297Water beads dripped from the ends of Sophia's curls as she seated herself before the vanity table. She'd discovered prior to her bath as the servants were transporting her belongings to the South Wing that her chambers were smaller than she'd anticipated, the dressing room currently accommodating her being only slightly larger than the bathroom that she'd just quit. She had not hesitated to voice her disappointment then, but now, as the South Wing succumbed to silence, she could not help changing her opinion of the quarters. Certainly the furnishings, perhaps in existence since the days of Gabriel's late uncle, were grotesquely drab, lacking the softness that was definitive of a woman's chambers, and undoubtedly the rooms, in possession of more windows than was necessary, were poorly heated, but these were all minor inconveniences compared with the chaos and headaches that she would've had to endure had her sister placed her in the chambers across from the children's. Add to the list the close proximity of Gabriel's study to the latter and she was completely convinced of her present quarters being better suited to her needs.
Her reluctance to depart London had appeared to her sisters insignificant and selfish, but unbeknownst to them, Sophia had purposely given them that impression in hopes of concealing her true objections to the removal. In truth, she absolutely feared Heathersfield and the thought of living under its roof indefinitely had panicked her. Its halls were frighteningly numerous, the Winters brood was irritatingly rambunctious, the estate's seclusion despaired her, and most importantly, the fair-haired man whom Gabriel consulted each morning in his study never failed to remind her of her past folly.
Sighing, she rose to her feet and started for the door to her bedroom, her stomach churning at the mere thought of having to endure Jonathan Shepard's company in the morning. Nevertheless, given his connection to Gabriel, the young man was unavoidable, and in an effort to accustom herself to the idea, she forced herself to recall their last meeting as she climbed beneath her covers. He'd been unmarried at the time, but the encounter had been no less awkward and embarrassing, prompting her to avoid Heathersfield for nearly two years. An ill relative had taken Liam to Derbyshire and loath to part from her husband, Emma had accompanied him, but as neither trusted Sophia overly much, the latter was sent to stay with Clara and Gabriel for the month alongside the Pratt children. Naturally, hell had ensued. On the morning of her arrival, she ran smack into Mr. Shepard in the foyer, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Then, to worsen matters, he was obliged to help her to her feet, though the expression on his face suggested that, if not for his good breeding, he would have gladly left her sprawled on the floor.
She took precautions to avoid him in the weeks following, but unable to walk into a room without fear of finding him alone, she passed the month in utter misery. However, a fortnight after her departure from Heathersfield, news of his engagement to one of his neighbors' daughters reached her ears, but rather than celebrating, she lamented. Barely half a year had passed since their own betrothal had ended. Her pride was wounded.
Come spring, I shall be one-and-twenty, she now reasoned, pulling the blanket up to her chin, how ridiculous that I should grow uneasy at the prospect of sitting in company with a man who has not been a part of my life since I was eighteen. She lay motionless for a long while, quietly reassuring herself that Mr. Shepard no longer affected her before turning and putting out the candle on her nightstand, convinced that only sleep would clear her head of its distressing thoughts.
A fierce wind accompanied the sunrise, banging Sophia's shutters and whipping the bare trees behind the estate against the side of the house. She forced her eyes open and, glancing at the fireplace across from her bed, noted with an irritated groan that the flames in the hearth had died down to mere embers during the night. Unwilling to disentangle herself from the warm cocoon of blankets just yet, she reached for the cord beside her bed and rang for her chambermaids.
At length, she heard a knock upon the door and, sitting up, beckoned the servants into the room. Washbasin and facecloth in hand, the lady's maid Clara had assigned to her was the first to enter, followed by an adolescent girl with a tinderbox and an older woman carrying fresh linens. Unused to such attentions, Sophia did not protest as her lady's maid began scrubbing her face and hands, nor did she hesitate to send the girl lighting the fire into her dressing room to retrieve the day gown she was to don. Whether she could ever bring herself to love Heathersfield or not, she had to admit that residing on the estate certainly had its perks. Perhaps, were she to ever reconsider marriage, she would wed a man with an income as sizeable as her brother-in-law's.
Once she was deemed sufficiently cleaned and appropriately dressed, Sophia quit her bedchamber, leaving the servants to part the curtains and make the bed. Shutting the door to her dressing room behind her, she hurried across the hardwood floor in the direction of the unpacked trunks beside the wardrobe. Having been informed that breakfast was not to be served until nine, as the children were known to sleep in on Saturday mornings, she had decided that she needed to occupy the hour remaining until then with a purposeful task. A tour of the house was therefore not to be thought of, nor were the likes of embroidery.
