Page 28 of The Gentlewoman Farmer

When the party stood to enter the drawing room, Mr. Burns said, “I must depart early this evening, Miss Worthington, Mrs. Worthington. I am overtired from an arduous day’s work and will not make good company this evening.”

While not entirely sorry about his departure, Sophia felt the sting of his retreat, knowing it was her other guests and not his fatigue driving his decision. She and Mr. Burns usually spent comfortable evenings together.

Malcolm bent to kiss Sophia’s hand and, still holding her fingers, bowed to Mrs. Worthington and the rest of the company.

Defeated, Sophia joined her other guests in the drawing room. To avoid conversation, she sat at the piano and played while Mrs. Eliot and Aunt Mary conversed on the settee. Mrs. Worthington had drawn herself away from the others and was enthusiastically stabbing her embroidery cloth while Philip sat in a chair with a sketchpad and charcoal.

The music soon drowned out any other thought or feeling that busied Sophia’s mind. She was consumed in her song, and so was disconcerted when Philip spoke close to her ear. He had drawn his chair very near.

“I am aware that this evening did not go as you wished. I apologize for my part in it. I will make it up to you with a story and picture.”

Not quite willing to engage, Sophia nodded, accepting the apology.

“I told you I went to Europe. Did you know I visited Venice? The city is built on wooden piles that were pushed into the water, past the soft mud and right into the hard clay beneath.”

Sophia widened her eyes in acknowledgement, not missing a note, while Philip drew on his sketch pad.

“Over one-hundred islands and canals make up the city, and therein lies its magic. If Worthington Farm were part of Venice, your front door would open to the canal rather than a gravel walkway. When you went to visit Miss Spencer, you would hop into a gondola instead of onto a horse and sail off, landing in her watery front yard. The architecture is all arches and domes, and there are so many bridges. Venice is the color of a sunset and is covered in red geraniums, which are said to deter mosquitos. Also, as they are famous for glass. You would notice intricate cut glass windows.”

Sophia listened with pleasure to Philip’s description. As her song ended, she turned toward him, and he presented her with a sketch of Venice. She took it and showed it to the others. It was not only impressive as a skillful portrayal of the city but also for the feelings it evoked. Serenity, warmth, even happiness lifted off the page and into Sophia. While Mrs. Worthington questioned Philip over certain technical aspects of the drawing, pointing out perspective and balance, Sophia gazed with wonder at the drawing long after her mother had returned to her embroidery.

Still awake hours past dinner, Sophia reviewed her numbers. If the season went well, she could pay the debt she owed Malcolm before they married. Otherwise, a piece of land would have to be sold. She would not enter her marriage on unequal footing.

She rubbed her burning eyes and stretched. The only light in the room came from a single candle on her desk, but bright stars called to her from the window. Too tired for more work, she pushed aside her ledger in favor of the night sky.

There it was—Vega. She and Philip had been mapping a constellation on their last evening together at Bramblefields, and Vega was the brightest star in that constellation. The sky was the only thing that remained the same, both at Bramblefields and at Worthington Farm. She always wondered if the sky held the same memories for Philip as it did for her. Strange that he was in her house at that moment, and she could wake him and demand answers to all that she’d wondered about over the years. She would ask why he came now instead of a year ago when he'd said he would and why he hadn’t responded to her letters. She smiled ruefully at this thought, knowing she would never have the courage to question him. She was afraid of the answers.

Mrs. Eliot was also sleeping somewhere in the house. While Sophia no longer felt intimidated by Philip’s mother, as she had when she was a child, it was hard to like her. She was a horrible woman, dictatorial and interfering. Worst of all, seeing her reminded Sophia of her last night at Bramblefields.

Mrs. Eliot had excused Philip and Sophia from the drawing room earlier than usual, so they’d snuck outside and onto the battlements, the best place for stargazing. Through open library windows, the murmur of Aunt Mary and Mrs. Eliot’s conversation had drifted outside.

“You must be joking! Sophia has not been ‘throwing herself’ at anyone.” Aunt Mary sounded livid.

Sophia’s stomach flipped, and she pulled her hand out of Philip’s grasp.

“I disagree. She is old enough to have realized what a match Philip would be for her, that a marriage with Philip would raise her position in the world. I should have put a stop to her visits years ago. I deeply regret the attachment between them.” Mrs. Eliot had never sounded more condescending.

“It would be cruel to separate them. Shouldn’t you discuss it with your child before making decisions for him?”

“He is too young to choose, obviously, or he would not have fallen snare to your niece. He will marry a title.”

The conversation took on a darker, lower tone and could no longer be heard. Philip was as still as Sophia. After a moment, muffled footsteps, a door slam, and then silence.

She flinched away from Philip, wanting to run back to her room.

Philip took her hand. “We could get married! I’m a dunce! I had never thought of it before.”

“Are you mad? Did you hear none of your mother’s words? She hates me and would never consent.”

“I heard the word marriage. I come into my independence at twenty-one and then we can wed.”

“What are we talking about?” Sophia became mean in her hurt. “And who said I want to marry you?” She turned away, ready to retreat.

“Sophia.”

Ah, how she remembered him calling her name. Even now, it squeezed her heart. His voice had held a new note of tender pleading. She’d stopped to hear him out.

“All I know is you are the one I want to be with. In the summers, I am my best and happiest. Not because I have fewer lessons or because the weather is fine. Not even because we like to do the same things. It’s because of you. You are wise and sincere and lovely. You are strong and determined and intelligent. You are my best and favorite companion and friend. There is no one I love more than you.”