Page 2 of The Gentlewoman Farmer

“Perhaps it is mere sentiment, but I am attached to my people. I will do as you require and stay on my farm.”

Uncle Thorpe’s motivations were unclear. However, he was within his rights as an overseer of the estate. Her father’s will stated the farm belonged to Sophia, even after marriage. However, when he’d drawn up the document, the solicitor had been so disturbed at his leaving the property in the sole ownership of a young lady that he had given Uncle Thorpe a supervisory role. It was poorly executed and allowed her uncle to exert his authority upon the property regardless of Sophia’s marital status. No one had imagined he would ever exact this privilege. She breathed deeply, quieting her agitation. She could best this man and would do it calmly.

“Very well, Uncle, I accept your proposition. I will become engaged but will not have time to marry until after harvest, so a November wedding must be acceptable to you. Now, you have a long ride back to Greenbrooke, and I’m certain my aunt awaits your direction. She is hopelessly listless while you are not by to instruct her.”

“Very true, you are too right. I must be going.” Uncle Thorpe used his cane to bring himself almost violently to his feet. Together, uncle and niece walked to the front door. “Sophia, you can count on me to ensure the solvency of this farm. I promised your father I would take care of you. It is such a misfortune that he passed. Such a pillar in the community. Such a strength to your mother and an asset to this farm. Perhaps the only one who truly knew what to do with it.”

“Yes, I miss my father every day.” Especially today. Not wanting to risk ambiguity, Sophia said, “Let us resume this conversation in eight weeks. The planting will be done, the lambs should all be born, and we shall see if I have secured a husband—or the promise of one.”

“Eight weeks? Certainly, if you think it necessary. I did say you could stay if it were all done properly.”

“Not properly. According to your prescription.” Sophia smiled sweetly. Thorpe cleared his throat and bobbed his head at her before making his way out the door.

Sophia turned toward the sitting room where her mother sat—and from whence came the familiar sounds of a woman rushing to return to her seat. The sitting room shared a wall with the library, and Sophia’s mother, Charlotte, had certainly been eavesdropping. Sophia walked across the hall and entered the sitting room to find her mother sitting by the fire, knitting with an air of suspicious innocence. Charlotte knitted a sock and hummed a discordant melody, looking without deviation at her project.

Sophia pulled an ear horn from the knitting basket. “Are you knitting a cozy for the ear horn, mother?”

“Oh, hoohoo.” Charlotte had a habit of hooting like a baby owl when nervous or surprised. It was a sound borne of the uncertainty introduced upon her husband’s death. “Not at all. I cannot say why it is there.”

“Don’t worry. I will not allow Uncle to remove us from our home.”

“From what I heard, you promised your uncle a great deal. You may need help.” Mrs. Worthington kept her eyes on her knitting as she spoke.

“Not this again. Please, Mother, don’t be uneasy. I don’t need help. What you don’t see is that if I stop working, even for a moment, this farm will fall apart.”

“I see well enough. I only ask that you use the resources you have. Let the steward do his job.”

Sophia was finished with this part of the conversation. “I will visit the new solicitor and ask him to define the terms of the will in our favor. Still, I cannot understand Uncle Thorpe’s sudden interest in the farm. It’s much easier for him to leave it to me. He’s far more inclined to sit in his chair and make commands than to take on additional work.”

“Very true, child, but it will be difficult to dissuade your uncle. There is something you do not know.”

When Charlotte did not continue, Sophia prodded. “What? What don’t I know?”

“Charles is coming home from school. I heard it yesterday from your Aunt Samantha. It seems he was involved in an incident and was expelled. Your uncle is looking for something to occupy him. I believe my brother has your farm in mind for Charles.”

“Charles? He is eighteen! And as ignorant as a lamb. So much for Uncle Thorpe’s solicitude! Well, there is something he does not know about me. I have received an offer of marriage that I intend to accept.”

“An offer of marriage? Sophia, I am thrilled. I knew Philip would come!”

Sophia put her hand on her chest as if it were possible to still the great thudding in her chest. “Not Philip,” she said, low and quiet. “Mr. Burns, Mamma. I will accept Malcolm Burns’ offer of marriage.”

Talland, Cornwall

30 July 1752

Dear Philip,

Imagine me surrounded by piles of wool with no one to buy any of it. It is only four months since my father passed, but the usual buyers did not come forth and didn’t respond to my letters. I know my wares are as good as they were when my father was alive. Nay! Better than they were last year. I see my future as a wool collector. Year after year, shearing and storing, until Mother and I have a house full of fleece and nothing to eat.

However, this is a victory letter! After several weeks of worry, Mr. Burns, my neighbor, approached me and introduced me to a partner of his, Mr. Smith, who agreed to buy all my wool. I am relieved. I don’t know what whispers reached Mr. Burns’ ears and informed him of my situation, but I am grateful for gossip in this one case.

Philip, during those long, anxious days, I lived in dread of having to tell my mother that we must sell our dear home. I saw myself as a failure, and I could not bear it. I am indebted to Mr. Burns, and his friendship has eased some of my loneliness.

Yours always,

Sophia

Chapter 2