by Lucy Langton
“There’s no point to reinventing the garden with all this rain,” Philip said through his mouthful.
“You have terrible manners.”
“How so?”
“Not only do you consistently speak through a mouthful of food, you also malign a project that will increase the beauty of your home.”
“This isn’t my home.”
“Then why are you here?” Sophia asked, her question both an accusation and a sincere curiosity of hers. Why was Philip there?
“To take care of my father,” Philip said plainly, and the response was sincere.
Looking about the table, Sophia could see that the duke was nowhere in sight. Sometimes he made it down to breakfast, and other times he felt too infirm.
“There are attendants to look after him.”
“Yes, but he needs someone around who actually cares for him,” Philip explained.
“And Lord Timothy does not?”
“No, he does not.”
Sophia sat with that response for some time. Was her husband such a horrible brute that he didn’t even care for his own father? The man he would inherit the title from? It seemed too unfortunate to even expound upon further.
“You will enjoy the garden,” Sophia said, wishing to change the subject.
“I’m sure it will be lovely. But I’m not entirely convinced that it will ever stop raining,” Philip said, looking out of the window at the gloomy, rain-drenched sky.
“Does it always rain this much at Willow Grange?”
“Only since you’ve come here,” Philip said softly. “I only jest. Perhaps the rain is meant to clear out the old and usher in the new.”
Sophia, in response to his optimistic words, reached her fork over and stole some of Philip’s food, placing it in her mouth.
Sophia meant it to be playful, but there was a funny look in Philip’s eye as he watched her mouth chew. His jaw clenched and his spine became erect. She could see she was having some kind of magical effect on him, and Sophia watched as Philip became uncomfortable and turned away. She wished to laugh, thinking it funny that Philip couldn’t bear to see her chew on a piece of meat. But then again, there were a number of things that were becoming difficult for Sophia to bear as well, regarding Philip’s person.
For one thing, at the breakfast table, he occasionally brushed the back of his hand along the side of Sophia’s leg. It always seemed unintentional and did not feel intrusive in the slightest. In fact, sometimes it sent goosepimples along Sophia’s skin. There were times where it almost made her moan.
“Lord Timothy shall be down shortly,” Sophia said, changing the subject yet again.
“I would not count on it.”
“I was told he went to bed early.”
“That’s because he went to bed late.”
“What does that mean?” Sophia asked.
“He was out in town most of the evening, carousing,” Philip explained.
Sophia’s blood went cold. It was one thing that her husband was not sharing her bed, and quite another that he was perhaps sharing a bed with someone else. She lost her appetite completely.
“I see,” Sophia said, casting her eyes down towards the table.
Philip reached over and placed a finger underneath Sophia’s chin, and the touch was so pleasing that she wished to close her eyes and savour it. But to do so would not be proper in the slightest.
“Cheer up, now,” Philip said with a boyish grin. “You’re not missing out on anything.”
The two of them looked at each other and Sophia feared that she might get lost in Philip’s green eyes. Despite the darkness outside the window, Philip’s eyes were light.
Sophia thought that her secret affections were foolish, and she looked away, removing her chin from his finger.
***
Philip scowled, not liking it when Sophia pulled away in that fashion. Whenever she did so, he thought her spoiled, which was his first impression of her. By that point in their dealings, he knew she was far from spoiled, but still, he did not like it when she pulled away.
He too was having thoughts of late. Delicious thoughts that were also troubling. He imagined Sophia was his, that she was unclothed and in his bed for him alone to enjoy. For the first time in his life he was happy that his brother was a drunk, because it meant that he had not the wits enough to sleep with his own wife. It pleased Philip to think that his brother was so past help that he couldn’t see the beauty that was laid before him, like a fine dish served up on a platter.
Philip’s thoughts of Sophia were innocent enough at first. He imagined kissing her, holding her, walking hand in hand. But those thoughts had taken a turn since seeing her come in from the garden soaking wet. Her moist gown had revealed the totality of her delightful form, and Philip couldn’t get it out of his mind. He imagined peeling that gown off her and seeing what lay beneath. He imagined caressing every inch of her body and delighting in the fact that those rich curves were his and his alone.
