Chapter Eight #2
Her expression turned slightly evasive. “Again, I have an instinct for these matters. When he came to call the other day, to tell me of your resignation, I could see something in his eyes. A glimmer I haven’t seen since Eleanor.
Mark my words. Soon you’ll be a happy family of three. Perhaps another baby on the way.”
That was unlikely since Henry had already been quite clear that there would be no shared intimacies.
“I am relieved for Amelia’s sake,” Charlotte said. “My cousin is a good man but losing his sister Rebecca devastated him. Her death caused him to turn further inward—to a place of utter bleakness. You must give him a chance. He’ll open up to you in time.”
“He came to the nursery. To visit with Amelia.” Sophia smiled, thinking of the large man drinking pretend tea from the tiny cup. “Amelia served him pretend tea. And yesterday he came for real tea. You should have seen him in that small chair.”
“How adorable.” A wistfulness came to Charlotte’s eyes. “She’s a lovely child. She looks just like Rebecca.”
“Henry said it made it difficult for him to make room in his heart for the child.”
Charlotte nodded. “Yes, seeing her has pained him. But now that he’ll have you to guide him, I predict a thaw in our Henry’s heart.”
Sophia swallowed. “I hope you’re correct.”
“May I ask? Truthfully, do you care for Henry?”
Heat rose to Sophia’s cheeks. “We have not known each other very long. Not in this way. But I—yes. I care for him. More than I thought possible. There is a quality about him…” She searched for the right words.
“That makes my stomach flutter. And my chest ache. In a good way.” Saying it out loud made her know how true it was.
Perhaps it was unwise to share her intimate thoughts with Charlotte, but it was too late now.
Henry’s cousin was easy to talk to. A woman who knew exactly how to drag a confession out of a person.
“We had a talk the other night at dinner, which explained a great deal to me about his character.”
Charlotte’s smile softened. “Excellent. The rest can come with time.”
Could it? Sophia wondered. Or would she always care more for him than he did for her?
Charlotte set her cup down with decisive cheer. “Now, let’s talk about the wedding arrangements. Flowers? Music? Guests? I shall help with anything you need.”
For the next half hour, Charlotte swept Sophia along in a whirl of suggestions, assurances, and bright enthusiasm.
When she finally rose to leave, Charlotte pulled Sophia into a warm embrace.
“You’re going to bring this house back to life,” Charlotte said. “And the man who lives in it too. You will see. I am always right about these things.”
Sophia laughed softly. “Thank you for your kind words. Truly.”
“That’s what family does,” Charlotte said, eyes shining. “And you are ours now.”
After she was gone, Sophia stood in the quiet drawing room, staring at the tea things. Why hadn’t Henry told her that the idea for their marriage had been Charlotte’s? Should it matter whose idea it was? It should not. Not really. But for some reason, it did.
*
Sophia had barely returned to her room to change for dinner when a knock sounded. “Miss Ashford?” Grimshaw’s voice carried through the wood. “A package has arrived for you. From London.”
The book! She’d nearly forgotten about it in all the chaos of the past few days. She opened the door to find Grimshaw holding a small parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.
“It arrived on the afternoon post, miss. Shall I bring it to the drawing room?”
“No, thank you. I’ll take it now.” Sophia accepted the package, feeling its satisfying weight in her hands. The bookseller’s mark, Hatchard’s of Piccadilly, was stamped on the paper.
After Grimshaw withdrew, Sophia carefully untied the string and peeled back the paper.
Inside lay a small volume bound in pale blue paper covers, no larger than her hand.
The title was printed in elegant script across the front: Cinderella or the Little Glass Slipper.
Published by S. & J. Fuller, Temple of Fancy, Rathbone Place, London, 1819.
It had arrived today. On the very day Henry had returned with the marriage license. Was it an omen? A sign, perhaps, that her story could have a happy ending too?
Sophia opened the cover carefully. Inside were hand-colored illustrations—delicate paper vignettes showing Cinderella in various scenes.
The illustrations were exquisite. Cinderella with fair hair and a sweet face, her fairy godmother with a kind expression, the golden coach drawn by mice-turned-horses, and finally, the wedding scene with Cinderella in a magnificent gown.
Amelia would adore it.
Sophia gathered her skirts and hurried up to the nursery, clutching the book to her chest, perhaps more excited than the child would be. She found Amelia with Lucy, playing with her dolls.
“Mama, you came to see me.” Amelia abandoned her dolls and ran to her, arms outstretched.
Mama. Would she ever tire of hearing the word come out of the child’s mouth? “I have a surprise for you, sweetheart. A new book.”
