Page 51 of A Holiday By Gaslight

“The gas works can explode for all I care,” Emily retorted. “And you—” She turned on her sister. “How long have you known?”

“Not long,” Sophie said. “Papa told me only yesterday.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I would have done after Christmas. There was no point in ruining your holiday. There was still the ball to get through.”

“You sound just like Mama.”

Sophie gave her sister a faint smile. “I shall take that as a compliment.”

Walter crossed the library to join Ned as the sisters talked. His advance was cautious to the point of exaggeration. “You’d like to punch me in the face, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d like to disembowel you with a teaspoon.”

Walter winced. “Ouch.”

“Didn’t I warn you?”

“Have a heart, Ned. Some things can’t be avoided. You’d know what I mean if you’d ever been in love. It’s not something you can tally on a ledger.”

Ned’s expression tightened. Walter didn’t know a blasted thing. It was true, the morning she’d jilted him, Ned had said he didn’t love Sophia Appersett. He’d only admired her. Only thought her a beautiful creature. But things had changed. His feelings for her were…

Good God, he didn’t know what he was feeling. But it wasn’t some giddy insensible emotion. It was deeper than that, and far finer. Something that warmed his blood and made his chest tighten whenever he saw her. Something that made him want to kiss her as he had in the alcove. To hold her safe in his arms for hours, inhaling the soft fragrance of her rose-scented hair.

More than that, it was a compulsion—an all-consuming desire—to make the way smooth for her. To alleviate her burdens and see her safe and well.

Perhaps he was being too pragmatic, too reasonable. After all, romantic love didn’t work in terms of plans and logic. It made one reckless and foolish. Willing to take risks and damn the consequences. By that measure, perhaps Walter was right. Perhaps he wasn’t in love with Sophia Appersett.

But by heaven, he loved her.

The realization nearly knocked him over.

“I’ve fancied her since we first met,” Walter admitted, oblivious to Ned’s epiphany. He looked across the room at his intended. “The little termagant. She’s led me a merry dance.”

Sophie and Emily were standing beside the very row of bookcases where Ned had first kissed Sophie.

“Are you happy for me?” Emily asked.

“Are you happy, Emmy?”

“Terribly happy.”

“Then I’m glad of it.” Sophie embraced her sister.

Emily smiled. Her voice sank to a poor apology for a whisper. “Didn’t I tell you I’d save you if I could?”

Ned’s gaze jerked to Sophie’s. His heart thumped hard.

“You’re free now, Sophie,” Emily said. “You needn’t sacrifice yourself to save the family. I’ve saved it all on my own.”

“Oh Emily, I—”

“You don’t have to thank me. I’ll consider it thanks enough when you resume your life as it was before. You were happy then. Happy and free. And now, you shall be so again.”

Very slowly Walter turned to face Ned, his mouth open as if poised to offer his apologies—or his condolences.

“Don’t,” Ned warned.