“I don’t leave for some weeks. Why don’t I spend time with Ian to see if having him accompany me would be a good decision? With your permission of course?”
“Of course.” She couldn’t help but agree; Aidan seemed to have become more accommodating during his visit with Ian.
“Then I will see you tomorrow.” He rose to the sound of Dodsley’s sharp double rap on the door.
“Excuse me, my lady. A messenger has arrived with a package from Mr. Murray.”
“Thank you, Dodsley. You may place it on the desk.” The butler followed her instruction, then returned to the hall, pulling the door closed behind him.
“It must be an important package for your butler to interrupt,” Aidan offered.
“It’s from Tom’s publisher. I’ve been expecting it,” Sophia acknowledged.
“Why don’t you open it? It may require a response by return of the messenger.”
Sophia wondered why Aidan was being solicitous, but his face revealed only a bland politeness. “If you don’t mind . . .” She pulled on the twine, but the knot was tight.
“May I?” Aidan held out a knife. She wondered where he had kept it.
He cut the twine with one swift pull. Inside the heavy paper wrapper were several books in publisher’s boards, each one with the title handwritten on the front cover, ready to be bound in the style of her personal library. Sophia looked quickly at each title, disappointed. The package had not contained the materials she’d expected.
Aidan, however, showed real interest in her choices, picking up each of the titles in turn. “Poetry, novels, science. It’s an eclectic selection Murray has sent you.”
“Mr. Murray has been very gracious, and I read widely.”
“I can understand Don Juan. I’ve heard copies sell as fast as Murray can print them, though Murray’s wise not to put his name on the title page. The slightest hint of sedition can put a publisher in prison. But Fanny Burney’s The Wanderer? The reviewers dismissed it as quite inferior to her other books.”
“The reviews claimed it was quite unlike her other books, because Burney’s heroine must make her way without the advantages of wealth or family connections. That piqued my curiosity.”
“Then, you must let me know if it proves worth reading.” He raised an eyebrow at the next volume. “Priscilla Wakefield’s An Introduction to Botany? I would have thought Ian had no need of Wakefield.”
“It’s for me,” she admitted.
“For you?”
“I’m interested in how children are taught botany,” she explained.
“Well, other than the Wakefield, we share some similar tastes. I have a substantive library in town, and you are welcome to draw on its contents at any time. Perhaps sometime you will tell me whether you find Burney’s heroines better with or without wealth or family. But for now, I will leave you to that rake, Byron, knowing you will be well entertained. I will send round a note arranging a time to visit Ian, tomorrow.”
Sophia felt more than watched Aidan leave. Just as with his arrival, one moment the room was filled with his presence and the next it was empty. It was foolish, she told herself, to feel bereft. Somehow seeing him had resurrected both her grief for Tom and for the Aidan she had lost as a girl. But he had drawn the limits of their relationship to their roles as Ian’s guardians—nothing more. Whether such a silence was wise or not didn’t matter, not now, and not with the things she still had left to do.
Chapter Eight
Once Aidan was out of the house, Sophia turned back to the stack of books sent to her by Murray.
Several months past, she’d contracted with John Murray of Albemarle Street to publish her husband’s last book—a work on European plants suitable for English gardens. Murray was known for publishing some of the finest books in England, and Tom’s book would appear in two volumes, quarto. The proofs had arrived the day before. They lay on her desk, waiting for her approval.
But Mr. Murray had also been interested in a project of hers, and her book was slated to appear simultaneously with Tom’s. It occurred to her suddenly that Aidan might not approve of her aspirations to authorship. If he had become a hard man like his father or his brother Aaron, it would be best to conclude her business with Murray quickly, before Aidan could object.
She looked at the clock next to the fireplace. Ophelia planned to visit before dinner while Sidney attended a committee meeting at Westminster. If Sophia hurried, she could still meet with Murray.
Dodsley tapped at the door to the library.
“Dodsley, please tell Sally to meet me in my dressing room. I’ll be going out, and I wish to change into a walking dress.”
