by Sharon Sobel
Since she was limited physically and had little choice of outdoor activity, she devoted time to each in turn. She listened politely to their prattle as they sat by the drawing room hearth, expressing curiosity about their collective pursuits. She feigned interest as Herbert Prindle described the thrill of fox-hunting, unable to keep her mind from wandering to the natives in America who took an animal’s life only for sustenance and would find the idea of fox-hunting repulsive and wasteful.
She managed to smile as Sampson Hodge, small and skinny with a horse face and uneven teeth, spoke of his favorite amusements. While he bragged of his winnings from wagering at Watier’s, she thought of the colonists’ skill at bartering with the natives for provisions they needed.
She pretended admiration when Humphrey Fotherington described his pride and talent for selecting a crack team and carriage at Tattersall’s, her thoughts returning to the Missouri frontier where horses had a more critical purpose than satisfying the whims of the wealthy.
At least Sophy had the consolation of Arabella’s company. She never felt the need to impress Herbert’s sweet and charming sister, for her intentions seemed honorable and her motives innocent. The only inconvenience was that Barclay continually stole Arabella away for conversation, leaving Sophy with the pair whose company she admittedly did not find as stimulating.
By the end of the day their behavior had not changed Sophy’s mind. The men Barclay deemed appropriate seemed pompous and full of conceit, with breeding the only common thread they shared with her. Nor would she fit their version of the ideal female, she suspected, once they got to know her. She felt guilty avoiding conversation with the very men whose attention she should be seeking, for it would disappoint her family and sabotage her future if she ultimately rejected them.
“I’m sorry, Barclay,” she told him earnestly at day’s end. “I am certain these men are wonderful friends. But they do not appeal to me as potential husbands. Please don’t misinterpret my words, but I suppose it’s because they are all like you. And there is only one of you. At any rate, you know it has always been my intention to return abroad once my ankle has healed. Last month I wrote and asked the British Mission Society to find me a suitable chaperone now that Mrs. Amesbury is no longer with us.”
“You have a deuced admirable way of looking at death. Well,” Barclay sighed, “if that’s how you truly feel I shan’t stop you. I hoped having my friends here might convince you to assume the lady’s life you were born for rather than live out a lingering childhood. I don’t mean to be cruel. There’s no one I adore as much as you, Soph, but I’d prefer to see you with an easier life.”
“Thank you, Bark, but I’m happy with my choice,” she insisted, leaning back against the drawing room sofa pillows.
“Still, it’s a shame we shan’t see you more often. If that’s how it is with you then, I’m off to court Arabella. Perhaps I might make a match with Prindle’s sister. I’ll be dashed if I have to deal with competition from Hodge and Fotherington. You aren’t the only female here, you know.”
Sophy had hardly recovered from Barclay’s words when Harry, their oldest brother, appeared in the doorway, his eyes burning.
“How dare you spoil our celebration with such talk?” he demanded. “How can you think of crossing the ocean with the holidays so close? I would advise you to keep such words from our mother.”
“Harry, be reasonable,” Sophy pleaded. “Mother understands how important my mission work is to me.”
“Have you so little consideration for her when she has only your welfare at heart? You’ve no idea how sorely she has missed you or how deeply she fears for your safety. I strongly urge you to consider Barclay’s suggestion and choose one of the men who so graciously joined us this year specifically to court you.”
Sophy was stung by his blunt speech. Even Barclay had no reply. Embarrassed into silence, she had no choice but to listen.
“Mother won’t say it, but I will,” Harry continued boldly. “You owe it to your family to assume a more traditional role and fulfill your familial duties. At twenty-four, Sophy, you’re already on the shelf. Who knows what damage you might already have done to your reputation? You should consider yourself fortunate, by God, that Barclay has been able to find men who would consider marriage with you.”
Sophy flushed at the harsh words. With Harry the head of the household since their father’s death, she could not disregard his wishes. Her ankle injury had upset her so deeply she had thought of no one but herself and the children this holiday season. Harry’s disappointment sobered her, adding another layer to what already promised to be a darker season than usual.
