“Yes.”
“Their ladies’ trousers sound infinitely more reasonable than our enormous skirts.”
Charles bit his lip. “I think you would look very pretty in trousers,” he said quietly.
Mariah felt a blush travel up from her neck to the roots of her hair. She couldn’t look at him, so she kept her eyes focused on her boots.
Charles must have noticed her embarrassment, because he quickly changed the subject. “And I saw a circus where they rode elephants. I was even able to give it a try.”
“You rode an elephant?!”
“Yes. I paid a handsome fee for the experience, but it was worth it.”
“Was it very difficult?”
“Not really,” Charles explained. “There was a seat on the elephant, so it didn’t require any great skill on my part.”
They walked across the street and into Hyde Park.
“I recall you told Aunt Bentley that you planned on returning to America when you were well,” Mariah said. “Is that still your plan?”
“Grandfather Miller doesn’t think it necessary, but I want to prove to him that I can accomplish the task he set forth,” he said. “I’ve already booked passage for New York in a month.”
He was looking at her with such intensity that Mariah turned her head away. “I’ll miss you. Will your business take you away for a long time?”
“Ethan stayed for two years to learn about our trade in New York, and I intend to stay that long as well,” Charles said.
Mariah touched his arm. “None of us are the same, and we shouldn’t compare ourselves to others. Our comparisons are invariably false when we compare their strengths to our weaknesses.”
“Grandfather Miller has measured me against my cousin my entire life, and I’ve always been found wanting,” Charles said bitterly. “Even you preferred dancing with him over me at the ball.”
Sophie had clearly left out several details about last night. “Dance with me now,” Mariah said, offering her hand to him.
“In the middle of the park?”
“We’re the only ones out at this early hour,” Mariah said. “Except the birds and squirrels. Surely you don’t care what they think?”
“There’s no music…”
“I’ll make some,” Mariah replied, and began to hum the tune of a waltz.
Charles took her into his arms and Mariah felt every sense in her body tingle in delight. He led her through the waltz with turns and dips. Unlike her sister, Mariah was a natural dancer with grace and rhythm. She twirled and added extra spins to make their dance more intricate, more intimate. Charles twirled her out and then pulled her back into his arms, holding her against him. Mariah could feel his chest rising rapidly and heard her own heartbeat thundering against his.
“Sophie, I—”
“Release the young lady or I’ll write you up on charges of public indecency!”
Charles and Mariah separated instantly. Strolling toward them was a bullish constable with a black mustache.
“I don’t want none of that carryin’ on in the park no more,” the constable barked, waving his wooden truncheon.
“We were only dancing,” Charles said.
“Looked like a bit more than dancing to me,” the constable insisted, separating them further with his baton. “And don’t get no ideas about doing that sort of thing on the sidewalk or street, neither. This is a respectable neighborhood, it is.”
“Constable,” Charles said with a curt nod and led Mariah by the arm out of the park.
Once they had crossed the street, Mariah couldn’t hold in her mirth any longer. She laughed so hard that she cried and had to wipe the tears from her eyes with the backs of her hands. Charles looked at her incredulously before laughing with her.
“I feel ridiculous,” Charles said as he opened the door to his house for her.
Mariah turned to him. “I feel disappointed … that we didn’t finish our dance.”
Then before he could speak, she ran up the stairs two at a time.
* * *
Sophie was not in their room, so Mariah went to Sir Thomas’s house to find her. She walked into the art studio and found a man looking at her sketches. He had dark brown hair and thick sideburns that ran all the way down his face to his jaw, and his black clothes were excellently tailored.
The stranger looked up at the sound of her entrance.
“Forgive me for intruding,” Mariah said. “My sister Sophie poses for Sir Thomas, and he allows me to watch. I was looking for her.”
“You must be the young lady responsible for these,” the man said, holding up the sketches.
Mariah blushed.
“No need to be modest,” the man said. “They’re quite good. But your technique needs work.”
“I’m afraid I’ve never been formally taught.”
