My Dear Sophy

by Kimberly Truesdale

  “That damned noise again!”

  “Protest all you like. You cannot fool me, old friend.” O'Brian smiled wryly.

  “The devil...”

  Connie had known Brandon O'Brian for a long time. They had come up through the ranks together. The ordeals and adventures on the Baron had bound them in fast friendship. Though O'Brian was a few years older than Connie, the two men had a common sensibility. Both were well-liked by their fellow sailors, but they were also extremely talented. In the natural pecking order that developed belowdecks, Connie and Brandon had both been on top. Connie was a more charismatic and outgoing authority, while Brandon was quietly confident and commanding. When they worked together, there was nothing they couldn't accomplish. They had discovered this early in their careers and had used it to great advantage, each earning distinction for merit on board the Baron.

  They had even taken their lieutenant's exams together. And celebrated in grand style when they both passed. Connie still could not recall how they had made it back to the ship that night.

  When Connie had earned a captain's rank last year and been assigned to the Pleasant, he had thought of no one else to stand by his side. They had talked honestly together about their new difference in rank. Connie had wanted his friend to know that he still considered them equals, even though he would now wear a captain's epaulets on his uniform coat. In his usual style, O'Brian had been supremely reasonable and generous. He'd confessed that he did not envy his friend's commission and would prefer a lieutenancy over a captain's post. That way he still maintained rank, but not the ultimate responsibility for the ship. That suited him fine. And they'd settled into their roles on the Pleasant quite well, working together even better than they had on the Baron.

  So when O'Brian called Connie's bluff about his true thoughts as he stood and scowled at the shore, Connie had to admit the truth to his friend. Perhaps it would be a relief and help to rid him of some of the hurt and regret he felt.

  “I was saying that I quite like your Miss Wentworth,” O'Brian interrupted Connie's thoughts. “She makes you laugh.”

  “She's not my Miss Wentworth,” Connie grumbled.

  “Hmm.”

  “Stop making that noise!” Then after a moment, “What is it supposed to imply anyway?”

  O'Brian smiled. “I have eyes, do I not?” Connie rolled his own eyes at the question. He was in a foul mood and didn't want to come out of it. “Don't roll your eyes at me, Croft,” O'Brian laughed. “I saw you with her. There was no mistaking the way you gazed at her when you thought no one was looking. Though I own that you probably thought you were disguising yourself very well.”

  “And how was I looking?”

  “Like she was at the center of the world. I have never seen you look at any woman like that before, even when we were young and fancied ourselves deep in love with our paramours. Do you love her, Croft?”

  “Dammit, O'Brian!” But there was no heat in the words. The man knew him well enough to see exactly what he had been trying so hard to hide, even to himself. But there it was. He was in love with Miss Wentworth. And he had let her walk away without saying anything. She was gone. Probably forever. “Dammit!” he said again.

  O'Brian seemed to read in his exclamations Connie's avowal of love for Miss Sophy Wentworth. “Well, I am almost certain that no one else noticed. I believe your mother and father would have said something to you if they had seen that hungry look in your eyes. And the boys were clearly too young to have much experience with that sort of thing. I daresay the lady herself might not even have noticed.”

  Connie gave a frustrated groan. “No, she most certainly did notice. Good God, O'Brian. I am a beast.”

  Alarmed at this tortured exclamation, so unlike his friend, O'Brian questioned him. “What do you mean?” And so Connie told him the story of what had passed that afternoon between himself and Miss Wentworth.

  “When we came on deck after lunch, I was so intent on showing the boys how the sailors repair sails that I didn't notice Miss Wentworth had walked away from the group. I don't know how long it was, but when I thought to look for her...” he stopped, engrossed in the memory.

