The Invention of Sophie Carter

by Samantha Hastings

  “He has no affection for me, it seems.”

  Mariah moved closer to her aunt on the sofa and cautiously put an arm around the older woman’s shoulders.

  “I’m sure Charles has great affection for you,” she said carefully. “You were more than just his guardian: You’re the only mother he’s ever known.”

  Aunt Bentley shook her head vigorously. “Just as selfish as my sister. Just as foolish.”

  Mariah removed her arm from around her aunt and clenched her hands tightly in her lap.

  “Your sister—my mother—is dead. You lost the opportunity to spend the last year of her life with her because you didn’t agree with her choices. If you don’t wish to lose Charles, too, I suggest that you support him and stop worrying what society may or may not think about it.”

  “You know nothing of society,” Aunt Bentley admonished. “You’re little more than a child.”

  “Charles is no longer your ward. He’s a grown man now and is capable of making his own decisions. If you want his love, respect him,” Mariah said, standing up. “I’ll let Mr. and Mrs. Miller know that you called. Is there any other message you would like to leave? I would be happy to relay it for you.”

  Aunt Bentley stood, a look of disbelief on her face. She, Lady Bentley, a baroness, was being dismissed by her niece, the daughter of a wayward sister and a navy nobody.

  “No message.”

  Mariah picked up the other side of her aunt’s shawl that was askew and placed it gently back over her shoulder. Aunt Bentley gave a stiff nod and left the room.

  She sat back at the table and looked at her leaf sketch, but her mind was on Charles. Absentmindedly she closed the book. She picked up one of her letters from Mr. Ruskin and turned over the last page, finding her sketch of Charles. She traced the lines of his face with her finger, lingering on the curve of his lips.

  * * *

  “You look very serious this morning, Mariah,” Sophie remarked as she slouched down on the settee.

  “I’m writing a letter to Mr. Ellis,” Mariah said with a little sniff. “I told him that we were well and where we’re staying. I thought perhaps we might include small gifts for the children. I can do it myself, if you’d rather not.”

  “Of course, I would be happy to purchase gifts for them,” Sophie said. She looked at her beautiful yellow dress and delicate kid boots, remembering when she had arrived in London with her worn gray dress and one dilapidated pair of boots. “New material for clothes, too. And something nice for Mrs. Ellis … maybe some cloth for a new dress.”

  “That is kind of you,” Mariah said, not even attempting to hide her knowing smile. “I thought you were finished with Mrs. Ellis.”

  Sophie smiled ruefully in return. “I suppose we’re never truly finished with our pasts—they follow us wherever we go, like phantoms. Whoever we become is because of who we once were. I can’t love Mrs. Ellis, but I can be grateful to her for taking us in when no one else did. Her life hasn’t been an easy one, and perhaps if the world showed her a little more kindness, she would be more kind. She certainly couldn’t be any meaner.”

  “Sophie!” Mariah scolded with a laugh. “Shall we go?”

  Sophie and Mariah left the sitting room to find Jenkins standing at attention in the hall.

  “Mr. Jenkins, always where I need you,” Sophie said. “Would you please call a carriage for us?”

  “Yes, Miss Sophie.” He bowed deferentially and went about his task.

  She and Mariah put on their hats and black lace mantilla shawls. Mr. Jenkins returned to escort them out the front door and open the door to the carriage—a privilege he never allowed a mere footman. Even if the footman would be accompanying them and he would not.

  Mr. Pool, the third footman, trailed behind them like a puppy as the sisters ran their errands. He sat on the outside of the carriage and carried all their packages from the shops. Sophie selected six different pairs of children’s boots at a bazaar. Mariah chose several bolts of sturdy cloth at a shop next to it and material with blue flowers for Mrs. Ellis.

  They were on their way back to the Millers’ house when Mariah touched Sophie’s arm. “Oh, look! There’s a toy shop. Could we stop here as well?”

