Chapter 17
“What about the Dowager Countess of Foxwell?”
Alice peered at the application in her hands, her brow furrowed with concentration. They sat in the morning room of the Guildthorpe townhouse, sunlight streaming through the windows, the twins mercifully occupied with their governess upstairs.
Sophia shook her head. “The dowager countess specified that she requires a man with all his original teeth. Baron Whitfield has, by his own admission, only fourteen remaining.”
“Fourteen.” Alice set down the paper. “Out of how many?”
“The standard tooth count is thirty-two.”
“Good heavens.” Alice picked up her tea. “What happened to the other eighteen?”
“He does not say, but I suspect we are better off not knowing.” Sophia consulted her notes. “He also mentions that his eyesight has deteriorated to the point where he cannot distinguish faces at a distance of more than three feet.”
“Three feet.” Alice set down her cup with a clink. “Sophia, this man cannot see or chew. What exactly is he offering a potential bride?”
“A barony, twelve thousand a year, and an estate in Devonshire with excellent views of the sea.” Sophia allowed herself a small smile. “Views he can no longer appreciate, admittedly, but they exist nonetheless.”
Alice burst out laughing. “You are terrible.”
“I’m practical.” Sophia flipped through her stack of applications. “Somewhere in London, there is a woman who values financial security over dental aesthetics. We simply need to find her.”
“What else does the baron say about himself?” Alice reached for the application. “Surely there must be some redeeming qualities beyond his income.”
Sophia handed it over. “He enjoys gardening, although he admits he can no longer tell the difference between roses and weeds. He keeps three cats, all of whom he describes as excellent conversationalists. And he plays the pianoforte, but he notes that his performances have declined since he lost the ability to read sheet music.”
“How does he play without reading the music?”
“From memory, apparently. He knows seven songs. His favorite is a ballad about a shipwreck.”
Alice pressed her hand to her mouth, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. “Stop. I cannot breathe.”
“He sounds rather charming, in his way.” Sophia retrieved the application. “A man who can laugh at his own misfortunes is not without appeal.”
“What about Lady Catherine Morley? The earl’s widow from Kent?
” Alice leaned forward, composing herself.
“She wrote that she seeks a quiet life in the country with a gentleman of steady habits. Baron Whitfield certainly sounds steady. One cannot get into much trouble when one cannot see what one is doing.”
“Lady Catherine also mentioned a fondness for reading aloud.” Sophia found the relevant application. “She could read to him. He could listen. It might suit them both rather well.”
“And his teeth?”
“Lady Catherine did not list teeth among her requirements.” Sophia made a note.
“I’ll write to her this week. And to Baron Whitfield, suggesting he attend the Thursday lecture series at the Royal Institution.
If Lady Catherine happens to be there as well, seated in the front row where he might perceive her existence, then so much the better. ”
Alice shook her head, but her eyes sparkled with amusement. “You have a gift, Sophia. A strange, slightly alarming gift.”
“I prefer to think of it as a talent for seeing possibilities where others see only obstacles.” Sophia tucked the applications into her reticule. “Every person deserves companionship. Even barons with fourteen teeth.”
“Fourteen teeth and counting down.” Alice refilled their teacups. “Speaking of possibilities, have you heard about the spring fair?”
Sophia accepted her cup. “The one in Hyde Park?”
“The same. Thomas is taking the girls and me this Saturday. There will be puppet shows and sweet stalls and a man with trained dogs who can jump through hoops.” Alice’s face lit up with anticipation.
“Nancy has talked of nothing else for days. Rosie has already decided she wants a dog of her own, preferably one that can perform tricks on command.”
“That sounds chaotic.”
“It sounds wonderful.” Alice reached across and squeezed Sophia’s hand. “You should come. Bring your mother. It would do you both good to have an afternoon of simple pleasures.”
Sophia thought of her mother, who had been looking pale and tired of late. Thought of how her face had brightened when they walked in Hyde Park, when they spoke of Papa and the ducks and happier times.
Then she thought of Oliver.
Oliver, who spent his days in that quiet townhouse with only his nursemaid and his uncle’s looming absence for company. Oliver, who had never been to a spring fair, had never watched trained dogs or eaten sweets from a stall or laughed at puppet shows.
Oliver, whose uncle needed to learn how to be a parent before the boy forgot what family felt like.
“I think I will.” Sophia set down her cup. “And I think I know someone else who should attend.”
