Page 22 of The Gentlewoman Farmer

Talland, Cornwall

12 August 1751

Dear Philip,

Aunt Mary has come! And I am very glad. She is just the person I longed to see. She is balm to my anxieties and always has a story to tell.

Right now, I worry it will rain too much. I worry it will not rain enough. I worry about my mother. I worry the sheep will contract an illness and die. I’m concerned the tenants will find better work elsewhere and that they don’t know how much I appreciate them.

Aunt Mary is also worried, worried that I’ll never marry. She wants me to go to Bath or London to get a husband. But I will not go. How can I, with so much to worry about here?

Yours always,

Sophia

Chapter 10

24 April 1753

In a move born of desperation, Agnes Eliot wrote a letter to Mary Allen, aunt to Sophia Worthington. In it, Agnes begged Mary to meet her in Somerset in two weeks’ time. Appealing to Mary’s curiosity, she’d declared it an emergency, a matter of great delicacy that would affect the happiness of one Mary held dear. The letter alluded to a “great error” that needed immediate rectification.

Mary would know to which “error” Agnes referred. Still, there was no telling if Mary would respond to the summons. Agnes was aware that the words she’d spoken to Mary three years earlier would not be soon forgotten, but Mary would set aside her own hurt if she thought it would help Sophia.

There was no response to the letter. Even so, two weeks later, Agnes waited at a table in an unremarkable brown inn.

Agnes had spent summers watching Sophia and Philip play, their regard deepening as they’d become old enough to think of such things. Their relationship had recalled Mary’s courtship to Lord Allen, which Agnes had witnessed. It had been playful, easy, open. They had been friends before anything else. Though ending prematurely with the death of Lord Allen, their marriage had been an example of the joy that might be found in the union of a well-suited couple.

And it had bothered Agnes. Marriage was a serious business, like her own marriage. She and Mr. Eliot had not had an irrational courtship. It had been a calculated union that benefitted them both. They had entered the contract with their eyes open, knowing and accepting the benefits as well as the disadvantages. Philip was a ninny around Sophia. There was no telling what they’d do if they married. Sophia did not have the pedigree or experience necessary to manage the wealth and position that would come to Philip and his wife. When, of course, Philip decided to accept his station.

Through the window, Agnes spied Mary’s unmistakable bustling gait. Mary had come, and Agnes released a breath. When Mary slid into the chair opposite Agnes, neither woman spoke. Agnes toyed with her bracelet and Mary with the locket that held her late husband’s portrait.

“You have not changed.” Mary broke the silence.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Agnes should not have asked. An argument was sure to ensue, but she needed a little conflict to ease her inner tension. She was about to beg a great favor from someone she’d wronged. And she hated apologizing.

Mary shrugged and looked away. Nearing forty, Mary was younger than Agnes by several years. They had formed an alliance when, far past bedtime, they collided in the school larder, each with a handful of biscuits. From then on, Agnes involved Mary in any scheme that required a small body, but she also looked after Mary, who enjoyed the prestige of having an intimidating ally. That age gap was probably one of the reasons for their attachment. Agnes liked to play a dominating role in all her relationships, and Mary enjoyed acting the younger sister, though she had become more resolute as she’d matured.

“Afraid to tell me?”

Mary set her jaw and bent toward Agnes. “Your appearance draws undue attention. No one else is dressed so ostentatiously.”

Agnes admired her heavily embroidered rust-colored silk dress. It was pleasingly incongruous with the humble inn. “And you are wearing the same gray travel clothes you had on when you slipped out of my house three years ago. Darling, it is time you discard your mourning.”

Her comment had the desired effect as Mary turned pink and set fisted hands on the table. But before Mary could retort, Agnes judged it best to put on a show of humility. “Thank you for coming.” The words burned her throat, but she was proud at having choked them out.

Mary adjusted her shawl. “Agnes, what do you want?”

Agnes leaned forward and put an arm on the table while maintaining the stiff posture she’d perfected as a youth. “I have reason to believe your niece is engaged to a pirate.”

If Mary were not so intent on being a lady, Agnes knew she’d have rolled her eyes. “Please spare me the details. You have separated Philip and Sophia. Let it rest. She has moved on.” Mary made a sweeping gesture. “Philip may be brokenhearted, but you have only yourself to blame.”

“Do not brush this aside! I am convinced Mr. Malcolm Burns has had some seriously illicit dealings. You would not want dear Sophia to wed such a man.”

“And you are suddenly interested in dear Sophia because…”

“Because you and I both know she is meant for Philip.”

“You are astonishing!” Mary sat back, rubbing at an ink stain on her right-hand fingers that had been present since their school days. “Making such a claim after separating them by your own evil hand! Mr. Burns is well respected, prosperous, and kind. I have no reason to doubt he and Sophia will do well together.”