A Regency Yuletide

by Sharon Sobel

  “I cannot say I understand your desire to return to America,” he admitted, “but I do understand the attraction.”

  “If only my family could. There is no question I must return and do what I was meant to,” she said earnestly. “It wasn’t until I went to America that I discovered I had a talent for teaching.”

  “You read so much as a child that it’s not surprising you would enjoy teaching. Just as I knew I must fight for my country,” Jeremy mused, “as my father did. I thought of you often while I was abroad. Sometimes I hoped you were thinking of me.”

  Sophy felt her cheeks flame, and he smiled in amusement.

  “I did not know whether I should think of you,” she confessed. “I heard you had married and had a child. Forgive me for raising what must be a painful subject. I—I was reluctant to speak of it for fear you are still not over their deaths.”

  He hesitated. “I shall tell you the truth, but you must keep it to yourself. I don’t often tell it—never, in fact—but I did not father the child of the woman I married. I’ll try to explain, and I hope the truth does not horrify you.”

  Sophy’s heart thudded as he took a deep breath and said, “Her name was Rosalita. Her father, a diplomat, came from an influential family. I married her only to give her child a name. The baby’s father was one of my superior officers. He wasn’t wedded to another but considered her inferior to the women had had left behind in London.” Jeremy shook his head, an expression of disgust spreading across his aristocratic features. “Hardly the pride of the Crown. I married her to pacify her family, and to keep peace between our countries. We were supposed to be their allies, by God.”

  “Were you under orders?” Sophy asked, horrified by his story.

  “No, it was my choice. She was a sweet girl, but I had no romantic interest in her. The fighting forced us to live in unimaginably difficult conditions. I had no time to think about courtship—especially when my mind was here at home with you.”

  Sophy’s heart filled with unexpected joy as he continued. “At any rate, since I feared my opportunity with you was gone, the noble thing to do was to marry Rosalita and take care of her child.” He paused to take a gulp of his brandy. “Barclay wasn’t quite accurate when he told you I delivered babies during the war. Rosalita’s was the only child I ever delivered, and that was out of desperation. He was weak from the start and died two days after birth. She was devastated, and her joy turned to bitterness.”

  “How horrible for you.”

  Jeremy shook his head slowly, his voice husky when he finally spoke again. “Rosalita only lived a short time after that. She was wounded at Badajoz and never recovered.” He took another drink. “My consolation was that the senior officer also died in battle.”

  “I’m terribly sorry, Jeremy,” she whispered. “I knew none of this.”

  “Life sometimes turns in ways we don’t expect. I won’t forget Rosalita, though it isn’t a part of my past I care to dwell upon. While we were able to support one another through a difficult time, I don’t believe Rosalita and I were intended for each other.” Jeremy set aside his brandy. “I ask only that you refrain from speaking of it to anyone. As I said, I’ve told no one but you.”

  “I am honored by your confidence,” Sophy said meekly, “and I assure you it will go no further. I’m glad you are at peace with it.”

  “Then we shall leave it in the unhappy past where it belongs. Truly, upon my return I had no idea you remained unwed,” he admitted. “While I was away, Harry wrote me that Charles Ferris was courting you, and it appeared to him a wedding was in the offing.”

  Harry, Sophy reflected, never did understand her heart as well as Barclay and Eddie. “Eventually I recognized Charles for the boor he is. That is when I broke it off between us. I am afraid I behaved as I did to make you jealous. You had gone off to war—”

  Jeremy resumed the conversation when she stopped, too embarrassed by her own actions to continue. “Sometimes I fear you view the experience of war as mere traveling. I did not go to war simply because we argued. It was expected of me, my father having been a hero in the Revolution.”

  It was Sophy’s turn to feel discomfited. “I very much regret that my words make you think I view your contribution as anything less than heroic.”

  “It is my fault as well,” Jeremy hurried on, stammering. “I-I assumed you were spoken for. Clearly I was mistaken.”

  “And so you married Rosalita.”

  He shrugged. “Someone had to protect her honor.”

  “I should have known you’d do the honorable thing.” She felt her heart soften not only at his heroism but his chivalry, as well. “I owe you an apology for behaving so foolishly.”

  “No apology is necessary, my dear Sophy.” He smiled. “We have grown into different people. People who know their hearts and minds and are able to make them up with true sincerity.”

  “As I have done with my plan to return to America,” she reflected aloud.

  Jeremy sat back in his chair. “Did you have the luxury of enjoying the companionship of dogs while you were in America?”

  “I did, but their lives aren’t as easy as Sylvan’s. Some were forced to sleep outside. Each time I return home, Sylvan is older,” she observed wistfully, bending to pet the dog.

  “It’s always worrisome to see one’s beloved dog age,” he agreed, his tone kind. “I know the feeling well. I imagine you have many worries these days, as we all do. We worry about different things nowadays than we did when we were younger.”

  Sophy studied him, fascinated. “What do you worry about?”

  As he paused to consider the question, she admired the strength the firelight revealed in his rugged features.