Alice raised an eyebrow. “The Duke?”
“Oliver needs to see his uncle as something other than a distant figure who barks orders and disappears into his study.” Sophia heard the edge in her own voice and softened it.
“A spring fair might help. Neutral ground. Activities to share. A chance for them to simply be together without the weight of the house and their shared grief pressing down on them.”
“And you?” Alice’s gaze turned knowing. “What will you be doing while uncle and nephew bond over puppet shows?”
“Supervising.” Sophia met her friend’s eyes. “As per our arrangement.”
“Your arrangement.” Alice’s lips curved. “The one that involves moonlit balconies and kisses you cannot stop thinking about?”
Heat crept up Sophia’s neck. “That was a mistake. We have discussed this.”
“You have discussed it. I remain unconvinced.” Alice tilted her head. “You light up when you speak of Oliver. Your voice changes when you mention the duke. And you have been distracted for weeks, which is entirely unlike you.”
“I have been busy.”
“You have been pining.”
“I do not pine.” Sophia gathered the applications with more force than necessary. “Pining is for heroines in Gothic novels. I am far too practical for such nonsense.”
“Practical women can still have feelings.” Alice’s voice softened. “Practical women can still fall in love, even when it is inconvenient. Even when the object of their affection is a stubborn, emotionally constipated duke who would not recognize happiness if it danced before him in a ballroom.”
Sophia laughed despite herself. “Emotionally constipated?”
“Thomas’s phrase, not mine. But accurate, I think.” Alice leaned back in her chair. “I shall say no more. Go to your spring fair. Supervise your duke and his nephew. And try, if you can manage it, to remember that you are allowed to want things for yourself.”
Sophia gathered her things and rose. “I want Oliver to be happy. I want the duke to become the guardian that the boy deserves. Those are the things I want.”
“And nothing else?”
Sophia did not answer. She kissed Alice’s cheek, bid her farewell, and stepped out into the afternoon sun.
She found her mother in the parlor, embroidering by the window. The light caught the silver threads in Lady Brimsey’s hair, and Sophia felt a pang at how tired her mother looked, how the shadows beneath her eyes had deepened over recent months.
Lady Brimsey looked up with a smile that Sophia returned, grateful as always for her mother’s resilience.
“There is a spring fair in Hyde Park this Saturday,” Sophia said, settling into the chair beside her. “Alice and Thomas are taking the girls. I thought we might attend as well.”
Her mother’s face brightened, years falling away in an instant. “A fair? I have not been to a fair in years. Your father used to take us when you were small. Do you remember?”
“I remember.” Sophia reached over and stilled her mother’s busy hands. “He bought me a ribbon for my hair and let me eat far too many candied nuts.”
“And you were sick the entire carriage ride home.” Lady Brimsey laughed, the sound bright and unexpected. “He felt so guilty. Swore he would never let you near a sweet stall again.”
“He broke that promise approximately one week later.”
“He could never say no to you.” Her mother’s smile softened with memory. “Nor to Lily. Nor to me, truth be told. He was hopeless that way. Do you remember how he used to carry Lily on his shoulders so she could see above the crowds? She would shriek with delight and grab fistfuls of his hair.”
“And he never complained.” Sophia’s throat tightened. “Not once.”
“He adored you both.” Lady Brimsey set aside her embroidery. “He still does, even if he cannot always show it. The illness has taken so much from him, but not that. Never that.”
Sophia took her mother’s hand. “We shall go to the fair. We shall eat candied nuts and watch puppet shows and pretend, for one afternoon, that everything is as it should be.”
Lady Brimsey squeezed her fingers. “That sounds lovely, darling.”
Sophia kissed her mother’s cheek and retreated to her room. She sat at her writing desk, pulled out a sheet of paper, and dipped her quill in the inkwell.
The note took three drafts before she was satisfied. Too formal, then too familiar, then finally something in between.
Your Grace,
A spring fair will be held in Hyde Park this Saturday. I intend to attend with my mother and believe Oliver would enjoy the festivities. Perhaps this might serve as my supervised visit for the week. I trust you will consider accompanying him.
Lady Sophia Readthorpe
She read it over once more. Brief. Practical. Revealing nothing of the flutter in her chest, the heat in her cheeks, at the thought of seeing him again.
She folded the paper, sealed it with plain wax, and summoned a footman to deliver it to Heatherwell House.
Then she sat at her window and watched the afternoon fade to evening, wondering what she had just set in motion.