Chapter Seven
Sophia stared down at the paper in front of her.
In the hour that she had been attempting to write this letter she had managed to put down the date and ‘Dear Robert,’ and that was it.
Receiving a letter from her would shock Robert because of the departure from propriety, but she could think of no other way of getting the news of her betrothal to him.
She could not ask her mother to write to his mother with Sophia’s version of events.
Not when Mama was utterly thrilled with the news.
Whether it was her daring at attempting to write to a man who was not a relative or the gravity of the situation, she did not know, but she was finding the whole thing impossible.
She had not managed to come up with another word.
It didn’t matter how many times she went over what she wanted to say in her head, she couldn’t convert any of it to sentences on paper.
Since her visit to the Dashworths’ family home two days earlier, she had realised that she would have to stick with this farce of an engagement for much longer than she wanted.
She refused to think it would be forever.
If she and Robert were to marry, and it was what she had been planning since she was a young girl, then she wanted to be completely truthful with him.
He valued simplicity, which was one of the things that drew her to him, and this had the potential to be messy and awkward.
If she laid it out in plain terms, hopefully, it would not seem as bad as it really was.
She wanted to be the one who told him what had come to pass, and she wanted him to know the whole truth of the matter.
When it came to phrasing the series of events, however, she was at a loss.
If she explained what Marrisa had done, she was sure Robert would disapprove of her impetuous sister’s actions.
While Sophia wasn’t thrilled with the way Marrisa had acted, she did not like it when other people criticised the people she loved.
The behaviour of her sisters was one of the only things she and Robert did not see eye to eye on.
Or rather, they both agreed that her sisters didn’t always think things through before doing them and that often led to chaos, but Robert never saw the funny side, and although this particular scrape did not have one, they often did.
In the dead of night, when she was pondering her future, this side of Robert did give her some disquiet, but she was sure that when he got to know her sisters better, he would see the deep well of kindness all her sisters possessed.
They may be impetuous and sometimes thoughtless with their actions, but they never meant anyone any harm.
Dipping her quill in some ink, she tried again.
I hope you are enjoying the lovely weather we have had so far this spring.
There. That was more words. Granted, they did not get down to the crux of the matter, but she could hardly blurt out her extraordinary news within the first sentence. It also wasn’t the most exciting of starts to a letter, although that wasn’t really the point either.
Before she could begin a second sentence, the door burst open, the shock of it causing her to draw a thick, dark line over the only words she had written. The whole thing would need to be started again.
‘He is here,’ announced Marrisa. ‘He has arrived.’
Marrisa was practically glowing with excitement. Sophia hadn’t seen her so excited since the cook had served her favourite syllabub two days in a row. ‘My goodness. Who?’
‘Your betrothed, of course.’
Sophia glanced at the clock on the mantlepiece; it surely could not be that time already.
If it were true, then she had spent two hours writing one line, which she had promptly ruined, and there was no time left to prepare.
She’d picked out a dress to wear, one that was newer and revealed a little less flesh than the one she was currently wearing.
She’d imagined having a good half an hour to sit in her room and calmly think through everything she needed to say to this stranger.
But the clock showed her that Lord Christopher was exactly on time and she was the one who would be rude if she did not go to him straight away.
She dropped the quill, crumpling up the paper, wincing at the waste as she did so. But no one could see that she had started a letter to Robert. Even her wayward family might not approve of that one. ‘Do you think you could entertain him?’
‘I could but Mama and Cressida are already in the sitting room with him, and I saw Annie run off to fetch her poetry. I do not wish to alarm you overmuch but she was muttering about how he looked like a man with good taste. I fear the epic poem might be on its way and I am sure you can remember verses five to fourteen, if not the exact wording, then at least the sentiment.’
Sophia paused on the threshold of the writing room.
Her room was up two flights of stairs and along a corridor.
Even at her fastest speed, she would not be quicker than Annie.
Lord Christopher may not be her real betrothed, but could she really subject him to Annie’s recital?