  Finally, he said, “I worry about my father’s health. About the future of England. I worry about what the years ahead will bring now that my military career has ended.” Jeremy gazed at her intently. “No doubt you and I worry about some of the same things. How do you feel about traveling abroad despite your mother’s wishes?”

  Sophy tensed with irritation. She needed no reminder of her responsibilities. “She knows I love my mission work deeply. As soon as I begin to recover, I shall make plans to travel again.”

  “My mother found it difficult when I left to go to war. She had passed by the time I came home again. It is probably just as hard on your mother to see you leave.” He smiled wearily. “What else do you worry about?”

  Sophy tried to repress the resentment that welled within her. The reproach she sensed in his words left her brooding, but she said, “I worry one of the men Bark has invited for the holidays will come up to scratch and delay my return further, if I feel compelled to accept merely to please my mother.”

  To her chagrin, he chuckled. “That’s possible. Our families are the only ones we must please ultimately.” He grew serious again. “I’ve no doubt your work is exceptionally fulfilling, but do you not find life here changed on your return? I imagine your friends have all but abandoned you to the New World.”

  “We do have so little in common now that I suppose I might as well be on the other side of the world to our circle of acquaintances,” Sophy reflected.

  While his tone was kind, his words made her see how friends must view her. They could not possibly understand the fulfillment she felt. Jeremy had opened her eyes to the truth, but his manner was blunter than she was prepared to hear. The thought lowered her spirits right at the time of year they should be highest. However, tonight she refused to concern herself with new worries.

  “There are times I wish I were in America simply because it is where my heart lies.” She rose abruptly, giving him a curt nod. “On that note, my lord, I shall retire for the evening.”

  Chapter Five

  THE FOLLOWING DAY Sophy ruminated over their conversation even as she brooded about it. She would use Jeremy
’s words to prepare her to face her conflicts, for she was determined to win the upper hand. Emma and Jane were helping her improve her embroidery skills in the drawing room that afternoon when Barclay rescued her, taking her outdoors despite her crutches, where they could talk privately.

  “I applaud St. Laurent’s idea to travel by sleigh,” Barclay said. “You needn’t use that silly sedan chair again, I promise.”

  She smiled broadly. “Your friends were thoughtful to consider my comfort. If only they talked about something other than the Season. It isn’t part of my life now.”

  “I had hope for Herbert, but I know none of them are right for you. It isn’t a waste, for I plan to take advantage of the holidays to chat up Bella.” Barclay’s cheerfully mischievous wink was replaced by a more serious expression. “Don’t avoid the real subject, Soph. What if you can’t get around well enough in time to sail? You said you depend upon walking in America.”

  “I know.” She had no answer. She tried to keep her annoyance from sliding into despair, understanding that he had her interests at heart. Her America dream was not a goal she could relinquish easily.

  “I don’t wish to pressure you, but remember how civilized it is here. And think of Mother.” Barclay shook his head. “I guess I don’t understand your desire to leave us. It would be different if we were mean and demanding, but we aren’t that terrible. We might have been as children—”

  “Of course you aren’t,” she hastened to assure him with a gentle laugh. “You are still my favorite brother. You were always my champion when we were growing up.”

  “And I always shall be. But with Mother getting older, you have to give me a reason to argue for you other than defiance.”

  Their conversation left Sophy filled with uncertainty. Even if her family did not understand her motive in leaving, she loved them deeply. Yet their village was quiet and secure. Her life at home was missing a significant way to help those in need.

  The passing days brought Sophy little relief from a dilemma that became more poignant with each conversation. Her mother expressed support and understanding of her daughter’s obligation to her responsibilities abroad, words Sophy knew were intended to ease the separation. Yet her agony grew with her indecision as the days passed.

  In the meantime she continued to struggle and pray. Now that she had crutches, this would be the first Sunday she could attend church. It was a start, she told herself, one that might help her make a decision that would satisfy her family as well as herself.

  In the privacy of her room one evening, she decided the time had come to test her ankle. The only way to ascertain whether there had been any improvement was to stand on it.

  Sitting on the edge of her bed, she put gentle but steady pressure on her foot. As she did sharp pain shot through her ankle. Too alarmed to continue, she sat down abruptly.

  She tried to retain hope. Her ankle had not collapsed completely. Yet her determination to defeat her own doubt about returning to America was crumbling faster than the ankle was healing.

  AS JEREMY HEADED downstairs for breakfast, he doubted that he would see Sophy, for she had managed to avoid him for two days. If he saw her at all today, he expected she might wish to be on the other side of the world from him. Her dubious mood when they parted in the library disappointed him, yet the physical distance America placed between Sophy and her family were issues he felt he must address. Since he found Barclay’s concerns legitimate, he wanted to offer as much support to those concerns as he could during his visit.

  Approaching the breakfast room with hesitation, he paused before entering, wondering whether he would find an attitude of childish insistence or mature compromise regarding the difficult decision she faced. He was surprised to find himself Sophy’s company of choice at breakfast. For some reason he could not fathom she gave him the victory over his competitors, granting him the honor of accompanying her first that day even though Humphrey Fotherington continued to press his suit faithfully. Her encouragement allowed Jeremy to walk away with Sophy hobbling along on crutches beside him and a smug expression on his face.