“That would explain it,” the man mused, more to himself than to her. “The wildness, and yet a natural eye for shadows and contrast in your pencil tip.”
Mariah turned to see Sophie, Sir Thomas, and Mrs. Spooner come into the art studio. Mrs. Spooner smiled warmly at Mariah. “I take it that you have lost no time in becoming acquainted with Mr. Ruskin.”
“We have not yet been introduced,” Mariah said primly.
“Then allow me the honor,” Mrs. Spooner said. “Miss Carter, this is the famous Mr. John Ruskin: art critic, author, and lecturer. Sir Thomas wrote to Mr. Ruskin about your sketches and asked him to come take a look at them.”
“You were correct to write to me, Sir Thomas,” Mr. Ruskin said. “She has a natural skill that should be encouraged and developed.”
Mariah flushed with pleasure.
“She can’t speak,” Sophie said with a saucy smile. “She’s too overcome.”
Mariah was entirely overcome, but managed to find her voice and say, “Thank you, sir.”
Mr. Ruskin handed Mariah back her drawings. “I wish I had time to tutor you, but my work, The Stones of Venice, is all-consuming. Perhaps I could give you drawing lessons via letter?”
“Before I can consent,” Mariah said, “I must ask how much these lessons would cost. My sister and I don’t have much money—”
“I won’t charge you a penny,” Mr. Ruskin replied. “It pleases me to assist artists in their works.”
“Oh! Thank you!” Mariah said, clasping her hands together. “Thank you. That would mean so much to me.”
Mr. Ruskin picked up his black hat from the table and placed it on his head.
“I must go,” he said. “Watergate, this will be the most triumphant painting of your career. Mrs. Spooner, Miss Carter, Miss Carter.”
Mrs. Spooner followed him out and Mariah heard her say, “Please give Sir Thomas’s best to Mrs. Ruskin.”
Mariah covered her mouth with her hands. She still couldn’t quite believe it—a real professional had offered to teach her. For the first time in her life, her dreams were within the grasp of her pencil.
NINE
“I’VE TOLD SIR THOMAS THAT you would pose today,” Sophie said as she buttoned up the front of her dress. “I hope you don’t mind. He was terribly insistent that he not miss even one day, and I’m promised to the Millers all morning.”
“I suppose I can wear your armor for one day,” Mariah replied.
“Who knows?” Sophie said. “Perhaps you’ll discover that you like posing and you’ll become both an artist and a model.”
“Doubtful,” Mariah said, making a face.
Sophie laughed and gave her sister a quick hug before leaving the bedroom. She grasped the banister tightly as she walked down the stairs, barely able to hold in her anticipation. She was going to visit a real factory with working machines and skilled workers!
Ethan stood at the bottom of the stairs and smiled up at her. Sophie’s stomach turned over in a most pleasant manner.
Aunt Bentley was not smiling, but she was gracious enough to civilly ask Mrs. Miller about her day. Mrs. Miller gave a short answer in return and
then led Sophie and Ethan out of the house and into their carriage.
Sophie felt shy in front of Mrs. Miller, despite the older woman’s benign smile. Sophie had little experience with mothers, and the feminine role models in her life had been neither kind nor caring. What if Mrs. Miller didn’t like her or approve of Ethan’s friendship with her? She fidgeted with her hands in her lap and she began tapping her foot nervously.
“My son tells me that you’re interested in machinery,” Mrs. Miller said.
“I’m fascinated by what makes things work,” Sophie replied. “We’re living in such an age of innovation and industry.”
“And we must keep up with it or be left behind,” the older woman said sagely.
“My grandfather says the world of his youth is gone,” Ethan said. “Industry has changed the landscape of his small village and made farmers into factory workers.”
“That is true enough,” Mrs. Miller said. “Father Miller remembers his grandfather grinding the grains with a quernstone. Then his father built a water mill, and Father Miller made a few improvements and a fortune by selling his improved machines.”
