Page 29 of The Gentlewoman Farmer

Although they had practiced kissing, “love” had remained unmentioned between them. His eyes bound her to him, and she could not move.

“Will you marry me?” When Philip’s question remained unanswered, he started over. “I mean, I realize marriage is not a possibility now, but someday I will be free to marry whomever I choose. We could be betrothed. Secretly.” He spoke hesitantly, almost questioningly, and Sophia was enchanted at his lack of confidence. How could he not know what she felt for him?

“I will think about it and tell you in the morning.”

If she could change one thing, it would be those words. She hadn’t told him she loved him, or how she thought of him all through fall, winter, and spring of every year, or how she was lonely for him and could never be happy without him. Anything they did together was better than everything she could do on her own.

Because she never spoke to Philip again.

Early the next morning, Mary had ushered her out of the house. All she’d managed was a short note, a promise to write him, tucked into the book Philip was reading.

Remembering that night and their early morning departure proved wholly unsettling. Even now, she felt the comforting warmth of his hand in hers, the stir in her stomach when he’d asked her to marry him. A memory that had once been humiliating had turned sweet. She rubbed her palm over her chest, wondering if the longing inside her was a memorial to the past or if she yearned for Philip still. Vega held its position in the sky, but everything else in Sophia’s life had shifted.

It was time for bed, and Sophia needed sleep. She forced herself out of the library and ascended the stairs to her room.

Thoughts of her past with Philip remained with her as she bowed her head to ensure she didn’t trip over her dress walking up the stairs. She glanced up, startled to see the very person of whom she was thinking. He was just outside her room, and she didn’t see him until she was a few steps away.

“Good evening, Sophia. Did you notice how bright the stars are tonight? What kept you up so late?” Philip leaned against the wall at the top of the stairs.

“Oh, hello,” Sophia said, glad that the light was too dim for him to read the memories in her eyes. “What brings you to this part of the house?” Sophia suspected he was delivering one of his letters.

“I am giving myself a tour. I hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s very late for that,” she said.

“True, but the lateness of the hour gives my quest for secret passages more ambience. Don’t worry. I’m not going through the one from your mother’s room to the pantry.” When they were children, Sophia had told him that the staircase was useful for sneaking a treat and for disappearing. However, her parents soon discovered her trick, and the door to the pantry had been locked.

Philip continued. “Where there is one, there must be several. This is just the house that could be laden with secrets.”

“There is so much nonsense in what you just said that I cannot decide where to begin my rebuttal. This is nothing but a sturdy farmhouse, no aura of mystery anywhere. And the secret passage we have is sadly well known. But I’m sorry I have neglected my duty. I should have escorted you on your hunt. Tomorrow, perhaps…” she trailed off, regretting her busy schedule. “Actually, I have an engagement in the morning, but perhaps Betsy will take you. She will be more thorough than I.” Philip’s smile broke a little, and she quickly added, “But I am free in the afternoon. Let’s take the horses out.” Riding was easier and required less conversation.

“All right. I will paint in the morning and meet you in the stables at one o’clock.” Philip nodded.

“Until tomorrow afternoon, then. Goodnight.” Sophia moved to pass him, but he took hold of the banister, blocking her way. They stood facing each other on the landing, Philip looking as surprised at his boldness as Sophia felt, but he did not drop his arm. His expression turned earnest.

“Sophia, every day I have wanted to see you, to be by your side, sharing the same experiences and…” His voice trailed before he began again. “Now that I am here, that desire realized, something is preventing us from renewing our friendship.”

She took a moment to gather her thoughts. “I’ve missed you, too. And desired your company. I can barely believe you stand here in front of me.” She reached toward his chest, as if to feel the reality of his presence. “There was a time…” She lowered her eyes from Philip’s to hide the emotion on her face. The sun had long ceased shining, but the candles lighting the stairs were enough by which to see. Her bedroom door lay only feet away. If only she were behind it. But there was no escaping this conversation. “Let’s sit.”

Sophia had not calculated for the narrow staircase. There was no avoiding the heat of his body along her side. She wouldn’t try. She rested her head on his shoulder, so she could speak without being seen. It was an old habit. She’d used it on her father and then had adopted it with Philip whenever she had something distressing to tell him. Philip’s arm twitched, but his body was stiff.

“When my father died, your presence felt essential. I was desperate for you, and for a long time after, I felt your absence almost as profoundly as the loss of my father. Gradually that faded into wanting you and wondering about you. But now that you are here, there is a chasm that divides us. Too much time has passed, too many experiences.” Sophia had regained control of her emotions and raised her head to look at Philip. “I have overcome adversity without you when I thought I could not. I’m not the person I was. I feel older, and the few years since we last saw each other seem like fifty. I’m glad to see you now and to know that you are well and happy, but I don’t think we can rebuild what has been lost between us.”

As Sophia finished and felt calmer in the telling, she sighed and began straightening away from Philip, brushing her skirts and preparing to stand. But Philip put his hand on her arm.

Candlelight flickered over Philip’s face. “I am sorry. If I had known about your father, I would have found a way to come.” His voice was raw. “I’m sorry you were here alone to comfort your mother, to make sense of your new circumstances. You held it all together with no one to comfort you. You cannot imagine how much I regret my ignorance and my absence.”

At the time of her father’s death, Sophia had consoled her mother and reassured the servants, the tenants, and the neighbors. When family and friends had expressed their sorrow, she’d found herself comforting them rather than the other way around. She’d held her back stiff and head high against pitying glances and whispers that, at last, the Worthingtons would lose their property. She pushed her grief deep inside, covering it with the determination to show everyone that she could manage on her own, that she and her mother would stay in their house and run a profitable establishment.

“Sophia, I know you must have suffered, taking everything upon yourself.” As Philip drew his arm around her, repeating her very thoughts, she melted into the first comforting embrace she’d received since the passing of her father. She nearly collapsed, overwhelmed at the emotion that had sat, so long, quieted within her. His touch was familiar and natural and erased any passage of time. She hadn’t known that part of her had been waiting for this. She let go of her sorrow and didn’t try to stifle her cries against Philip’s shoulder, no longer caring to hide her pain. Philip held her up, coaxing her to release the anguish she had endured alone.

Talland, Cornwall

17 January 1751

Dear Philip,

The sun shines again. At last. I feared it never would. This is not a metaphor to describe my mood. I write of literal sunshine. The weather has been so terrible the last week that I began to think wind and rain would plague me until my life’s end. I really should explain that the sun shines through clouds. It’s not a clear day. In fact, the sky has that dark grey blue that threatens rain. I took my chances and went outside. It’s still cold, but I don’t mind as long as it’s not wet.