Page 6 of The Gentlewoman Farmer

Philip froze.

“It was just announced in the papers not two weeks ago. The engagement is new.”

He’d read many letters last night, but none of them had yet mentioned an engagement. Philip sat down hard in a pile of hay with his elbows on his knees, covering his ears with his hands.

“To whom is she engaged?” Philip asked.

“To her nearest neighbor, Mr. Malcolm Burns. A suitable match,” Mrs. Eliot continued smoothly. “Let me call your bluff. Accept your inheritance.”

Looking up, Philip replied with a shake of his head. “An inheritance laden with provisions about whom I marry, where I live, who my friends are, and how I spend my time? No. I’ve decided, and I’m not finished discussing Sophia. Tell me about Mr. Burns.”

His mother was the sort of woman who knew things. She collected information about her family, neighbors, and acquaintances. A social woman, involved in charities and clubs, she remembered everything and everyone.

“Tell me what you know,” Philip insisted.

Mrs. Eliot pressed her lips together and motioned for Philip to walk with her outside the stable, then she sat on a bench at the edge of the garden. Philip sat beside her, waiting. She was as straight and stiff as the bench that held her, but she looked at her hands when she finally spoke. “I have never met the man. I have heard only rumors, which are far too sensational to be true.”

She sighed. “He is older than you by ten years, maybe more. He was in the Royal Navy for perhaps five years. When he was discharged, he worked on a merchant ship which was reportedly attacked by pirates.” Mrs. Eliot stopped and looked at her son with a raised brow as if to emphasize how unlikely the story was. “Everyone aboard was presumed dead, including Mr. Burns. However, approximately five years after his alleged death, he returned to his family home in Cornwall with a considerable fortune.”

“That is quite a story. I presume the rumors include that Mr. Burns amassed his fortune pirating merchant ships?” Philip asked.

“Yes. It is outlandish. You know how people love drama. After reading of Sophia’s engagement, I asked around. That was the tale I was told. I do care for her, despite what you think. Since I was unable to substantiate the rumors, I assume they are not true. Sophia is clever and knows what she is about. She is engaged to a decent and prosperous man.”

“I can’t make that assumption. I’m going to see her.”

“Please, do not pursue this,” Mrs. Eliot said in her usual commanding tone. She cleared her throat and said more softly, “Perhaps I was wrong to interfere. I should have let your childhood romance blossom and fade. It has turned into an obsession.” Philip began to object, but Mrs. Eliot put up her hand. “Again, I apologize. I have lived in a world where love is a fantasy. The many marriages and liaisons which have crossed my view over the years have given me a dire view of romance.”

Mrs. Eliot seemed uncomfortable with the subject, shifting as much as her stays would allow. “However, let us come to an agreement. I will allow you to visit Sophia. If you find her about to enter an unwise marriage, try to stop her. If you are still attached to her and she to you, I will approve of your marriage. If I allow you to see her, regardless of the results of your meeting, you will agree to take your place as the heir of this family.”

Philip had never heard an apology from his mother’s lips nor seen her so defeated. “You’ll not allow me to do anything. I’ll do what I choose.”

“I will accompany you to visit Miss Worthington, then. You are my only child, Philip. I wish you happiness. If this is what you most want, I will be your champion.”

“I won’t have you near her.”

“I have missed you. You only just returned. Let me come help you.” She was pleading now.

Philip had enough of his mother’s help. She did nothing that was not self-serving. He turned his back to her.

Nearly every day since Philip had arrived in France, he’d imagined a reunion with Sophia. Once she understood what had happened with the letters, her affection for him would be restored. After all, finding the letters had just such an effect on him. Certainly, a connection such as theirs could not be destroyed by any lapse of time. She could not have written without retaining the same hope Philip did. When she learned what had happened, Philip knew Sophia’s reception of him could be nothing short of felicitous. Their future together was inevitable.

Philip said, “You will not come. I’ll send a letter informing Sophia I will be there in a few days. I had better get my things.” Philip stood and walked back to the house, leaving his mother on the bench, as straight and unyielding as a rooted tree.

Talland, Cornwall

12 September 1751

Dear Philip,

This morning, I accompanied Mr. Burns on his yacht. He has been asking for ages, but considering my misadventures on smaller vessels, I’ve done my best to avoid his boat. All went as I expected. I am afraid my love for the ocean is not reciprocated. Not long after we embarked, I became unwell. Poor Mr. Burns tried all his sailor tricks to no avail. I spread my sick from bow to stern. I am not proud of myself, but Mr. Burns was endlessly patient, bringing me biscuits and wine, teaching me to look at the horizon. He said the only way to truly get used to the sea is to sail on a long voyage. I cannot imagine being ill for days on end. Even now, hours after returning to land and having bathed, I still have the dregs of a headache and can eat nothing.

Yours always,

Sophia

Chapter 4

7 April 1753