Sophia held George on her hip, his fingers grasping at the frayed edge of her shawl. Above them, the rain clouds had begun to break apart, while the breeze ruffled the pale hair that stood up on the infant's head.

She had hoped he would sleep for the entirety of the walk from Lady Rutledge's manor back to their cottage, but the rumble of a passing coach had disturbed him from his slumber, and so she attempted to keep him happy and distracted by the various sights and sounds the outdoors had on display.

Ahead of her, she noticed the hulking form of the inn, and near its entrance, the familiar figure of the Reverend Fenton. He was clad in his usual black, and what she could see of his expression across the distance between them seemed particularly severe, even more than what she was often forced to endure when his glance happened to fall upon her during Sunday morning services. Making a quick turn, she skirted around the side of the large building. She held her breath until she felt certain she had succeeded in slipping by without garnering the reverend's attention.

After the appearance of Lord Haughton on her doorstep the previous day, Sophia wasn't confident in her ability to face another overbearing man, especially one intent on imparting his opinion on how best to rear her sister's child. If she was to be honest, she was tired of being treated as little more than a blight on polite society. All she wanted, more than anything, was to be able to go about her daily life and raise her nephew in peace. Why the rest of the civilized world seemed unable to allow her such a small freedom, she could not begin to understand.

She stepped into a narrow, muddy lane that would keep the main traffic of Stantreath behind her, and yet continue to lead her toward home. A few seagulls, dipping overhead, caught George's attention, and he squealed in delight as they fluttered on the breeze before circling toward them again.

Sophia heard the step of someone walking behind her, but she didn't look back right away. It wasn't a private lane, and now that the weather had begun to clear, no doubt several other townspeople would be wanting to dry out after the morning rain. But when the steps quickened, as if trying to catch up with her, she finally stopped and turned around.

"Mrs. Brixton!"

A young man, his cheeks flushed in his apparent attempt to dodge the various puddles and holes that clogged the lane, ran up to her side.

"Mr. Fenton," she said, and dipped her chin in greeting. The man before her was a startling contrast to his father, both in looks and character. Where the Reverend Fenton was tall and angular, his eldest son carried his weight across broad shoulders and possessed a tendency towards plumpness in his jaw. His hair was fair, the ends of it curling out from beneath the brim of his hat. But the greatest difference of all was in his eyes. Josiah Fenton looked at her with kindness, while Sophia suspected that his father would be hard pressed to deliver an adequate definition of the word.

"Mrs. Brixton," he said again, while his gaze darted from her face, to the ground, and back again. "I do hope you and your family are in good health?"

Sophia blinked at him for a moment, until George reached up and gave her earlobe a tug. "Why, yes. Of course. And you? You are well, I suppose?"

"Quite, especially now." Again, his gaze met hers. Then, suddenly, he cleared his throat and looked back over his shoulder. "My father is at the inn. He wished to call on someone, and I thought I would take the opportunity to get a bit of fresh air. And then I saw you, and-and little George, and I thought..." He stopped, swallowed, and cleared his throat again. "Well, I thought perhaps I could accompany you. That is, unless you'd prefer to be alone."

At first, Sophia could think of no reason why he should not walk with her. But then, Lady Rutledge's comments, about the young Mr. Fenton's marked interest in her, rang through her head. For them to walk together, in the open, where anyone could see... Well, in a town of this size, it was tantamount to a proposal of marriage.

"I am only walking home," Sophia said, as the warmth of embarrassment flooded her cheeks. "And I would not wish to take you away from any of your other errands."

"It would be no trouble," he told her, as a hint of a smile appeared on his lips. "No trouble at all."

Sophia shifted George to her other hip and continued walking. Mr. Fenton fell into step beside her, his hands clasped behind his back. Several minutes passed in silence. But as the cottage came into view, Mr. Fenton coughed nervously and began to speak.

