‘Pooh! If you think I am in any way subjecting myself to your present condition, you can think again, especially after Phoebe’s considerable, attention-seeking experience…’
Josephine raised her eyebrows at her outspoken younger sister, who trailed off sheepishly. She and Matilda had made up almost the moment she’d returned to Knightswood, but she was also conscious Lord Huntingly hadn’t yet come up in conversation.
‘Oh Jo, if you think I’m going to bemawkishabout my impending confinement because Phoebe ran into a spot of bother, think again!’ Sophie exclaimed. ‘This one will be no trouble, just like all the rest.’ She patted her stomach affectionately. ‘The midwife believes it a boy from the way he’s challenging my dress fastenings, and I know that would delight Dominic, but I’m so very weepy I think it must be another girl. Anyway, it’ll be your turn next!’ She smiled mischievously. ‘And I do hope you take baby Huntingly to the park a few times before you start them on the entire works of William Shakespeare!’
‘It’s never too soon,’ Josephine retorted, pulling a face as they all laughed.
She gazed around at their animated faces, wishing she could bottle the afternoon before the weekend celebrations were upon them. Her return to Knightswood had been beset with failure– both to persuade Thomas to delay the betrothal announcement, or to discover any evidence in George Pellham’s letters. They made frequent references to theunfortunateorregrettablecircumstances that had led to his situation, but nothing more– though she was still slowly making her way through her second read. All of which had left her with an approaching betrothal ball and an impending sense of doom.
‘You expect me to throw away the first decent offer you’ve had in three years, a match you yourself secured, because of a suspicion?’
Thomas’s words echoed in her ears as she watched her sisters chat. None of them knew how much she suspected, and now the rumours about Huntingly had somehow been lost amid talk of betrothal gowns and coming-out announcements.
‘I told Thomas I’d suffer through this whole affair if he would but reinstate the steeplechase,’ Matilda interjected sulkily, ‘but he was just… churlish.’
‘Dearest, you know Thomas will only spend where he deems entirely necessary,’ Phoebe placated. ‘As it is, Sophie was lucky to obtain a dress allowance for you both which must have been like?—’
‘Getting blood from a stone,’ Sophie muttered, rolling her eyes. She pushed herself onto her feet before treading across to the armoire. ‘But this Parisian lace will be so worth it! Madame Montmartre worked through the night on yours, Jo,’ she added wistfully, letting the fine material run through her fingers. ‘It really is the loveliest betrothal dress I’ve seen, with sleeves worthy of any romantic heroine!’
‘Well, I need all the help I can get,’ Josephine laughed, ‘unlike our dear, lovely Matilda who could wear riding breeches and a shirt, and still have a dozen suitors fighting over her first dance.’
‘Don’t tempt me!’ Matilda growled, making them all laugh.
‘You’re perfect just as you are, Josephine Fairfax,’ Phoebe chastised in her old way, ‘and Lord Huntingly is extraordinarily fortunate to share a future with you. The stars don’t always shine clearly but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there, and I pray your union brings you every blessing, for the Lord knows you deserve them.’
‘Hear, hear!’ Sophie applauded admiringly. ‘You haven’t delivered a speech like that since we producedFrankenstein’s Monsterwith an all-female cast.’
‘The peak of my career,’ Phoebe laughed.
‘When you all told me being the monster was the best part,’ Matilda grumbled.
‘Well, you’re no monster today, dearest,’ Sophie chuckled, taking over from Betsy, who was attempting to fasten a row of tiny silk buttons on Matilda’s dress.
‘There!’ she exclaimed as her experienced fingers made light work of the fastenings. ‘Now you look like the most sophisticated debutante of the season!’
Josephine smiled at Matilda’s scowling reflection, all ivory silk, French lace, gigot sleeves and wild moorland hair– some things would never change.
‘Which means you must be the most sophisticated bride!’ Sophie smiled, turning back to Jo.
* * *
3rd April 1825
My dearest Eliza,
Thank you for your letter and news of our grandmother, which I read with a truly heavy heart.
Life with the regiment is far from easy, but it is nothing compared with the pain and worry you must have endured over these past few weeks. Indeed, my only solace is that you were with our grandmother throughout her fever, and at her passing. There is so much I wish I could say to her, but instead all I ask is that you mark her resting place with a bunch of spring buttercups. They were her favourite, and when she looks down, she will know I am thinking of her now and always.
I pray the typhoid sweeping the village spares the lives of any more friends and family, and that the angels bless you and Mother with strong, good health. Trust me when I say that I cannot imagine how I would live without you, Eliza. You have always been my guide and strength, even through the darkest times, and I know that, like me, you regret it all.
I beseech you take care until such time that I can return.
Your fondest brother,
George.
Josephine sat bolt upright in bed as she reread one of George’s last few remaining letters to Eliza. Her first rapid read had elicited nothing consequential at all, indeed most had read along very similar lines, enquiring about the health of his sister and family before sharing a little about life in the regiment. She certainly hadn’t noticed any mention of Eliza’s culpability, until now.