And yet, she reminded herself, brighter times waited across the ocean, if only her ankle would heal before her ship sailed.
Chapter Three
THE SUBDUED MOOD of the residents in the house had little effect on Jeremy St. Laurent, Viscount Cobleigh, when he arrived late the following day. If life at Deervale Hall were more somber than usual, he would not have noticed. His life was quiet and well-ordered from one day to the next now that the war had ended, with little variation in his routine even around the holidays.
Business affairs and social concerns had kept him in London until very recently. Yet he could not accept Harry’s invitation without first returning home to Cobleton to see to his father’s comfort and ensure his well-being. Having accomplished that, he set off for Derbyshire with high hopes of enjoying Christmas and New Year’s Eve in the company of his oldest and dearest friends.
As his luggage was unloaded and taken upstairs, he surveyed the great hall, familiar joys called back from memory. He remembered playing hide-and-seek with the Templeton brothers on the broad staircase with its carved balusters and mullioned windows. Its many steps somehow encouraged a chase. He wondered if children today did the same. In their younger days, Sophy had always wanted to be part of their games. Concern filled him as he recalled the fragile state of her ankle when he’d left and the anxiety in the depths of her cornflower blue eyes.
Her sorrowful face was pushed to the back of his mind as the merry salutations of Barclay and Eddie reached his ears.
“Jeremy,” Barclay greeted him, embracing him heartily. “Just like old times, with a few more bumps and bruises along the way.”
“Good to see you, old fellow,” Eddie said warmly. “How’s dad these days?”
“Dad never seems to change,” Jeremy admitted. “He’s stayed the same since his Revolutionary days. He doesn’t speak of it, but I suspect he relives battles in his imagination, wondering what he might have done to bring about a different outcome.”
“Even your father’s brilliant military maneuvers couldn’t have done it alone,” Barclay scoffed. “No doubt he’s pleased this one ended differently, as we all are, thanks in part to your efforts. Wouldn’t surprise me if he feels your reputation outshines his.”
“It’s enough to have the men home again. For those who made it, this holiday will be better than the last.” As Jeremy’s memories stretched back three years, he tried to repress the painful images from Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz that haunted him. The only relief was to change the subject. He glanced from one to the other. “How’s Harry coping?”
Their hesitation answered his question. “He hasn’t been the same since,” Eddie confessed. “Some view amputation as a badge of honor. While his service to the Crown was commendable, I fear he was injured before he could fulfill his own expectations.”
“He proved himself but never had a chance to follow through with his command,” Jeremy asserted. “He experienced the worst of war without being there at its conclusion. It’s unjust. At least he has Jane and the children to see him through the future.”
Gripping their shoulders in turn, he changed the subject. “Lady Fairfax greeted me when my carriage arrived. She looks as well as ever. Your mother’s a lovely woman, so lovely I
might court her myself if she were a few years younger or I older,” he admitted. “I look forward to spending the holidays here. I doubt we’ll still fit on those sleds, but it might be fun to challenge the Pennines and see who can hike the furthest once I settle in.”
“Let’s plan on it,” Barclay agreed, “though with the gales of late, we’ll need to be properly clad or we’ll freeze.”
“I’ll check on your bags,” Eddie offered. “Good to see you.”
“How’s that sister of yours?” Jeremy inquired casually after Eddie had left. “Is she up and ready for a quadrille yet?”
“It’ll be awhile before she’ll dance.” Barclay grimaced. “Doctor isn’t sure the leg will ever heal properly. Her greatest worry is being unable to return to America a month from now.”
Jeremy attempted to hide his surprise. “It’s a wonder she wants to after that spill on the ice. One would think she’d take advantage of the time to recover. She’s home with family and has a chance to see her nieces and nephews.”
“First time in a long time.” Barclay shrugged. “But that’s Sophy for you. Always ready to be off to win over the savages. Let’s take a walk tomorrow to check out those hills, shall we?”