It wasn’t so much that Annie’s writing was bad; it was just that it wasn’t good either.
Add to that the length of her poetry and people had been known to resort to dramatic escapes to get away from her recitals.
‘Why are you hesitating? Did you not hear of the horror that awaits your future husband if you do not attend him quickly?’
‘She is not that awful.’
Marrisa pulled a face at Sophia’s barefaced lie.
‘Besides, I should change.’
‘Why? You look delightful in that outfit. It really emphasises your…’ Her sister waved a hand in the direction of Sophia’s chest.
‘Marrisa! You must not talk like that.’
‘Oh, pish posh, there is no need to be so missish. It is not like all those horrid ladies from the other night are here in our private space. If I cannot tell you that your figure looks sublime in that outfit within the comfort of our own home, then what point is there to life?’
Sublime? Really? Sophia glanced down at herself. The cut did emphasise her curves, but no one had ever told her that was a good thing before. Surely Marrisa was exaggerating. ‘Has anyone ever told you that you are very dramatic?’
‘Yes. You. All the time. That does not take away from the fact that your betrothed is about to hear the worst poetry ever written and only you can save him from this terrible fate. But you are dithering because that dress is a little on the tight side.’
‘Tight!’
‘In a good way.’
Before Sophia could argue that there was no good way to be told that your clothes didn’t fit you properly, Marrisa was bundling her in the direction of the sitting room.
The door was slightly open, giving her a moment to pause and look in without being observed.
Lord Christopher was standing by the fireplace, one arm resting along the top, giving every indication that he was a man who visited often enough to become completely at ease with his surroundings.
He was wearing a long, dark coat that fell to his knees and his dark hair was windswept.
As she watched, he ran his fingers through it, pushing it off his forehead.
‘He is quite pleasing to the eye,’ murmured Marrisa.
Sophia squeaked in shock; she had forgotten her sister was still with her.
Not because she had been distracted by Lord Christopher but because she had…
fine, so she had forgotten where she was standing because she had been admiring him.
He was a fine figure of a man, and she could appreciate that, even if her loyalty lay with Robert.
Hoping that he hadn’t heard her make a noise, she pushed the door fully open and stepped into the room. ‘Lord Christopher,’ she murmured, shocked to find her voice was unsteady.
‘Miss Jacobs.’ He bowed his head, his dark hair falling forward. He pushed it back again, his eyes meeting hers, an amused smile lurking in their depths. ‘How are you on this fine morning?’
‘Very well, very well. And yourself? Do you fare well?’ Her tongue felt thick in her mouth as if she were learning to speak for the first time and the words weren’t quite sure how to emerge.
‘I am also well. Are you ready for our outing? I must say I am pleased to be tasting my first ice today.’
‘Excellent, excellent.’ Why had she started repeating herself like this? She had never done so before and it made her sound like a ninny. Hopefully, it would stop when her family were no longer staring at them.
‘You better go before Annie gets back with her poetry,’ said Marrisa.
‘Do not be unkind,’ responded her mother, before Sophia could say the same thing.
‘I am not being…’
This discussion had the potential to go on for a long time unless Sophia put a stop to it. ‘Please send our apologies to Annie, but we really must get going.’
‘Indeed, we must,’ said Christopher. ‘But I should like to listen to it when I return.’
The room fell silent at Christopher’s words.
Obviously, they were politely meant, but if Annie got wind of it, then he would be obliged to listen to lots of it.
And, well, there was little worse than sitting through a few minutes of Annie’s writing.
Not that Sophia would say such a cruel thing out loud.
She wasn’t a monster and did not want to crush Annie’s dreams. None of them did, but none of them wanted to submit themselves to the torture either. It was a difficult balancing act.
As if they all realised they had fallen into an odd silence at the same time, they all started talking at once.
None of it made a great deal of sense, but eventually Sophia managed to extract them both, and they were soon on their way with no one having uttered any poetry.
Her maid, sitting to her left, turned slightly away from them to give them the illusion of privacy.