Page 66 of The Gentlewoman Farmer

“Oh-hoo,” was all Sophia’s mother said. Sophia ignored their apparent guilt and let them know her plan.

In no time, Mrs. Worthington, Mrs. Allen, and Mrs. Eliot were in a frenzy of packing. Less than half an hour later, the efficient women had everything packed and were directing the servants in the proper method of stacking their trunks.

Soon, they were bouncing toward Worthington Farm in the Eliots’ overly crowded carriage with a quality of excitement that united the passengers. Mrs. Worthington twisted her hands and hoohooed while Sophia explained the scheme to take back her farm.

Mrs. Allen nodded and repeated, “Yes!” while Mrs. Eliot proclaimed, “Just as it should be.”

Sophia had spent several weeks trying not to sit too close to Philip. What a relief to be sitting as close as possible now. She was very comfortable pressed up against Philip, who drew her closer with one arm and held her hand with the other. After the time she’d spent in her uncle’s home, she thought she might burst with happiness. The freedom she longed for was at hand. Freedom to run her farm, freedom to live in her home, freedom to love Philip.

The others in the carriage were not as comfortably situated, and during the journey home, enthusiasm dwindled. Mrs. Allen and Mrs. Eliot quarreled.

“You are too liberal with the sweets, Mary,” observed Agnes, who was squeezed between the wall of the carriage and Mary’s softer frame.

Mary took in a breath. “I don’t know why I’m your friend. But if you insult me, I will point out that you are as stingy with yourself as you are with the rest of the world and do not know the meaning of pleasure.”

This seemed the response Agnes hoped for. A relaxed smile crossed her face, and she said, “I call it self-discipline.”

“Your self-discipline is a punishment to everyone.”

“As is your extra pudding.”

When they rounded the last corner and the house came into view, Sophia pointed out with surprise that Uncle Thorpe’s carriage was in front of the house.

“Oh-hoohoo,” Mrs. Worthington said.

“We will just have to deal with him sooner than we expected,” said Sophia. Philip beamed at her. Her eyebrows rose. “You’re looking forward to this?”

“Yes. He’s had it coming. He will soon learn what happens when he crosses Miss Sophia Worthington.”

Once they arrived, Philip helped the four ladies out of the carriage, kissing Sophia lightly as she stepped down.

“Uncle?” Sophia cried out as she entered her home. There was no reply, but she found him in the library, sitting in the too-small chair. Beside him stood an attendant, the solicitor, Mr. Cunningham.

Sophia and Philip stopped short of entering the room. They’d not counted on reinforcements for the enemy. Charles must have shown Uncle Thorpe the letter Philip had written to her, explaining his intention to take the will to London to have it altered. If Charles had intercepted Philip’s subsequent letters, then Uncle Thorpe knew everything Philip had done in London. It seemed her uncle was ready for them. A seed of doubt dropped into Sophia’s stomach. Uncle Thorpe had so successfully thwarted her over the past several months that she wondered if they could do anything to stop him.

Sophia pursed her lips, faltering. Philip put a light hand on her arm, and she drew strength from the gesture. Straightening her shoulders, she walked boldly before her uncle. She turned on her heel and paced back. Thorpe followed her with his little eyes. Both hands rested atop the knob of the cane he held before him.

“Uncle Thorpe, what a pleasant surprise. However, I should inform you that your supervision is no longer necessary. We have a letter here from Lord Malton, the Earl of…” Philip coughed out the requisite place and Sophia nodded to him gratefully. “Yes. So it is decided that unless the farm is unprofitable for three years, your supervisory powers are null.”

“Give me that paper, Niece.”

Sophia was alarmed at her uncle’s placid expression and relatively colorless complexion. But Sophia handed him the paper and stopped pacing to watch him read. But he didn’t read it. He tore it up.

“This man has no jurisdiction here. I am a Justice of the Peace. I am the squire.” His features finally darkened. “I have brought the good solicitor, Mr. Cunningham, to give his opinion on the matter.”

“A-hem,” began Mr. Cunningham. “The squire is quite right. You have no case. There can be no rewording or addendum to a will.” Cunningham’s high-pitched, nasal voice grated against Sophia’s ear.

Still, she persisted. “But it can be reinterpreted,” Sophia said. “So far, we have only your opinion and my uncle’s, who stands to gain by construing it in his favor.” Sweat pricked her brow. She needed help, and this time she would ask for it.

Around her were Philip, her mother, her aunt, and Mrs. Eliot. They were her weapons. They were all she had. Sophia knew they were more than enough. This was not going as expected, but with their aid, she might yet succeed. Nodding to her uncle, she said, “Excuse me for a moment.”

Sophia took Philip aside. “I need your help. Take my mother and get my steward. He should be in his office on the southeast side of the house. Send your mother and my aunt upstairs to extricate Charles from my mother’s room.”

Philip nodded and pulled the others into the hall.

Philip watched with some pleasure as his mother and Mrs. Allen marched with militant steps up the stairs.

He hated leaving Sophia, but he knew she was right. She needed support from more people. “Let’s go,” he said to Mrs. Worthington. “Can you show me to Mr. Gregory’s office?”