Page 1 of The Gentlewoman Farmer

Chapter 1

14 March 1753

Sophia rushed to straighten the papers that cluttered the floor, blown off the desk by a breeze from an open window. Uncle Thorpe was talking to her, but she’d learned a long time ago she needn’t pay him much attention. He spoke mostly to listen to himself. Once the desk was organized, she glanced at her uncle. Not being an agile man, he struggled to turn his body toward her as he droned on.

Sophia walked across the library to close the window against the draft. Uncle Thorpe twisted his body to follow her movements. He sat in a wooden chair facing the fire, his left arm near Sophia’s desk. The chair was too small for him. Sophia smiled to herself.

“Do you understand me, Sophia? A look at your books has proven to me that you are running this establishment with ignorance. I am forced to intervene.” He slammed the stack of papers he’d been perusing onto the desk.

Mussing my desk again, Sophia thought, irritated.

“I apologize, Uncle. What did you say?” Sophia had endured countless lectures of this sort since her father’s passing a year ago, but her uncle had never truly interfered with her farm. A look into her books, as he said, would take a great deal more than the ten minutes he’d spent with them. Furthermore, Sophia was distracted by the clock. She had a meeting with Mr. Burns in an hour and needed to estimate the upcoming wool shipment.

Uncle Thorpe’s eyes were tiny, but he narrowed them until Sophia wondered if he could see her at all. She found a chair and sat facing her uncle.

Thorpe spoke louder and slower. “It is time for me to take over your farm entirely. The farm—the sheep and the land—belong to you, of course, and their value and proceeds, minus my management fee.” Uncle Thorpe shifted the cane that lay over his knees to the floor and leaned closer to Sophia. “I’m beginning to think this was your father’s intention in leaving the farm under my supervision.”

Mr. Thorpe was pompous, self-satisfied, and lazy. He had no idea how to run her farm, and she would do anything to avoid his meddling. Hoping Uncle Thorpe didn’t recognize the sarcasm in her smile, she said, “Uncle, how attentive you are! I thank you for your solicitude. However, I am sure there is no need.” Sophia tilted her head in what she hoped was a demonstration of concern. “You already have so many things to trouble yourself with, and we get along very well here. You forget, I managed the farm throughout my father’s illness.”

“It is not what I like, Sophia. I am uncomfortable having you and your mother alone with no one to protect you. I feel responsible for you and cannot continue traveling from my house to yours.” Uncle Thorpe paused to catch his breath and mop his dampening forehead. “Women are not fit to manage estates, even small ones. Furthermore, it is time you married. Meanwhile, you and Charlotte will come live with me and your aunt at Greenbrooke.”

Sophia stilled, repeating in her mind the outlandish suggestion. She blinked several times and shook her head. He could not be serious. Uncle Thorpe hadn’t called for four months, though he lived only seven miles off. Why this sudden interest? Did he need money?

“I don’t understand. You want to remove us from our home? You wish to run the farm yourself? Wouldn’t that add to your responsibilities? Uncle, pardon my boldness, but you know nothing of sheep.”

Thorpe didn’t immediately respond. He only reclined with a huff into his chair.

Sophia stood and began pacing before him. “No. That would be a mistake, a ridiculous idea. I cannot agree that this would be my father’s wish. Taking my mother from her garden would be a great blow. It’s unthinkable. It was salvation to her, a lifeline when my father died. It still is.” Sophia turned, clasping her hands in front of her as she spoke. Stopping before Uncle Thorpe, she asked, “Why do you wish such a thing? Is this your way of convincing me to marry, or do you think me incapable of managing my farm?”

Her uncle cleared his throat. “Both. You need to marry, and the farm should be run to its full potential. There is plenty of space for your mother to garden at Greenbrooke. My wife’s company will restore her. All will be well—better than well.”

Sophia glared at her uncle, whose soft flesh rolled over itself, his body helplessly drooping over the sides of his chair. Until today, Uncle Thorpe’s inflated opinion of himself and his pretentious manners had amused Sophia. Looking at him now, adorned in the absurd white wig worn in imitation of King George, she despised him.

Uncle Thorpe overstepped today, and Sophia didn’t know why. Urging her to marry, yes. Threatening to take her farm, that was new. Sophia clenched her teeth, her jaw ticking. “I am an excellent manager of my property. I have three years’ experience and will turn a profit this year despite having inherited my father’s debts. My tenants and servants trust me and are well provided for. I am, therefore, astonished you see something lacking.”

Matching Sophia’s tone, Thorpe replied, “Utilize your fields more fully. I want them all planted, and I want your sheep shorn by April. Most of all, I want you married.”

Uncle Thorpe’s stern words and puce face should have warned Sophia, but she was aware only of her own anger.

“It is not ideal to plant every field. The sheep need to graze. Furthermore, some ewes are lambing late this year, and I do not wish to combine shearing with lambing. I am sure you understand—or perhaps you do not.” Sophia could not keep the condescension out of her voice. “Your steward takes care of all that for you. It may be more appropriate for me to advise you.”

Sophia resumed pacing but startled when her uncle’s cane repeatedly thudded against the floor. She turned toward her uncle, who was sitting forward in his chair, leaning heavily on his cane, forehead perspiring.

Uncle Thorpe’s shouting further surprised his niece. “Sophia! I cannot worry about you and my sister. As squire, I have vast responsibilities, responsibilities that go well beyond my estate. Your little farm will be an inconsequential addition to my concerns.” Uncle Thorpe sat back as if holding his own bulk was a struggle. With a heavy breath, he continued, “Come, let us not quarrel about this. Perhaps when you marry, you can resume care of the farm with your husband. Though you will more likely go to your husband’s home. This will be a good transition for you.”

Sophia paced three steps then turned, three more, then turned, waiting until she could trust herself to respond. She had never imagined Uncle Thorpe would wish to exercise his full rights over the estate.

“If I become engaged, plant all my fields, and shear the sheep by June, will you allow us to stay on the farm?”

“Certainly, my dear,” Uncle Thorpe said with the blasé air of one who had won an argument. “If you can take proper care of your resources and find a husband, I see no reason you should not stay where you are.” He folded his arms complacently over his soft middle.

“Not simply stay here, but I will continue running my farm. Without your help.”

“Yes, of course. Though, your aunt would like you as a companion.”

“You are both very kind to honor my mother and me with that generous invitation. However, I feel responsible for the tenants and servants with whom I work. I’m sure you understand.”

“Do not trouble yourself. They will do as well without you.” This consolation did nothing to soothe her misgivings.