by Erica Vetsch
Sophie jerked her head up, then relaxed, realizing Charles was talking about the Shearwater.
“Penny, can you look after the girls and Miss Mamie?”
“Yes, sir. We’ll be fine. You take care of Sophie.”
Thea skipped down the deck, her hair and dress damp with sea spray, her eyes alight. “That was the best fun. Too bad you got sick, Sophie. When can we go again?”
Sophie let the conversation go unheeded. It took all her concentration not to embarrass herself by bringing up her lunch. She couldn’t recall ever feeling so unwell. How could it be that only a few moments on the water had hit her so hard?
“Come, my dear. Let’s get you back on land.” Charles helped her rise and put his arm around her waist. “You’ll feel better soon.”
Miles leapt to the dock to assist, and Sophie soon stood on the weathered planks. Her head still swam, and her legs felt like jelly.
The girls chattered and clattered toward the staircase, but Charles remained by Sophie’s side. “Don’t rush. Take your time.” He rubbed circles between her shoulder blades. “And don’t feel badly. Did you know that Admiral Lord Nelson, England’s greatest naval commander, suffered from seasickness?”
Sophie sent him a skeptical look as she concentrated on breathing deeply and trying to stop the rocking feeling in her head.
“No, it’s true. For the first three or four days of a cruise, he was wretched. Kept to his cabin and let his first officer run the ship.” They made slow progress down the pier and across the sand. “When we get back to the house, you can have a lie down with a nice cold cloth on your forehead. You’ll feel better soon.”
“I cannot believe I get seasick.” She blew out a breath as they mounted the stairs. “I had no idea. We are a mismatched pair if ever there was one, aren’t we?”
Once they reached the house, Mrs. Chapman met them at the door. “Lady Sophia? Are you poorly?”
She tried to smile to reassure the housekeeper.
Charles tightened his hold around her waist, and she couldn’t say she minded. It felt better to have someone to lean on. “Mrs. Chapman, will you brew some ginger tea and bring it to Lady Sophia’s room?”
“Of course. I prepared everything as you asked. I’ll be along directly.”
Sophia didn’t have long to puzzle over what they were talking about. Charles turned left at the top of the stairs, guiding her toward his own rooms. Her steps slowed, and she sent him a bewildered look.
“Don’t worry. I’ve nothing untoward in mind. But as my wife”—he paused, as if pondering how odd that sounded—“you will be expected to sleep in the mistress of the manor’s room. Mrs. Chapman reminded me this morning that the room was unaired and had yet to be cleaned, but she assured me she would see to it.”
Of course. Mrs. Chapman would not know that theirs was anything other than a real marriage, and appearances must be maintained.
When he opened the door, she sucked in a breath. “Oh, it’s lovely.” She wished she didn’t feel so weak. Perhaps in a while she would be able to truly appreciate the beauty of this room.
“Come lie down. I’ll open the windows so you can get a fresh breeze.” He tugged on her bonnet ribbon and lifted the hat from her head.
The bed had a set of stairs, and he held her hand until she lay on the pale-blue coverlet. Overhead, the canopy of ruched blue cloth surrounded a golden medallion. Charles disappeared, and Sophie closed her eyes. Her stomach began to settle and the weakness to bleed out of her limbs.
He returned with a pitcher of water and a cloth over his arm. Sitting on the side of the bed, he dipped the cloth, wrung it out, and placed it on her forehead. “I’m an old hand dealing with seasickness.”
“Have you ever suffered it yourself?” He had taken her hand, and she liked the way hers nestled in his. She hadn’t felt so protected and cherished since Rich went away to war.
Silly thoughts, since theirs was more of a business arrangement than anything. Well, not business exactly, since they were friends, but it was far from a grand romance. Still, it felt nice to have someone take care of her for a change.
“I never have. Not even in the roughest seas. I remember once in the Caribbean we hit a hurricane. Half the crew had their heads in buckets before it blew itself out.”
Her queasiness returned with the mental image.