  “She was at the wheel... She had one hand on it. Her eyes were closed and she had such an expression on her face...” Connie closed his own eyes, conjuring the blissful sight. “It sounds so sentimental now and I have always considered myself such a practical man. But my heart stopped to see her there like that. She looked so peaceful, as if she belonged there and always had belonged there. I want her there, O'Brian. Always. My heart stopped because... oh...” Connie sighed. “Because I knew in that moment that I loved her. I do love her. Every time I look at that wheel I will see her there, looking for all the world like she was built right into the design of the ship.

  “There have been infatuations before, O'Brian, but this... In only a week she has settled into my heart. I would say like a woodworm into the hull of our ship, but it is so much nicer than that. Though now that she is gone, perhaps that memory of her will settle into me and destroy me.”

  O'Brian paused for a moment, then asked, “And did you say any of this to her?”

  “No. By God, no. But something passed between us at that wheel.” Connie stopped then, remembering that exquisite moment when he and Miss Wentworth had both become aware of each other in a new way. He had reached over quite naturally to help her turn the wheel and had felt her go rigid. She had leaned back into him. Her neck had been within his reach and he had wanted so badly to kiss the soft skin there. She had seemed to want it, too. It had taken all of his control not to take her in his arms right there on the deck of his ship.

  And then she had turned toward him and his whole body had caught fire. He didn't think he'd mistaken the look of desire in her eyes. She'd inclined her head slightly and his only thought had been of bringing his mouth to hers. Her full, moist lips had been right there for his taking. And he'd wanted her so badly.

  But he couldn't forget that he was leaving. And that Miss Wentworth was promised to the curate – or as good as promised. And so he'd hesitated, knowing he needed to pull away and also knowing that he did not want to. The pain of his decision had hit him like a punch to his gut. Clearly, Miss Wentworth had seen it. Connie knew he'd hurt her. The woman thought he didn't want her! By God. He could never tell her the truth. So he'd said he was sorry. They were the only words that his broken heart would let him find in the midst of all the emotions.

  And dear Miss Wentworth, dear Sophy had accepted it and done the only thing she could. She had been her gracious, caring self. In the midst of her own hurt, she'd helped him. It only made him love her more. And then she had turned her full attention to the group as they'd spent the rest of the afternoon touring the ship. What had she been thinking and feeling? How magnificently she had borne up under the weight of her disappointment.

  When Connie had rowed them all back to the shore, he could hardly bear to say goodbye to her. She'd smiled at him like a friend and that had been their parting. It had been emotionless and entirely unsatisfying.

  That was why he'd been scowling at the shoreline for hours. That memory and his inability to change it. The inability to go back, to fall on his knees before her and tell her how he really felt. Connie finally remembered that O'Brian was standing next to him.

  “I never said anything,” he sighed, “but I am sure we understood each other.”

  “I'm sorry, Croft,” O'Brian broke in matter-of-factly, “but why can't you have her? You do know that navy men are allowed to fall in love and get married. I am sure the men would love her and you know they would welcome her aboard ship. The men will do anything to see you happy. So tell me, why have you stopped yourself from telling Miss Wentworth exactly how you feel? You have done a decent job of telling me.”

  “She's promised to another man.”

  O'Brian paused. He had clearly not expected that answer. “Hmm. Did she tell you that?”

  “No, but the way she acted... and
I overheard my mother and her friend talking of their expectations in that area. Everything is settled.”

  “Perhaps her heart is not engaged to this man.”

  “But she deserves a good, stable life. One I cannot give her.”

  “Hmm.”

  “That noise again,” Connie muttered through gritted teeth.

  “Croft,” O'Brian began. “You are like my own brother. But what kind of a stubborn-headed fool are you to decide what Miss Wentworth deserves? Is she not a thinking and feeling creature herself, with her own desires? Is that not precisely why you have fallen in love with her? I believe you would not be contented with a noodle-brained wife who would obey your every command and be quite happy to do so. So why do you suppose Miss Wentworth to be a woman like that?”

  Connie barked with unexpected laughter that thoroughly startled his friend. “Is what I said so gloriously funny?”

