Page 70 of The Gentlewoman Farmer

“I have something to show you.” Sophia realized it was the perfect opportunity to show him the great surprise she’d been working on for him. She tugged his arm, taking him onto grass instead of the path they’d been on. They headed toward the house that had formerly belonged to Malcolm Burns.

Not two weeks after Sophia had rid herself of her uncle, she had been astonished to receive a letter from Malcolm. It was a long letter detailing his trespasses and how he’d become a smuggler. He had gone to America to avoid punishment for his crimes. Included in the letter was the deed to his house and property.

Holding the deed was like holding a hot potato. She didn’t want a gift that only served to remind her how blind she’d been to entangle herself with him. Walking into his house and possessing his things felt wrong.

But her sheep were still grazing his fields, and owning those fields solved a great problem. She could expand her farm. With a little time and Philip’s gentle persuading, she decided to use the property for a weaving facility. Consequently, she had taken the letter and deed to Jonathan Spencer, who did some investigating for her. He’d found everything to be correct and valid. There was no mortgage or other encumbrance on the property, no relatives who might dispute, and, most importantly, no trace of Mr. Burns.

Sophia had worried that if she benefited from the smuggling by receipt of the property, she might be implicated. But Mr. Spencer put her at ease. The letter Burns had written, a confession of sorts, was proof enough that Sophia had not been involved. So, she fought her abhorrence and told herself to think of it all as an apology.

Still, she could not enter his house, so she’d asked her mother and Betsy to redecorate it so it might be rented out. Though Mr. Burns’ taste had been showy, when they’d rearranged the furniture and removed some of the heavier items, the house had become quite pleasant and warm. When they’d finished the improvements, they named the house Heather Cottage. As she accustomed herself to the name and found a family to let the house, she became increasingly able to forget Mr. Burns.

The outbuildings held no such stigma. There were no memories of Mr. Burns there, as he’d never used them. Sophia had borrowed them for one reason or another on many an occasion. And since her sheep had grazed in the fields for years, it didn’t feel unnatural to keep them there.

It was there she led Philip now. She had a gift for him, something she’d been working on for months and months.

“You’re walking too fast. What’s the hurry?”

“I’m excited.” Sophia smiled.

“Do you have Burns’ bones stuffed into a shed? That would be exciting.”

“Not funny.” But she laughed. “You need to close your eyes until I say to open them.”

“All right. They are closed.”

Sophia stopped walking and looked at Philip. “I’ve changed my mind. You cannot be trusted.”

As she took the towel that covered the picnic basket and tied it around Philip’s eyes, he said, “You have known me for—what, sixteen years? And you still don’t trust me?”

“It is precisely because I’ve known you for sixteen years that I do not trust you. You peek.”

“I don’t.”

“You also lie.”

Philip chuckled. “Fine. Do with me as you will.”

“Is that an invitation?” Sophia finished tying the towel and turned him around. Running her finger down his nose, she said, “You have a perfect nose.” She outlined his lips with her finger. “Your lips are flawless.” She cupped his face in two hands. “Your chin is strong and impeccable.”

Philip’s lips curved into a smile. “My eyes are also very nice, but I find I’m enjoying having them covered.”

Sophia felt his breath on her as she moved closer into his arms, enjoying his embrace.

“Mm. I love this surprise.”

Sophia drew away. “You made me forget. This isn’t the surprise.”

“I might be disappointed, then. It was just getting good.”

“Come with me.” Sophia took his arm and led him to an old greenhouse that lay on the far end of the outbuildings of Heather Cottage.

She opened the door and led Philip inside.

“Are you ready?” Sophia asked, kissing him on the chin, the cheek, and finally on his lips. Then she put a finger under the towel and pulled it off.

The building had floor-to-ceiling windows on all sides but one, where Sophia had removed a wall to add a fireplace. She’d arranged a grand easel in the middle of the room with low cupboards and shelving for Philip to store paints and canvas.

“A studio for my love. You may paint here at your leisure, every month of the year. And it’s close to where I’ll be once the weaving facility opens.”

Philip looked around the room in wonder. “It’s perfect.”

“Yes, like your nose,” Sophia said.

“Like you.”

“I am only perfect with you by my side. Or even closer.” Sophia stepped into his arms and put her arms around his neck. “What will you paint first?” Sophia asked.

“Paint? Alone? I was thinking we would make something together.”

“Mm.” Sophia drew her hand down to his cheek and leaned in, accepting his invitation.