Sophia surveyed her belongings spread out on the bed before her.

All in all, it didn't amount to much. One trunk was all she had needed for both her things and George's, though she imagined that Haughton and his sister were of the sort to require an entire coach for their luggage alone every time they chose to travel.

She picked up the first of her gowns and laid it in the trunk. She knew, of course, that a maid could be called for such a task, and one who would most assuredly finish the job with greater skill and in a timelier manner, but Sophia glanced at the bell pull with reluctance. She didn't want to alert anyone to her flight, at least not until her bags were packed, her bonnet secured to her head, and George duly fed and watered for the journey ahead of them.

But it couldn't be a true escape, since someone would have to call for the carriage to be brought around, and then there would be such a fuss, she was certain...

She tossed a shawl into the trunk and followed it with a pair of gloves. It had been a foolish decision to come here, to accept Lord Haughton's invitation and place both herself and George beneath his roof. Had she honestly believed that the infuriating man had changed his ways since he'd first barreled his way into her cottage in Stantreath? And his sister had been all that was gracious and kind, and yet the entire time they'd been merely plotting another way to extricate George from her possession.

Except that George wasn't really hers in the first place, she realized, and slumped down onto the edge of the bed.

Here they were, the aunts and uncle of this child fighting over who would raise him and where he would be brought up, and all while the babe's own parents gallivanted about the country, without an apparent care in the world for the mess left behind them.

Sophia picked up another glove and slid the satin between her fingers. Despite the faint stains at the cuff and a small hole near the thumb, it had been a fine accessory in its day. In fact, it had belonged to her mother, she remembered. The cream-colored satin had matched well with her mother's ball gown of pink and ivory silk.

Those had been the days of balls and assemblies, of standing in the doorway of her parents' bedroom with Lucy, watching their mother dress for another evening of cards and music at the house of a neighbor. Those had also been the days when Sophia had still dreamed of having a season in London, of wearing new gowns and learning to dance and perhaps finding a husband to marry and with whom she would eventually start a family.

Carefully, she folded the glove and its mate and tucked them into the trunk. Six years had passed since the death of her parents. A fever, swift and inimical, had taken them both, and only a few hours separating their last breaths. Then, while still buried deep in her grief, she had endured the reading of the will, the dispersal of the house and the lands and her family's fortune, the majority of it passing to a distant cousin in Wales they had never met. And a few weeks after that? She and her sister found themselves living in a run-down cottage and subsisting on a mere fifty pounds a year.

A knock on the bedroom door pulled Sophia out of her reveries. She stood up, smoothed her hands down the front of her skirt, and sniffed. "Come in."

Bess's dark head appeared in the doorway. Her smile faltered as she eyed the clothes strewn about the room, before her gaze settled on the open trunk beside the bed. "Ah, I thought I might find you thus." She opened the door further and let herself inside. "One of the maids told me you'd been up since quite early, and that you'd begun to pack once George was taken down to the kitchen for his breakfast."

Sophia glanced down at the trunk, then at the door and the portion of wall above it. She didn't want to have this conversation now. She didn't want to have this conversation at all, but there was no way to avoid it before she and George made their return to Stantreath.

"I apologize for not giving you greater notice, but I believe George and I have trespassed enough on your hospitality. I thank you for allowing us into your home, but—"

"Does this have anything to do with what Finn said to you last night?"

Sophia opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again. Turning around, she picked up a gown from the bed and folded it over her arm, the movement giving her time to think over her next words. "So you know what he said? That one of his suggestions was to take George from me?"

Bess took another step into the room and closed the door behind her. She wore a simple white gown embroidered at the hem with small blue flowers. She wore no jewelry but for the wedding band on her finger, and her dark hair was dressed in a simple bun on the top of her head. Sophia had never seen her look so... so unadorned, and the lack of accessories and glamour only heightened the expression of pure irritation that drew creases into Bess's normally cheery face.

"I spoke to him this morning," Bess said, her tone clipped. "After I'd been dragged from my bed and told that our guests were about to leave, and after I found Finn stalking about his study like an animal caged."

Sophia lowered herself back down onto the edge of the bed. For a short while, she had allowed herself to think that perhaps Bess and Haughton had planned all of this together, to remove George from her care. But as she watched his sister walk towards the window, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her nostrils flaring delicately on every breath, Sophia realized that she wasn't the only one currently upset with Haughton and his tactics.

"I suspected something had occurred between the two of you last night after Finn returned to the drawing room, relaying some paltry excuse about your retiring early due to a headache. Of course, an inordinate amount of time in his company could make anyone think themselves ill, but when I was told that you were preparing to leave, I made a point of seeking him out." Bess turned her back to the window and unclasped her hands. Immediately, her fingers began fidgeting with the lace at the edge of her sleeves. "I demanded he tell me every word he spoke to you last night. He didn't, but I was able to glean enough from what he did say to understand what would make you want to leave so suddenly."

She walked over to the bed and sat down beside Sophia. "I will tell you now that I will never—never—make any attempt to separate George from you. I've no doubt Finn believes he has everyone's best interests at heart, but... Well, sometimes I think he takes the role of eldest brother with a touch more seriousness than it demands."