Ethan and his mother took Sophie to a steamboat factory in Soho. The building was large and square with chimneys on every wall, fires blazing in each one. Hundreds of workers smelted metal, hammered, cut wooden beams, and shoveled coal. It was a gloriously grimy place, and Sophie could not resist asking the foreman all sorts of questions. She wanted to know what every employee was doing, from the lowest coal boy to the highest engineer.
“Where do you work, Mr. Miller?” Sophie asked, as they reentered the carriage some hours later.
“I’m afraid you’ll find it disappointing after the steamboat factory,” Ethan said. “Just a brick building in town.”
“Why don’t we take Miss Carter for a tour of the countinghouse as well?” Mrs. Miller suggested.
Ethan looked at Sophie, unsure. “It’s only a counting- house…”
“I would like to see it,” Sophie said warmly.
“It’s decided then,” Mrs. Miller said.
Ethan’s countinghouse was indeed a redbrick building, and it was the tallest structure for a mile around. It had porticos and columns and a smart sign that read: MILLER AND SON. A footman opened the door, and the three walked in.
“I’m a bit tired,” Mrs. Miller said. “I’ll rest in your office while you give Miss Carter the tour.”
Ethan dutifully took Sophie to a large room with countless clerks at desks adding up their ledgers, then led her up a flight of stairs to the private offices.
“Does your father work here as well?”
“My father died when I was still a small child.”
“I’m so sorry that I didn’t ask before.”
“Grandfather took his place,” Ethan said. “He oversaw my education at Harrow.”
“And after Harrow?” Sophie asked.
“My grandfather shipped me off to America to work for a couple of years. Then he brought me back to England and has trained me in all aspects of his business,” Ethan said. “He’s aged greatly this last year, and I’ve taken over most of his workload.”
“How exciting to experience so many different places and businesses. Your life sounds anything but dull.”
“I’m afraid I did find it rather dull,” he admitted. “That is, until you came upon me that morning in the park.”
“What changed?”
“Your enthusiasm,” Ethan said with a grin. “Everything that I found tedious, you found fascinating. And now when I look at the numbers and read the reports, I see innovation. I see how exciting you would find it to be on the cusp of science and change.”
Ethan turned toward Sophie, but his eyes were not on her, rather on something behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw an old man with a full head of white hair and an even fuller white beard leaning heavily on his walking stick.
“Grandfather. I didn’t expect to see you, sir.”
“Still my name on the front of the building, ain’t it?”
“Grandfather, may I introduce Miss Sophie Carter,” Ethan said. “Miss Carter, this is my grandfather, Mr. Eustace Miller.”
Sophie curtsied deeply.
“Come here, young lady,” he said in a gruff voice. “You need not bow as if I were a duke. I’m an old man now, and I was born as common as any child in England.”
Sophie stepped closer to the gruff old man and returned his piercing stare with a narrowed-eye gaze of her own. She’d learned early in life never to back down, never to show fear. People never respected those who feared them.
Mr. Miller’s stare turned into a slight smile, then he stepped away into his office.
“Young Ethan says that you’re mad for mechanisms and quite the clock repairer,” he said. “Come sit with me in my office. Ethan, order us some tea.”
Sophie followed Mr. Miller into a large office with a view of Regent’s Park and sat in the nearest chair. Ethan appeared soon after and took the seat adjacent to Sophie’s.
“Grandfather, Miss Carter is anxious to learn more about machinery and is interested in an apprenticeship with an inventor,” Ethan said. “I was hoping you might have someone to suggest.”
“I will think on it,” he said curtly.
Mrs. Miller came into the room and sat next to her father. “I see you have met our new friend, Miss Carter, Father.” she said cheerfully. “Quite a bright penny, is she not?”
“Plenty of pluck,” Mr. Miller said. “I’ll give her that.”
A clerk arrived with a tray and Mrs. Miller served. Sophie sipped her tea and listened to Ethan’s family talk to each other.
“I’m a bit fatigued,” Mrs. Miller said. “Ethan, will you see Miss Carter home? I’ll ride home with Father.”
“I’m not the least bit tired,” Mr. Miller growled, sounding more like a scolded child than a grown man.
“Of course you aren’t,” Mrs. Miller replied, taking his arm gently.
