Page 32 of Seducing Sophia (Scholars of Seduction)

“Hush now, Mrs. Davis,” FitzRoy said.

“Well, it’s true, is it not?” The housekeeper spoke in the manner of a favorite aunt—one her nephew loved, admired, and was a little scared of. Sophia smiled to herself at FitzRoy’s response, shuffling from one foot to the next in the manner of an embarrassed child. But it was plain to see that Mrs. Davis adored him.

She held out her hand to Henry, and lifted her eyebrows to Sophia, as if asking permission. Sophia nodded with a smile. Mrs. Davis reminded her a little of her own dear departed mother—plump, red-faced, and kind, a loving heart concealed beneath a matronly exterior.

Sophia liked her on sight.

“Come, young master,” Mrs. Davis said. “Would you like to see your room?”

“I have a whole room of my own?” Henry asked.

“Of course! And there’s a nursery next door with all manner of toys you can amuse yourself with.

Henry turned to Sophia. “May I see them, Mama?”

“Yes, my darling,” Sophia said.

“Davis,” FitzRoy said to the man in the doorway. “See to the trunks, would you? Mrs. Davis, perhaps you would be so good as to give young Master Henry a tour of the house and gardens before he has his tea?”

The housekeeper glanced at Sophia and colored, but she nodded and curtseyed then led Henry inside the house, while her husband approached the carriage and barked orders to the driver.

FitzRoy held out his arm.

“Mrs. Black, if you please. Roseborough House awaits you.”

She took his arm and he led her inside.

“Your housekeeper seems a remarkable woman,” she said.

“That she is,” FitzRoy replied. “I’ve known her since I was a child. When Father died, most of the servants remained at the family seat, but Mrs. Davis was kind enough to come with me here, to Roseborough.”

“You seem fond of her.”

“I lost my own mother when I was very young,” he said. “Not that I say that to garner sympathy. But Mrs. Davis brought me up—at least, until I was sent to Harrow. She’s the closest thing I have to a mother.”

He led her through the hallway into a parlor overlooking the garden—a bright, comforting room with deep, soft rugs and oak-paneled walls. Pale cream-colored curtains hung either side of the windows and a number of portraits and silhouettes adorned the panels. The room was simply furnished, homely, and comfortable.

“What do you think?” he asked. “Is it to your liking?”

“I’ve only seen one room!” Sophia laughed. “But it’s elegantly furnished. Do you have an eye for décor, or has the room benefitted from a woman’s touch?”

“I credit Mrs. Davis with the furnishings,” he replied. “To date, I’ve lived alone here, and I rarely invite guests.”

“Surely a society gentleman such as yourself must hold parties and balls and such like?”

He laughed and shook his head. “You think me more of a rake than I am,” he said. “Mrs. Davis was quite right in what she said earlier. And she believes me to be sorely in need of congenial company. Which is why she’s so delighted to receive you—and little Henry, of course.”

“She doesn’t see us as an inconvenience?”

“No,” he laughed. “She loves children. As do I.”

A sudden shyness crossed his expression and he took her hand. “Which is why I make this offer to you.”

Her stomach jolted. The last time a man had made an offer to her it had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with the man’s convenience. She withdrew her hand and he sighed.

“You don’t trust me?” he asked.

“I’ve reaped the rewards of having given my trust too freely,” she said, “and I did not find it to my liking.”

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