Ned’s brow creased with understanding. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“He would have been my father’s heir. When he died…Papa was grieved, but he was also quite angry. He raged at everyone.” She reached to open the next trunk, her fingers hesitating over the latch. “Do you think sons are more valuable than daughters?”
“Not to me they wouldn’t be.”
She gave a slight smile. “That’s easy to say now, but what if all you had were daughters?”
“I would thank God for them.”
“Would you?”
Ned’s expression turned grave. “My parents lost several children before I arrived. Most of them lived no longer than your brother. Healthy children are a miracle, whatever their sex. One must be grateful for them.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “How little I know of you.”
“There’s not a great deal worth knowing. Not by society’s standards.”
“Isn’t there?”
“I have neither birth nor breeding. I never attended Oxford or Cambridge. I’ve never toured the capitals of Europe or met the Queen. Some might argue that I’m not even a gentleman.” His blue eyes were as solemn as ever. “I’m just a man, Sophie.”
“No ordinary man could have made of his life what you have. Not if he’d started where you did.”
“That was only ambition and a bit of luck.”
“I think it must have taken very hard work,” she said.
He smiled. “That, too.”
Her lips tilted upward, returning his smile briefly before she opened the lid of the next trunk. Inside were crumpled newspapers and a few brittle remnants of dried-out greenery. She cleared them away, revealing the shimmer of silver foil and gold tinsel beneath.
“Is that what you were looking for?” Ned asked.
“Yes, precisely.” She rummaged around. “But the ribbons aren’t here. They must be in that one.”
Ned stood and opened the trunk he’d been using as a makeshift seat. A wild tangle of red and green velvet ribbons sprang up from within. He attempted to lift one of them out, but it was inextricably knotted to its brethren.
“Oh dear.” Sophie bit her lip. “What a dreadful tangle.”
“Do you still want them?”
“Yes.” She moved to rise. Ned reached out his hands to assist her. She took them gratefully, allowing him to draw her to her feet. It was the first time their bare hands had met. There was a warmth to it. An intimacy that made her stomach quiver. As if a hundred butterflies had just fluttered their wings. Did he feel it as keenly as she did?
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m afraid I’ve gone stiff from kneeling on the floor.”
“And collected all the dust from it besides.”
“Have I? What a nuisance.”
He gazed down at her, his large hands still engulfing hers. “I’ll carry those trunks down for you, shall I?”
“You needn’t. We can just as easily summon a footman.”
“I’m happy to do it.” He gave her hands a gentle squeeze before releasing her. “We’ll need to get started disentangling those ribbons.”
Sophie brushed off her skirts. “We can leave them with the older ladies and gentlemen while the rest of us go out to gather greenery tomorrow. It will give them something to do.”
“You don’t include the older guests?”
“In cutting down greenery and dragging back the Yule log? Everyone is welcome, naturally, but there are always a few who’d rather stay behind. Some of them can’t abide dampness and chills.”
“My own mother for one.”
“And mine,” Sophie said. “They wouldn’t get much enjoyment tramping about in the snow, searching for mistletoe.”
“Does mistletoe grow hereabouts?” Ned asked.
She nodded. “Far out in the woods.”
“You’ll have to show me,” he said softly.
Her heart thumped hard. “If you like.”
Ned thrust his hands into the pockets of his heavy woolen coat as he walked along with the rest of the guests who’d chosen to brave the elements. There were about twenty of them altogether, not counting the servants. All bundled up in coats and scarves and fur-trimmed cloaks as they made their way out into the woods behind Appersett House.
The weather had grown chillier overnight. He’d been awakened by an icy draft seeping in through the chimney. The windows of the guest bedroom he occupied had been covered with frost. When he’d peered out through the encrusted glass, he’d scarcely been able to see for the snowfall. It was a blur of white, not only falling but whipping round in little flurries