Jeremy followed his old friend, trying to thrust Sophronia Templeton from his mind. Despite his attempts, being back in Deervale Hall where a new generation of children skated and played brought back a vision of Sophy as a youth, the long brown hair that fell about her shoulders tickling the nose of a sickly calf she cradled in the barn. The innocent faith he remembered seeing on her face that day matched the look he saw recently as she expected her leg to heal fully despite the doctor’s warning. He had seen her only briefly after the doctor’s visit, but her face reflected a mixture of desperation and determination. Smiling involuntarily, Jeremy suspected he knew which would win out.
He thought back to that night so many years ago. The tender calf had survived worries about its demise, he recalled, and come through its early ordeal to thrive. As had Sophy Templeton.
She had survived the intervening years quite nicely indeed.
SOPHY HERSELF WAS not sure how she would endure the days until Christmas and New Year’s were past and their guests would go home. She not only had to contend with the attentions of Herbert Prindle, Sampson Hodge, and Humphrey Fotherington, but now Jeremy St. Laurent as well.
Perhaps she might make good use of the ridiculous sedan chair after all, she decided. Word had reached her of Jeremy’s arrival before she retired that night. When he did not appear at breakfast the following morning, she decided to solicit the three other able-bodied gentlemen visitors for assistance with a ride outdoors. In addition to taking advantage of the sunshine and brisk air, she would be away from the house and the risk of seeing Jeremy. She suggested Miss Prindle accompany them.
“It will be an invigorating walk,” she warned them, “but that is one of the best things about the Pennines.”
While she could not expect to climb while riding in the sedan chair, as she would if she were healthy, a walk through the fields around Deervale Hall might be pleasant, she told them. While the makeshift chariot made her feel too much like an invalid, she tried to feel grateful. Her only consolation was that the curtains made it impossible to identify her from a distance.
As seemed to be customary, Herbert Prindle and Sampson Hodge carried the conveyance while Humphrey Fotherington walked alongside with Arabella Prindle on the other. Fotherington took advantage of the opportunity to become better acquainted with her while Prindle and Hodge spent their strength transporting her. Miss Prindle gasped for breath while trying to keep up as they trudged through snowbanks that deepened the farther they walked.
“When you are well again,” Fotherington told Sophy, “you must come to London and enjoy Hyde Park with me. Less strenuous than this walk, but even more lovely in spring and summer when the blossoms emerge. We might take in one of Mr. Kean’s performances in Drury Lane. Perhaps you might prefer to spend an evening in the grove at Vauxhall Gardens.”
“While they all sound entertaining,” Sophy demurred, “I fear I shall be abroad by then.”
She made certain her return to America became a familiar theme for all three men, for whenever one suggested a future activity they might share, it served as a satisfactory excuse to keep her from attending. When her suitors took turns walking beside her and wielding the chair poles, she took turns varying her excuses for dismissing them all from consideration.
The tactic succeeded until the sight of Jeremy St. Laurent, Viscount Cobleigh, approaching from a distance caused her spirits to fall. He knew where to find her, having spent nearly as much time at Deervale Hall as a child as she had. He exchanged pleasantries with the men before turning to her.
“You appear to be feeling quite well this morning, Miss Templeton,” he observed, his eyes meeting and holding hers, “seeing as how you’ve ventured out for a morning excursion. Lady Fairfax told me I would find you here.”
“How fortunate my mother was able to help you.” Sophy turned to avoid the intense gaze of his brown eyes.
“I am pleased to see her looking so well. And you also, despite your ankle.” Jeremy appeared to attempt to probe her mood before glancing away. “You have given your chair bearers more exercise carrying your throne than they would have received on horseback, yet they still cannot keep pace with the children who are so actively entertaining themselves on your lawn.”
“Are they?” Sophy inquired.
