At her insistence, a footman placed a chair outside the door of her father’s study. She, in turn, was placed upon the chair. She waited until the footman had retreated before she knocked on the door.
“What is it? I gave instructions not to be disturbed.”
“Papa, it is Sophia.”
A lengthy silence followed. Then, a surly and quite unreasonable response.
“Go away.”
Sophia’s eyebrows pricked up.
“That is easier said than done,” she remarked.
Another pause.
“If you found your way to my door, you can manage your way back.”
“The footman has left. I am alone here. Would you like me to scream for help? Or shall I drag myself across the floor so that you may have peace?”
There was only a brief hesitation this time before the sound of footfalls signaled that her father was approaching the door. He pulled it open and glared at her.
“What do you want? I thought you would have eloped with Mr. Mannerly by now.”
Sophia ignored him and peered inside the room.
“That settee looks far more comfortable than this chair. Would you mind?” She lifted her arms up to him to be carried.
He looked at Sophia, then at the settee, and finally, cast a glance down the corridor. For an awful moment, Sophia thought he was going to fetch a footman himself to take her away. Instead, he reached down wordlessly and collected her in his arms, grunting a little as he did so.
“You’ve grown heavier,” he complained as he carried her across the room.
“I’ve grown up.”
“Yes,” he muttered, “that seems to be the problem in general.”
“You would rather I hadn’t?”
He put her down a bit more roughly than the strong, young footman would have done. Then he pushed his palms against his lowered back and grimaced.
“I’m getting old.”
“So am I, Papa. But,” she said cheerfully, “in some ways, I have my whole life ahead of me.”
Her father scowled at her comment. “Well, then, why aren’t you off living it? And take Bess with you so that I don’t have to endure my last daughter abandoning me when I least expect it.”
“You really are impossible!” Sophia cried. “No one is abandoning you. Now stop being so petulant and come sit beside me.”
When her father did not respond, she placed her hand on the seat next to her and added, “This is a welcome space. Why don’t you make the most of it?”
He obeyed—though not with good grace—and sat, facing forward, his hands pressed upon his knees as if he were ready to spring up again at a moment’s notice.
“I’ve let you in,” he grumbled. “I’ve carried you. I’ve sat. What else do you command?”
“Don’t be churlish, Papa,” Sophia scolded. “Mama would never have stood for it.”
“Your mother is gone.”
“That,” declared Sophia, “is not where the problem lies.”