He chuckled. “I’m sorry, my dear. That was thoughtless of me. You’ll feel better soon.”
Mrs. Chapman arrived with the tea tray, and Sophie scooted up, holding the cloth against her head, then switching it to the nape of her neck. Charles held the cup, but she took it from his hands. “I can do it, thank you.” She sipped the hot, fragrant liquid, letting the ginger tea hit her stomach and waiting to see what the reaction would be.
It stayed down, warming her from within, and she dared another dose.
“There you are—you’ll be right in no time.”
“Shall I serve dinner in the formal dining room tonight?” Mrs. Chapman asked.
Sophie shook her head. “I don’t believe I want dinner. You and the girls can eat in the kitchen again, and we’ll try the dining room tomorrow.”
Late that night, as she lay in the beautiful bed, fully recovered, she pondered her circumstances. She had never intended to marry after losing Rich, but now that she was a wife, she had never considered that she would spend her married nights alone. She had agreed to this arrangement, but she felt an odd yearning now that the deed was done. Her heart longed for something that seemed just out of reach. A marriage of convenience meant … forever being celibate. Never being loved. Never being a mother.
Not that she had ever imagined bearing children to anyone other than Rich, but Rich was dead and so were her plans and dreams with him.
The captain had his own plans and dreams, and they didn’t involve fathering children with his wife, nor even living much of the time with her.
She would have to content herself with mothering the girls.
Restlessly, she slid out of bed and padded to the window. Brushing aside the curtains, she looked out on the blackness of the sea. Clouds had rolled in, and the moon and stars hid. The sea looked like ink, and it was hard to make out where the land ended and the water began.
Far out on the edge of the cliff, though, a dot of light moved. She narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. Someone with a lantern. The light swung in a tiny arc, matching the pace of the person who carried it. Who would be out walking in the middle of the night?
Was it the captain? Was Charles as restless as she, contemplating their unconsummated marriage?
“Lord, did we do the right thing? I felt at such peace when I made the decision. It seemed an answer to my prayers. But I have to wonder—what does a God-honoring marriage look like? Is it enough that we’ve come together to parent these children and look after this property?”
The light disappeared, and she jerked. Either the man had headed down the stairs to the dock, or he’d fallen off the cliff.
CHAPTER 10
ONE WEEK LATER, Sophie didn’t know whether to bless or curse the arrival of the mail. For days there had been no mail at all, and now a deluge. She had known her mother would have a response to the letter Sophie had sent telling her of her marriage to the earl, but this was ridiculous.
“You are the most vexing child. What of my house party plans? I’m only thankful the invitations hadn’t gone out yet. Still, at least this time you’ve managed to snag an earl, but Rothwell is not a well-considered name at the moment. It has only recently come to my attention that his cousin tried to kill the Prince Regent! This is what I get for allowing you to travel. I knew in my bones this escapade to the coast was a mistake.”
The letter went on for some time, but it was the final sally that made Sophie wince.
“Your brother will be there in a few days. He has some business that takes him to Sussex, and he will journey over to see for himself what you’ve gotten into. And you should prepare a room for me. I will
come myself in a few weeks, when I’ve gotten over my outrage. Cilla and Charlotte send their regards.”
Marcus was coming?
And then Mother?
She blew out a long breath, bracing herself for the onslaught of her family. She set aside her mother’s letter to see what Charlotte and Marcus had to say. Charlotte had started first.
“Trust you, darling, to leap into matrimony. Are you all right? I hurt to think that you got married with none of your family in attendance, not even Marcus, who would have walked you down the aisle. I wish you every happiness though. Do write and tell me everything. Your letter of announcement was much too terse. I need to know you are well.”
The day before the wedding, Sophie had fired off a missive to everyone at Haverly, because there hadn’t been time for a longer epistle. And she had kept it brief and sent it at the last moment, because she hadn’t wanted anyone to come haring down to the coast to talk her out of it.
Marcus came over very big-brotherish.