“I’m sorry, madam, but your brother is waiting in the green drawing room.”
She groaned. The only thing worse than meeting with Aidan to discuss Ian’s guardianship was meeting with Phineas at all.
“I forgot he was to visit. Is the purse-lipped Chloe with him?”
“No, madam, but your brother appears agitated.”
“Oh, dear.” She smoothed her skirts and walked to the library door. “Send a tea service and ask Cook if she has any of yesterday’s tea cakes. I would rather not meet the savage beast without refreshments.”
* * *
Sophia regretted dressing with such care for her meeting with Aidan. If she had remembered Phineas was to visit, she could have changed into something dowdy. But she couldn’t change now; keeping Phineas waiting was never a good decision. At least, she consoled herself, Chloe had stayed home, saving Sophia from having to explain yet again why she and Tom had spent so many years surrounded by “papists and idolaters.”
As she entered the room, Phineas was pacing away from her. She chose the most comfortable chair. No reason to be miserable during the inquisition.
“How kind of you to visit, Phineas. Dodsley is bringing us tea. Please take a chair.” She always encouraged Phineas to sit when he visited. Pacing accentuated the angularity of his build and the narrowness of his limbs. His awkward gait always reminded her of a crow pecking for seeds.
He stopped before her, looking much like a dyspeptic Nero, his thinning hair brushed forward against his face. “Was that Forster”—he grimaced on the name—“leaving just now?”
“Yes.”
“Rather late for him to pay his respects to the family of the dead,” Phineas spat, then strode away from her.
Phineas expected no response, so she said nothing. Instead, she wondered how Phineas knew Aidan had not visited before.
“He isn’t known for being scrupulous of propriety.” Phineas waved his thin arms. “They say he’s seduced half the widows in the bon ton.”
Suddenly, Phineas stopped pacing and stood still. He examined her dress, her hair. “My God, did you invite him here? Surely you can’t be thinking of returning to your Italian ways and taking a cavalier servente?”
Phineas always thought the worst of her. Irritated, she considered telling him that she’d never taken up Italian ways—whatever those were—or had a cavalier servente. But she let the accusations pass. Narrow-minded as Phineas was, he was still her brother, and his children were Ian’s cousins. Since Tom’s annuity offered her protection from Phineas’s pettiness, she could endure his sermons and accusations.
Phineas continued unrestrained. “If you take up with Forster, people will soon remember the circumstances of your marriage to Wilmot.” Phineas was well agitated now, pacing with greater energy. She looked at her hands to avoid seeing the crow-like flap of his coattails. “That’s likely why Forster is visiting now: as Wilmot’s friend, he cannot have forgotten how easily you were compromised. He must think you a wanton, and it’s not as if he would be seducing an innocent.”
She felt her back stiffen, but she told herself “quiet, quiet.” Appropriate women for Phineas were silent. Talking back, she had long ago learned, only lengthened his lectures.
“Wilmot might have married you to save your reputation, but you shouldn’t expect Forster to d
o the same. If your liaison became public, I would feel obligated—for the sake of my family and my status—to turn you from our door.” Phineas paced back to the other end of the room.
Yes, Phineas would throw the first rock to stone her, though he would enjoy it more if he could make a speech on her weak morals first.
Dodsley tapped at the door with the tea service, and she nodded him in. “Tea has arrived, Phineas; can I serve you? Cook has prepared those cinnamon cakes you like so well. You wrote that you had a request for me?”
If Phineas liked anything as much as being the judge of social mores, it was Cook’s cinnamon cakes. He sat immediately to tea. Sophia watched his hands as he buttered his cake. He’d married well—the widowed wife of an industrialist for whom he’d worked as a clerk. His wife’s fortune had been sufficient for Phineas to buy a country estate and embark on a life of leisure. Even as a clerk, he’d kept his hands soft and clean—no inked fingers, no callouses. Neither one would do for a man rising in the world.
“You haven’t told me why he was here.” Phineas sugared his tea with one, two, three teaspoonfuls.
“We met to discuss a request in Tom’s will.”
