“Of course, girls,” Mrs. Spooner said, before descending the stairs with her husband.
Sophie trudged toward Mariah in her ridiculous, clanking armor. She held out her hand to touch Mariah’s arm, but Mariah shrugged her off.
“Don’t touch me,” Mariah snapped.
“What is wrong with you?” Sophie demanded.
“I need a little time to myself. To be myself.”
Mariah could feel her sister’s intense stare but could not meet it. She instead looked down at the paintbrush in her hand.
“I know it’s been difficult … taking turns being me, never having a moment of privacy,” Sophie finally said. “But it won’t be for much longer—a month at most.”
Mariah slammed down her brush and paint tray with a clatter. “Then what? What are we going to do, Sophie?”
“Find a place of our own.”
“With what money?” Mariah cried. “You’ve spent nearly all of the five pounds that Sir Thomas gave you on clock parts, and another five pounds could hardly keep us both for long in any decent situation. Or do you wish to go back to a life of poverty?”
“You know that I don’t!”
“Then why do you not encourage Mr. Miller to propose?” Mariah asked, near tears. “He’s young and handsome, he’s rich, and he loves you! What better offer do you think you’ll ever receive? Most of us would be content with far less.”
“Are you jealous, Mariah?”
“Shouldn’t I be?” she asked. “You’ve always had the better of me.”
“The better of what?!” Sophie exclaimed. “Our situations have always been the same! What’s mine is yours, and what’s yours is mine.”
“You always do what you want and say what you want, no matter what the consequences. You must always be in charge. You don’t even care that the only father we’ve ever known is dying, and you refuse to give him your forgiveness.”
“I gave him love instead of lies.”
“You never consider what I want.”
“All right, Mariah,” Sophie said quietly. “What do you want?”
“I’ve always wanted to be more like you!”
Sophie gave her a small half smile. “That’s funny—”
“It’s not funny,” Mariah snapped.
“It is a little,” Sophie said. “You see … I’ve always wished to be more like you.”
“Like me?” Mariah whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Sophie put her arm around her sister’s shoulders. “Maybe not your propensity for tears, but I’ve always been envious of your ability to love those around you, especially the most disagreeable people. Mrs. Trenton, Mrs. Ellis, Aunt Bentley, Charles—even Sir Thomas is more pleasant when you’re around. He didn’t even curse once when Mrs. Spooner mentioned tea. Think of the improvement. Everybody wants to be near you.”
“Not everybody.”
“All right, not everybody. But think of the queue that would create,” Sophie said. “You wouldn’t be able to walk, let alone use the monkey closet.”
Mariah let out a reluctant chuckle. “I don’t think you’re supposed to mention the water closet in polite conversation.”
“And when has my conversation ever been marked by its politeness?” Sophie asked. “Yet another area in which you’re by far my superior.”
“But you’re witty and interesting and men like you.”
“One man does at least,” Sophie admitted, shaking her head. “And I like him awfully. But I don’t have your faith in people, Mariah. Your hope. How do I know that this feeling will not die over time, or shrivel into indifference?”
Mariah wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “You’ve never failed at anything you’ve tried, Sophie. Why should love be any different?”
The sisters hugged each other tightly, both ignoring the awkward pieces of armor digging into their ribs.
“You may not yell as loudly as I do, but you’re just as strong in your own way,” Sophie whispered into her ear. “Stop waiting for what you want and start fighting for it.”
Mariah nodded and released her sister, just as Sophie’s stomach made a noise.
“Shall we go down to tea?” Sophie asked. “I’m positively famished.”
Mariah shook her head. “I want to … I’m going to see the Trentons. I want to see Papa before … before he dies.”
Sophie pulled Mariah into one last painful hug, whispering, “I’m proud to call you my sister.”
* * *
Mariah felt less bold as she stood outside 743 Jordan Street and her aunt’s footman lifted the knocker. A servant opened the door, his eyes widening at the sight of her.
He probably thinks I’m my sister.
“I am Miss Carter,” she told him. “Are the Trentons at home?”