"A touch?" Sophia blurted out the words before she could stop herself. "I'm sorry, it's only... Your brother and I have never seen eye to eye about anything, and I don't think we ever will."

Bess patted Sophia's hand, while a spark of her former humor illuminated the blue of her eyes. "Don't fret. He's terrible with people, and always has been. Pappa used to say he was like a horse with blinkers on, constantly moving forward without an idea as to what was occurring beyond his range of sight."

Sophia thought Bess's description to be nothing less than an understatement of ridiculous proportions, but she was not about to correct her. "So I take it you've come here now with the intention of begging me to continue my stay at the great house?"

"Indeed, I have," Bess's smile grew. "Of course, if you choose to depart, I will not stop you. But I will, as you put it, beg you to stay. I must say I've already grown quite fond of having you and little George in the house, and I would never forgive myself if I allowed your visit to be cut short by Finn's inability to communicate with another human being."

A moment, Sophia thought, was what she needed. A moment to close her eyes and draw in a breath and approach her thoughts with a clear head and a calm demeanor. She looked towards the window, at the weak light that had yet to burn through the rest of the morning mist that clung to the gardens.

If she left, if she returned to Stantreath... what then? Haughton, she knew, would always have some sort of a presence in her life, in George's life. He was not the sort of person to allow himself to be so easily displaced, and then there was Bess...

Sophia genuinely liked Bess, and it would be a cruel thing to come all this way, dandle George and the prospect of newfound family beneath her nose before scampering back to Northumberland.

"I will stay," Sophia said slowly. "If you are in earnest, and truly do not find George or I to be a burden—"

"Oh, not at all! How could you even entertain such a notion?" Bess leaped up from the bed, clapped her hands together, and allowed her smile to broaden to its full extent. Sophia had to admit that it was a dazzling sight to behold. "Now, once this dreadful fog clears away, I think we shall have a picnic. I'll tell Cook to fill a basket with all sorts of lovely things, and George can crawl around the edges of the blanket until his knees are absolutely streaked with grass strains!"

She moved towards the door, a vision of white and lace and eyes that sparkled with delight. "And perhaps I can even convince Finn to join us. That is, if his presence with us would not reignite your desire to leave us." Her words were spoken in apparent jest, though enough sincerity underlied them that Sophia knew should she wish it, Bess would do everything in her power to keep her and Haughton out of one another's sight.

"It is not my place to hinder where your brother may come and go within his own home," she said, though she didn't say that she hoped Haughton would have some tremendously pressing business that would keep him occupied for the majority of the day.

***

Bess was proved correct in her assumption that the mist would fade beneath the morning sun, leaving a blue sky streaked with wisps of clouds. Sophia, however, had not benefited from her wish that Haughton would find himself too preoccupied with the business of the day to join them on their excursion. Balancing George on her hip, she glanced out of the corner of her eye to see Haughton trudging across the lawn behind them, a large basket on his arm and an indiscernible expression on his face.

Ahead of her, Bess cut a path through the manicured grass, a heavy blanket folded over one arm while she shielded her eyes from the sun with the other, despite the wide straw brim on her bonnet.

"How about over there?" She pointed across the lawn, towards an ornamental lake that boasted an equally ornamental island in its center, complete with an artificially crumbling folly. "Not right next to the water, of course. I wouldn't want to have to worry about George tumbling in. But perhaps on the slope behind it? The one that leads towards Mamma's rose garden?"

Without waiting for a word of assent from her companions, Bess strode onward, her skirts fluttering around her ankles. Sophia switched George to her other hip and gently pulled his hands away from the strings of her bonnet. She heard Haughton behind her, or rather, the muffled tinkle of the dishes in the basket clattering against each other as he carried their lunch for them.

She wondered why he didn't task a servant with lugging the basket halfway across the lawn, but she wasn't allowed to give the matter much thought, as George chose that moment to squeal at a swan that flapped its wings several times before taking off from the surface of the lake.

"Here we are!" Bess stopped dead a dozen or so yards from the edge of the water and unfolded the blanket before spreading it out on the grass. She kneeled down on one corner before patting the space beside her, indicating where Sophia should sit. "Place it there," she told Haughton, before her brother lowered the basket to the ground and reached up to give a surreptitious tug to his neckcloth.

Sophia hadn't spoken to him since the previous evening, when he'd so generously offered to remove George from her care in order that he might be raised in the bosom of his family.

She sighed and ran her fingers through George's hair before the babe crawled from her lap and planted himself on the edge of the blanket, the better to tear up handfuls of grass and attempt to put them in his mouth. Sophia knew she was being unkind to Haughton, no matter what Bess had said in his defense or whether he truly had the best interests of everyone at heart. But she needed someone at which to direct her ire, and Haughton, with his inability to conduct a conversation that didn't conclude with him telling her what to do, was the perfect recipient for it.

"I'm sure there's some lemonade in here." Bess began rifling through the contents of the basket, pulling out dishes of cakes and sandwiches and fresh berries with cream. She served everyone, heaping ample portions onto each plate and taking on the chore of feeding George bits of bread and fruit all by herself. Sophia picked at her food until Bess chivvied her to eat more, and Haughton spent an inordinate amount of time gazing at everything but the three figures sharing the blanket with him until his sister patted his knee and rose gracefully to her feet.