“What request?” Phineas glared at her across his narrow, beaked nose.
“Forster is Ian’s co-guardian.” It was always a delicate balance, offering little more than what Phineas could hear at his club or from a parish gossip.
“No, no, no. . . .” Phineas’s howl sounded like the cry of the little owls in Naples. “This will not do. Of course you’re not suitable to serve as the child’s guardian. But we can have no connection with that man, not now.” Phineas set his cup down sharply, and she watched the liquid roll against the side of the cup.
“We must think. We could challenge the guardianship in Chancery—I investigated how one does that last year. But that will cause gossip.”
He’d already investigated how to challenge a guardianship in Chancery? She let the implications of Phineas’s words flow past her, as he gulped down his tea in two large swallows. Whether it was true or just one of Phineas’s tests of her reactions, she didn’t know. She wondered how he would respond if she threw the teapot at his head. But even that act would require more energy than she had. Better to be still and let him imagine her grown compliant with age.
“Are you certain the guardianship papers are in order? Could you convince him not to take up the guardianship?”
She tried to sound meek. “You have always told me it is not a woman’s place to oppose a husband’s wishes. Tom’s will is quite clear on this.” She held out the plate with the cakes.
Mollified either by her answer or the cakes, Phineas took up a second cake and motioned for her to pour him another cup of tea. “Certainly, you should submit to your husband’s wishes. I always worried that you would follow in our mother’s footsteps, so I’ve been relieved that since your return you appear to have avoided her foolish notions.”
Sophia bit her lip. It was one of Phineas’s favorite complaints: how their mother’s behavior had embarrassed her family and how Sophia—as her daughter—was fated to embarrass them as well. Exactly what her mother had done to deserve such condemnation, Sophia had learned in her girlhood not to ask. Doing so had only prompted a lecture on woman’s frailty and need for obedience.
Crumbs fell on Phineas’s trousers. He brushed them to the floor. “Well, if nothing’s to be done about the guardianship, perhaps we can make use of the opportunity.”
He wrapped two cinnamon cakes in a piece of table linen. “Lord Craven has offered me a seat in parliament. He is the only voter in the borough, so the seat is assured. He comes to town in two weeks. As I have no established house here, I wish for you to host a dinner party.” He reached into his coat pocket. “Here’s the guest list. You’ve been reclusive, so many will come simply to see you.”
“I’ve been in mourning. No one should be surprised not to have seen me.”
“I’ve been pleased that you showed an appropriate respect to your husband’s memory. But you could have been visiting in the afternoons and going to private dinners for the last six months. No one will find it inappropriate for you to host a small party. To build alliances in parliament, I’ll need to draw on Wilmot’s connections.”
He paused, looking her over once more. “I was going to ask for Chloe to oversee your choice of gown for the evening, but that dress will do. You’ll need to wear a black shawl to tone down the blue, but it’s modest enough and shows your rank.”
She focused on reading the guest list. She knew all the names, and several—like Craven—had visited their villa in Italy.
“Two weeks should be ample time to make arrangements. Chloe will be with me and young Bartholomew and Chloe’s Melissa.” He never referred to his stepdaughter as his own. Phineas pulled another package from his pocket. “Chloe has written the invitations. Your footman should deliver them today.”
Sophia nodded. He picked up the last cake on the plate. “Oh, and send an invitation to Forster. As Ian’s guardian, he’s likely to be seen with you. We must let it be known why. It wouldn’t do for the bon ton to assume you his latest conquest. I’ll spread the word at my club.”
“I would like to invite the Masons, and our cousin Malcolm Hucknall and his wife.”
“Wrong political opinions.” He handed her his empty cup. “But Ophelia could help you avoid any mishaps as hostess. And since she’s Wilmot’s sister, no one will think her presence remarkable.”
He stood, stuffed the cakes in his overcoat, and repositioned his hat. “I’ll let myself out; I’ll send Cook a menu. You’ll need to hire additional servants for the evening. I don’t have any in town.” He walked to the door. “Perhaps I will bring Chloe with me when next I visit.”
