Thanks for your patience while I've been updating my original stories.
Paladin94
Sophia burst through the front door, kicked it shut with her foot, and bounced around the yard in glee that had threatened to make her burst. She had no idea where the bubble of energy had emerged. It was merely there, waiting to be discovered.
No. She continued to bounce around, a smile spread across her face and her eyes tightly closed. She knew precisely where it had come from. The thought left her suspended, completely oblivious to the world around her as she danced about.
"Are you completely mad or merely possessed by a rabbit?"
Philippe's harsh tone instantly stopped her dance of joy. She swung her arms back and forth until she recovered her breath and her senses.
"Oh."
He could barely contain his smile of amusement, which surprised her. "Oh, indeed. What in the world are you doing out here?"
"Nothing." She clasped her hands behind her back. Besides enjoying the weather, the taste of a kiss, and the memory of a man whose voice captivates me. "Nothing at all."
His eyes narrowed. "I suppose I would be overjoyed to be away from Aunties glare as well," he said under his breath. A smile tugged at his lips. It had been such a long time since they'd share a wicked thought, but in an instant she was reminded of a boy who would steal a pie from the window and deliver it behind the barn where they would both stuff themselves.
"I haven't seen her this morning."
"How fortunate."
He seemed more agitated than playful now and she frowned.
"I shall avoid her for the remainder of the day. If you wouldn't mind."
"Running away with Citrine?" He crossed his arms. His expression was unreadable, which worried her. The glimpse of playfulness she had seen was gone. Once again he was her stern older brother, a man who knew exactly what was appropriate for her and all other women in the world. Pig-headed fool, she thought.
"No." She drew out the word as though it would buy her time.
Realization flashed across his face and his lips thinned. He didn't need to say a word. She knew exactly what he was thinking, how threatened he felt to lose control of her.
"Sophia."
"Would you care to join us?" She attempted to keep her voice light but knew it was soaked in regret.
He looked mildly surprised by her invitation. "Where do you intend to travel?"
She looked at him with curiosity. He seemed hurt that she had begrudgingly offered him a place in their carriage but he didn't argue or press.
"The Turro Estate," she answered.
His lips parted. "Why on earth—"
"Please, don't ask me." Her hands clenched and relaxed. "There is someone…you should ask Monsieur Belmont for yourself."
Well, that certainly wouldn't lessen any speculation. She silently berated herself and pursed her lips.
"I see." He remained outwardly cool. "And what time do you intend to pay a visit?"
"I have no idea."
She half expected him to ask if she knew anything at all. Instead he nodded and gave a barely noticeable shrug.
"Perhaps I will join you if there is time."
He turned and walked away, seemingly frustrated by their conversation. She couldn't tell if he had given her permission to ride with Monsieur Belmont or if his words meant that he would not go and neither would she.
-o-
The door slammed shut and Erik nearly jumped out of his skin. He dropped his pen, which caught on his pant leg and stained the brown wool black. With a sigh of aggravation he turned from the piano.
"Monsieur."
"My apologies," Philippe said. "The wind must have slammed the door."
He made no reply and twisted around, scribbling notes on the paper before they were forgotten. It had been a long time since he'd felt compelled to write music, and in the stillness of the house—which had seemed like a rarity as of late—he couldn't deny his muse.
"I understand that you and my sister have planned a…journey."
Erik's brow furrowed but he didn't turn to face Philippe. The formality of his butler's words gave him pause and he wondered why he hadn't called her Sophia. His sister sounded unduly harsh and impersonal.
"Journey?" He kept his back to Philippe and jotted down additional notes merely to preoccupy himself.
"To the Turro Estate."
"Hardly a journey," he said under his breath.
Philippe didn't make a sound and Erik paused, wondering if he'd left or if he stood over him with a knife in hand. He turned and found Philippe staring intently at him.
"The two of you?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"The two of you will travel together."
"I had intended to travel alone."
Philippe's jaw twitched. "I see." He took a step forward. "May I ask why you intend to pay a visit to Monsieur Turro's estate?"
