“Consider it a Christmas gift.” She began to object, but he anticipated her. “You needn’t fear that I’ll infer some kind of promise or commitment from it. What happens after the holidays is still entirely your choice. But while I’m here in Derbyshire, let me worry about your father’s ambitions for the estate. You can concern yourself with more important things.”
“Such as?”
“Good Lord, I don’t know. Decorating? Singing carols? Gathering mistletoe?” He looked in the direction that the others had gone. “Speaking of which, we seem to have become separated from our party.”
Sophie followed his gaze. “So much for our faithful chaperonage.”
“Let’s hope the vicar is doing a better job of it.”
“Shall we try and find them?” she asked.
“If you like,” he said. “Or we could search out some mistletoe for ourselves.”
Her cheeks were already flushed from the cold, but he could have sworn they turned a little redder. “There was some hereabouts last Christmas,” she admitted. “Emily and I found it by the—”
Her words were interrupted by an ungodly shriek. They both turned in the direction from whence it came. Another high-pitched shriek heralded the arrival of one of the aristocratic young ladies they’d left behind to gather pine boughs. She ran toward them through the woods, her skirts clutched in her hands.
“Miss Appersett! Miss Appersett!” She came to a sliding halt in the snow in front of Sophie.
Sophie moved to steady her. “Miss Tunstall, what on earth is the matter?”
“It’s your sister, ma’am,” Miss Tunstall panted. “She’s fallen on the ice and hurt her leg. She may have broken it. Or worse. Lady Barton mentioned amputation and Mr. Fortescue nearly fainted. Mrs. Fortescue said I was to fetch you straightaway.”
Sophie’s face drained of color. Ned moved to place a reassuring hand on her back. But she was already charging off, Miss Tunstall trotting at her side. “I must go to her,” she said. “Tell the others—”
“Damn the others.” Ned strode after her, ignoring Miss Tunstall’s scandalized gasp. “Here. Take my arm. It won’t help your sister if you injure yourself as well.”
Sophie looked at him blankly for a moment. Then she nodded, seeming to bring her emotions under some semblance of control. “Yes. You’re quite right.” She took his arm, her fingers pressing tight into his sleeve as they retraced their steps back through the snow.
They’d gone no more than a few yards when they crossed paths with Walter Murray. He was carrying Emily Appersett in his arms.
“Not to worry,” he said as he emerged from the woods. “Just a twisted ankle. She’ll be fine once we get her back to the house.”
“Oh, thank heaven.” Sophie reached out to clasp her sister’s hand. “My poor dear. Does it hurt terribly?”
Emily gave a weak smile. “It’s better now.”
Ned’s gaze flicked from Emily’s face to Walter’s. His friend’s foul mood appeared to have vanished. “How did it happen?”
“Overexuberance,” Walter said. “A failing in the very young.”
“I’m not so much younger than you,” Emily retorted. “Not so anyone would notice.”
“Whatever you say, brat.” Walter adjusted his hold on her. “Tighten your arms around my neck, will you? I’d hate to drop you in a snowbank.”
Emily clung to him fiercely. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Ned chanced a look at Sophie as they followed in Walter’s wake. Her face was drawn with concern. Whatever was going on between Walter and her sister clearly didn’t sit well with her. “It will be all right,” he said quietly.
Sophie met his eyes. “I hope so, Ned. For everyone’s sake.”
The next two days passed in a blur of holiday revelry. While Emily rested on the sofa, a knitted blanket draped over her legs and her bandaged ankle elevated on a satin pillow, the rest of the party decorated the house with greenery, ribbons, and tinsel. The gentlemen hauled in the Yule log and the ladies gilded acorns and artificially frosted holly and ivy leaves with a mixture of alum and boiled water.
The following afternoon, Mrs. Sharpe joined them in the drawing room. She took a seat not far from Emily, her knitting needles soon clacking in a steady rhythm. “You’d be wise to stay off of it until the new year. Or risk walking with a limp for the rest of your days.”