Her ears perked up along with her spirits. Her trio of unsuitable suitors had begun to rub their gloves together, muttering about chilled fingers and awkward footing on slippery hills. The slight irritation she heard in their voices made it clear they were ready to return to the warmth of the house, where they could relieve their discomfort by putting their feet in a basin of hot mustard-and-water.
“Shall we return to join the children, gentlemen?” Sophy suggested. “Their joy is infectious, and I feel somewhat in need of joy at present. Plus we shall be that much closer to returning indoors, if you so wish.”
She turned her head slightly and bestowed a smile of kindness upon her companions, just enough, she hoped, to make Jeremy St. Laurent feel a bit slighted. Yet if she had succeeded he did not show it, for she saw a hint of humor crease his face that annoyed her.
Jeremy walked alongside as her suitors struggled to turn the cumbersome sedan chair toward home and return its passenger to the lawn where he had left her nieces and nephews. The bulk of the weight that left her chairmen so out of breath must have come from the chair itself, for Sophy Templeton was as slim today as when he had last seen her. Slimmer, perhaps.
The reason, according to Barclay, it was the exercise in which she claimed to have partaken while in America. She had proven herself to be quite the adventuress in his absence. Jeremy wondered if she had changed in other ways or if she remained the same sweet, thoughtful young woman she was when he last saw her. Certainly the desire to return to America proved she possessed the same curiosity and courage she had as a child. She did not appear to have changed as much as he had, he mused.
By the time they reached the gates of Deervale Hall they were met by not one but a family of snowmen. Jeremy noted with amusement that the children had shown great consideration for their snow family by tying plaid scarves about their throats so tightly they would have choked had they been human. Built in graduated sizes, the snow father, mother, and children stood like sentinels along the drive leading to the front door.
The boys had now engaged the girls in a snowball fight, with Sylvan the spaniel too excited to take sides, running between enemy camps. Their strategic decision to hide behind a stand of evergreens and fire volleys from between the thick trunks seemed to be leading to victory, until the sedan chair came into view and Teddy defected to his aunt’s side, forcing Jonathan to be a one-man army.
&nbs
p; Jeremy abandoned the team of sedan chair bearers and hurried to Jonathan’s side behind a pine tree.
“I see your sister and your cousin have moved from behind the parent snowmen,” Jeremy said in a low voice.
The eldest at thirteen, Jonathan frowned, turning his head toward the snowman family. “Where’d they go?”
“Look there.” Jeremy pointed them out. “They’ve ducked behind the stone wall. You can see Sylvan’s tail wagging from here. What an utter lack of loyalty. He’s taken their side.”
Jonathan hurled a snowball in their direction. “They’ve less protection there,” he observed as a cry came from Emily before Susannah jumped to her feet.
“Yes, but they’ve one advantage over us,” Jeremy said.
The warning came too late as Susannah’s high snowball found its mark in the branches above their heads and clumps of snow fell in a shower, sticking to their hats and shoulders as delighted laughter issued from the girls.
“Is the advantage that they’ve blown up our cover?” Jonathan laughed, wiping snow from his hat with his mitten.
“Precisely.”
Jeremy brushed snow from Jonathan’s sleeves, then his own, as Sophy’s chairmen pulled up alongside the lane, depositing their lovely load. He tried to hide a smile as he saw the reason for their labored breathing. Young Teddy had climbed inside the box and was seated comfortably beside his Aunt Sophy.
Jeremy turned away to hide a look of amusement combined with disdain. Clearly, the three men who so obviously sought Sophy’s favor had not been soldiers in Wellington’s army. Their clumsiness had frustrated him when he’d watched from a distance as they attempted to maneuver their way even across the lower parts of the snow-covered Pennines. The small hills had proven to be a challenge.
They had not, after all, led a troop of cavalry on horseback through the Spanish hills, as he had. They had not carried wounded men to safety over their shoulders, or faced and beaten an onslaught of French soldiers who outnumbered them. Their weariness at carrying a slender female and her young nephew did not surprise him.
