust me, little flea.” His thick Italian slurred across the affectionate moniker, and Sofia tried without success to suppress a shudder. He was, as ever, oblivious to her distress.

Oliver sighed, his hand still hovering over his pocket. “This is what’s best for us. Surely you know I would never do anything to hurt you.”

But that was the crux of the problem. She didn’t trust him. Not like she once had. And how that hurt. Faith in Oliver’s eventual return had sustained her through his two-year-long absence and the gradual unravelling of her life, but the joy that had blazed through her veins upon seeing him again had long since flickered away.

“Yes, I hear you. Noon,” Sofia parroted, turning away. But before she could take a step, his warm hand wrapped around her wrist and urged her back. The care in his touch, so achingly familiar, silenced her discordant thoughts just as it had when she was a child and she met his eyes. “I’ll try.”

His hand slid down to clasp hers, his thumb tracing the jutting bone of her first knuckle. “That’s not what I was going to say.” One corner of his mouth quirked up. “I was going to tell you to be careful. Be careful, and … I love you.”

She nodded, easing her hand from his grasp, and walked away.

It had taken Oliver the bulk of their journey to convince Sofia to take part in his plan. And it had been a long journey. Painfully so. Jostling along the endless dusty roads leading away from the Peninsula, she’d lost and found her nerve to argue with him some twenty times, and she’d made countless discoveries about the brother who had returned to her. Chief amongst them was the discovery that he had spent the better part of the past two years living in the bottom of a wine bottle. Certainly metaphorically and perhaps even geographically based on his aroma.

Alcohol had eroded all the beautiful parts of her big brother. She had missed him acutely, but the person he had become was almost worse than the empty space he had left behind. Faint outlines of her brother emerged during his brief moments of sobriety, but those fragile lines washed away like fingerprints on a windowpane with just the tip of a bottle. Sofia glanced back and found the place Oliver had been standing empty. She hated that his absence made it easier to breathe. Easier to think. Closing her eyes, she shoved aside all her messy conflicting emotions and focused on herself.

Despite her restrictive wardrobe and prickling guilt, the advent of several long-absent creature comforts had done much to restore Sofia’s soul. Her hair was clean and free of tangles thanks to the purchase of a single bath and a great deal of arduous combing. And her clothes, though ill-fitting and inflexibly English, were new and clean. She would never again take for granted the sensation of clean cotton against her skin. Best of all, her sturdy new half boots moulded comfortably around her feet.

She was like a flower bulb that had endured the endless winter but now basked in the first rays of morning light—without a bloom, still shaking off the dirt, but nevertheless green and alive. For now, that was enough.

Although she had lost some of her starving gauntness, it was still perfectly obvious that she had not received regular meals for many months. It gnawed at Sofia’s pride as she crept closer to Northam Hall. Closer to what she hoped would be a fruitless endeavour. There was nothing she wanted more at this moment than to be denied employment so that she could return to her brother and inform him of her failure. Then they’d be forced to obtain their coin through honest labour rather than deception.

Her determination to flee redoubled as she caught her first glimpse of the vast, intimidating estate. It towered over smartly clipped hedge groves and winding paths edged with flowers of all heights and colours. The blooms complemented one another, as if each was made to live as neighbour to its companions. Vibrant gardens of phlox, lavender, and bee balm clustered in cheerful families around ornamental trees, softening the estate’s rigid perfection. Off to the side, she could see the corner of what was doubtless an expansive rose garden.

Her papa would have loved it here. Sofia paused in the shade of an apple tree—one of many in a grove at the entrance to the long drive—and allowed herself to be swept away by the exquisite view.

Her reverence, however, was interrupted by a little girl hanging by her knees in a low-slung branch. She was upside down with her skirts overhead, and her spindly legs protruded from stark white lace-trimmed bloomers. Laughing, the cheeky monkey grabbed hold of the branch and released her legs to flip from the tree. Dusting off her hands, she stood and approached. “Good morning. Are you looking for someone?”

“Si, the housekeeper. The estate is so lovely I couldn’t help but admire the view. My papa was a botanist. Do you know what that is?”

The youngster scrunched her nose, then grinned. “Of course I do! I love learning about nature even though it’s not meant for girls. According to the last governess I lost, I am incorrigible.”

“Is that why you were up in the tree? Searching for your lost governess? With opinions like that, perhaps she should be left in the trees!” Sofi grabbed hold of a low-hanging branch and gave a quick experimental swing.

“No, I don’t have a governess at the moment. I just like to climb!”

“Ah. So you are una scimmia!”

“A monkey!” Her face lit with what looked like pride.

“Si. Monkey. Your Italian is good, no?”

The child’s delight faltered, leaving a rueful expression in its place. “Not so good as it should be.”

“Nonsense. Mi chiamo Sofia Lioni, é sono molto lieto di fare la vostra conoscenza.”

The youngster chewed on her lower lip as she thought, and then her eyes snapped back to Sofia’s with a delighted twinkle. “My name is Lady Nora, and it’s a pleasure to meet you too, Miss Lioni!”

“Now in Italiano,” Sofi demanded playfully.

Lady Nora gave a little huff and resumed her concentrated scowl. “Mi chiamo Signora Nora, ed e anche un pancetta conoscertia.”