“Soph, you bedlamite. What are you thinking? If I were there, I don’t know if I would turn you over my knee or pull you into a hug. It’s just as well I made inquiries into Captain Wyvern. At least I know the caliber of the man whom you’ve married. However, such a bold move means I must come and see for myself which way the wind is blowing. Expect me shortly after you receive this letter. And for mercy’s sake, don’t do anything else rash before I get there.”
She set her mail on the corner of the desk. Her brother’s chiding made her feel warm and secure in his love.
Charles read his mail at his desk.
“Good news?” she asked. One of the letters had been from the Admiralty.
“Yes and no. Admiral Barrington has taken my need of an estate steward to heart, and he’s sending along an applicant who should arrive within the fortnight. One Alistair Lythgoe, former naval first lieutenant. Barrington assures me he is just the man for the job. I hope so. After speaking with the local solicitor, Will Owens, I’ve decided a man from outside the district would be a better fit.”
“That’s good, right? So what is the bad news?”
He tossed the pages down on the desk and stood quickly, as if he couldn’t bear to remain seated. “Parliament has rejected the naval blockade of Elba. They say there is no danger of Napoleon escaping his exile, and the war has already nearly bankrupted the nation. There is no need for the expense of a blockade. Therefore, there is no command awaiting me in Portsmouth.”
He went to the windows, staring out to sea. Hands clasped behind his back, his shoulders straight, muscles rigid, he embodied frustration.
No naval command? What did that mean for them, then? Would he stay here at Gateshead? Or would he take a position with one of the merchant ship companies?
She didn’t know her new husband well enough to predict how he handled disappointment. She had seen him surprised, grieving, and perplexed, but not yet disappointed. Should she give him an opportunity to talk about it? Should she leave him alone?
When he turned from the window, he appeared composed, though lines of strain bracketed his mouth. “How much correspondence is left?”
“Just one. Addressed to the Earl of Rothwell.”
He pulled a stiff card from the envelope. “Hmm. An invitation. For you, me, Lady Richardson, and … Penny.”
“An invitation? To what?” She leaned forward as he turned the card around.
“An assembly in the village. Dancing and refreshment. Four days from now.”
Sophie hadn’t attended a social event in months. “What a nice way to get to know people here. I wonder if there is time to have dresses made? Is there a seamstress in the village?”
Charles didn’t reply, his mind far away. He turned the card in his hands, holding it by opposite points.
“Shall I answer the invitation in the affirmative?” she asked, gathering the letters together and putting them in order of importance for responses.
“I suppose. I hadn’t thought to be here long enough to take part in local events, but it looks like I will have to be.” His tone was flat, accepting but unenthused.
She tried not to take offense, but it hurt to know he was so disappointed to have to remain at Gateshead with her.
Which was silly, because it wasn’t as if theirs was a real marriage with emotional involvement. He had laid out his plans and expectations, and she had agreed to them with little reservation. What exactly did she want?
“I’ll accept the invitation on behalf of all of us, and if you’re called away to duty before then, we’ll make your excuses for you.”
Penny went into predictable raptures at being invited to her very first dance. “Oh, what shall I wear? This will be so much fun. Who will attend? What happens at a country dance?” She clapped her hands to her cheeks and then stacked them atop her head. “Sophie, I don’t know how to dance. What shall I do?”
“Didn’t Miss Fricklin’s curriculum include dance lessons?” What ladies’ academy failed to teach such important things? Sophie sorted through the girls’ clothing in the armoire, comparing what she saw to the lists the girls had made.
“Yes, she offered dancing instruction, but not until a student’s final year. Only the oldest girls got dance lessons, because a dancing master cost so much. Miss Fricklin always pinched pennies where she could. I was supposed to start lessons next term.”
