by Lucy Langton
Yes, Sophia would reinvent herself in England. She’d no longer be the reclusive beauty that made tongues wag from up and down 5th Avenue. Finally, Sophia Barberry would become the worldly woman that she always wished to be, and if that meant having to hang on the arm of the Duke of Clumber, then so be it.
“Have you anything to say, M’Lord?” Henry Barberry said to Lord Timothy, and all eyes turned towards the future duke.
Just then, Sophia sneezed, and Lord Timothy darted a gaze her way, as though his future bride had purposefully stolen the spotlight.
“On behalf of the Clumber name,” Lord Timothy began, “I’d like to express my happiness.”
Silence. That was all. His words were as icy as his demeanour and Sophia found herself wishing for a more eloquent husband.
A servant passed with a silver tray and Lord Timothy hastily picked up a flute of champagne. He smiled warmly at the servant and thanked him for the refreshment, and Sophia wondered if perhaps he was a nice fellow after all, but merely disguising the fact. She had observed him for the better part of the afternoon and noted that he was cordial with those around him. So why was it that every time they had briefly encountered, he had been aloof and almost sullen? Sophia thought that perhaps it was very British of him. Was it not the custom in their country to be cold to those with whom they were least? It was a puzzle Sophia had not yet solved.
“Daughter, have you any words?” Henry asked, and she felt all eyes turn on her.
Sophia cleared her throat and thought of what to say. She did not fear public speaking so much as the dread of saying the wrong thing. She was accustomed to saying the first thing that came to mind and had trouble censoring herself. Often that landed Sophia into a great deal of trouble, because what sprung from her mouth was the truth. Nobody wanted to hear that.
“I’m delighted to be a part of the Clumber family,” Sophia began, looking around the room tentatively.
But I do wish that I was marrying someone who would smile now and again. Or at least be more than a sculpture made of ice.
“And this union between Clumber and Barberry is, I know, one that is pleasing for all involved,” Sophia went on. Everyone she knew surrounded her. There were aunts and uncles, cousins, godparents, society aficionados Sophia had been raised with. They all had polite smiles on their faces as she spoke. Sophia assumed that it must be the effect of the champagne on them. “Of course, the customs in America are quite different than the customs in Britain,” she continued, “and I’m sure that in time, the duke and I will grow to understand each other’s differences and learn from one another.”
“Hear, hear!” Henry said, raising his glass again.
Sophia looked towards her mother, whose eyes were shining. Why should her mother be so proud of the situation? Martha knew full well that Sophia was not keen to marry, yet she couldn’t help but note the motherly pride that comes from seeing one’s only child married off to someone of high standing. But the fellow didn’t even have money! How was it that New York society was so impressed by her marriage to a poor duke? Sophia reasoned it was because Americans were keen on all things British. Somehow, in their eyes, it made Sophia superior for becoming a duchess. But she could clearly see beyond all that and comprehend the situation for what it truly was: a business transaction. And it was a transaction that didn’t even benefit the Barberry name in any way.
Sophia, however, wise as she was for being only nineteen, knew that it wasn’t about money so much as it was titles. To have a daughter with an English title was appealing for any American, no matter their financial standing. Sophia was going to be captive to that fact, but she would make the best of it.
“Canapé?” a servant asked her, presenting an assortment of finger food on a silver tray.
“Why not?” Sophia replied, taking a small pastry. The contents of the pastry were what she perceived to be spinach and cheese, and her tongue delighted in it. If her American family was obsessed with all things British, their palates favoured all things French. French cuisine was the chosen repast of Martha, who insisted French food be served at all her dinner parties and family events. Sophia didn’t mind this food. On the contrary, she had grown to love the richness of it, but she did fear the food that would greet her in England. She had heard horror stories about the bland, Spartan repast of the British. But as with everything else, she would make the best of it.
As the guests began to mingle and eat, Sophia looked across the stately salon and noticed that Lord Timothy was eyeing her. As soon as their gazes met, Lord Timothy looked away. Such strange behaviour from a future husband.
“Are you excited?” Kitty Carmichael, one of Sophia’s oldest friends, asked.
“I suppose,” Sophia replied wistfully.
“I’m so jealous that you’re going to London.”
“I think we’re only in town for a few months of the year,” Sophia explained. “The rest of the time is spent in the country.”
“A British country estate! How dreamy,” Kitty replied
“I’m told that it’s very impressive. Hopefully the Barberry bank account will bring it back up to standard,” Sophia said wryly, taking a sip from her champagne. She looked over at Lord Timothy, who yet again looked away. Was their entire marriage going to be just so? Was he always going to look away from her, even when she was standing in a state of undress in his chambers? The thought made Sophia quite uneasy.