Desirous of catching up on the reading that she'd been deprived of while stuck in the carriage with her unruly nephews, she began rummaging through the trunks in search of her books. But she found them in neither of the traveling cases and, after going through both twice, rose to her feet empty-handed. Resolved on giving Clara an earful, as none of the servants paid mind to her complaints, she departed the room and turned down the hall.
Within minutes, Sophia discovered herself on the north side of the house, thankful that the Winters children had yet to wake. Her sister's chambers were located at the end of the corridor and she had to pass both the boys' and Gabby's rooms to reach them. Gabriel's bedchamber was also situated closely to Clara's, being adjoined to her dressing room, but unaware of this particular arrangement, Sophia ventured undauntedly toward the latter, confident of finding her sister awake and alone.
Consequently, as she neared Clara's dressing room, the discovery of voices coming from within was a surprise unexpected enough to freeze her in her steps. She easily identified the speakers as Gabriel and her sister and, groaning exasperatedly, started to turn back, unable to fathom why after ten years of marriage and four children, her brother-in-law still thought it necessary to visit his wife's chambers. She'd not gotten very far, however, before she stopped again, the realization that the couple's voices were raised as though in argument dawning on her.
Standing amid the hall, she glanced over her shoulder at the slightly agape door. Sure, her morning had begun badly, but did she have any right to eavesdrop on a conversation not meant for her ears? Sophia bit her lip in indecision, her feet already turning around and inching toward the doorway. As loud as they're being, I doubt that either of them cares if anyone overhears, she rationalized, nodding resolutely as she flattened herself against the wall.
Clara's were the first distinguishable words to reach her ears. "You have more faith in humankind than I, if you think my sister capable of change."
Her jaw dropping in disbelief, Sophia clenched her fists indignantly and crept even closer toward the doorway, any guilt on her part duly vanquished.
"Come now, Clara, surely you exaggerate. She is spoiled, I agree, but do you think that would be the case if Emma did not indulge her so?"
"She is not just spoiled, Gabriel. She is also ill-mannered, fickle, and disagreeable. As much as I would like to take her off of Emma's hands, I do not think Heathersfield is the best environment for her."
A pause followed, but Sophia's resentment intensified. How could her sister think so poorly of her? She huffed quietly, determining to vindicate herself as soon as the opportunity arose: Clara was going to receive the tongue-lashing of her life.
"Yes," Gabriel said at length, "I daresay you're right. Heathersfield will do little in the way of improving her character."
"As I've already mentioned." Clara's tone was unmistakably sarcastic, but whether her husband perceived its surliness or not, he said nothing, much to Sophia's disappointment. "What, then, are we to do with her?"
Another silence ensued and then she heard Gabriel laugh. "I suppose we could always marry her off. Was that not what cured you of your childishness, my dear?"
Clara snorted derisively. "I was never that impertinent."
"Oh, really? All right, why, then, did you run away when your father informed you of our pending nuptials? Why did you nearly burn my room down in a fit of unfounded rage? Why did you slap me when I confronted you about it? Why—"
"All right, all right, you've proven your point, Mr. Winters."
"I thank you, ma'am." Sophia was unsure as to what he did next, but whatever it was, it provoked a delighted laugh from her sister—and procured a feigned gag from herself.
"And to counter your suggestion of marrying her off, I shall now remind you of that bungle involving your steward the year my father died."
"Ah, yes, I'd nearly forgotten about that; poor Shepard, how awful of Sophia to end the engagement so unfeelingly."
"And so publicly."
Sophia's cheeks flushed in embarrassment as she recalled that fateful night at the theater. Perhaps terminating the engagement in the presence of others had displayed a want of tact on her part, but she was barely eighteen at the time, and unsure if Mr. Shepard would've relinquished her hand had she asked him to in private, she'd failed to concoct a better scheme. All right, perhaps I could've altogether prevented the discomfiting scene had I never agreed to marry Mr. Shepard in the first place, but Papa was dying and my independence was at stake.
Or so she'd thought. Certainly, Mr. Browne's passing had meant that she was no longer mistress of Crestland Park, but she'd failed to consider that her control over the staff would not have necessarily been relinquished following Emma's inheritance of the estate. Again, Sophia blamed her youth. Marriage had appeared the perfect escape then; she would be running her own household, rather than her sister's, and surely a husband was more lenient than an elder sister.
