Page 36 of A Counterfeit Engagement

Sophie had never been so glad for anyone’s forbearance as she was for that of her new sister-in-law.

That Sarah knew of the coldness that had sprung up between her and Jonathan did not admit of a doubt.

She had known it since the first moment of seeing them both together.

But if she had blamed Jonathan’s wife in the matter, she did not show it by so much as a cold word or an awkward glance.

She was solicitous to them both, and if anything, more to Sophie than to her brother.

Still, Sophie could not quite be easy in approaching her to speak about the ball. However, there was nothing for it. Sarah deserved a chance to give her opinion — in fact, deserved an apology, that Sophie had not thought to include her in the first meeting — and that required meeting in confidence.

Accordingly, she turned to her sister-in-law that afternoon to propose a tête-à-tête. “Did you have any plans for this afternoon, Sarah? If not, I should like to speak with you.”

Sarah shook her head. “I had not intended to go out. My only plan was to practice the pianoforte,” she replied. “Perhaps we might speak in the upstairs music room.”

“Gladly,” Sophie replied steadily. Though she followed Sarah up the stairs without hesitation, she could not help being a little apprehensive.

It would have been more natural to speak in the drawing room.

She could think of no reason to climb up to the music room other than to speak with greater privacy — and much as she trusted her new sister’s forbearance and good nature, Sophie could not help feeling some alarm at the idea.

At least the privacy was useful for her own ends as well. “I should like to apologise to you,” Sophie therefore began.

Sarah only looked puzzled. “Whatever for?”

“I ought to have included you in the party when I visited my mother and sister. You are as much concerned in the Haverly ball as anyone, after all. I can only say that I did not think, and I am sorry.”

Sarah waved this away without hesitation.

“I accept your apology, though none was necessary. Though I always enjoy meeting with your family, I am not particularly interested in planning parties. I should just as soon attend the ball and leave the planning to others.” After a moment’s thought, she brightened up.

“Though I must say, I do rather like your idea of giving the ball an Italian air. You might do some interesting things about the music and the musicians.”

“That is the other thing I wished to discuss with you,” Sophie replied.

Few things are as great a relief as to have an apology accepted so readily.

At the moment, any relief of tension, even a relatively small one, was welcome.

“I would appreciate your advice on the choice of music. In fact, I thought perhaps you and Isabel might take charge of it together for me.”

“There is nothing I would like better,” Sarah replied eagerly.

She hurried over to the tall shelf of sheet music and began bringing down folder upon folder.

“There are many brilliant Italian composers, of course. You must have a great deal of Verdi, and I think some Monteverdi, too. Perhaps the elder and younger Scarlatti as well, though we shall have to see what Isabel thinks of that. And of course if there is any music you would particularly like, you must tell me. It would be great fun to weave all the pieces together into a logical whole. Like a concert, though only those who are paying attention will notice it.”

Sophie could not help but smile at such enthusiasm. “I am glad you like the work so well. Perhaps I shall leave you without distractions for a time. I shall have to think about whether there are any pieces I might wish to request.” Sophie turned towards the door, but Sarah quickly forestalled her.

“No, Sophie, wait. There is something I must say to you before you go.”

Sophie turned back without hesitation. She had known it was too good to be true. “I shall listen,” she declared simply, and sat down on the sofa.

Sarah came to the armchair opposite her. She sat down and looked at Sophie for a long moment without speaking.

“I hardly know how to begin,” Sarah said at last.

Sophie grimaced. “Perhaps I may help. I know that you have noticed the — difficulty — between myself and Jonathan. If you wished to reproach me for causing your brother unhappiness —”

“I certainly do not!” Sarah exclaimed. “Be honest with me, Sophie. Is it not rather the reverse? Please tell me what has happened. It is dreadful to see you both in such a state.”

Sophie shook her head. “Your brother has done nothing wrong. I have only misunderstood him. If there is a fault, it was mine. I ought to have been grateful that Jonathan went along with a marriage that was a desperate necessity for myself only, and not have expected more.”

“If Jonathan has made you believe that, then I am furious with him, indeed!” Sarah said. “To say that Jonathan ‘went along with’ your marriage is ridiculous. It was a love match, Sophie, and you know it.”

“I had thought it was,” Sophie replied almost inaudibly. “He has since made it clear to me it was not. That he was glad to find a companion as acceptable as myself who would not require what he called the nonsense of love.”

“Oh, Sophie,” Sarah said. “And you believed him?”

“Of course.”

“I think I must tell you a little of our parents,” Sarah said gently. “It may shed some light on this matter.”

“I shall be glad to hear about them. Jonathan never speaks of your parents.”

“No, I would not imagine that he would.” Sarah paused for a long moment, looking around as though some inspiration for how she ought to begin might be found on the bookshelf opposite, or perhaps in the view from the window.

“No, I cannot tell the story in any elegant form. I shall simply muddle through and do the best I can.”

Wordlessly, Sophie gestured for her to go on. Sarah sighed and began. “My mother was a gentle soul. She and my father did not suit each other, though the fault was largely his. He was not a kind man.”

There was a wealth of meaning contained in those few simple words. “I am sorry to hear it,” Sophie said softly.

“I do not remember him ever speaking fondly to me as a child,” Sarah went on.

“With Jonathan, he would be proud and harsh in turns, but I do not think he ever cared for me. And if he ever cared for our mother, the feeling was extinguished by the time I was old enough to have any memory of them together. He was terribly unkind to her.”

Sophie took her sister-in-law’s hand and pressed it softly. She said nothing, allowing space and quiet for Sarah to go on.

“I think Jonathan took the wrong lessons from our parents. I saw that our parents did not love each other and concluded that they were terribly mismatched — though indeed, it is difficult to picture the woman who could have sincerely and happily loved our father. But with Jonathan, it is different. He has decided that it is love itself that was the lie.”

“Yes,” Sophie replied, her voice cracking. “Yes, he said as much to me.”

“My brother is a fool,” Sarah said simply. “I am sorry that he hurt you, but he is quite simply wrong. What you and he have together is love. I know it, if Jonathan does not.”

“I should like to believe you. I only wish I could.”

“Believe me, Sophie!” Sarah cried out. “I do not say that you should not be hurt by his behaviour. Indeed, I cannot imagine it otherwise. To hear him deny your love must be a deep pain. But do not allow it to make you believe he does not love you. I know he does. I have always been afraid that Jonathan would marry someone utterly cold so that he would not have to risk himself in love. I feared he did not have the courage to do better. But he has, in you, and I am delighted for him.”

Sophie smiled crookedly. “I only wish he were equally delighted for himself.”

“Hold on, Sophie,” Sarah urged her. “He was, and he will be again. I know it.”

Sophie shook her head. “Maybe Jonathan was right, after all. We get along well together. Certainly we will be friends again, one day. Maybe that is enough.” With that, she rose from the sofa. “We will speak later, Sarah. Thank you for taking on the music for me.”

Sarah watched her go. Her sister-in-law’s normal brisk, smooth step seemed slow and clumsy, as though she were painfully weary. Her shoulders slumped, except when Sophie seemed to think of them and brought them back to over-strict, near-military straightness.

“Oh, Jonathan,” Sarah murmured to herself, “what have you done?”