Page 8 of The Gentlewoman Farmer

“Maybe this is a dream.”

They were so close. Sophia couldn’t move. His closeness consumed her. They had sat like this before, but as Sophia watched him look at her, the intimacy of the moment consumed her, and all else faded. Like the setting sun, inexorably sinking into the horizon, two pairs of lips closed the few inches between them. A first kiss.

Mrs. Worthington cleared her throat, bringing Sophia back to the present moment. Sophia continued quickly, “That was the summer we fell in love. You know, a first love. I suddenly found him very attractive, was even a little shy in front of him. Well, for a minute or two.” He had been unexpectedly and irresistibly handsome. Would his smile still take her breath away?

“Toward the end of that summer, we overheard Aunt Mary and Mrs. Eliot talking about us. We didn’t know they had noticed what was going on between us. His mother insisted I was after Philip for his wealth. She disapproved of a match between us and hoped Philip would marry a title to match his fortune. Aunt Mary and Mrs. Eliot quarreled, and we left the next morning. I have neither seen nor heard from the Eliots since.

“Not until this morning.” Sophia stopped and turned toward her mother with a flush of panic. Gripping her mother’s arm, Sophia breathed, “What do I do? How shall I behave? Do I show my anger? Treat him coolly, or embrace him without umbrage? Mother, I seethe when I think that after not hearing from him for three years, he comes now with barely a warning.

“When Father died, I wrote Philip. I asked him to come. I needed his support. We always understood each other, and it would have been a great consolation to have even a letter from him. He didn’t send a single line.”

“This is more complicated than I expected.” Mrs. Worthington patted Sophia’s arm. “Will this make things awkward with Mr. Burns?”

“Mr. Burns?” Sophia had forgotten about her fiancé. “Oh, no. Philip and I are friends. Whatever I may have felt for him at eighteen has surely evaporated. If our relationship had not ended so abruptly, I’d be excited to introduce him to Mr. Burns. Philip was a childhood infatuation, nothing like what Mr. Burns and I have.”

“Uniting the two estates will be both practical and profitable. And it will get your uncle out of the picture.”

Sophia ignored the irony that touched her mother’s words. “The question is, how do I behave toward a person whom I’ve not seen in years? It is painful that Philip never wrote to me. But this unexpected reunion may be the last time we are together. I hardly expect to see him after I marry, and I don’t want to perpetuate a quarrel.”

“Well, then.” Mrs. Worthington spoke with the sureness of a decision made. “You will welcome him and enjoy a reunion with an old friend. I am certain your discomfort will dissipate, and since it is not likely you will see him again, there is no reason to dig up old wounds. How long does he plan to stay?”

“I do not know. It’s quite selfish of him to arrive with so little notice and without indicating when he plans to depart. It is a very busy time for me.” Sophia’s insides twitched, and she had the illogical desire to run off. “I wonder what spurred the visit. Regardless of his rudeness, I’ll take your advice. I will forget our past, entertain him, and say goodbye.”

Throughout their walk, clouds had gathered, and the sun cast a bleak light over the garden. “We should get inside before it rains.” Sophia led her mother around a corner to find Uncle Thorpe’s carriage parked in front of the house.

Sophia groaned. She had enough to do without dealing with him.

Talland, Cornwall

14 April 1751

Dear Philip,

There is such a drizzle and so thick a cloud cover that I don’t think the fog will lift today. I’m anxious for spring to come in full. The trees are blossoming, but it seems the flowers are blooming in defiance of the weather rather than because of it.

Today, I will tell you all about Mr. Burns. He is my neighbor and is helping me enormously with the farm. Indeed, I do not know what I would have done without him. He was a sailor. Come to think of it, he is rather like the ocean. If I were to describe him in colors, he’d be green, blue, and grey. He is good at listening to me and gives sound advice. Mostly, we talk of the farm and his business. I don’t think he reads much, but he is well-traveled.

I’m distracted by my thoughts of color. You, Philip Eliot, are yellow. Bright as the sun and every bit as warm. You bring life and happiness. I could use the ray of your light on this grey day.

Yours always,

Sophia

Chapter 5

7 April 1753

There was no sign of Uncle Thorpe inside the house. When asked, the housemaid explained she’d seen him arrive, but he hadn’t come to the door. The maid thought perhaps Squire Thorpe had gone to saddle a horse. Sophia checked the stables.

“Will, did my uncle come by?” Sophia asked her groom.

“He did, ma’am. Borrowed a draft horse. He wanted to take your Clarissa, but I’d not let him.”

“Good for you. Do you have any idea where he’s gone?”

“I believe he went to the fields, Miss.”

“Would you ready Clarissa for me, please? I’ll need only a moment to change.” After changing into her riding habit, Sophia stopped by the library for a copy of her father’s will.