Page 10 of The Gentlewoman Farmer

“It is vague.” Mr. Cunningham tented his long fingers under his chin and squinted across the desk at Sophia. “However, one thing is clear. Your father wished Squire Thorpe to intervene whenever he felt it necessary.”

“But my father trusted me. We discussed the best way to manage the estate for years before he passed. If anyone had confidence in me, it was my father.”

“Yet, he put your uncle in a supervisory role,” Mr. Cunningham said with an unsympathetic shrug. “As a woman, it’s difficult for you to understand the complexities of farming. It involves a great deal of planning, negotiations, numbers, budgets. The squire can guide you through those intricacies.”

Sophia was ready to throw something at Cunningham.

Instead, she spoke evenly. “He helps with nothing and knows as much about farming as a child. He is inserting himself where he’s not needed.”

“Perhaps it is not for you to judge. Obviously, your father thought so.”

Sophia snatched the will from under Mr. Cunningham’s elbow, turned without bidding the man a good day, and went out the door into the rain. It seemed she would have to outsmart Uncle Thorpe some other way, even if it meant compromising her sheep and fields for the year.

That night when Sophia couldn’t sleep, she made a mental list of everything she might do to subvert Uncle Thorpe. But her mind drifted back to Bramblefields and Philip, to the conversation she had with her mother.

That first kiss. She recalled how, after their lips had first touched, Philip had pulled back, saying, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…If you don’t…”

Sophia had bent her head to her chest, hair covering her face. Some foreign need had sprouted in her belly and moved like a warm flow of water through her body. She’d never felt so vulnerable and knew that if he saw her expression, he’d see her desire. She was unsure if Philip had meant to kiss her. But then his hand had slid down her arm, entwining with her fingers with his. They’d held hands before, lots of times, running up a hill or strolling carelessly down a lane. They were always holding hands. But this time, his touch had stirred a tempest inside her. When she’d met his eyes, the longing in them had reflected her own.

“If you don’t…” he’d said.

“I do,” she’d whispered.

It hadn’t mattered if they were clumsy or unpracticed. The feel of his lips on hers had been a revelation. They’d been friends. She already loved him, but this…this had become something else entirely.

Paris, France

21 March 1751

Dear Sophia,

I am twenty-one today and have only one wish, and that is to spend the day with you. Alas, I am still on the continent, no more at liberty to do what I please than when I was at six years old.

Since being with you is impossible, my next greatest wish is to have a letter from you. I long to hear from you, to know what you are doing and thinking. I feel like a completely different person from when I last saw you. Have you changed as well? I always suspected my love for you exceeded yours for me, but you promised to write.

Though it has been two years, I think of you no less. I imagine our meeting again. I compare the portrait I keep with me to what I think you may look like now. But that portrait has become my nemesis. All the angles, colors, and curves I could not capture two years ago torment me. I’m reminded that you are not here, and I cannot remember exactly what you look like. I cannot recall which shadow is not quite right. I know the portrait is not true. I tried painting you again, but it was a depressing enterprise.

I go to balls, soirees, and operas, stupidly looking for you. Sometimes I follow a woman with your hair or figure. I am always disappointed. I meet all sorts of people. I make friends, but no one is akin to me like you are. You are my complimentary soul. I cannot help but feel incomplete without you.

All my love,

Philip

Chapter 6

8 April 1753

It was barely nine in the morning, but Sophia had been in the library for hours, preparing for the weekly assembly with her tenants. There were always feelings to soothe, disputes and jealousies to work through. With the extra hours they were working, everyone would be on edge.

Sophia read the agenda aloud to her steward. “We will be lucky to finish by noon.”

“If I may, Miss Worthington,” Mr. Gregory said. “If you like, I can take the meeting on my own today.”

“Mr. Gregory, are you trying to get rid of me?” He was more than capable, but the tenants worked better when she spent more time with them, and she made better decisions when she understood their needs.

“Not at all. I thought we might divide tasks so you aren’t overburdened.”

“Nonsense. You needn’t worry about me.” Sophia turned toward the door and said over her shoulder, “But thank you for your concern. I will saddle Clarissa and meet you near the stables.” There was too much to do today to waste energy debating Gregory’s old gripe over her not giving him enough responsibility.