Seducing Mr. Heywood by Jo Manning Page B

butler’s pallor the previous night. One of the eavesdropping footmen said the mistress had thrown a glass of wine in her father’s face! Bromley, he said, had near fainted. There was trouble brewing upstairs that was for certain.
    Sophia and her guests were consuming the last bit of chocolate cream, the finishing touch to an exquisite meal. “Bromley, my compliments to Mrs. Mathew,” Sophia declared.
    The butler blinked. Not only had Lady Rowley called him by his correct name, but she’d remembered the name of her cook, also. Recovering his usual aplomb, he nodded solemnly. “Very good, my lady, I shall carry your compliments to Mrs. Mathew.”
    Lady Sophia had more to say. “And the rest of the servants, also. The service at Rowley Hall is exemplary. I have been to many country homes, and I know whereof I speak. My compliments to the entire staff, and to you for your good training of them.”
    For once, Bromley was speechless.
    Charles stifled a grin. He had been working with John and William to devise ways of letting their mother know that the servants liked to be complimented. Lord Rowley believed that those of every station in life delighted in being appreciated, and that they preferred to be addressed by their name. Evidently the lads had succeeded. Lady Sophia, he knew, wanted very much to be in her boys’ good graces, even if that meant learning the names of Rowley Hall’s many retainers. Satisfied servants made for a happy, efficiently run household; it had been so in his own home.
    Now the next step was to rally the servants in support of Sophia. Her absence during the baron’s last illness and failure to arrive for his funeral did not sit well with them. Nor did the fact that she had been an absentee mother to her sons, the Rowley heirs. She had a good deal to atone for, if she chose to do so.
    Sophia rose smiling from the table, the folds of her silk gown gracefully fluttering. Her smile, Charles thought, intensified the light in any room. The candles seemed to glow brighter, as if encouraged to do their best. He harked back to
The Iliad
, and Queen Helen, whose lovely face had launched a thousand ships. She could have been no more beautiful than this latter-day goddess.
    Once more, he wished they were alone. There wasmuch he wanted to say to her, much to explain. His heart was full, nearly bursting in his chest.
    “Shall we take a stroll in the rose garden?” Sophia asked. “The moon is large and bright, the evening warm. The blossoms will be in full scent.”
    Brent spoke for all of them, leaping to the fore, Charles noted with annoyance.
    “My lady, the roses will pale in comparison to your beauty,” he declared, offering her his arm before the vicar could do so.
    Charles fumed inwardly. The rose garden! That was
their
special place, was it not? Or was he merely a besotted fool? He had no claim on her or her prized flowers, but still it rankled. How could she?
    Brent led her out. Charles remained behind with Dunhaven, who offered him snuff from an elaborately painted china box. Charles declined; he did not enjoy the vile substance that made him sneeze violently and set his brain abuzz. As he politely refused, however, his head swiveled back for a closer look. That box! Charles had never seen such lewdness depicted on delicately molded porcelain.
    “Josiah Spode’s factory makes more than tea and dinner services for genteel ladies to collect and display, Vicar,” Dunhaven smirked. “This is a prime piece, don’t you think?” He twirled the box in his hand, making certain Charles saw every bit of the clever, hand-painted design.
    Despite his revulsion at the scene depicted, Charles was fascinated. He’d not thought such coupling was possible between a man and a woman; they must be boneless to achieve such feats of contortion. He cleared his throat. “I hope, sir, you keep that out of sight of ladies,” he admonished the earl.
    Dunhaven quirked a fine blond eyebrow. “Some women, Mr.