The servant gestured for her to come in, and Mariah followed him up a flight of stairs and through a door to a sitting room decorated in shades of green. The large furniture was more comfortable than fashionable, and the room felt more homelike than any room at Aunt Bentley’s house on Hyde Street.
“If miss will stay here,” the servant said, “I will see if Mrs. Trenton is able to receive you.”
Mariah nodded and walked toward an end table. On it sat a wooden toy ship painted bright red. She picked it up.
“That’s mine!”
Mariah nearly dropped the toy, turning to see a boy at the door. He wore a navy sailor suit and his eyes were dark blue. He had a smattering of freckles over his pert nose and a determined little mouth. Mariah could see Captain Trenton in the boy’s eyes, but his black hair he had inherited from his mother.
She held out the boat to him. “I believe this is yours, Master Edmund.”
He snatched it from her hands. “How do you know my name?” he asked suspiciously.
“I knew you when you were a baby,” Mariah said. “You were all red, wrinkly, and beautiful.”
“Boys aren’t beautiful,” he said as his mother entered the room. “Mama, this lady says she knew me when I was a baby.”
Mrs. Trenton looked older and grayer, and weariness hung over her like a cloud. Mariah’s first instinct was to step toward her. But Mrs. Trenton blanched, and Mariah stepped back.
“Miss Carter,” Mrs. Trenton said with tolerable command over her voice. She gave a slight bow to Mariah.
“Mariah. Mariah Carter.”
Mrs. Trenton stared at her intently. Was she looking for the little girl she had loved, or seeing the young woman she did not know?
“I thought you were not in London.”
“I hope you don’t mind my coming,” Mariah said quickly. “I wanted to see Captain—Captain Trenton before he d—to see him, a-and you, of course.”
“I’m afraid that he was not able to leave his bed this morning,” Mrs. Trenton said. “The doctor thinks it may only be a matter of days, possibly hours.”
“I see,” Mariah said, nodding and trying not to cry. “I’ll leave you to take care of him. Please forgive the intrusion.”
Mariah walked toward the door. Mrs. Trenton put out her hand to stop her but dropped it immediately upon contact.
“No, please stay,” Mrs. Trenton said. “I know that he would be pleased to see you. If you would come with me?”
“Of course.”
Mariah followed Mrs. Trenton up a flight of stairs to the first door. When it was opened, Mariah was instantly met by heat—she saw a large fire dancing in the fireplace. In a four-poster bed with scarlet drapes, covered in blankets, lay an old man. Mariah would not have recognized him as her foster father, he seemed so shriveled. She walked toward him and then stopped, unsure of what she was supposed to do.
The old man lifted his head off his pillow. “Please come closer, Mariah.”
“How did you know?” she asked softly, sitting on the chair next to his bed. “How did you always know?”
Captain Trenton lifted his gnarled hand and gently brushed her cheek. “You and Sophie might look identical, but your facia
l expressions were never the same. Sophie always held her head higher, defiantly. And you, Mariah, you always held your head lowered and a smile half hidden—a sort of secret happiness.”
He began to cough, and his whole body shook from the convulsions. Looking behind her, Mariah saw Mrs. Trenton standing against the wall as if she wished to disappear into it. Mariah took the captain’s hand in her own.
“I won’t stay long,” she said. “I only wanted you to know how much you meant to me—mean to me. You’re the only father I’ve ever truly had, and I love you. I understand that you did your best, and you can’t ask someone for more than that.”
Mariah could see tears forming in the old man’s eyes before they spilled out onto his weatherworn cheeks.
“I didn’t do my best, Mariah,” he said, squeezing her hand tighter. “I did what was simplest.”
Mariah felt her own tears rise and begin to flow. “I still forgive you.”
“Thank you, my child,” Captain Trenton said. “You have no idea how much that means to me. Especially now, at the end of my time.”
He began to cough violently again.
“Parsons,” Mrs. Trenton called from the door of the room. “Send for the doctor at once.”
