The Firstborn

Chapter Twelve

Haughton stood by the fireplace, keeping well out of the way while his sister fussed and fretted over the table and the placement of the napkins and whether or not the glasses displayed any evidence of not having been buffed to a brilliant enough shine.

They were to eat in the morning room, which had been cleared of most of its furniture so that a dining table—one much smaller than what currently stood in the actual dining room—could be brought in for their evening meal. Bess had claimed it was all to make Mrs. Brixton feel at ease. Haughton wondered why all the work necessary to make a guest feel at ease was doing nothing but making him feel decidedly ill-at-ease in his own home.

"What do you think?" Bess came up beside him, the jewels at her ears and throat glittering in the firelight. "Is it too much? Oh, I do believe I am overthinking this! And my gown!" She brushed her hands down the sapphire blue and silver of her dress. "The brown silk would've been a more suitable choice, but I do wish to make a good impression on her. Will she bring the child down to dine, do you think?"

"I think." Haughton began, before his sister could begin another litany of spoken questions and worries. "That we should have employed a nurse of some kind for the boy. I do not think I am being callous when I admit to not looking forward to the prospect of dining with a creature who has not yet learned that food goes in his mouth and not on the floor."

"And how would you have presented such a situation to Mrs. Brixton?" Bess said, looking appalled. "The moment she arrives, you snatch the babe out of her arms and hand him off to a complete stranger?" She rolled her eyes heavenward. "Really, Finn. No wonder you have yet to find a woman who will agree to take you on as a husband. Now," she said, and gestured towards the table. "Will it do?"

Haughton ran a finger beneath his neckcloth and glanced back towards the fire instead. "I do not understand why you feel the need to go to all this trouble to impress a woman who isn't even the mother of David's child."

"Because I want her to like us," Bess stressed. "I like her already. She carries herself well, it is readily apparent that she loves the boy, and from the little I conversed with her, I can already sense that she has a good, steady head on her shoulders. And she really is quite lovely," she added, with a brief look in Haughton's direction. "Have you noticed?"

A noise issued from his throat that was neither an assent nor a denial. What did it matter if Mrs. Brixton was lovely? And what, especially, did his sister care what his thoughts were on the matter of the woman's beauty?

But before she could attempt to interrogate him further, the door to the room opened, and in stepped Mrs. Brixton herself, and only Mrs. Brixton, Haughton noticed, marking the absence of any infant on her hip.

She hovered near the door for a moment, her gloved fingers pulling at one another in an apparent state of anxiety. Her hair had been braided and neatly pinned about her head like a crown, and her dun travelling gown of earlier had been exchanged for a pale green frock, trimmed with white ribbon in what Haughton assumed had been an attempt to infuse some new life into the tired gown.

Her gaze found him first, then darted quickly away and instead settled on the fireplace behind him. He wondered what she had seen about his person that brought such a brief look of disapproval to her face, but before he could muse further about why her disapproval should bother him, Bess stepped forward and reached out to their guest with open arms.

"Oh, Sophia!" she began, instantly diverting Mrs. Brixton's attention from the fireplace and Haughton himself. "You look much improved now that you've had a chance to settle in, and that color is quite becoming on you! Now, you must forgive me for not telling you earlier, but I decided on a smaller, more informal setting for this evening. After so much travel, and with the care of little George so much on your mind, I hope you will forgive my presumption in thinking this would be a more comfortable atmosphere in which to dine."