"I-I had hoped to discuss a matter of... of some delicacy with you, but it's difficult to find the courage—"

At that moment, a yawn from George developed into a bout of crying as he rubbed his eyes with his fists.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Sophia put the child's head to her shoulder and rubbed his back. A more fortuitous circumstance, she could not imagine. Whatever Josiah Fenton had been about to say, she was quite certain it was not something she wished to hear. He had certainly always been kind to her, even when the other members of the Stantreath populace had done their best to exclude her and George. But never had she thought of the young man in terms of marriage, and she doubted she ever could. "He missed his nap, and I fear he'll be a right little terror until he's had a chance to rest."

"Oh, of course," Mr. Fenton bowed and began to back away, his shoulders slumped forward as one dejected. "I'll not keep you."

"Good day, Mr. Fenton."

"G-Good day, Mrs. Brixton." His eyes met hers one more time, before he ducked his head and his face slipped out of view.

Sophia hesitated in the lane, then turned and went up the path that led to the cottage. Mr. Fenton's behavior had unsettled her already beleaguered mind, and by the time she'd placed George in his cradle and returned downstairs to the kitchen, she wasn't surprised when the first twinges of another headache began to pound at her temples.

She needed to eat, she realized. A few bits of cake and some tea with Lady Rutledge were all she'd consumed since an early breakfast that morning, and so she tied her apron around her waist and set about preparing a small meal.

There was a bit of bread leftover from the previous day, and some smoked ham that she had been saving for a rainy day. Well, it had rained that morning, and so she loaded the ham and all of her edibles onto a tray, along with some cheese and a few crocks of mustard she snatched from the cupboard as she sidled past.

As she placed the tray on the table, there was a knock at the front door. She shut her eyes and sent a silent prayer heavenward. Perhaps, if she ignored this uninvited visitor, they would simply go away and leave her in peace.

There was a pause, then. Her hands twisted in the stained folds of her apron. Another minute, and she would know they'd moved on, and she pull out a chair, and—

The next series of knocks was louder than the first. Loud enough, she realized, to wake up poor George from his second attempt at a nap. The baby's cry sounded through the house, and Sophia swept out of the kitchen, down the hall, ignoring the front door and whoever may have been standing on the other side of it, and fetched the squalling infant from his bed.

"Shh, shh," she soothed as she returned downstairs again, her arms filled with a fussing, squirming child. George's face was soaked with an impressive mixture of fluids from eyes, nose, and mouth, and Sophia did her best to wipe off his cheeks and chin with the corner of her apron before she reached for the latch on the front door. If whoever had interrupted her nephew's nap was intelligent, she hoped they possessed the forethought to dispatch themselves from her doorstep before she could set eyes on them.

"Good afternoon, Miss Brixton."

Lord Haughton stood there, irritatingly stiff and starched. Sophia's own clothes, she knew, were blotted with all manner of stains and spills, along with a fresh patch of drool on her shoulder from where George dribbled on her.

"Of course," she muttered under her breath. "Good afternoon," she returned the greeting in a louder voice. She bounced George on her hip, while he continued to fuss and cry in her ear.

"Is something wrong with the child?" Haughton asked, and a little more of Sophia's patience slipped away from her.

"Yes, there is something wrong with the child," she snapped. "Twice he has attempted to nap today, and twice he has been interrupted, most recently by a knocking sound that was quite loud enough to raise the dead."

Haughton raised one dark eyebrow. "My apologies," he said, though she could not tell if he meant it. "I had no idea that it was so difficult for children to sleep during the day."

"Normally, it isn't. But when one of those children is teething..." She switched George to her other hip and stepped back from the door. "You may come in, if you wish."

It was all the welcome he would receive. She was not normally so impolite, but the fact that she could already guess at Lord Haughton's purpose in visiting her a second time siphoned away the last of her good manners and graces.

She did not look back to see if he followed her. There was the click of the door closing, and the heavy footfalls from his boots as he trailed her into the kitchen. She saw her tray, and all of its delicious contents, still sitting on the table where she'd left it.