Captain Trenton leaned his head back against his pillows, closing his eyes. Mariah released his hand with a pat from her own. Kissing his forehead, she whispered what he had always said to her and Sophie before bed: “Sail toward your dreams, my darling. I love you.”
Mariah turned and walked toward Mrs. Trenton who stepped back until she hit the wall with a slight thump, but Mariah persevered and took the older woman’s hands in her own.
“I will always think of you as my mother,” Mariah said. “I’m grateful for all that you did for me as a child, and I hope someday that we may be friends again.”
Mrs. Trenton sniffed and pulled her hands free from Mariah’s. Then she threw her arms around Mariah’s neck and began to weep on her shoulder. Mariah returned her embrace and gently patted the back of the woman who had read books to her and listened to her play the piano. The woman who had sung to her at night and held her when she was afraid. Their roles were now reversed, for it was Mrs. Trenton who was afraid. Mariah could feel Mrs. Trenton’s body shake with sobs and fear.
Parsons entered the room with a draught on a silver tray. Mrs. Trenton released Mariah.
“Ferguson has gone to fetch the doctor, ma’am,” Parsons said. “Shall I administer the captain’s medicine?”
“Yes, please,” Mrs. Trenton said, attempting to regain her composure and dabbing at her face with a small, lacy handkerchief. “I will show Miss Carter out.”
“Very good, ma’am,” he said and bowed to her.
Mrs. Trenton walked out of the room without a glance at Mariah or her husband. Mariah followed her silently down the two flights of stairs. Mrs. Trenton stood in front of the large black door and finally turned back to acknowledge Mariah.
“I know that your sister blames me for sending you away,” Mrs. Trenton said levelly. “When you have children of your own, you will realize that your first priority must always be for their welfare and security. I believed that all of our money should go to our son, and that someday he would resent what funds had been squandered on strangers.”
“We wouldn’t have been strangers,” Mariah said. “We would have been his sisters.”
Mrs. Trenton bristled. “I would prefer that neither you nor your sister ever contact us again.”
She opened the door and Mariah stepped out onto the street, the door closing loudly behind her.
Once seated in Aunt Bentley’s carriage, Mariah released a long, pent-up breath. She didn’t feel better, but she felt finished.
SIXTEEN
SOPHIE DRESSED WITH CARE THAT evening for the Millers’ dinner party. She wore a light blue gown of silk with several rosettes clustered on the V-shaped bodice. The neckline of the dress fell just below her shoulders and emphasized her graceful neck; she touched the bare skin and wished she had a necklace to wear. Then Sophie laughed out loud at the absurdity of the thought: Not two months ago, she had only two work dresses, and now she was pining over jewels!
I am completely ridiculous, she thought, tugging on long white gloves that reached her elbows. Then she pulled on her dancing slippers, which had been dyed a matching shade of blue—the color of the sky at the lightest part of the day.
Hearing a knock at the door, Sophie looked around the room before remembering that Mariah had not yet returned.
“Come in,” Sophie called.
Adell entered with a quick bob. “Excuse me, miss. This has come for you.”
The maid handed her a posy of little forget-me-nots. Sophie inhaled their sweet scent before placing them on the table beside her and opened the card:
Sophie,
My dear friend and future business partner, I would be honored if you wore my flowers tonight. They are but a small token of my great admiration and esteem.
Yours,
Ethan
Forget-me-nots.
She tried to not be too pleased or to smile, but she couldn’t help herself.
Adell smiled, too. “I could arrange them in your hair, if you’d like,” she offered.
“Please, I would like that very much.”
Sophie sat back in her chair and enjoyed the light movements of Adell’s fingers as she deftly wove the small five-petaled flowers into her hair. When Adell finished, Sophie looked at her reflection in the mirror and thanked her. She had never felt beautiful before, but in this moment, she defied even Adaline in all her dimpled perfection to eclipse her.