  “O'Brian,” said Connie, calming himself down. “I laugh because you have said to me precisely what Miss Wentworth herself said.”

  “What?”

  “That she is a thinking and feeling person who does not expect to be in smooth waters all her days.”

  O'Brian guffawed. “And you, stupid dunderhead, took that to mean that she wanted a sedate life in a country village? Honestly, Croft, that is thick, even for you.”

  Connie's heart soared with possibilities. Was it possible Miss Wentworth could want him? Was it possible that he could have the woman his heart had chosen? Connie was suddenly filled with a frantic energy.

  “O'Brian. I have been a fool. But what should I do?” He asked, panic creeping into his voice. “They must be halfway to Milverton by now. I could not catch them and be back...” Connie despaired. He wanted to fly to Miss Wentworth immediately and tell her how he had been a fool and how he loved her and how she would make him the happiest man on earth if she would marry him.

  “Perhaps a letter?” O'Brian's infinite calm helped Connie regain his balance.

  “Yes! Yes! That is it! Not as immediate, but good. I will post a letter tomorrow, before we leave for Portsmouth. But oh, what then? Shall I ask her to write me with her answer?”

  “Well, heroes in novels always promise to follow their letter with themselves.” O'Brian uttered this statement without any hint of teasing in his voice. Connie blinked incredulously at his friend. O'Brian responded coolly, “Well, there is more chance of securing the lady's hand that way.”

  “Novels?”

  “Don't look so astonished, Croft. A man cannot survive only on the Bible and Navy orders.” A sly smile broke over his friend's face. It sent the two of them off into whoops of laughter. Connie would write his letter this evening. He was already planning what he should say.

  Chapter XIX

  Empty.

  The watering can Sophy used in her small backyard garden was empty. She huffed and set it down heavily. The can made a satisfying clatter. Of course it would be empty. Just when she wanted to spend some time alone, cultivating her garden and thinking. It would have to interrupt her plans.

  Sophy huffed again and picked up the can, hauling it to the pump a few steps away. She savagely sawed at the handle of the pump, splashing more water on her front than in the can.

  “Oh, excellent!” Sophy exclaimed aloud. “Can nothing go right today?” She stomped back over to her flowers and drenched them with more water than they would need all week. But Sophy hardly noticed. Her thoughts were very far away.

  Fifteen miles away, in fact. It had been two days since her body had returned to Milverton, but her thoughts had stayed stubbornly in Watchet. With Captain Croft and the exchange that had set her alight and left her to burn alone.

  At first it had been a softly melancholy glow. Sophy had quietly said goodbye to the captain when he had brought them back to shore. She thought they had parted as friends, without his parents or her brothers any the wiser about what had passed between them. Sophy had meditated on this parting all the way home, lost in her own thoughts even as Freddy – who had ridden in the carriage, having left the captain's hired horse in Watchet – kept up a steady stream of stories and reminisces of his time on the ship. Sophy had been happy for a moment to hear her brother chattering away. And his chatter had had the added bonus of keeping the attention of the Crofts away from her as she relived the memory over and over again. Each time, she tried to discover what had gone so wrong, to see why Captain Croft had rejected her.

  As she had climbed into bed that night, Sophy had hoped that her feelings might go away with sleep or that she might somehow find the answer to her. But it had not worked. Sunday – the day after their trip to Watchet – had passed very slowly. And it had been filled with memories of the previous week when Sophy had sat in church and listened to the captain sing. This Sunday had seemed empty by comparison.

  It didn't help that the boys had insisted not only on recounting the tales of the day before, but also on retelling all of the stories Captain Croft had told them throughout the week. Everything they did seemed to evoke a memory or a story. Every place that they went held memories.

  For Sophy, those places now seemed so empty. She wished the boys would stop recalling the captain to her memory. But she couldn't very well stop them from their excited retellings. So Sophy had suffered in silence, each story making her feel the loss she had thought to forget. How was it possible that one man had wormed himself so much into her life in one short week? Without realizing it, her life had been gloriously full when he was here. Family, friends, laughter, stories. And now all she saw were ghosts. It was all so empty.