“I must go,” Sophia said, getting up from her chair. “There is much to do.”
As she did so, Philip reached for her hand and grabbed it tightly. It was an involuntary motion, but he did not regret it in the slightest. He wanted Sophia to know of his feelings, no matter how inappropriate they were.
***
Sophia looked down at him quizzically, wondering what the grab was for. Her heart fluttered when she thought that his desire might match her own. She quickly pulled her hand away, lest one of the servants see what was going on.
“I’ll be on my way now,” she said, walking towards the door.
***
Philip exhaled and knit his brow. The whole business of craving Sophia so deeply had become frustrating. He continued eating the food on his plate and contemplating the whole sordid business.
Sophia went straight out to the garden again, umbrella in hand. After finishing his breakfast, Philip engaged in his new habit, which was to go to the window and watch her. What he noticed that morning, which he had not fully perceived before, was that Sophia looked more unhappy of late. Perhaps she had resigned herself to her husband’s drinking, and even his infidelities. But that mirth she initially brought to Willow Grange had faded. Or at least it was hidden.
Philip thought of ways that he could cheer Sophia up, for he did not wish for her to be sad. But in reality, there was not a thing he could do. Timothy was a scoundrel and Philip assumed that he was probably in love with another woman. He shook his head in dismay. How could he help? The first thoughts that came to mind were scandalous at best. That was how he wished to help. By ravaging Sophia and giving her a sense of what a true man could provide for her. But there was no way of executing that without ruining the Clumber family name.
“Always looking out the window wistfully,” Timothy said, entering the room, yet again wearing the same suit he had fallen asleep in.
“Dreaming of escape,” Philip replied wryly.
“If you wish to escape then you’re free to do so.”
“And leave you alone in this house? You’d burn the place down,” Philip said, returning to the breakfast table.
“I would never dream of such a thing.”
“It would not be intentional.”
Timothy was in his customary seat at the head of the table, and Philip seated himself at the other head of the table, where the duke was accustomed to sitting. Seeing that, Timothy became annoyed with his brother.
“Where’s Father?” Timothy asked.
“As though you cared.”
“You think I don’t care for my own father?”
“I know that you do not.”
“Is that so?” Timothy asked.
“Indeed,” Philip replied.
There was tense silence as Timothy was poured his tea and Philip asked for a second plate of food. He was a great eater, due to his rather large, soldierly size, and Philip found that eating a great deal of food gave him the necessary strength to endure life at Willow Grange.
Timothy asked for one soft-boiled egg and two squares of toast, and Philip rolled his eyes. Perhaps that was why his brother was so weak. He hadn’t the inclination, nor to the stomach, to handle life. He’d always been that way and sometimes it made Philip feel as though he were the older brother and Timothy the younger.
“Where’s my wife?” Timothy finally asked.
“In the garden.”
“Always in the garden,” Timothy bemoaned.
“She’s transforming it. It will be grander than when Mother was still alive.”
At the mention of this, silence suffused the room. Even the servants went still. The former Duchess of Clumber had been an excellent woman, in every respect, and her loss was mourned by all. And Timothy, who hadn’t wit enough to do anything right, at least had the good sense to miss his cherished mother.
“The garden was grand, then,” Timothy said softly.
“It was indeed.”
“Do you recall the labyrinth that she commissioned?”
“How can I forget? We used to get lost in it on summer days,” Philip replied.
“It went fallow after she passed,” Timothy said with a biting tone, as though he blamed his mother for dying.
“Father hadn’t the mind to keep it up,” Philip said.
“Nor the strength.” Timothy looked up to the ceiling, towards his left, where the duke’s room was. “He is not well this morning?” Timothy asked.
“He has not been well for several mornings. Somehow that fact has escaped you,” Philip said, taking a piece of buttered toast and biting into it.