* * *
The carriage ride to the Millers’ felt constrained. Charles didn’t speak once, nor did he give Sophie even a glance. He hadn’t looked at her since she came down the stairs with Ethan’s flowers in her hair. While Sophie didn’t like him particularly, she couldn’t help but be offended by his inability to behave civilly. She would never understand what Mariah saw in him. During the carriage ride, Aunt Bentley muttered only a few sentences, which required no response:
“I hope that the rest of the party is genteel. Mrs. Miller can be so democratic in her invitations, with no regard to rank.” And: “I wonder if Mrs. Miller’s talked to her butler yet about hurrying the courses along at dinner. Last time we dined there, it took nearly two hours.”
When they arrived, Mrs. Miller welcomed them warmly. She wore a deep blue dress with the most exquisite lace overlay that Sophie had ever seen. Ethan looked decidedly handsome in a black suit as he bent over Sophie’s hand to greet her.
“I’m honored that you wore my flowers, Miss Carter,” he said formally, though there was a twinkle in his eye.
“Will I know anyone else at the party?” Sophie asked.
“The Penderton-Simpsons you already know,” Ethan said. “But I believe the rest of the party is entirely unknown to you. Come, I’ll introduce you.”
Ethan led her from the front entry to the sitting room, where she saw Adaline and her parents talking with the Penroses. Four couples were already seated, along with Mr. Eustace Miller. Sophie had not met any of them before, but she knew instantly who they were.
“Your sisters?” she whispered, only loud enough for Ethan to hear.
“They’ve been eager to meet you. Please don’t believe everything that they might say. In fact … please don’t believe anything they say.”
Ethan’s sisters and their husbands stood. The family resemblance was marked. Each of the ladies had their mother’s blond hair and blue eyes.
“Miss Carter,” Ethan said formally, “may I introduce my sister Louisa and her husband, Lord and Lady de Clifford.”
Sophie bowed to a very tall, angular man with grayish hair and his much shorter and plumper wife. Lord de Clifford gave a sharp bow, and Lady de Clifford reached out to Sophie. She allowed Lady de Clifford to take her hands and give them a quick squeeze. Her blue eyes were lighter and larger than her brother’s, and she smil
ed broadly.
“I have been very eager to meet you, Miss Carter,” Lady de Clifford said in a cultivated, pleasant voice. “There’s so much I wish to tell you about my brother.”
“Later, Louisa, later,” Ethan said, and steered Sophie to the next couple. “Miss Carter, may I present my sister Anne and her husband, Mr. and Mrs. Cartwright.”
Anne was as thin as her sister Louisa was plump. Her thinness was exaggerated by a plain black dress, worn off the shoulders with long black gloves. Her blond hair was simply styled in single braids on each side of her head, which became a bun at the back of her neck. She gave a small smile and an even smaller curtsy. Her husband was also wearing only black and merely nodded his head.
“A pleasure,” Sophie said, bobbing a curtsy and trying not to feel overwhelmed.
Ethan led her to the next couple.
“And next, my sister Mary and her husband, Mr. and Mrs. Lennox, may I present Miss Carter.”
Mary was slight in frame like Anne, but quite a bit taller. She was also well-endowed, which her dress of peach muslin with blue ribbons amply displayed. Mr. Lennox was a good half a head shorter than his wife and twice as broad, with a large belly that his tailoring could not hide. He had a round, red face and an easy smile of good humor. Mary’s smile was equally jolly, causing wrinkles around her dark blue eyes.
“And finally, my sister Rebecca and her husband, Lord and Lady Gordon.”
Rebecca was shorter than Sophie and looked to be younger than Ethan. She was clearly the beauty of the family, with a perfectly oval face; smooth, porcelain-like skin; and a beautiful smile of straight, pearly teeth. Her hair was dressed in a profusion of ringlets, braids, and gardenia flowers. Her violet silk dress caught the light, and the antique lace at her throat and sleeves probably cost more than all the clothes Aunt Bentley had purchased for Sophie. Rebecca wore long white gloves that reached her elbows and hung on her husband’s arm in such a way that made Sophie think that they must be recently married.
“At last,” Rebecca said. “I’ve been begging to meet you for a fortnight at least.”
The Invention of Sophie Carter Page 14