  “Yes, please,” Sophie said. She leaned her head out the carriage window and asked the driver, Mr. Winkler, to please stop at the toy shop. Winkler expertly maneuvered the carriage through the busy London street, and Mr. Pool opened the door for them. Sophie was about to follow Mariah into the toy shop when she spotted a well-dressed man placing a sign on an empty shop next door: FOR LETTING, SEE MR. HICKMAN, REGENT’S STREET 115.

  Sophie walked up to the older gentleman, and he tipped his hat to her.

  “Are you looking for a new tenant, sir?” she asked him.

  “I am indeed,” he replied, tucking his thumbs into his striped waistcoat. “Mr. Edward Hickman’s the name.”

  “How much?”

  “For what?”

  “To rent the shop for a year?” Sophie said, pointing to the sign on the door.

  “One hundred pounds per annum,” the gentleman said.

  “May I see the inside?” Sophie asked eagerly.

  The gentleman raised his eyebrows. “Do you know someone who would be interested in letting it?”

  “You’re looking at her.”

  “You,” he said, his surprise obvious.

  “Me.”

  “Oh,” he said, eyeing her curiously. “Well, you are certainly dressed very stylishly, if I do say so myself. Are you a milliner or a haberdasher, miss?”

  “Clockmaker and inventor,” Sophie replied with a smirk. “Shall we go inside?”

  He nodded, pulling out the brass key and unlocking the door for her. Sophie walked into the poorly lit room, the only light coming from the single front window. The space was narrow, probably only ten feet wide, but at least twice that distance long. It was completely devoid of furniture, but she didn’t need to see tables or chairs to know what it could look like. She could use the money from Captain Trenton and build a row of shelves all along the east wall to display an assortment of clocks for sale. Then she could put a few worktables in the back area, a few serviceable chairs up front for customers, and her shop would be ready for business.

  “I’ll take it,” Sophie said, holding out her hand. “One hundred pounds per year.”

  The gentleman reached out his hand and shook hers firmly. “I’ll bring you the contract on Monday. What’s your name and address, miss?”

  “Sophie Carter,” she said proudly, handing him her card with her name and address engraved on it. “And I’ll have a bank draft ready for you then, Mr. Hickman.”

  “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Miss Sophie Carter.”

  “Might I lock it?” Sophie asked as she followed him outside the shop. He reached into his coat pocket and handed the brass key to her.

  Sophie placed the key into the lock and turned it, laughing aloud. She was locking her very own shop!

  “Thank you,” she said, and held out the key to Mr. Hickman.

  He shook his head. “You can keep it. It’s your shop now, after all.”

  She could have embraced him, but she restricted herself to shaking his hand warmly with both of hers.

  “Sophie, there you are!” Mariah cried, hurrying over from where the carriage stood by the curb. “I was worried.”

  Mr. Hickman bowed yet again to Sophie and sauntered down the street, whistling.

  “Who was that man?”

  “My landlord,” Sophie said impishly, hooking her arm through Mariah’s. “You’re looking at the new proprietor of this shop.”

  Mariah let out a sound that was halfway between a shriek and a laugh. “I am so happy for you,” she said, and squeezed Sophie tighter than a corset.

  “If you don’t strangle me before I can open it.”

  Mariah released Sophie but took her hands, and the sisters jumped up and down together, squealing and laughing. Mr. Pool waited
patiently by the carriage until their celebrating was over to open the door for them.

  “What are you going to name your shop?”

  Sophie shrugged and climbed into the carriage after her sister. “I don’t know. I’m sure I’ll think of something spectacular.”

  “And I’ll paint the name on the front window,” Mariah promised.

  They spent the rest of the ride back to the Millers’ trying to come up with the perfect name for the shop.

  As Mr. Pool helped them out of the carriage in front of the house, Ethan walked up to them with his hat in hand, his own carriage right behind theirs. “Out starting a revolution?” he asked.

  “Only a bit of shopping,” Sophie replied. “And I found myself the perfect shop.”

  Mariah and then Mr. Pool passed by them, the footman’s arms full of brown paper packages.

  “For shopping?” Ethan asked.

