Page 62 of The Gentlewoman Farmer

“She and Mary tried to help you.”

“Did they? I thought their venture to see Mr. Smith was for their own entertainment.” Sophia sighed and threw some weeds in a basket. “If they were trying to help, where are they now?”

There was no answer to that question.

London, England

16 June 1753

Dear Sophia,

I hope you’ll pardon me for telling you again how much I miss you. It’s only that I look at you every day as I paint your likeness on this vast canvas. It reveals some of what I love about you. You fashioned your world into a place of splendor. I’m not sure you realize how powerful you are. At Worthington Farm nature thrives, and people are happy. That is a rare accomplishment. I want to step into the painting and be a part of your sphere.

I’ve known you as a clever playmate, persistent and imaginative. However, until I saw you at Worthington Farm, I didn’t know you as well as I thought I did. There is more to you, and I wonder at all you are.

You will laugh at my sentimentality, so I will turn to business. I’ve had great success with the barrister, and my painting is near completion. A day or two more and I will be on my way to Worthington Farm.

All my love,

Philip

Chapter 28

5 July 1753

On a hot summer’s day, Philip returned to Cornwall. His trip to London had taken all six weeks he’d predicted. While there, his mother and Mrs. Allen had spent their time advocating for their orphanage, committing patrons, and assessing the needs of the facility. Philip had never seen his mother so happy, but he’d been busy with his own enterprise.

He visited the barrister on several occasions and received the letter he hoped would allow Sophia to run her farm without interference from her uncle. He also finished his painting, and he considered it his greatest achievement yet. His patron, Lord Elston, agreed. They would put it on display at the next exhibition, and Philip was already receiving offers for it. His only regret was that Sophia was not with him. He owed his success to her. She was an inspiration—and not just to him. Her tenants loved her, and she roused them to loyalty and industry. She was both generous and honest in her praise of them.

Philip had written to Sophia, telling her about his success, but he’d not received any letters in return. He was anxious to see how she was.

They arrived at Worthington Farm at around noon. Philip asked the ladies to stay in the carriage while he found Sophia. He fiddled with a small package he brought for her as he waited for Betsy to come to the door, barely keeping himself from throwing it open. For the last six weeks, he’d anticipated this reunion, but he didn’t know how she would receive him. Was she still angry with him? Did she want him as a friend, or was there the possibility of more? Philip would soon know. Betsy released the door and threw her hands over her mouth at the sight of him.

“Sophia is no longer here. She lives with her uncle now.”

Philip’s smile fell and his stomach plummeted. “Does she? That piece of rot!” He slapped his thigh.

“But she’s here often enough,” Betsy hurried on. “She may be here now. I’ve been in the yard with the laundry, so I don’t rightly know where she is at present. You’re welcome to look around.”

Philip entered the house with his package. The pink silk ribbon that held the paper in place had flattened during the journey. He tightened and arranged the bow so it would lay just right for Sophia.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Betsy went to an entry table and pulled a letter from a drawer. “This came for you. It looks like she sent it to the wrong address and the post returned it here.” It was from Sophia. He set the package down on the table and picked up the letter. “A few letters addressed to Sophia came in from London. Master Charles is quick to take the post. If those letters were from you, she may not have received them, hot-tempered as Charles is and holding a grudge.” Betsy walked off toward the kitchen, leaving Philip more anxious than ever to find Sophia. If she hadn’t received the letters he’d written her, she’d have reason to be cross with him. Though perhaps it didn’t matter. She had made it clear she thought of him only as a friend, and he wanted to show her he was indeed her friend. He hoped to offer real assistance in ending this farce her uncle was playing.

But first, he would read the letter. Standing in the hall, he broke the seal. He had to read it through several times. The words he found on the page before him were hard to reconcile with what she’d told him on the way home from the fair.

She’d said, “You found a way to live without me. You’ll do just fine and so will I.” Those words had stuck with him and become his mind’s refrain. He spent all his time convincing himself that he would be fine.

Yet, he was back. He could have sent her the letter from Lord Malton, though he now understood how ineffective that would have been. He’d come back to try for her regard one last time. And now, after reading her confession, he began to hope things might be put right. He might find that Sophia wanted him as much as he wanted her. He must find her.

Philip went to the library, thinking that was the most likely place she’d be. Instead of finding Sophia, Charles sat at her desk, his clothes rumpled and hair awry. Philip clenched his fists.

“Good afternoon, Charles. Have you seen Sophia? Is she here?”

“Naw, she left. And you’re too late.” Charles put his stockinged feet on the desk in front of him and leaned back. With his hands behind his head, he said with a smug smile, “I saw the letter you left for her. She’s living with my father, and I’m in charge here. No London barrister can fix that.”

“What did you do with that letter I left her?”

Charles shrugged and looked carelessly out the window, leaning further back on the chair until only two legs touched the floor.