It had calmed by midmorning, permitting them all to venture out to gather greenery. Even so, the remnants of that tiny blizzard were visible everywhere.
The landscape was blanketed in a pristine layer of snow. It covered the paths, cloaked the shrubbery, and disposed itself in sparkling heaps on the branches of the trees. So much snow glittered in the weak sunlight it almost hurt his eyes to look at it.
It wasn’t unduly cold for all that. At least, Ned didn’t think so. His blood was pumping hot in his veins at the prospect of spending more time with Sophie.
He was making progress with her at last. Little by little, he was somehow managing to talk to her. To share something of himself. Of his history. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? For him to open up to her? To show her who he really was?
It was the complete opposite of what the Gentlemen’s Book of Etiquette advised.
According to the chapter on polite conversation, a gentleman was never to discuss business with a lady he was courting. He wasn’t to overwhelm her with the tedious details of his professional life. Nor was he to sink into low conversation about personal matters.
Ned wasn’t entirely sure what qualified as low conversation, but he suspected that matters of finance would be at the top of the list. Money, it seemed, was only a suitable topic when speaking with a lady’s father.
As for what was appropriate to discuss with the lady herself, the book was rather vague.
Rule No. 25: Let your conversation with a lady be dictated by sound sense, and on the common topics of everyday occurrence.
The weather, in other words.
It was not his favorite subject at the moment. Not that it mattered. As they trudged through the woods, there was little prospect for private conversation.
Sophie was busy playing hostess. She’d gathered a cluster of ladies around her, including her sister, three of her sister’s very silly friends, the village schoolmaster’s wife, a rather toplofty viscountess, and two highly eligible society misses who Ned recognized from the London season. They giggled and talked over each other and intermittently broke into a discordant verse from a Christmas carol.
The remaining gentlemen were making just as much noise. The sight of so much snow had raised their holiday spirits to an irritating degree. They joined the ladies in talking, laughing, and carol singing.
Ned cast a glance back at Walter. In other circumstances, he’d have been one of the first to add his voice to the cacophony. Today, however, he didn’t seem to feel much like talking, let alone singing.
Ned drew back from the group to walk alongside him. Unless he was mistaken, his friend was still very much in the doldrums.
“Mark my words, Ned,” he grumbled, “we’ll end up cutting and hauling the Yule log ourselves. None of those fine gentlemen look strong enough to fell a sapling.”
“Are you complaining?”
“Just stating a fact.”
“Still in a mood, I take it.”
Walter exhaled. “She apologized to me. Can you believe it?”
“Who did?”
“Emily Appersett. Last night after dinner. I was making my escape to the billiard room and she cornered me in the hall.”
Ned grimaced. He didn’t think much of Sophie’s sister. She was spoiled and self-indulgent. And she commanded far too much of Sophie’s precious time. “You need to stay away from her.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“Knowing and doing are two different things. You’re my friend and my business partner. If you meddle with her, I’m the one who’ll have to answer for it.”
“God forbid I should cause you a moment’s inconvenience,” Walter said acidly. And then: “I have no intention of meddling with her.”
“Good.”
They walked in silence for several steps before Walter heaved a heavy sigh. His cold breath was a visible puff in the frosty December air. “What you see in this family, I can’t begin to imagine.”
“I don’t care about the family. It’s Miss Appersett I’m after.”
“You can’t have one without the other.”
Ned looked straight ahead, his jaw set. “Watch me.”
“Mr. Sharpe!” Mr. Hubbard, the vicar, called back to them. “Mr. Murray! Do join us. Mr. Fortescue and I have been having the most stimulating discussion about last Sunday’s sermon. Are you familiar with ancient Aramaic?”
Mr. Fortescue, the schoolmaster, gave them both a nervous glance.
Ned felt the sudden urge to laugh. Ancient Aramaic? Good God.