  “No, no!” she said excitedly, pulling the brass key from her pocket and waving it in the air. “I saw a small shop for rent just a few streets away from here. I talked to the owner, and it’s mine for the next year!”

  “Sophie, you’re a genius,” Ethan said, grabbing her waist and spinning her around.

  Her stomach flipped in delight. Even when her feet touched the pavement again, she still felt like she was flying.

  “You’re brilliant,” Ethan said. “Now you can take on your own apprentices in your very own office.”

  “Shop,” Sophie corrected.

  “Office-shop,” he said, grinning. “Oh, Sophie, I’m so delighted for you. When I said that I’ll always support you and your dreams, I meant it. My only request is that you allow me to manufacture your notification clock when it’s ready for production.”

  Sophie felt surely her heart would burst. “If we weren’t on a public street, I would kiss you.”

  “I daresay we can remedy that problem.”

  Sophie laid her head against his shoulder. “I really should be getting dressed for the party.”

  “Must you dress this very moment?” Ethan asked as they walked through the front door of the house, hand in arm. “I wanted to give you a gift before the party.”

  “A gift?” Sophie repeated in surprise.

  “I believe it’s customary for a gentleman to present a token of affection to the lady he loves—” Ethan’s face suddenly flared a brilliant shade of crimson. “I mean … rather, um … to the lady with whom he is, um … acquainted in a f-friendly manner.”

  The lady he loves.

  Since Sophie had told him to slow down, Ethan had carefully avoided any words of affection. But he had just said that he loved her. Loved her. And she didn’t feel sick or scared. She felt wonderful. All warm inside as if she’d drank a whole cup of hot chocolate in one swallow.

  “All right then,” Sophie said, trying not to smile. “If I ever go into battle again as Joan of Arc, I suppose I’ll need a token of your affection. But I do hope it doesn’t clash with my armor.”

  “It won’t,” Ethan assured her with a smile and a shake of his head.

  He led her to the back of the house and outside into the small rose garden. The air was thick and sweet. The red blooms were as large as her fist, and the trees gently swayed in the summer breeze.

  “Close your eyes,” Ethan said.

  Sophie dutifully shut them—mostly.

  “You’re peeking.”

  She closed her eyelids all the way.

  “Now open your eyes.”

  When Sophie looked, Ethan was holding a velvet box. He flipped it open with his thumb; inside was an oval locket with a cluster of diamonds on the front that seemed to capture all the light in the garden in little rainbows. He opened the locket and on one side was a painted miniature of Mariah and on the other, Sophie.

  She subconsciously touched her bare neck, struck speechless. The necklace was more spectacular and beautiful than anything she’d ever imagined, but it was the paintings that meant the world to her. In the locket, she and her sister would always be together.

  “You said that you had no heirlooms from your mother, so I hired your sister to paint these miniatures. Hopefully, something that you can pass on someday,” Ethan said, sounding nervous and unsure. “And I noticed that you touch your neck sometimes at parties and I thought perhaps you were wishing for a necklace … If you don’t like it, I can always get you a nice set of diamond-studded clockworking tools instead.”

  Sophie took the velvet box from his hands and examined the little paintings, before closing the locket and seeing the sparkling white jewels. “I was disappointed in the Koh-i-noor diamond because it was so drab, and you assured me that well-cut diamonds do sparkle.”

  “I hope these diamonds are sparkly enough for you.”

  “They’re perfectly sparkly … and I love what is inside of them even more. Thank you,” Sophie whispered, before closing the velvet box and throwing her arms around him. She covered Ethan’s face in kisses—his chin, his cheek, his eyes, his ears. He laughed, and Sophie pulled his head down and pressed her lips hard against his. Ethan put his hands through Sophie’s hair and then slowly down her back, pressing her closer to him—for Sophie, they could never be close enough. She locked her fingers around his neck and kissed him again.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  Ethan gently brushed a curl from her face. “And I love you.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  SOPHIE PATTED THE DIAMOND LOCKET around her neck subconsciously as she looked down at her cream silk dress with a scooped neck and lace-trimmed skirt and sleeves. Her dressmaker had boasted that Queen Victoria wore a similar dress of Spitalfields silk to the grand opening of the Great Exhibition.