“Well, four days isn’t much time, but you’re a bright girl, and you can learn some basic steps. For now, we need to go to the village and search out a dressmaker. You’ve nothing suitable for a party, and I would love to have a new dress too. Thea and Betsy, you can come along. We can put in a gloriously large order and have the seamstress expedite the party dresses.” Sophie felt a lightness of heart. Having foregone a debut Season in London in favor of becoming engaged to Rich and staying at Primrose to care for Mamie, she had missed out on grand balls. But she loved to dance. It had been one of her favorite classes at school. Teaching Penny to promenade and dance would be a doddle.
When she asked after a seamstress, Miles shrugged. “There’s one in town. I can go and fetch her.”
“Oh, no, we’ll go to her.” I could do with a bit of an outing. I’ve barely been off the estate since I arrived.
“She won’t mind, ma’am. Really.” Miles shifted from foot to foot. “She prefers to go to her clients. I’ll fetch her now.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I have quite a list of things I need, and I want to see what fabrics she has on hand and whether we will need to send to a larger town for some things.” Sophie frowned. Miles would need some serious training before he was a proper footman. A proper footman didn’t argue with his mistress, nor should she have to explain her reasoning to him. Sophie always endeavored to be kind and understanding with her employees, but she also maintained discipline when needed.
When the dowager arrived, Miles had better know his responsibilities, or Sophie would never hear the end of it.
“Fetch the carriage.”
Mamie opted to remain at Gateshead. “I have enough dresses, my dear. I’ll wear my black taffeta in any case.” She patted Sophie’s hand. “Now that you’ve married, you can wear pretty colors again. I love you in light colors that match your disposition.”
The town had a quiet charm, with several shops and thatched cottages butted up against one another along the High Street. There was even a stretch of cobbles, unusual in such a small village. The town had maybe three hundred residents? Where had they gathered the money for a cobbled street? Every house looked in good repair, prosperous, and tidy.
As they flashed past the livery, Sophie caught sight of a large, bearded gentleman who reminded her of one of her brother’s employees. But Partridge wouldn’t be in Gateshead. At least not yet. He was either with Marcus on business in Sussex, or Marcus had left him at home to watch over Charlotte. Partridge was invariably kind and polite to Sophie when they crossed paths, but he was a bit of a mystery as well. This man was so like him, they coul
d be brothers. She craned her neck but lost sight of him too quickly for another look.
Eventually, on the far side of town, Miles pulled up before a thatched cottage with a pretty garden out front. “This is Madam Stipple’s. She’s a sailor’s widow, and she makes her living with her needle. Used to be a seamstress in London, I heard. She’ll do you right. Though she won’t be best pleased to have you calling. She goes to her clients, like I said.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, not exactly scowling, but not happy either.
Sophie knocked, and a youngish woman with curly blonde hair becomingly arranged opened the top half of the Dutch door a few inches.
“Yes?”
“Madam Stipple?”
“Yes.” The woman regarded Sophie, a wary look in her eyes. She glanced over Sophie’s shoulder to where Miles waited by the carriage.
“I’m Lady Rothwell. I’ve come to see about the purchase of some clothing for myself and my wards.” She held her arm out to where Penny, Thea, and Betsy waited.
“Oh, Lady Rothwell.” She put her hand to her throat. “I don’t usually … I mean, I had assumed if you needed something, I would bring it to Gateshead for you.” She kept hold of the half door.
“That’s very kind of you, and perhaps we will do so in the future, but as we’re here now, may we come inside?” What an odd way for a craftswoman to behave. “Time is of the essence, and we’d like to order new gowns for the assembly in just a few days.”
Madam Stipple stood still long enough that Sophie thought she might refuse, but eventually she stepped back and opened the lower half of the door.
The entire front room had been turned into a workroom with a cutting table, shelves of cloth, and baskets of buttons, hooks, and trim. A triple mirror stood in one corner, and a bowl of lavender buds scented the air. It looked ready for patrons. Why had she been so reluctant to let anyone in when she clearly served customers here?
“What an amazing inventory. You must have had quite a shop in London.” Sophie let her hand drift over a vivid bolt of red velvet. Imagine finding such a treasure trove in this little village.