Page 31 of The Gentlewoman Farmer

His hand squeezed hers. “I have made a great mistake. My doubt has cost me my most valuable friendship. Will you forgive me?”

“Philip, there is nothing to forgive. Our separation was not your fault. I give you my friendship freely and gladly. I am grateful you’re here and rejoice with you in all you have accomplished.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your friendship, but I want more.” He averted his gaze and licked his lips. “Sophia, I love you. More than ever. Now that I have seen something of the world, my appreciation for your goodness is greater. I admire you, having watched you in your own home. I’m astonished at all you do in one day, the way you mean so much to so many people. I feel pathetic coming to you now that you are engaged, but I cannot let this opportunity pass.”

Sophia’s heart pounded, and her stomach dropped. Straightening, she slid her hands from Philip’s and shook her head. “Philip, we haven’t been treated fairly. I am angry at your mother, furious even. But I am happily engaged to a kind man. I love you as a brother, but if you want our friendship to continue, you must let go of any hope that it can be something more.” He stared at his hands. “Please, I do not want you to leave my home without this understanding. I don’t want to wonder where you are and what you’re doing for the rest of my life. Be my friend. Be a friend to Mr. Burns. That is what I need from you.”

A steady clop-clop caught their attention, and Mr. Burns rounded the corner not thirty feet ahead of them. Sophia quickly drew away from Philip, and taking hold of her own reins, she trotted forward to meet him.

“Mr. Burns, I am so pleased to see you. We were just speaking of you. I was going to show Mr. Eliot the ocean, but now I feel like archery is more the thing.” She motioned to the groom to approach. “Thomas, will you set up the apple orchard for archery and have Martha bring us something to eat?” Sophia, overwrought with emotion, needed to expend some energy. A bow and arrow were a suitable solution.

Philip took his place behind Sophia and Mr. Burns, who rode side by side, discussing the weather and other humdrum. Philip and Malcolm were not friends, and Sophia’s request that he make a friend of his enemy rankled. Sophia laughed at something her fiancé said. Philip’s throat burned.

If his mother and Mrs. Allen found anything to substantiate the rumors of Mr. Burns’ piracy, Philip might have a chance with Sophia. The two women’s purpose in coming had been to defame Mr. Burns. When they first explained to him their plan, Philip had been irritated with their interfering, but now their search was crucial. If there were reasons Mr. Burns was unsuitable, Sophia could not marry him. And then…Philip’s mind ran over the possibilities.

When they arrived at the apple orchard, an uncomfortable silence fell. Mr. Burns studied the ground with his hands in his pockets while Sophia fussed over the food. Philip was no better. He didn’t want to talk to Sophia any more than he wanted to talk to Mr. Burns. How much of his conversation with Sophia had Mr. Burns heard?

He had not planned to confess his love and now felt like an idiot. His disappointment with the conversation left him desperate. “Why not make this a contest? The best archer wins a kiss from Miss Worthington.” He immediately regretted his words.

Sophia glared at Philip and said coldly, “I am not a prize over which to be wagered.”

“Indeed, Mr. Eliot, how insensitive. You certainly have no right to make such a proposal.” Mr. Burns pulled out a chair for Sophia and patted her shoulder.

As they ate, Sophia spoke only to Mr. Burns while Philip pushed his food around and pretended to drink his tea.

The misery could not be over soon enough. Though he did not intend to observe the engaged couple, his eyes darted to Sophia when she served a scone to Mr. Burns. Of course, he thanked her with a kiss on her hand.

Soon enough, arrows flew. Each participant was surprised at the others’ proficiency. Sophia had learned archery at Bramblefields Park, and it seemed she’d continued practicing her skill. Philip knew she was a better aim when in a sour temper.

“This is too easy,” Philip said to Mr. Burns. “Let’s take a few steps back and give ourselves a challenge.” The men did as Philip suggested. Although Philip noticed they’d forgotten to include Sophia, he didn’t care. He wanted to win against Burns.

“Best of seven?” Mr. Burns asked.

Philip nodded. They shot one arrow after the other as Sophia stood, her bow at the ready, presumably waiting to be remembered. Sophia cleared her throat and threw out a polite, “Excuse me,” but Philip was too intent on the competition to reply. Finally, she seated herself at the table where the food had been cleared.

Philip and Mr. Burns invented new ways to make the game harder. They moved the target. They stepped even farther from the mark. Finally, they settled on turning their backs to the target, counting down from three and then turning to shoot on one. Needing an arbitrator, Philip finally addressed Sophia, obliging her to count for them. She did this, tapping her foot and glowering.

“Three, two, one,” Sophia counted, and Philip spun around and let his arrow fly, hitting the red and outdoing Mr. Burns, whose arrow had landed on the blue. Both men’s second arrows landed in the yellow bull’s-eye. With Philip slightly ahead, Mr. Burns went in for the last shot, landing it respectably in the red.

As Philip drew his last arrow, Mr. Burns whispered, “Even if you land every arrow straight in the center, Sophia will still be my prize. I have won her already.”

Philip turned, and when Sophia counted down to one, released his arrow, which hit solidly in the center of the rings. Philip was the champion.

Malcolm shrugged and smiled, shaking Philip’s hand. “Good game, young man.”

Philip accepted his hand, then began pulling arrows from the target. Mr. Burns strode over to Sophia, who stood clapping in mock delight of the contest.

“Well done, Philip!” Sophia shouted to him. Philip bowed at her in acknowledgement, and Mr. Burns capitalized on the moment by taking Sophia by the waist and kissing her fully on the mouth.

Burns’ hand slid around her back, pulling her close to him. Sophia’s head tilted and she relaxed into his possessive hold. Philip’s face grew hot and then even hotter. When the couple drew apart, Philip excused himself. If he did not shut himself in the house, he would do something worse than making that foolish wager.

He planned to go to his room but found his mother in the drawing room with Mrs. Allen, so he flopped on the settee adjacent to the women.

“I am an arse.” Philip stared at the ceiling.

“Yes, dear. No one thought otherwise.”

He scowled at his mother. Mrs. Allen’s foot shot out and kicked her in the ankle. His mother only grinned.