“I can come and visit, can’t I?” Kitty asked, entwining her arm within Sophia’s.
“Of course, you can. There will be plenty of guest rooms to choose from.”
Sophia wasn’t making it up, or even boasting. Willow Grange, the name of the Clumber country estate, was supposed to be quite palatial, with a staff numbering thirty. Sophia was mildly daunted by the notion of having to care for such a grand estate. And considering that the current Duke of Clumber was in such poor health, it would be no time at all before Sophia would have to be up for the task.
“I’m just so excited,” Emily said, swooping in and taking Sophia’s other arm. Emily was Martha’s sister, and the two looked very much alike. That being said, Martha married a rich businessman and Emily was merely a spinster. Because of that status, she would accompany Sophia on her grand trip across the Atlantic to her new home.
“It will be an adventure,” Sophia said to Emily, quite looking forward to the notion of sailing across the sea with her aunt.
“I hope I don’t get sick. Rough waters always make me rather ill,” Emily said. “But, oh my! Look how handsome your husband is,” she went on, looking across at Lord Timothy. “I wish I could say I wasn’t jealous.”
Sophia frowned. It was so like Aunt Emily to be garish. She was always saying the wrong thing, in Sophia’s estimation. And for her to admire the beauty of a man who was ten years her junior was embarrassing, at best.
“I agree,” Kitty chimed in. “I’ve never seen a man so dashing in all my life. Do all British men look like that?”
“Like what?” Sophia asked.
“Like a painting or something. He doesn’t even look real.”
“Oh, he’s real enough,” Sophia assured her.
Gazing across the way once more, Lord Timothy’s eyes met hers and Sophia gave a pleasant smile, hoping to ease whatever tension might be between them. Lord Timothy did not smile in return but, rather, tightened his collar and looked at her sternly.
So, that’s how it’s going to be, is it? A lifetime of stern gazes and cold sentiments.
Even though Sophia didn’t know who her future husband was going to turn out to be, she couldn’t help but feel excitement in her breast. She was beginning a new life, in a new country, and there was no telling what might happen to her there.
Chapter 2
“Lady Sophia,” Sophia said aloud as she looked at herself in the mirror. Just to her right, a window looked onto the vast blue sea. “Lady Sophia,” she repeated, trying the name on for size.
Sophia wasn’t quite sure how s
he felt about it. It was going to be nice to be called a lady, and a duchess, but she still found it hard to fathom that this new life was only on the horizon.
She got up from her vanity table and took a little walk around her cabin. The SS Duchess of Gloucester was the finest ship on the sea, and Sophia was enjoying one of the most luxurious rooms on the top deck. There was no balcony, which was unfortunate, because Sophia wished to step out into the sea air in private. In lieu of that, she would take a stroll twice a day along the deck, where she would greet fellow passengers. Sophia had made a lot of good friends on the trip thus far, but the one acquaintance she had yet to make was that of her future husband.
It didn’t trouble Sophia too much that Lord Timothy was still being distant. She had her books and beautiful cabin to keep her company, as well as Aunt Emily and her maid Arabella.
“That gown is lovely, M’am,” Arabella said, folding some garments in the corner.
“Thank you,” Sophia replied, taking another look at herself in the mirror and realising that her violet gown was, indeed, quite exquisite. It was accented by amethyst jewels around her neck and dangling from her ears. The colour of the gown showed off Sophia’s raven hair and shocking green eyes. “Where is Aunt Emily?”
“In her room, I believe. She has taken ill yet again this morning,” Arabella explained.
It seemed as though Aunt Emily had been sick for almost the entire trip. She had quipped beforehand that she hoped it would not be so, but in truth that’s exactly what happened. The tossing of the vessel to and fro seemed to have played a cruel trick on Aunt Emily’s stomach, and she was only seen once in the dining room, and very rarely on the decks.
Although Sophia felt sorry for her aunt, she still welcomed the privacy that she enjoyed without her presence, and didn’t mind Arabella’s company in the least, who was a quiet, shy girl. Arabella had what Sophia considered to be an unfortunate physique. She was rail-thin to the point of looking emaciated, with her eyes popping out of her head. Sophia couldn’t quite understand why her maid was so underweight, considering that she was fed well, but she chalked it up to far too much strain and activity.
