Page 13 of Sophia’s Letter (Ladies of Munro #1)

T obias and Sophia parted from the newlyweds at the posting inn, where Adriana sat glumly on her travel trunk while Freddy made arrangements to hire a coach to take them to their new, shared home. The excitement that had underpinned the day was now undone, all the joy siphoned from it by that quenchless vampire, Miss Irene Sangford.

The sisters hugged each other, an embrace of support, sorrow, and final farewell. Their tearful parting may have lingered indefinitely, but necessity abbreviated its course. Time was running out. Mr. Grant would soon be home.

Tobias still could not fathom what sort of man necessitated one daughter to elope and the other to witness it in fearful secrecy. As far as he could tell, Freddy Wynn was a man of good character, with the promise of a steady income and a family who supported his choices. It seemed odd that Mr. Grant could not accept him as a match for Adriana. Sophia certainly did. Mr. Grant must have been some sort of ogre if his daughters could not share the truth of their affections with him. Tobias would have to wrangle an explanation from Sophia, but this was neither the time nor place.

Amid assurances of daily letters, Sophia was bundled into the waiting carriage, exhausted in body and mind. Tobias accompanied her, as promised, though he sensed his presence no longer held the comfort it might have done when he had given the promise originally.

It was a far cry from their earlier ride of the morning. As the wheels kicked into motion, Sophia sank into the darkest corner of the compartment. She had not uttered a word to him since they’d left the church. Though spring continued to bloom gently outside, and birds made their presence known through song, the interior of the carriage was gloomy and silent.

“Sophia,” Tobias said softly. Then again, “Sophia,” in a firmer tone.

She would not look at him.

“You will have to talk to me sooner or later.”

The shadowed figure remained mute.

“Can we not speak of your father?”

There was no answer.

“This cannot continue. Why do you fear him so?”

“I do not fear him.”

The reply did not invite discussion. Tobias pushed on, carefully.

“Why, then, must we comply with Miss Sangford’s wicked scheme? We have a whole month in which to respond to her demands. In that time, we could speak to your father and explain…”

Sophia shook her head, a whimper escaping from her throat.

“No? You say no , and yet you will not explain yourself. What am I to make of that, Sophia?”

“I am sorry.”

Tobias huffed a sigh of frustration.

“Look, we are in this together, no matter what. But you have to help me, my darling. Is there nothing that can make it easier to approach your father? If I proved myself in some way? If we had more time? Perhaps, if Miss Sangford could be persuaded to give us another month…”

“It would make no difference,” Sophia said, her voice so quiet, it was scarcely audible. “It is quite impossible to reason with him.”

Tobias threw his hands in the air and sat back. “I confess, I am at a loss. You will neither clarify the problem nor assist in the solution. What am I to make of this, Sophia?”

She released a shaky breath. “I understand. You have done your best. No one can fault you. You deserve better.”

His caution dissolved in an instant. “Oh, no, you don’t!” Tobias leaned forward once more, grasping Sophia’s hand. “You will not withdraw from me again!”

“Release me, Tobias.” She squirmed, trying to free her hand.

“I will not!” He took both her hands instead and pulled them toward him, compelling Sophia to rouse from her refuge.

Her chin lifted and her eyes flew open. “Leave me, Tobias. I am no good for you.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“You could have any woman of your choosing. They would be lucky to…”

“I don’t want anybody else. You are far rarer a being than you give yourself credit for. There are too many Miss Dunbars in the world, and not enough Sophia Grants.”

Sophia lowered her eyes again. “Perhaps. But the Miss Dunbars of the world still have their weddings.”

“Much good it will do her husband.” Tobias scoffed. “Though he is probably just like her. Pompous and vain. Good luck to them, I say. I would far rather fight for you.” A happy image bubbled to the surface. “I can see it clearly,” he told her. “Your lovely neck bent over a new poem while my uncle and I savor the contents of his library. The three of us sharing a meal and discussing our favorite Greek philosophers. Private carriage rides whenever we please.” His voice grew husky. “Perhaps, if you feel strong enough, we might even have a babe of our own.”

But Sophia’s eyes did not grow dreamy at these thoughts.

“You said you would be patient.” Her voice was thick with reprimand.

Tobias sighed and released her hands.