"Here," she said, and turned around, holding George out to him. "Not only did you interrupt his rest, but you interrupted my meal as well. So, if you would be so kind..."

He looked down at the baby as if she were about to thrust a two-headed serpent at him.

"He's not poisonous," she assured him. "Though he does bite, and I can't vouch for the survival of your neckcloth should he get his fingers into it."

A deep noise of discontent emanated from Lord Haughton's throat. A grunt or a groan, she couldn't be sure, but since he failed to put any further argument into actual words, she tucked the baby into his arms.

"You don't need to support his head," she said, and tugged at Haughton's sleeve. "He can sit up very well on his own, but I fear that if you were to set him down on the floor or in his chair, the entire populace of Stantreath along with most of Northumberland will be able to hear the result."

Sophia watched as Lord Haughton tried to shift the child in his arms, his movements awkward, as if she had handed to him something that was both ridiculously fragile and covered in filth. For some reason, the sight of it made her mouth quirk into a smile, and she had to bite down on the twitch of her lips before he happened to glance up and see her.

"Now, then," she said, once she was confident that Haughton wasn't about to let George tumble to the floor. She turned back to her tray and fixed a sandwich for herself, heaping large amounts of ham and mustard onto the thick slices of dark bread. "Shall I fix something for you?" she offered, and picked a crumb of cheese off the tray and popped it into her mouth.

"I'm... fine," he said, though it was apparent he was anything but. George kicked his legs as if he were trying to leap out of Haughton's arms, while his cried intensified until his face was blotched and slick with a fresh layer of tears.

"Poor thing." Sophia reached across the edge of the table and gave George's back a few gentle pats. This, unfortunately, was more than enough for poor George, who promptly spit up all over the lapels of Haughton's coat.

"Ahh..." was all Haughton said before Sophia picked up a damp cloth from the edge of the basin and wiped up the mess from his shoulder and sleeve.

"You've been christened," Sophia said, and glanced up at Haughton, her mouth beginning to twitch again. "And look! He's much happier now."

Indeed, George was all smiles again, and clapped his hands playfully as she cleaned the last drops of sour milk from his chin.

She sat down at the table then, pulled the tray with her sandwich towards her, and without further ceremony, began to eat. Haughton seemed discomfited by her ability to tuck into her meal while he stood beside the table, a babbling baby boy in his arms. But she ignored him, except to pass a crust of bread up to George, who munched happily on the tidbit.

"Have you reconsidered my offer?"

Sophia glanced up at him and back at the food in her hands. "No," she said, and took another bite.

Haughton shifted restlessly, then turned to pace the length of the small room. The entire time, George continued to laugh and talk around a mouthful of soggy bread.

"Why should the answer I gave you yesterday change with the passage of a single night?" Sophia asked after she'd swallowed her own bite. "I will not be bought off. It's unseemly."

"And raising your sister's bastard is not?"

She breathed in sharply through her nose. "I should have you thrown out of this house for that," she said, without looking at him. Slowly, carefully, she wiped the crumbs from the corners of her mouth and smoothed down the folds of her apron. "But I'd rather take this opportunity to remind you that George is as much your brother's son as my sister's. So take care to recall that every insult you so carelessly toss over that child's head, he is your flesh and blood."

"I am sorry."

That was enough to tear her eyes from the food. He appeared slightly stunned by her words, and when he pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down, she thought there was even a slight air of contrition in his posture.

"I'll take better care to keep that in mind the next time I speak."

Sophia continued to stare at him, her lips parted. If he was sincere, then it was a change in him she never could have imagined occurring. "It's easy to allow ourselves to focus on the wrong thing," she said, and toyed with the edge of her half-eaten sandwich. "But regardless of how my nephew made his passage into the world, he deserves to be loved and taken care of without having to bear the shame of his parents' stupidity."