Jonathan Shepard, with his independent fortune, amiable nature, and good looks, had seemed the ideal candidate. Having been Gabriel's newly hired steward, he'd been constantly at Heathersfield and since Sophia's visits to the estate were frequent and prolonged at the time, she'd needed merely a month to capture the young man's heart and even less time to acquire Emma and Liam's consent. But the wedding was not to occur until the period required to dutifully mourn Mr. Browne—a year—had ended.
Unfortunately for her fiancé, however, it was during her lengthy engagement that Sophia became convinced that she was not the marrying type. Emma, busy raising her children, was much more permissive than Sophia could have ever imagined, allowing her such freedom that she inevitably realized that the benefits of living with her sister far outweighed those of marrying; and upon learning the more dutiful aspects of marriage, she immediately resolved on ending her engagement.
"She was young at the time, though." Her brother-in-law's words suddenly returned her to the present. "And the matter was ultimately resolved smoothly, was it not? With everyone's reputation intact?"
"Yes, Mr. Shepard's reputation remained intact; but his heart was shattered."
"How can you say that? He married not five months later."
Sophia nodded emphatically to herself; no man whose heart was truly broken could recover so quickly.
An incredulous laugh accompanied Clara's reply. "And what else would you expect a man whose fiancée has just publicly humiliated him to do, Gabriel? You, of all people, should know."
"If you are suggesting that I married you to forget Victoria, then let me inform you that you are wholly mistaken, my love."
Silence ensued once more, lasting several awkward seconds, before ending as Clara said, "No, you are right. Your motives for marrying were far more virtuous."
"Indeed, they were."
"Yes, I think one of my uncles should die and leave Sophia an inheritance that she can only claim if she marries."
"Brilliant scheme. Which one do you dislike most? I shall have a lawyer and an assassin sent to his estate immediately."
Sophia rolled her eyes. Why did Clara and Gabriel never argue as mercilessly as other couples did? Unable to stand another minute of their criticisms, and certainly not another second of their affectionate sport, she swung around, more than ready to return to her room.
As she hurried past her niece's door, however, it flew open, hitting her in the arm and delaying her retreat. "What are you doing, Auntie?" Gabby asked, poking her dark head into the hallway.
An annoyed sigh fell from Sophia's lips. Lord, barely nine o'clock and the girl's already chirpy. "Nothing," she mumbled, rubbing the sore spot on her arm, "go back to bed."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"I can't fall asleep unless Mamma or Papa tells me a story."
"Well, why don't you go get your mamma and papa, then?"
"All right," Gabby replied uncertainly, eyeing her aunt suspiciously, "if you think I should."
"Yes, yes." Grabbing the girl by the shoulders, Sophia quickly turned her in the direction of Clara's rooms. "Be gone with you."
Gabby stumbled down the hall and was halfway to her mother's rooms when Sophia raced for the nearest staircase, realizing that she couldn't let Clara and Gabriel find her in the North Wing lest their ill opinions of her should lead them to think she'd been eavesdropping. Without knowing why, she kept glancing over her shoulder, expecting them to catch up to her. A collision with one of the servants was therefore inevitable.
Or at least, she'd thought it was one of the servants. Glancing up, her eyes met those of an all too familiar, rosy-cheeked and fair-haired man; a gasp escaped her lips.
At any rate, at least she didn't knock them both over this time.
Sighing, Eva shut the book in her lap and lifted her gaze to the stern man sitting across from her. "Yes, Matthew?"
With his hands covering his mouth and his elbows resting atop his knees, Matthew was staring intently at his sister. "You don't really think me disagreeable, do you?"
The adolescent girl's gray eyes rolled heavenward. "Good gracious, are you still dwelling on that?"
"How can I not? You insulted me in front of a relation."
"Matthew, I was jesting!"
"I do not think you were. I think you really believe the reason I'm not married is because I'm too disagreeable to win any woman's hand."
"All right." Crossing her legs, Eva leaned back and laced her fingers in her lap. "Pray, why have you not yet married, then, Matthew? And do not say it is because you've yet to meet a woman who complements you well. It may be a feasible excuse for Emma, but I have met many a woman who complement you perfectly and have watched, astonished, as you ignored them all."
Matthew's gaze turned into a glare. "How dare you presume to know me better than I know myself?" he said, shaking his head and rising to his feet. "I'm not having this conversation with you."
"Why not? You brought it up!"
