Page 18 of The Gentlewoman Farmer

“Who’d like to walk down to the apple orchard? The blooms are lovely,” Philip asked everyone, but his eyes were on Sophia.

“Not I.” Sophia hoped she didn’t sound too curt, but she couldn’t be around Philip any longer. It was too hard to reconcile her current life with the idyllic summers she’d spent in his company. She didn’t want to reminisce any longer. “Take Miss Spencer with you. I need to discuss a few things with Mr. Burns.”

Quiet Mr. Vincent had been forgotten by Sophia once again, but Katherine turned toward him and invited him along as well. Both Mr. Eliot and Mr. Vincent took one of Katherine’s arms as they headed toward the apple trees.

Sophia watched Philip’s familiar gait, half regretting she wasn’t going with him. “Mr. Smith has offered to buy all the rye at harvest time. I thought he was only interested in wool, but he offered a very good price. However, I don’t want to sever my relationship with the other buyers yet. Though it’s convenient to sell to just one person. What do you think?”

“It would be a help to me,” Malcolm said. “I can always use more cargo to fill the boat when it goes north.”

“That settles it, then. I will sell to Mr. Smith.”

Philip caught the beginning of Sophia’s conversation with Mr. Burns as he walked away. It seemed Mr. Burns and Miss Sophia were happily matched. Though Burns had a sullen look, Philip couldn’t detect other defects. It was evident from their conversation that Sophia relied on him.

Philip ran two fingers along his neckline, feeling as though things were closing in. His waistcoat collar scratched the left side of his neck, and he’d tied his cravat too tight. He looked back at the engaged couple and cursed himself for having been absent so long. Perhaps all was not lost. Hopefully, the letters he’d slipped beneath her door would serve as an explanation or at least hint that he’d not forgotten her.

Miss Spencer interrupted his thoughts. “I understand it’s been several years since you have seen Miss Worthington. Do you find her changed?”

“She is different. And she is the same. She’s more distant than she used to be and more serious.”

Miss Spencer smiled. “She has been through a lot these past years with her father’s death and with managing the farm. She runs a household and is engaged to be married. Her circumstances are very different than they were when you last were together.”

“Very true,” replied Philip. “She has grown up. I can hardly expect things to be as they were. What do you think of Mr. Burns?”

“Before he and Miss Worthington formed an attachment, I thought him reserved, and I admit to being a little scared of him.” Miss Spencer waved the hand that rested on Philip’s arm. “But he has helped Miss Worthington from the beginning of their relationship. I think she is grateful to him.”

“Does he frighten you now?” Philip asked.

“No, he now seems more serene than scary. He had a troubled childhood. It’s no wonder he is melancholy from time to time. Perhaps the rumors of his youth colored the way I saw him. But he is considerate of Miss Worthington.”

“Yes, I believe he is very attentive to Miss Worthington,” Mr. Vincent added. Miss Spencer moved a little closer to Mr. Vincent.

“What do you know of his history? What was he doing between the time he left home and his return to Cornwall?” Philip knew his questions were impertinent, but he pressed on since there were few sources of information available to him.

“He was at sea. I know he was in the navy for part of that time before transitioning into shipping. He is well-respected and owns merchant ships, but I don’t know how many. I honestly don’t know many details.”

The three of them walked a few paces in silence while Philip wondered how many questions he could ask Miss Spencer, whose attention was transferring to Mr. Vincent.

“Why are you interested in Mr. Burns?” Miss Spencer lowered her eyes, tilting her head slightly toward Mr. Vincent as if she addressed him instead of Philip. “Are you…” Miss Spencer trailed off, looking at Mr. Vincent and withdrawing a fan from nowhere. She opened the fan halfway and held it over her heart, her head still tipped toward Mr. Vincent, who looked from the fan to Philip with startled eyes. Miss Spencer found her voice. “Do you have an attachment to her?”

Philip was both awed at and amused by Miss Spencer’s performance. Her question was for Mr. Vincent. Thus, convinced that neither of his companions paid him any mind, he answered Miss Spencer’s question truthfully. “I made a significant error. I should never have allowed so much time to pass before seeking her out. I thought it impossible to see her. Had I understood the consequences of my absence, nothing could have prevented me from returning.”

Philip’s frankness was met with no response from his companions. A series of glances that had nothing to do with their conversation bounced between Miss Spencer and Mr. Vincent. Miss Spencer’s pink-cheeked smiles directed at Mr. Vincent were Philip’s cue.

He disengaged his arm and, pulling out a small pad of paper and charcoal, said, “Excuse me, I would like to sketch a few of these blossoming branches.”

Miss Spencer edged closer to Mr. Vincent as they wandered off, leaving Philip to his sketchbook.

Talland, Cornwall

12 January 1753

Dear Philip,

A nearby sheep farmer wants to get rid of his sheep in favor of dairy and asked if I would like to purchase his flock. I don’t like to borrow money, but I have only three-quarters the amount I need. It’s not so great a sum that I won’t be able to repay the debt quickly.

Securing these sheep will bring Worthington Farm from a somewhat obscure farm to a somewhat less obscure farm. You must know I write that with a smile. In all seriousness, size makes a difference. Mr. Burns kindly allows my sheep to graze on his property, so we have more than enough space for the additional sheep. Perhaps Mr. Smith will give me an advance on this year’s wool.

Enough talk of sheep. You’re lucky not to be here, else I would bore you even further. I am a tiresome conversationalist, for all I care about is my little flock. And, of course, my mother. One sad thing is that as the number of my sheep grows, I no longer know each ewe and lamb. I used to name them all, and I still do when they are born. With the additional sheep, they will be even less known to me. I continue to write of sheep, though I didn’t intend to. I am hopeless.