Seducing Mr. Heywood by Jo Manning Page A

enough to serve a houseful of guests.”
    “Your late husband was not much of a party-giver, if I recollect, Sophia,” Dunhaven commented.
    Sophia toyed with her fork. “No, that is true. George preferred a more solitary life.”
    “He was not an antisocial man,” Charles hastened to defend his deceased patron. “But, as he aged, it was a strain on him to entertain large groups. He did have many visitors, nonetheless, who dropped in to inquire after his health and well-being.”
    “I gather you were rather thick with the old boy,” Dunhaven remarked.
    Charles recalled the last time he’d sat at dinner with the baron. It seemed so long ago, though it was only a few months. “We became friends, yes,” he replied.
    “I’m glad you were here for him, Mr. Heywood.” Sophia’s voice was barely above a whisper. She took a quick sip from her wineglass.
    Her father frowned; talk of the late Baron Rowley was not his favorite subject of conversation.
    The boys had told Charles, when they were fishing, that their mother and grandfather did not seem to be on the best of terms. They’d learned from a footman that there had been an argument in the drawing room the night before. Bless those lads! Charles chuckled to himself. Like their father, they were on easy terms with the servants. There was nothing the staff would not do for the boys, including supplying the latest gossip.
    Sophia was wary. She had noted the change that seemed to come over her father. He was making an effort to be pleasant, attempting to stifle his own unpleasant comments, making small talk, even paying her a charming compliment or two, and he’d not drunk any more wine. His behavior was as transparent as the clear crystal glasses on her table; he was up to something.
    She sighed. She wanted to be rid of him and his friend, but she could not forcibly evict them from her home. If he would not voluntarily go to the Cock and Bull in Roslyn, she could not make him do so. He was her father and the boys’ grandfather. Much as she disliked doing so, much as his presence made her uncomfortable, she felt she must endure his visit as graciously as possible. There were no warm father-daughter feelings between them, and she sensed he had little interest in his onlygrandchildren, but the rest of the world did not need to know those details.
    The earl’s vicious taunts on the evening he arrived had driven her to throw sherry in his face, but now, if she could take that impulsive action back, she would. Regrets were useless, however; uncontrolled emotion was ever her downfall.
    “Wine, Father?” Sophia asked, motioning the footman to pour for her guests. “As St. Paul says, ‘Take a little wine, for thy stomach’s sake’.” She slanted a glance at Charles and winked. He almost spilled his wine in surprise at the Biblical quotation and the irreverent wink of her eye.
    “No, child, thank you. Perhaps later.” Dunhaven smiled somewhat absently. He had upended his wineglasses on the tablecloth.
    Sophia’s blood froze. Tom Eliot, continuing to refuse wine? He was surely up to no good.
    In the kitchen, downstairs, the servants were gossiping as they sorted, stacked, and prepared dirty dishes for washing. Events upstairs had given them food for thought. It was evident that there was bad blood between the mistress and her father. For the first time, sympathy was swinging in favor of Lady Sophia; the Earl of Dunhaven was a bad lot. Lizzie had complained that he’d pinched her bottom, and another of the maids said he’d pushed her up against a door and attempted to fondle her.
    Such behavior was unheard of at Rowley Hall. The old master, Lord Rowley, did not stand for such nonsense. Guests who trifled with his servants were summarily given their hats and asked to leave, unlike the case in other great houses in the county. The baron had brooked no trifling with his servants and they adored him for it.
    Even Bromley—the servants whispered, recollecting the