And with that, he was gone.
On the scale of meetings with Phineas, that one had gone, she thought, quite well—she was only the worse five tea cakes, some table linen, and a dinner party. She didn’t know whether she should feel pleased or annoyed—both at Phineas and at herself. By refusing to defend herself, she had avoided a row. Now she appeared close enough to his ideal of womanhood that he would allow Chloe to visit. A disheartening thought. Chloe exhibited the vivacity and charm of a garden slug.
But her meeting earlier that afternoon with Aidan—the passionate love of her youth—made Sophia wonder at her own acquiescence to Phineas’s demands. Had she really changed so much? When had she decided that giving in was just easier? Was there no passion left, no cause she would wish to champion? And worst of all, by keeping silent and calmly serving tea while Phineas impugned her character, had she finally become the sort of woman he and her aunt would praise?
Chapter Nine
Aidan was rereading Tom’s letter when Ophelia swept into his study, clearly frustrated.
“It’s lovely seeing you, Ophelia.” Aidan suddenly remembered Tom joking, “There are two rules for managing my sisters when they are upset: notice their clothes, and compliment their taste.” Tom had developed his rules when his sisters were barely out of the schoolroom, but Aidan thought they might still work. “Is that a new dress? It looks lovely on you; the green offers a perfect accompaniment to the rich auburn of your hair.”
“Don’t compliment me, Aidan Somerville. Not while I’m ashamed of you,” Ophelia objected, but the tense set of her shoulders softened slightly.
Aidan stood and stretched his hand out, directing her toward the couch. Her use of his childhood name signaled ill. “I’m not sure what you mean. I’ve seduced no innocents. I haven’t taken a new mistress, though my old one left me months ago. I’ve no new lovers among the widows of the ton. And I pay my creditors when their bills come due. What is there to be ashamed of?”
Ophelia looked at his hand, then at the couch. She moved toward it, but did not sit. “I can’t stay; Sidney expects me to gather him up from Whitehall. But I had to stop in. I’ve just come from Sophia. For a man reputed to know how to please women, I really expected you t
o . . . to . . .” Ophelia sputtered.
“Expected me to what, Phee? Seduce her in the drawing room?” Aidan found himself almost amused. From the moment his father had agreed to help rear Aidan’s orphaned Gardiner cousins, Aidan had considered Tom’s three sisters as his own. He preferred their easy laughter to the watchful aloofness of his elder and only sister, Judith. But he hadn’t anticipated Phee’s casting herself as Sophia’s avenging angel. No, that was more the role he would expect from Judith; he would have to mollify Phee.
“No, certainly not.” She began removing her gloves, pulling on each finger with short brisk movements. “You couldn’t know, but I’ve been worried about Sophia. I was pleased Tom named you co-guardian. I thought it would protect Ian against that worm Phineas. But I never expected you to take Ian from London.”
“If you must know . . .” He sat on the couch and patted the space beside him.
Ophelia refused the seat again. “I must.”
“I offered to make just the occasional visit. Sophia insisted I play a greater role in her son’s life.”
“She believes she’s fulfilling Tom’s wishes.” Ophelia shrugged. “She’s spent too much of her life doing as Tom wished, though I never understood why. Had my brother been a saint, he wouldn’t have been your friend, Aidan Somerville.” Ophelia wasn’t yet appeased.
“I assure you, Ophelia: she believes Ian would be best served by spending the summer at Greenwood Hall.”
“But you can’t possibly believe it. Even with a child as agreeable as Ian, I don’t give you three days before you want to send him back to his mother.”
“That may be true.”
“Of course it’s true. I’ve known you your whole life. Besides, it’s not a good idea to take Ian away. Sophia’s fragile, worn out . . . by grief perhaps, but something more as well. You must have seen it. She’s more likely to defer to another person’s opinion, less likely to express her own.”
“To tell the truth, Phee, Sophia appeared perfectly in control, a bit reserved perhaps, but otherwise self-sufficient and calm.”
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