Those were the very things that Sophia avoided. Although she was trim, Sophia thought it was appropriate to have some healthy, womanly curves on her frame. To achieve that, she liked to find the right balance between exertion and repose, and she always chose meals that were not too heavy, while still being nourishing.
Sophia was a marvellously healthy young woman, and that also afforded her clarity of thought and an even temper – when she chose to use it.
“It will be a nice, sunny day today,” Arabella said, her folding done. “You should be afforded a nice turn on the deck.”
“I look forward to it,” Sophia replied.
“Perhaps Lord Timothy should like to join you,” Arabella added.
“Perhaps not,” Sophia replied plainly.
Although Sophia knew she had to have some sort of escort at all times, she often ignored the fact. She’d walk here and there on the ship, disregarding whether or not Arabella was behind her. For this reason, Arabella was always in a frantic state, trying to catch up with her mistress.
On that morning, Sophia had the sudden inclination to check in on her aunt before going to the dining room for breakfast. And so she opened the door to her room and made a hasty progression without giving notice to her maid, who proceeded to run behind her.
Sophia did not mind mixing with the lower classes, and for that reason she would nod her head to each passer-by, greeting them as she would anyone else in proper society.
“Good morning,” she said to an elderly man, who slowly walked with a cane.
“Good morning,” the old man replied, tipping his hat.
“Good morning,” Sophia said to a young couple, no doubt on their honeymoon.
“Good morning,” they replied with eager smiles.
Arabella looked up and down the hall, her eyes even wider. Sophia assumed her maid was in awe of everything.
“Here we are,” Sophia said, happening upon her aunt’s berth. She knocked upon the door.
“Come in!” she heard Aunt Emily’s voice cry.
Sophia found her aunt splayed across her bed, a glass of water by her side.
“Poor dear,” Sophia said, pulling up a chair beside her aunt’s bed.
“I’ll live,” Aunt Emily replied, coughing a little.
“Arabella, may I have a damp cloth?” Sophia asked.
“Of course.”
The damp cloth procured and handed over, Sophia folded it and placed it upon her aunt’s forehead.
“There, there now.”
“You look lovely today, as always,” Aunt Emily said, her voice hoarse.
“I’m about to have breakfast, and then enjoy a walk in the sea air.”
At the very mention of breakfast and sea air, Aunt Emily paled ever so slightly and closed her eyes.
“May I get you anything?” Sophia asked.
“No, no. I can’t stomach a thing.”
Sophia left her aunt’s chamber and made her way to the deck. She couldn’t believe her eyes. She was greeted with that same beauty every morning, but it still shocked her each and every time. The sky was a light blue with fluffy white clouds, and the sea was a deep blue, the waves gently crashing all around them. Lords and ladies passed on either side, their apparel in various different rich hues. Some ladies held parasols, while gentlemen extended their arms so that their companions could gingerly hold on.
Did Sophia wish to hold on to the elbow of Lord Timothy? Not particularly. She was perfectly fine on her own, escorting herself. But off in the distance, at the far end of the deck, Sophia could see that Lord Timothy had plenty of company of his own. He was chatting with two fellows, holding what appeared to be a cup of tea and a saucer. and seemed happy enough. From that distance, Sophia could marvel at how pleasant and affable Lord Timothy appeared in the company of others. He was even smiling, something he had never done in Sophia’s presence.
She watched as his gaze turned towards her, and Sophia quickly looked away, feigning disinterest.
The bell was sounded to initiate breakfast, and Sophia walked through a large door. The dining room was pure opulence, with high ceilings and a domed roof with frescoed heavens and little cherubs flying around in the soft clouds. There was a light airiness to the room, which Sophia admired. Should she have any say in the decoration of Willow Grange, she would surely remember the interior of the dining room on the SS Duchess of Gloucester.
She found her assigned table and watched as a footman pulled out her chair. Seating herself, Sophia smiled as she admired the centre of the large round table. There was a glorious assortment of fruits, arrayed in a tower, as well as fresh pastries that smelt of warm butter. Waiters walked from table to table in their white coats, pouring tea and presenting bread baskets that smelt just as fresh and delectable.
An apricot pastry was placed upon her china plate with silver tongs, as well as a round of fresh white bread and a piece of candied fruit.
“How do you take your tea, M’Lady?” a waiter asked.
“With lemon, I thank you,” Sophia replied.
Next out of the kitchen was a hot tray with poached eggs, delicate sausage, stewed tomatoes, and roasted mushrooms. It was a very English breakfast but was not dull in the slightest. That being said, it was a hearty meal and Sophia figured she’d have to take two turns around the deck in order to ensure proper digestion.