"I think George and I will go for a walk," she announced, and reached down to pick up the infant just as his nimble fingers had found their way into the dish of clotted cream. "Perhaps he'll enjoy feeding some bread to the birds, or acquiring a few fresh grass stains on his clothes!" She laughed as she bounced George onto her hip and headed in the direction of the lake, without another word to Sophia or Haughton.

Sophia sipped at her lemonade, which made her lips pucker at its tartness. She followed Bess's departure with a longing glance, but knew that she couldn't stand up and accompany her without abandoning Haughton, who had opened his home to her and her nephew.

His nephew, too, she reminded herself. And took another sip of her drink.

Haughton made no effort to speak, and neither did Sophia. She watched Bess's attempts to wrangle George and prevent him from trying to crawl towards a particularly irritable swan, her entire posture cutting Haughton from her line of sight. But when he moved, reaching into the basket for another sandwich, she was immediately aware of where every part of him was, his proximity to her, and how strange it was that the blanket on which they sat seemed smaller now that two of their company had departed for the water's edge.

"My sister says I should apologize," he began without preamble, his mouth still working around a bite of bread and smoked ham as Sophia turned her head to look at him. "I'm not good with apologies." He wiped a bit of mustard from his bottom lip with a napkin. "But in this case, I do believe she's correct. I am sorry, Mrs. Brixton."

Sophia nodded, simply because she couldn't think of what to say.

"In my defense," he continued. "This entire situation is without precedent for my family. Believe it or not, but when the previous Lord Haughton breathed his last, I wasn't left with a list of instructions on how best to deal with the matter of illegitimate children coming to light."

She plucked at a blade of grass and spun the narrow leaf between her fingertips. "Should you ever discover such a list, I'm certain it would prove useful for more than only yourself." At his questioning look, she took a deep breath, swallowed over a small lump in her throat, and pressed on. "You at least have the luxury of a title, of a fortune and connections and status to temper any sting of scandal set against your family. My sister and I, however, do not. We were already forced to leave our childhood home due to the weight of disapprobation leveled against us, and it did not take long for the rumors to follow us to Northumberland, aided by Lucy's inability to hold her tongue concerning personal matters."

Haughton nodded. Neither of them spoke for another minute, Haughton finishing off his sandwich and brushing the crumbs from his lap with an exaggerated amount of care. Sophia again let her attention wander to Bess and George, the both of them having worked their way towards a small copse of trees where Haughton's sister was holding up the child and allowing him to grab at leaves on the branches.

"My sister is ruined," Sophia continued, and blinked away the sting of tears at the corners of her eyes. "And by association, so am I. Of course, with your family's... patronage," she said, pronouncing the word with a hint of distaste. "George will have more opportunities than anything I alone would be able to provide. So, for that, I must offer my gratitude."

"Your sister..." The pause that followed Haughton's words was long enough to draw Sophia's attention back towards him. "Will she return, do you think?"

It was a question Sophia had asked herself countless times. Every day since Lucy's departure she had expected her sister to come back, to barrel through the front door of the cottage in a flurry of ribbons and lace and flounces, her chatter bouncing off the walls and the low ceilings of the place. But not even a letter marked her absence. Aside from the note Lucy had left before she'd left, Sophia had no proof at all that her sister was even still alive.

"I believe she will," Sophia said, putting all of her faith into those four words. "When she grows bored of her current situation—wherever that may be—I do believe she will find her way back to Stantreath."

"But she will not stay."

Sophia opened her mouth to argue, but faltered before she could give life to a single syllable. She knew, of course, that Lucy would not return for good, if indeed she ever dared to cast her shadow across the streets of Stantreath ever again. Should her younger sister come back, it would probably be for no more than a few months, at the most. And then she would flutter away again, attaching herself as a companion to a friend on the other side of the country, perhaps the other side of the world, for all Sophia knew of Lucy's jaunts and where they took her.

"No." She shook her head. A dull pain lodged itself in her chest and the back of her throat. She hurt for George, she realized, even more than for herself. "No, she will not. But I do wish..." She closed her mouth and lifted her chin, all too aware of the man on the opposite end of how closely he seemed to be watching her. "I fear George will not know his own mother the next time he sees her."

"I see." Haughton leaned back until he was resting on his elbows, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Sophia blinked several times at seeing him in such a relaxed pose, a contrast to the image of a staid and unyielding gentleman overseeing the cares of his family and estate. He tipped his head back for a moment, eyes closed against the sunlight, and she thought he looked younger, more handsome now that he wasn't glaring at her with a critical eye. If only for a moment.

"But is it such a terrible thing for his mother to become a stranger to him?" As if sensing how his words could be received, he sat up again, the familiar rigidity returning to his posture. "What I mean is..." He cleared his throat. "If your sister is determined not to be a fixture in her son's life, perhaps it is better if he not become attached to her. I think it would only be more difficult for him each time she takes it upon herself to disappear."