Page 18 of Summoner of Sins

“We don’t have one yet.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he shook his head, making his decision. “I’m going to remove her from that house. You find a relative who can care for her.”

Tabetha clapped her hands. “On it.”

Decision made, he strode out the door and back to his waiting carriage. He parked several streets away, slipping through the alleys that led to the earl’s back gate. Then, scaling the wall, he dropped down into the garden.

It was quiet, the only sound was a babbling fountain and the call of birds. He stayed by the wall, and then positioned himself by the back door, hidden behind some bushes. From there he could watch people come and go from the kitchen path.

The day was mild and several of the windows in the house were open. He wasn’t certain how long he’d have to wait, so he leaned against the wall, removed his hat, and wiped his brow. He found himself, once again, excessively eager to see Sophie, and to his surprise, Abigail too.

She was a delightful miniature version of Sophie. For the first time in his entire life, he wondered what it might be like to have children. To his utter shock, he smiled at the notion. His breath held in his lungs. His hand shook as he swiped it over his face. What had happened to him? Had he gone from a stone that felt nothing for anyone to daydreaming about babies?

He’d gone mad after all.

The door to the kitchen opened and he craned his neck to see who it might be.

Sophie wrapped a shawl about her shoulders, preparing to make her way out to the garden. Next to her, Abigail stood, bouncing on her toes. With a shake, Sophie let go of all the worries she’d been carrying all day and tried to focus on this moment. This little trip out to the garden was one of the few opportunities for them to spend time together, and Sophie cherished these moments, as did Abigail. It was some of the only times the child was allowed to simply play.

This was no life for Abigail, despite the amount of wealth that surrounded them, but Sophie had made little progress on how she would remove herself from the situation. She’d not even been allowed out to tea yesterday, and she certainly wasn’t allowed to leave the property with Abigail, that much had already been made clear. She could only hope that Lord Maxwell came and that he had answers.

Giving Abigail’s hand a squeeze, she smiled down at her sister. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Abigail answered back, her eyes dancing. “Can we sit under the tree with the pink flowers?”

“Of course,” Sophie said, lifting her sister and swinging her around. “And we shall tell stories, and?—”

“Sophie,” Lord Whitehouse appeared in the kitchen, his stern countenance more severe than usual. “I’d like a word.”

Her stomach fluttered with nerves as Abigail tugged on her hand. “Of course, my lord.”

“But…” Abigail said, her lip jutting out. “I want?—”

“Quiet, child,” Lord Whitehouse said, snapping at the child. Then he gestured toward Abigail. A nanny appeared from behind him, and Sophie’s stomach sank. Abigail needed this time.

The nanny took Abigail’s hand, tugging her away as Abigail cried loudly.

“I said quiet,” Lord Whitehouse said again, taking a step toward Abigail.

Disappointment turned to fear as Sophie took a step forward, holding out her hands. It was one thing for Abigail to be confined by nannies, and quite another to have her yelled at by grown men. “My lord,” she said, wanting to explain that the child needed a bit of freedom.

With her quick steps forward, she reached Lord Whitehouse in time for him to bring his hand down hard across her cheek. If she’d thought her uncle’s slap had been severe, this one sent stars sparking behind her eyes as she crashed down to her knees on the stone floor.

“You will not argue with me.” He grit the words out between his teeth. Then, he had her by the arm, dragging her back up on her feet. “And you will tell me what happened to my guard last night.”

Lord Whitehouse had asked at the ball last night when she’d returned to his side alone. When she’d said she didn’t know, he’d sent her home with a footman and the remaining guard. “I told you last night, I don’t know.”

“Liar,” he yelled in her face, spraying her skin with spit. “God does not approve of lying, Sophie.”

“I’m not lying,” she cried, several small broken sobs punctuating the words. “He was right outside the repose when I went in, but when I came out, he was gone.”

He shook her. Hard. “And you saw nothing? No one?”

“No.” She gasped, knowing this time, she did lie. It wasn’t something she did often. She hated it now, but Lord Maxwell felt like her only chance. He was the one person who seemed able to breach the walls Lord Whitehouse had put around her.

“If you’re lying and I find out, I shall take your sins out on your sister’s skin. Do you hear me?”

Cold, hard dread weighted her limbs. Sophie could endure a great deal, but Abigail was just a child. “No.”

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