  Upon retiring the night they had last spoken in the library, he hadn’t been surprised to find himself focused on Sophy Templeton. Since Rosalita’s death he had given no thought to women. He’d loved Rosalita in the way a gentleman cared for a lady’s welfare. He was her protector in a marriage built on social and political necessity, motivated not by choice or passion but by diplomacy. Although she was a lovely girl, the arrangement had been more strategic than heartfelt. While he’d done the honorable thing, romance had not played a part.

  They may have grown to a deeper love for one another, he determined, but they had spent little time together before battle summoned him and ended her life.

  But even if they’d spent a lifetime together, he knew he would have never felt toward Rosalita as he did toward Sophy. And he had competition. While the men Barclay had assembled for his sister’s consideration weren’t a good match for her, he particularly disliked Fotherington. Hodge was too foolish, Prindle too foppish, but Fotherington was a genuine threat. If he truly wanted her hand, Fotherington might be the only one strong enough to withstand Sophy’s determination to leave England.

  Another day passed before Jeremy decided to test her commitment to returning to her mission work. Restless from being indoors, Sophy told him she longed to go out to pick greens for decorating. Confident that the warmer temperatures of the past few days would pose no danger to someone on crutches, he offered to take her by sleigh to the woods beyond the west lawn.

  As she watched him harness the horses at the stable, he was tempted to ask where she had slept and how she lived while abroad, but he suspected she would think it none of his affair. Or worse, have those memories make her more determined to leave. He remained silent on the matter as they rode across fields that sparkled with white instead of their usual verdant green.

  “That ankle is taking time to heal,” he said, his tone gentle but direct. “What will you do if you’re unable to return to America when you wanted?”

  Her blue eyes clouded over, reflecting both courage and fear, as if she were considering the possibility for the first time. “It would be the most devastating news I could hear. It would mean I could no longer help the children who need it most.”

  “America isn’t the only place in need of charity.” He smiled encouragingly, hoping she might relent. “You haven’t been to London in some time, have you?”

  “No, and I hope not to be there anytime soon.”

  “I’m sure you don’t.” Jeremy suppressed a grin of amusement. “You talk of educating Indians and frontier children, but there are children in orphanages, almshouses, and workhouses here. They need someone to teach them, someone to care. London is not so different from the wilderness you are used to. Rosalita’s son entered the world in the middle of war. I was horrified to come home and find babies here at risk as well—and we aren’t at war.”

  Her eyes were averted, but he sensed he had struck a chord. They disembarked in the woods, following a footpath someone had cleared that meandered along a brook no longer frozen but instead one that allowed water to flow gently. He had been correct in assuming the unusual warmth of the day would melt the ice, making it safe to maneuver the path on crutches, especially since he remained vigilant enough to catch her if she slipped.

  “There is suffering everywhere,” she admitted, averting her face as she snapped some evergreen boughs from a branch. “That is why I don’t want my own physical weakness to be the reason I cannot return to America. I’ve seen missionaries sidelined by illness and some who died of tropical fevers, but I never thought an ankle sprain would end my days abroad. While my health was delicate when I was young, it is no longer an issue today. Besides, I’m fairly headstrong now, which is to my benefit.”

  Jeremy smiled but remained tactfully silent as
she went on, “I don’t want to see my involvement curtailed because of a simple skating accident. It’s impossible to believe I won’t return. I refuse to think it even possible.”

  “What drove you to America in the first place?” Jeremy asked, suspecting he knew the answer.

  A smile, awkward yet humorous, curved her mouth. “Mostly to avoid places you and I had gone together. Patriotism was a valid reason for you to leave. I’m afraid I left for the wrong reasons, initially at least. Perhaps, though, when you thought of me—” She colored at her own words. “If you did—”

  “I most definitely did,” he prompted softly.

  “Perhaps then you felt the same.”

  “I went to war not only to please my father but to do my part for the Crown. But I missed you and thought of you often.” Jeremy felt not only his concentration but his fingers slipping from the boughs of greenery he was carrying for Sophy. “Now, of course, I follow my heart.”

  He looked away, reaching for a falling branch he might focus on while Sophy digested his words. When he felt she’d had enough time, he turned back to her, trying not to appear as if he were issuing a direct challenge. They were not at war after all.

  When Sophy changed her expression only minutely, making it, if anything, yet more stubborn, he pursued the matter. “One of the things my father taught me about war, you see,” he continued, “is that it always comes to an end. War never lasts, though its political crises cannot be put off. They won’t wait.”

  She held a fragrant evergreen branch beneath her nose before extending it to his so he might do the same. “They are rather like women then,” she countered. “They cannot wait either.”

  “Some do,” he retaliated, albeit gently.

  She withdrew the evergreen, turning away. “Everyone expected I would move on,” she said in a cool tone. “You left for war without a commitment. You didn’t ask for my hand before leaving.”