"No," he answered flatly.
Philippe's nostrils flared and he swallowed hard. "It is best to leave well enough alone, Monsieur."
Erik nodded, realizing Philippe's concerns. "Their son's holiday to India has nothing to do with my desire to visit the Turros. If you care to travel, I would like to discuss with you how you intend to run my property."
Philippe's expression softened but his posture remained rigid. Looking at him made Erik uncomfortable.
"I shall run it however you desire, of course."
Erik gathered his papers and stood. "If it were run the way I desired all the trees would most certainly die. I am not one to tend trees and fruit." He glanced at his hands. "My passion is music."
"A fine passion."
Better than my sister, he half-expected Philippe to say. Instead he offered a thin-lipped smile.
"I have no musical appreciation. To me it is noise, to you a masterpiece."
"And to me an apple is an apple, a grape is a grape."
"Precisely. I respect your talents." Philippe appeared somewhat relieved. "But if you would care to discuss your property and the finer details…"
"I would like to be aware of what you will do and when. And, by the end of this week, I expect to see record books of previous years and what profits can be expected."
"Of course. I shall have everything sorted out and delivered to your room tomorrow morning."
at what time do you expect to have your carriage brought around?"
Immediately, he thought to himself. He wanted to see her face, if only from a distance. Then it struck him that perhaps it would be better if they remained at a distance. His shoulders hunched, his teeth gritted together.
"I have not yet decided." His stomach tightened with uncertainty. "Later in the day."
"Very well, Monsieur. I apologize for the interruption."
-o-
Philippe walked from the parlor and slapped his hand against his forehead. He hadn't said a word of what singed his mind. All of the questions he'd started with remained unasked and unanswered.
"What do you intend to do with my sister?" Or, more importantly, what have you done to her that she's hoping about like a mad rabbit?
He knew what the smile on her face meant. Or what it could have meant. Damn it, it better not have meant what he thought. Frustration ebbed, then threatened to overflow. It had little to do with Monsieur Belmont. It could have been any man and he would have been fraught with aggravation.
He wanted to see his sister happy. When he thought she would marry Karl Turro he could easily see himself close to her side. Karl would be constantly away on business. Unsavory business, he thought bitterly. But still, he would be needed, he thought. She would still need him, much as their parents had needed him.
But now she wouldn't need him. Years of caring for his younger sister and dying parents, then nearly two years of keeping Sophia safe while they were alone—and then him vowing to her that she would always stay with him, no matter what happened to her sight.
He stared at the wall. She didn't need him to help her and Sabine had denied his help, which stung worse than anything else he could remember. He'd wanted to tie her up like some barbarian, fling her over his shoulder, and march her to safety. Precisely where the danger emerged he didn't know. He could deliver food to her door and fuel for the house and she could remain there without much inconvenience. But leaving her inconvenienced him from seeing her daily.
The frown on his face settled deeper. Perhaps Sophia had never really needed him and perhaps Sabine had never wanted him to offer to rescue her. Where was his place? What were his duties?
He needed a way to occupy himself. He was exactly like his aunt in that manner and the notion grated his nerves. She was old and bothersome. He was younger and still bothersome.
He wanted to see Sophia happy. But he didn't want to face the loneliness of his own life. He wanted to hate her for it, for occupying the time in which he could have spent courting, flirting, enticing women. Not that he was old, at least in terms of numbers.
Thirty wasn't ancient. True, he was no longer a young man of eighteen who considered every woman he passed as a possible rendezvous. He'd settled, calmed. Or allowed the years to slip away. The lines no longer seemed clear between a decision he wanted to make and what was made for him. He'd governed Sophia's life, never his own.
"The trees need me," he whispered bitterly. Cold, uncaring, yet reliable trees in an orchard that had yet to bloom. Not even the trees needed him.
He turned and found Erik in the doorway, silently watching him. He had no idea if his employer had stared for quite some time or if he'd merely reached the door in the same heartbeat that Philippe had cared to turn.
Without a word he stormed past. Angered, frustrated, and pitying only one person. Himself.