“I have better things to do than worry about Father every waking moment,” Timothy explained.
“Like going to the local coaching house.”
“I do go on occasion,” Timothy replied with a smile.
Philip let the argument fall. They were becoming accustomed to bickering in the mornings over breakfast, like an old married couple, and Philip wondered if Timothy wasn’t taking his frustrations out on him, and vice versa.
“I’m going,” Philip said, rising from the table.
“Off to the fields, to fritter the day away?” Timothy replied.
“Precisely.”
***
In truth, Philip had business to attend to that afternoon. There was a family that lived in the village and sold confectionery in a little shop. They were rather poor, although hearty and happy, and they were having some difficulty with the rain coming through their shop roof. Philip had a great deal of experience in building and engineering from his time in the military, and he had offered to help the family. No one in the Clumber home knew of Philip’s secret, humanitarian dealings in his spare time.
“You’re such a help,” the proprietor of the shop said.
“This is a simple job,” he replied.
“I cannot thank you enough.”
Philip was working in silence, and it was the time where he felt the most peace. Working with his hands was something he had always relished, as it allowed him to clear his mind and think. The trappings of society and the beleaguered Clumber name would disappear when Philip had tools in his hands.
For the better part of the afternoon he worked on that roof, and by the time that late afternoon arrived, the proprietor of the shop, and his wife, offered Philip tea and toffee.
Sitting with them and chatting about this and that, there was the tinkle of a bell at the door as a customer was arriving.
It was Sophia.
Philip nearly spat out his tea, amazed that she was paying a call to the shop. He didn’t know she had an inclination towards confection.
“Philip,” Sophia said breathlessly. There was a look of confusion on her face.
“Good day,” Philip said, taking a sip of his tea.
“What are you doing here?”
“Taking tea and eating toffee. What does it look like I’m doing?” Philip didn’t mean to be haughty, but he also did not wish to reveal the true reason he was there.
“He has fixed our roof for us,” the proprietor said with a warm grin.
“Is that so?” Sophia said, narrowing her eyes.
***
So, Philip had been lying to her. Why did he feel the need to do that? Certainly, he could have merely told her he was there to do good. What other secret dealings did Philip engage in that Sophia did not know about?
In truth Sophia had visited the shop often, trying to make up for the lack of sweetness in her life.
“We have made a fresh batch of liquorice,” the proprietor said, reaching for a jar on the shelf. “And there are more marzipans as well.”
“You know my tastes,” Sophia said with a warm smile.
She looked back towards Philip and did not know what to do. Should she join him for tea? Or was it best to carry on her business and depart?
“You’ll rot your teeth,” Philip said.
“No, I fear it is my soul that will rot before my teeth,” Sophia replied.
“Is that so?” he said.
“Indeed.”
“Do you wish to have a cup of tea?” the proprietor asked.
“I have already taken tea, but I thank you,” Sophia said, paying for her liquorice and marzipans.
“Very well,” the proprietor replied.
Sophia left without saying goodbye to Philip. Their relationship was still so strange and tense that often she didn’t know what the right thing was to do or say.
***
As she departed, Philip thought to himself yet again that Sophia could be rather spoiled and haughty at times. Yet still, he couldn’t help but admire her delicious form as she walked out the door.
***
Returning home, Sophia ate some of her sweets and puckered her lips. She enjoyed the flavour of them, and what’s more, she had enjoyed accidentally running into Philip as she carried out her daily errands.
But she was vexed by something. Seeing Philip helping a village family in need had only increased his attractiveness, in her estimation. She had felt lonely for most of the afternoon but seeing Philip in the shop had made her feel less so. It was an attraction that was beginning to play on a deeper level within her.
Sophia looked out at the rain and sighed. With Philip away, the rest of the afternoon would be spent in silence. There was no telling where her husband was. The loneliness within Sophia Barberry was beginning to haunt her.
“May I have a word?” Sophia heard Timothy’s voice say.
“Of course,” Sophia replied, wishing more than anything to have a sincere discussion with her husband.