He could hear Eva clicking her tongue as he turned from her, but whether she was too interested in her book to pester him any longer or too disinterested in him, she did not further pursue the topic. Retreating to the windows, he leaned against the sill and peered outside.
Having never been easily affected by others' opinions of him, he had also been surprised to discover himself dwelling on Eva's impression of his temperament; but the longer he concentrated on it, the less evidence he could present to refute it. He was oftentimes disagreeable, if severity and restraint could be viewed as such. Yet, what else did she expect of him? When, since the death of his mother, had he had the time to behave as freely as others his age? It was not his fault that his father had been an extravagant man; nor did he regret taking precautions to prevent the late Mr. Hamilton from frivoling away the inheritance his mother had bequeathed to him, as bitter as that course had left him.
Having not been a wealthy man himself, Matthew's father had married advantageously, his first connection providing him with the sizeable income that his spendthrift ways had always suggested he had. But unfortunately for him, his wife had passed eleven years into the marriage, leaving him with a son, rather than a daughter, complicating matters greatly. A son meant that his wife's fortune, following her death, would belong to the boy and not to him. But as Matthew had yet to come of age, he'd been entrusted with it until the boy's twenty-first birthday, a fact that had not ceased to worry Matthew until then.
Matthew's father had not been so unfeeling, however, as to immediately spend his son's inheritance; no, in fact, he'd been able to subdue his extravagance until his second marriage, to Eva's mother, a woman whose prodigality nearly matched his own. Having been twelve at the time and fresh from mourning his mother, Matthew had been determined to dislike his stepmother and had successfully kept his promise to himself until the year of his sister's birth. After that, his hatred became mere indifference.
But his distrust of his father never fled, leading him to enroll in Oxford at an early age with the intention of earning a degree in the sciences. Not long after doing so, he'd attended Edinburgh and had, by the time he'd come into his inheritance—the size of which, as he'd feared, had been noticeably reduced—completed all of his studies. His father passed the following year, leaving his widow on a fixed income that was hardly enough to support both herself and her daughter. But Matthew had not hesitated to come to his stepmother's aid, despite his ill opinion of her. He placed her in a comfortable home in Exeter, the place of his birth, and took Eva off of her hands.
Thus, at twenty-two, he had become not only a fairly competent doctor, but in a sense, a father as well. With such stressful circumstances thrust upon him at so young an age, how could he have not turned out hardened and strict? Between treating patients and raising his sister, when could he have ever had the time to fall in love? Of course, he would not have Eva learn any of this for the world; she would undoubtedly think herself to blame for his loneliness and that was certainly not the case.
A sudden giggle escaping Eva's lips returned his thoughts to the present and, turning around, he cleared his throat, catching her attention a second time.
"Yes, Matthew?" Her dark eyebrows quirked as she reluctantly lowered her book from her face.
"You cannot be happy spending your evenings entertaining me, can you?"
"What else do you suggest I do? Attend assemblies? I've yet to debut. Hostess dinner parties? I am unqualified. Visit my friends? I have none as interesting and as easily annoyed as you are, dear brother."
Matthew attempted a frown, but his sister's grin was contagious. "How I do love your sarcasm, Eva. I'll have you know, dear sister, that I was merely asking because I myself am growing rather weary of our evenings. I fear London is beginning to lose its appeal."
"Yes, for once, we are in agreement."
"What do you say to some traveling, then?"
"You are serious?" Eva sat up quickly. "Where shall we go?"
Matthew shrugged and leaned contemplatively against the windowpane. "I do not know. Perhaps we can visit the countryside. If only the Pratts would invite us to their Somerset estate, I should not hesitate to accept. I've always been fond of that side of the country, you know?"
"Oh, I do not think procuring an invitation would be so difficult. Emma relishes my company; she'll be happy to have us join her in Taunton."
"All right, I'll leave that matter to you, then; but do be tactful, Eva. It would not do to have our cousins think we are forcing ourselves on them."
"You need not remind me, brother; I excel in tact."
Matthew parted his lips to retort otherwise, but the butler's sudden entrance into the room directed his attention instead to the doorway. "Yes, what is it, Foster?"
"Mr. Crane, sir. His wife pushed him out of a carriage. I believe he's been trampled by a horse."
"Good God!" Matthew murmured, shooting Eva a quick warning glance as he heard snickers coming from her side of the room. "Hand me my greatcoat, Foster. Eva, do not wait up. I shall be late."