  The Great Exhibition—the whole reason why she had written to her Aunt Bentley; why she had come to London; how she had met Ethan in the park and he took her to see the hydraulic press, the Koh-i-noor diamond, and the watches from Switzerland. From her apprenticeship interviews to her idea for a notification clock. So much had come from that one event, her one wish to catch even a glimpse of a bigger world.

  “Ready, my love?” Ethan asked.

  Sophie glanced up with a guilty grin. “I was admiring my finery.”

  He looked her up and down. “I don’t blame you; there is plenty to admire. I could stare at you for a fortnight … possibly longer.”

  Sophie laughed. “Come, we don’t want to be late for a party in your own house.”

  Ethan leaned in to kiss her, and she playfully pivoted away from him. “You’ll muss up my hair.”

  “I won’t disturb one curl.”

  “Liar,” Sophie said, and leaned toward him for a soft kiss.

  Ethan gently kissed her lips and then held out his arm. “Shall we, Miss Carter?”

  Sophie linked her arm in his. “Yes, indeed, Mr. Miller.”

  He led her down the stairs to a large ballroom already full of people. Sophie released Ethan’s arm and walked farther into the room until she saw Mariah, but her sister didn’t notice her, deep in conversation with Charles. Sophie rolled her eyes.

  “You cannot roll your eyes already,” Adaline said, suddenly at her side. “The dancing has yet to begin.”

  “Adaline! I haven’t seen you in an age.”

  Sophie embraced her friend, who was wearing an exquisite dress of scarlet velvet trimmed with black ribbons and worn with black lace undersleeves.

  “Your sister seems to have quite captivated Lord Bentley,” Adaline said bluntly. She nodded toward Mariah and Charles, who were talking as if they were the only people in the room.

  “He does seem taken with her,” Sophie said thoughtfully.

  “If he’d been half as attentive to me,” Adaline teased, “I would have sent for my dressmaker and started fittings for my wedding dress.”

  “I’m sorry—” Sophie started, but didn’t know how to finish.

  “That he preferred your sister to me?” Adaline said. “Don’t be. I daresay there are other aristocrats to be caught. Al
though, probably not so young or so handsome.”

  “To be married just to be married, I think would be miserable,” Sophie admitted. “Even with a title.”

  “Your relationship with Mr. Miller hasn’t made you miserable.”

  Sophie couldn’t contain her smile. “Being with him does make me happy. But I also think that I’m happy because I have interests all my own.”

  “Do tell,” Adaline said, raising her eyebrows.

  “I’ve told you before,” she said. “I’m an inventor.”

  “A lady inventor?”

  “Yes, and I have my very own clock shop,” Sophie said proudly. “I haven’t invented anything new yet, but I’m learning more and more about mechanisms. I keep experimenting and trying, and someday I know my invention is going to work.”

  “And I will be the first one to purchase it,” Adaline stated. “Whatever it is.”

  “Thank you. You are a true friend.”

  “The truest,” Adaline said with a wink.

  Sophie bit back a smile. “You are! And I should hate to see someone I care about who is smart and compassionate and entirely delightful trapped in a loveless marriage for the sake of position.”

  “You want me to become a professional spinster?”

  Sophie laughed. “No, but I believe you need to find something that brings you joy, whatever it may be. And then when your aristocrat comes along, with his many titles and large estate, you will only be the happier.”

  “I see your point, my dear Sophie,” Adaline said. “But the only talent I seem to have is for society gossip.”

  Sophie wrinkled her nose in thought and then said, rather more loudly than she meant to, “You could be an authoress.”

  “An authoress?”

  “Mariah has been reading all sorts of novels written by ladies.”

  “I’m sure my parents would not approve.”

  Sophie raised her eyebrows in response. “Even better.”

  “You’re right,” Adaline said in a conspiratorial whisper. “Their disapproval only makes the prospect more inviting to me.”