“A book.” Amelia’s eyes lit up. “May we read it now?”
“If you’d like. Lucy, you may take a break while we read.”
“Thank you, miss.” Lucy bobbed a curtsy and withdrew.
Sophia settled into the rocking chair near the window, adjusting Amelia on her lap. The afternoon light was perfect for reading, golden and warm.
“This is a very special book,” Sophia said, showing Amelia the cover. “It’s called Cinderella. Do you see the pretty lady in the blue dress?”
“Pretty.” Amelia touched the illustration with one finger.
“Shall we read about her?”
Amelia nodded enthusiastically.
Sophia opened to the first page and began reading the verses aloud, her voice falling into the rhythm of the poetry. Amelia leaned back against her chest, warm and sweet-smelling.
The story unfolded: Cinderella living with her cruel stepmother and stepsisters, doing all the hard work while they went to balls and parties. Sophia’s voice faltered slightly when she reached the parts about the unkindness, about how poorly Cinderella was treated.
“Why is she mean?” Amelia asked. “Why is the mama mean to Cinderella?”
Sophia’s stomach churned. “That’s not her real mama, my love. This is her stepmother—someone who married her papa after her real mama died.”
“Oh.” Amelia was quiet for a moment, processing this. “What happened to my mama?”
“Your mother died when you were a baby.” Sophia held her closer. “Your mama Rebecca loved you very much, but she and your papa went to heaven. But you have me and Uncle Henry now. Your new papa and mama.”
She looked up at Sophia with wide eyes. “Will you be mean like the stepmother?”
“No, sweetheart. Never.” Sophia kissed her forehead. “Not all stepmothers are like the one in this story. I love you, and I always will.”
Amelia seemed satisfied with this and snuggled back against Sophia’s chest. “Read more.”
Sophia continued, but Amelia interrupted again when they reached the part about Cinderella doing all the work, scrubbing floors and serving her stepsisters.
“Were you like Cinderella?” Amelia asked, twisting to look up at her. “Did you have to do work?”
Sophia’s breath caught. How much to tell a three-year-old? “Yes, love. A little bit like Cinderella.”
“Why?”
“Well…” Sophia chose her words carefully. “When I was a baby, my mother died. I never knew her.”
“Like me.”
“That’s right. And then, when I was a little girl, my papa died. And after that, my brothers and I didn’t have very much money. So when I grew up, I had to work to survive. That’s how I came here—to be your governess and take care of you.”
“Did you have mean people? Like Cinderella?”
Tears pricked Sophia’s eyes. “Some people were unkind, yes. But I had my brothers, who loved me very much. And then I came here and met you, and you made everything better.”
Amelia considered this seriously. “And now you’re marrying Papa. Like Cinderella marries the prince.”
“Yes, exactly like that.”
“So you get a happy ending.” Amelia’s face lit up with understanding. “Like in the story!”
“Yes, darling. I get a happy ending.” Sophia’s voice wavered. “I get to stay here with you and Papa, and we’ll be a family.”
“A real family,” Amelia agreed. She patted Sophia’s cheek with one small hand. “I’m glad you were like Cinderella. Because now you get to be happy.”
Oh, this child. She was simply too sweet for words. “Me too, sweetheart. Me too.”
They continued reading—the fairy godmother’s magic, the ball, the midnight escape, the lost slipper. When they reached the wedding scene at the end, Amelia touched the illustration of Cinderella in her wedding gown.
“You’ll wear a pretty dress too?”
“Yes. A very kind and hard-working dressmaker is making it for me to wear at my wedding,” Sophia said.
“Good. Read Cinderella again?”
“Again? We just finished.”
“Please?”
“Oh, very well. One more time.”
Sophia began reading from the beginning.
As she read, she thought about how similar her life had been to the fictional Cinderella’s.
For whatever reason, it had not occurred to her before.
She’d been orphaned, forced to work, treated poorly by people who should have cared for her.
However, in her story, the prince had not fallen in love with her.
He had simply needed a wife and a mother for Amelia.
Life was not a fairy tale. She had never expected it to be, so there was no need to feel sorry for herself.
She didn’t hear the door open, didn’t notice the figure standing in the doorway until Amelia suddenly squealed with delight.
“Papa, hello.”
Sophia’s head snapped up. Henry stood just inside the nursery, one hand on the doorframe, his dark eyes fixed on them. How long had he been standing there? What had he heard?
“I apologize,” he said. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“You’re not intruding.” Sophia shifted Amelia on her lap. “We were just reading a new book. It arrived today from London.”