Haughton set George on his knee, and when the child proved to be happy there, he brought out his pocket watch and dangled it in front of the infant's hands. "And you're the only one to undertake such a task? There are no orphanages, no—"

"Oh, an orphanage?" She pronounced the word with as much distaste as she could muster. "How silly I've been! Now that you've reminded me of their existence, I can simply wrap him up and drop him off like a bundle of laundry. And I'm sure he'll be cherished and given every amount of attention and opportunity that such institutions are known for providing."

"Don't be facetious," Haughton chided her, as he bounced George on his knee.

"Then please refrain from being such a clod, stomping in here with your bags of money, as if every problem can be whisked away under the influence of a few battered coins."

He shifted forward in his seat, and Sophia thought he was about to stand up and pace again. But instead, he merely retrieved the entire pocket watch from his waistcoat and placed it in George's fingers. "I am offering the boy a chance," he said, his calmness a contrast to the irritation that continued to bubble up within her. "I wish for him to have a good education, a future that you alone may not be able to provide."

Sophia nodded. "In exchange for my silence."

Haughton stared at her, his mouth working around something she wouldn't give him a chance to say.

"Because that's what this is, correct? A few pounds settled on him now, your promise that he'll be duly cared for in terms of his education and his future prospects, and then you leave here puffed up with the knowledge that you will never have to hear from me, never have to be reminded of your brother's indiscretion except for once a year when the annuity pays out."

As soon as she stopped speaking, she wondered if she had gone too far. But Haughton's arrival into her quiet, secluded existence had thrown a considerable measure of uncertainty into every facet of her life. Because what would happen if she continued to refuse his offer? Would he simply take George away from her? And what of his brother, the baby's father? If, in a year, or ten years, he decided to take a passing interest in his son's life, what power did she have to deny him? And this was all without even considering what would happen if Lucy ever decided to return.

"If this is some attempt at bargaining for more money..." Haughton began to say.

"No," she said, and dropped her hands into her lap. Her sandwich was forgotten, her appetite having abruptly fled as she imagined a life in which she would not have her nephew to care for. "We are all not as mercenary as you make us out to be. I don't want anything from you, not now, not ever. In fact, if you wish for me to sign a contract to that effect, promising that we need never again cross paths with one another, I think you would find me more than willing to put my signature to such a document."

He sat for a moment, not looking at her, but toying with the chain of his watch, tugging at it in order to make the thing bob and spin in front of the baby's enchanted eyes. "And that is your final say on the matter?"

She nodded, then realized she would have to speak for him to know her answer. "Yes," she said, her voice tight.

"Very well." He stood up and passed George back to her. The baby kicked his legs, and shouted happily at the exchange before he began to gnaw on the edge of the watch. "You need sign nothing. I'll take you at your word. If you wish to be left alone, and swear to make no claims on us, George's family, then I will wish you a good day and leave it at that."

Sophia blinked up at him. This sudden shift in his behavior... it couldn't be real, could it? And yet, when she looked at his face, she saw that he was in earnest. And his eyes, there was not a hint of subterfuge carried in their cool, blue depths.

"Good day," she said, her voice wavering on those two short words. "Oh, wait!"

He stopped just as he began to leave the kitchen. Sophia settled George more comfortably on her lap and began to extricate the gold pocket watch from his drool-soaked fingers. "Here, you mustn't forget this."

But Haughton shook his head, even raising a hand against her in protest. "Let him keep it. It belonged to my father, to his grandfather. Perhaps it's only right that he should have it."

Sophia didn't say thank you. She didn't say anything, but listened in dumbfounded silence to Haughton's footsteps as he walked out of the cottage, shutting the door firmly behind him.

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Still editing and tweaking and working towards the best version of this I can produce! Thank you, readers, for your reads and likes and comments so far. They are more valuable than you could ever know! - Quenby Olson

ETA: You can now check out my latest Regency romance, The Bride Price, currently in-progress here on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/65174398