Sophie gave a quick glance around before turning on her sister. “Emmy, hush! This is no laughing matter.” She caught her arm and marched her away from the stairs. “Are you telling me that you’ve made an assignation with Mr. Murray?”
Emily tugged her arm free from Sophie’s grasp. “How dastardly you make it sound! We’re only going out to collect some Christmas greenery.”
“Christmas greenery my great aunt Sally. Emmy, have you no care for your reputation?”
“Why? Is Mr. Murray a rake? Will he ravish me at the first opportunity? Really, Sophie. The man’s a guest here, he’s hardly likely to—”
“He doesn’t have to do anything. The mere hint of impropriety would be enough to—”
“Pish-tosh. It’s all perfectly innocent. A mere holiday flirtation.”
Sophie made an effort to gentle her voice. “Flirtation is not a game, dear. Not when you’re an eligible young lady and he’s an eligible man. You mustn’t raise his expectations.”
Emily gave a scornful laugh. “As if I would lower myself! He’s a tradesman, Sophie. A rough fellow of absolutely no account except for money. Besides, just because Papa said you must marry beneath you, it doesn’t follow that I must. My prospects aren’t so grim as yours.”
Sophie saw no humor in her sister’s words. She didn’t suppose she was meant to. “I’d no idea you had such fixed opinions on the subject.”
“Someone in the family must uphold the old standards. With you haring off to Fleet Street of an evening, I daresay it must be me.”
“Lord help us all.”
Emily’s delicate features transformed into a scowl. “What are you doing up anyway? Not going down to the kitchens, I hope. Mama has already sorted the menus. And we none of us want any of your little economies this Christmas. We’re meant to be enjoying ourselves.”
A gentleman cleared his throat. “Forgive the interruption, ladies.”
Sophie froze, and Emily along with her. They turned in unison to find Mr. Murray standing near the servant’s door that led down to the kitchens. He was dressed in a heavy wool topcoat and trousers. His head was uncovered, his carroty hair slightly disheveled.
Sophie wondered how long he’d been there.
“Mr. Murray,” Emily said in tones of exaggerated relief. “There you are. I’ve been waiting an age.”
Mr. Murray’s mouth curved into a wry smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Have you? How unfortunate.”
Sophie regarded him with reluctant sympathy. He’d heard everything, of course. Every hurtful, judgmental word. “We’ll be going out to gather greenery with the rest of the guests tomorrow, sir. You’ll wish to join us then, I presume.”
Mr. Murray inclined his head. “I would at that, Miss Appersett. No point in going out twice.”
Emily opened her mouth to object. “But—”
“And you’ll be returning to your room, won’t you, dear?” Sophie held Emily’s gaze. “It’s too early to be tramping about out of doors. I’m sure you agree.”
Emily’s eyes narrowed. She glared at Mr. Murray a moment before turning the full force of her fury on her sister. “Very well. No one’s up at this hour but servants and common people anyway. I should have known—”
“Emmy,” Sophie said, a warning note in her voice. “Not another word.”
Emily clamped her mouth shut. She cast another dark glance at Mr. Murray before spinning round in a swirl of fur-trimmed velvet and flouncing up the stairs.
When she was well out of sight, Sophie turned to Mr. Murray. She wouldn’t apologize for her sister. Not to anyone, least of all a man who was practically a stranger to her. Still…
“She’s very young,” she said.
Mr. Murray’s lips quirked. “And very decided in her opinions.”
“It was wrong of you to arrange to meet with her. I can’t imagine what you were thinking.”
“Do you know,” he said, “at the moment, I can’t remember myself.”
“You mustn’t do so again. If anyone were to find out, the consequences wouldn’t be to your liking.”
“In other words, I’d end up married to the little viper, and she to me.”
Sophie’s lips compressed. “She’s not a viper, Mr. Murray. She’s a willful child, that’s all.”
“She’s nineteen. Scarcely a child. But I won’t argue with you. There seems little point in doing so. Your sister has the measure of me—and of Sharpe, too. I only wonder that you don’t feel the same. Or is it that you hide it better?”