The Firstborn

Chapter Nineteen

The rain finally ceased some time before midnight. Haughton looked up from his desk, surprised to find that the steady patter of drops against the window had stopped, and the room quickly taking on a stagnant kind of warmth, though the fire was in dire need of attention.

His chair scraped loudly on the floor as he pushed it back and stood up. He undid the complicated knot of his neckcloth in a few swift tugs, the offending fabric ending up in a crumpled heap on a nearby bookshelf as he walked towards the window nearest his desk. A click, a soft whine from the wet hinges, and he looked out on the narrow stretch of garden lit by the glow of various candles and lamps from behind him.

With both hands gripping the windowsill, he leaned forward, stretching the muscles of his back and upper shoulders while he breathed in the mingled scents of rain and lavender and greenery. Only a fortnight back in town and already he was tired of the smoke and stench of the place. For these few brief moments, after the rain had washed the air clean, he could imagine that he was back at Denton Castle, with the windows of his bedroom flung open every night and the buzz of insects and the chirp of birds announcing the start of every day.

Two weeks, he thought. He ran a hand across his forehead, sweeping his hair back from his brow. An entire fortnight in London, attending to business and meetings and Parliament and more business should have been enough to sweep all thoughts of Sophia from his mind. Bess had said she would write to her, would make all the arrangements with Sophia about future visits, about the possibility of her and George eventually making Denton Castle their home. He had left the matter in his sister's capable hands, and that should have been the end of it. At least until the time came to sort out such things as the child's education and the purchase of the boy's first horse.

Haughton tilted his head back and listened to the sounds of the house around him, a house already gone to bed for the night. Should he need anyone, he could ring and someone would rush to do his bidding at a moment's notice. But for now, he heard the ticking of various clocks, the scuttle of mice behind the moulding, and the soft creak of the building as it settled into its foundation.

What he needed...

He pushed himself away from the window and strode to the other side of the room. What he needed was to stop thinking about Sophia Brixton. There would be no happy ending there. She didn't care much for him as a person, that much was clear, though they had at least managed to arrive at a point in their acquaintance where every conversation didn't eventually dissolve into an argument. But she would never accept him as a suitor, and that was even if the notion of presenting himself as one would develop beyond the point of mere fantasy.

He picked up the brandy decanter, hesitated for a moment, and then set in down in favor of the whiskey instead. He pulled out the stopper and was about to pour himself a rather large portion when the distinct sound of a carriage pulling up to the front of the house—unusually loud against the silence around him—caught his attention. Only a few seconds later, a loud, insistent pounding began on the door, and he sent a sharp, brief curse up towards the ceiling before he left his study and walked towards the door. The pounding began again, even louder than before, as he put his hand on the knob and started to unlock the door.

"Give me a minute!" he said, his words coming out on a tired growl. He wrenched open the door to find a slender, shadowed figure standing on his doorstep. A woman, most definitely, judging by the silhouette of bonnet and gown. Behind him, the sound of his butler's steps shuffling through the foyer met his ears, and Haughton raised a hand to stay the man until he was certain whether or not he would be in need of a servant's assistance.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" Haughton glanced down at the carriage in the street. Not a hired vehicle, he could tell, even in the faint shreds of moonlight shining through the dissipating clouds.