After a pause, he said reluctantly, “I suppose I could go home now. But it’s early in the day, and I could have worked for several hours yet.”
Sophie and Ethan followed his mother and grandfather out of the countinghouse but entered a separate carriage. She felt a jolt of anticipation that she and Ethan were going to be alone in a closed carriage. It took the entire ride home before her heartbeat slowed to a normal rate.
Ethan assisted Sophie out of the carriage and walked her to the front door. He took her smaller hand in his and raised it to his lips, gently kissing it. His kiss was like an electric current that flowed through her entire body and sent the blood singing in her veins. Her stomach flipped again, and she felt curiously weak in the knees.
“May I ask your aunt’s permission to call upon you formally?”
Ethan wanted to court her. Sophie pulled her hand back and shrugged, feeling the heat rush to her face. “I’m afraid that I’m looking for apprenticeships at present. Not courtships.”
“I understand,” he said quietly, his face falling.
Sophie stepped forward to touch his arm. She instantly felt the familiar spark and released it. “I like you awfully … as a friend.”
He managed a small smile. “As a friend, I will continue to look for apprenticeships for you.”
“Thank you,” Sophie said, feeling even hotter. “I had such a lovely time at the factory … and at your office.”
Mr. Taylor opened the front door and they both jumped.
“Goodbye, then,” Sophie said, and then dashed into the house and up the stairs to her bedroom. She didn’t want Aunt Bentley asking probing questions about her outing or about Ethan. Aunt Bentley would probably throw her out into the street if she knew that she’d spurned a potential suitor—and a wealthy one at that. Sophie opened the door and found Mariah reading in bed. She must have finished modeling early.
“Why is your face red, Sophie?” she asked, even though her own face was redder. She’d clearly been crying.
So
phie didn’t cry. Sometimes she wondered if something inside her was broken and she had no idea how to fix it. Still, she always consoled herself with the thought, Mariah cries enough for both of us—possibly enough for three girls.
“You’re one to talk,” Sophie retorted. “You look as if you’ve wept all afternoon. Let me guess: A fictional character died in a book.”
Mariah placed Mary Barton on the table. “Well, it was sad, but I won’t tell you why.”
“To punish me?” Sophie asked, pulling out her hairpins to let her long red curls fly free.
“No, to not ruin the ending,” Mariah said with a dignified sniff.
“Then I won’t tell you why my face is red,” Sophie quipped.
“I may not share your love of instruction manuals and machines,” she said, “but that doesn’t make me dim. You spent the entire afternoon in a certain young gentleman’s company and I’m sure he had something to do with it.”
Sophie sat next to her sister on the bed. “He kissed my hand and asked if he could formally court me,” she whispered.
Mariah sat up straighter with a squeak. “Tell me all the details!” she exclaimed, squeezing her sister’s hand. “And I have no interest in any details about the factory; I only want to hear about Mr. Miller. It seems very forward to have asked you instead of Aunt Bentley. What did you say?”
“No.”
“What?!” Mariah’s hold on Sophie’s hand tightened like a vise. “Why not?”
Sophie pulled her hand away from her sister’s before it lost all circulation. “You know I don’t want to be married. I want to be an inventor.”
“Couldn’t you be both?” Mariah asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“I know you said you didn’t wish to marry, but I thought … I hoped … when you met someone you could like, love even, you would change your mind.”
“What love have you ever seen in a marriage?” Sophie snapped. She stood up and marched over to the washbasin to dab cool water against her hot face.
Mariah didn’t answer.
“Even as a child, I knew the Trentons weren’t happy,” Sophie continued. “When the day arrived for him to return to sea, both of them seemed relieved to part. Mrs. Trenton was much happier when he was away, and I daresay Captain Trenton was, too. Then there are Mr. and Mrs. Ellis, who made no pretense to affection in public or private. All Mrs. Ellis ever did was inhale snuff and complain about us, her husband, and her children. What makes you think that the marriage state is so blissful and happy?”
The Invention of Sophie Carter Page 9