  Today, Tuesday, Sophy had managed to move along from her feelings of melancholy and emptiness only to settle into an annoyance with anything and everything. She had never been this peevish before and she was worried that her family would notice. Then there would be no end to it. They would pester her until she told them why she was in a foul mood. And she herself didn't know why. She had almost snapped at the boys this morning and was infinitely relieved finally to see them off to lessons. But when they had left, Sophy discovered the parlor had been oppressively quiet. However, when some neighbors chanced by, Sophy again became annoyed by their noise and their innocent questions. She had barely kept temper with these old friends.

  And so Sophy had retreated to the garden, where she had looked forward to the silent companionship of her plants and flowers. And then to find the watering can empty! Her temper broke as she sawed at the water pump.

  “Sophia Elizabeth Wentworth,” she said sternly to herself, having splashed water all over her dress and almost drowned her flowers. She took a deep breath to still her heart, beating quickly in annoyance. “What is happening to you? Why are you so peevish, restless, and petulant today? What has irritated you so?” Sophy sat on the small garden bench, hidden from the view of passersby in the street, and worked at pondering out the answers to these questions. She did not need long to arrive at the answers.

  Something had changed. Something fundamental to her life here in Milverton. It had started a week ago when a new and intriguing man had quite literally stepped into her path. Something had shifted from that first moment when he had grinned at her. Sophy smiled again at the remembrance. And then Freddy had galloped away on his borrowed horse and Sophy had fallen into one of the easiest and most pleasant conversations she had ever held. And the most interesting. They had talked. She had talked like she could not recall talking to anyone before because Captain Croft had seemed to be so much in sympathy with her. Without any effort, he seemed to know her, to enter into her feelings. They'd even laughed at the same absurd things.

  And she had imagined she entered into his feelings, shared his humor. Though they had had little opportunity for conversation, Sophy had always imagined – she now realized – that his tales were directed at her. He had talked for her. And he had tried – with much success – to make her laugh. Sophy had reveled in the small attentions all week. She was used to being an observer, never the observed, and
so the captain's attentions had made her aware of something new. She liked being thought of. She liked the feeling that he was thinking of her when he was talking. She liked to think that he was talking to her alone, even when they were in company.

  “What a silly, romantic idea, Sophia Wentworth.” The man had shown her a little bit of attention and her imagination had run mad, had taken it in a direction he had probably never intended. She had only imagined the growing intimacy between them.

  But now, it was all gone. Even if she had imagined it, it had been a nice change from everyday life and now it was gone. The captain had squashed it all on Saturday when he had pulled away from her kiss. Now there was no one around to pay special attention to her. Would there ever be again?

  She'd had an idea, a dream, really – though it had crept up on her before she had suspected anything – of a different life than the one she had here in Milverton, the one she would have for the rest of her life here. That was the life she found herself back in now. And it chafed her annoyingly.

  This would be her life with Mr. Hollingson.

  For a moment, she tried to remove her emotions – or at least calm them – and rationally consider what this life with Joshua would be. She needed to think clearly about it. Perhaps the exercise would help her to focus on what was before her, not what was behind.

  Life with Mr. Hollingson would mean many things. Sophy began to form a list in her mind. With him, she would stay here in Milverton, close to her family. She could care for Papa and the boys. She would be a good daughter and older sister. Though sometimes she alone felt the full responsibility of the family, she did love them dearly. Staying close to her family, Sophy reasoned, was no small attraction for her.

  The boys would, however, go away soon. Mr. Hollingson would help them with that. The curate had already helped by tutoring them. He was especially positioned to help Edward into the life of a young clergyman. And Mr. Hollingson certainly had connections to people in many professions who might help Freddy, whatever he eventually chose to do. That would be a decided advantage.