“So I did.” He sat and pondered the sad picture that was his beloved. Blast that Sangford woman! Weeks of progress gone in a flash. Sophia had crawled right back into her cocoon. And he was no nearer to understanding why. Perhaps it was time to ask his uncle what he knew.

Dear Uncle Edmund. His heart sank. There was another pretty mess—betraying a man who was like a father to him. Even though his uncle was quite safe from that devil-woman’s wiles—and Tobias needed to believe that—it felt wrong to keep secrets from him. Subterfuge did not come naturally to Tobias. It was bad enough that his relationship with Sophia was necessarily covert. But even this secret had been shared with Uncle Edmund. Tobias had needed a sensible confidant. And his uncle was certainly sensible. There was no reason to suspect that Miss Sangford stood a chance against his cool logic.

Tobias recalled her little show of practiced charm. Her performance had come so easily, unbound by scruples, strengthened by a cold determination to obtain her selfish desires. What if… He swallowed hard. What if Miss Sangford found a chink in his uncle’s armor? Tobias shuddered. The idea was too terrible. He could not bear it. He was grateful when Sophia’s small voice sounded from the corner in which she had ensconced herself.

“I don’t understand,” she said with simple honesty. “Why do you persist, even now, when it all seems hopeless? I give you no encouragement, and yet you will not give up.”

Tobias hesitated. It was true. Sophia had discouraged him at every turn. And yet, he had caught her secret glances, the ones that shone with affection, her eyes filled with trust and, yes, desire. He had begun to peel back the layers of resistance she had shrouded herself in. Beneath it all, he knew, her heart pulsed a slow and steady tattoo for him. But ripples of fear and distrust disguised it. He needed to help her understand how deep the current of his own feelings ran.

Slowly, he stood and stepped across the narrow space between them to sit beside her.

“Why do you love to write poetry?” he asked.

“Oh,” she said, her mouth round with surprise. And then, with a rush of confidence, she added, “Because it gives me purpose. It makes me happy. I feel most myself when I am wrestling with just the right words. It adds meaning to a world that is otherwise very stark and lonely at times.” Her cheeks colored with a surge of feeling.

Tobias closed his eyes and breathed in as though he had just perceived the sweetest perfume. Then he opened them again and smiled warmly. “Yes, dearest Sophia. That is it exactly. You are my poetry.”

Sophia seemed to consider this. It was encouragement enough that she had not rejected his statement out of hand.

“I…I cannot imagine my life without poetry,” she answered at last. “It is not a situation I could flourish in.”

“Just so.” He beamed.

“I have sacrificed my time and energy to it willingly.”

“They have been well invested.”

“But I have never sacrificed another for this privilege,” she pointed out. “And you should not have to do so for me. Your uncle is a good man. And your future with him is secure. I cannot offer you the same guarantee with me.”

“And yet,” Tobias persisted, “if your art were to be wrenched from you…” His hands mimicked the action. “If it were to be lost, unless you offered up another part of yourself? Would the decision really be that difficult? Surely, the smaller sacrifice is more bearable than the greater?”

“I suppose that would depend.”

“Perhaps, a month of no letters from Adriana?”

“That would be hard.”

“But not unbearable? Not like losing that which is entwined in your heart?”

“No.”

“Then you understand me.”

Sophia was silent awhile. Tobias did not press her. He could not make his feelings any clearer. It was up to her to accept them.

“I am your poetry,” she repeated to herself. She looked up at Tobias. “These are weighty words.”

“I fully understand what I mean by them. Do you?”

“Will your uncle not suffer for your choice?”

Tobias swallowed. “I do not believe him to be a desperate man. He will not be swayed by false charms. If any pain is caused, it will be when he discovers my deception.”

“Must he?”

Tobias nodded. “When Miss Sangford’s scheme has failed, and she returns beneath the slimy rock from which she has slithered, I will confess all to him.” He stared out through the carriage window, across fields that cared not for his future and could offer him no solace. “He may punish me as he sees fit.” His gaze returned to Sophia, where he might find comfort.

She spoke at once with concern. “This is a great risk, Tobias. What if you lose your place with your uncle at Newcliffe Hall? It has been home and sustenance to you.”

“I could take up a position as tutor. Or work as a clerk. I might not earn very much, but I have the necessary qualifications.”

“You would hate that!”

“I have faith it will not come to that. But I owe it to my uncle to reveal the truth when it is safe to do so.”

“If you revealed it now, it would spare you both suffering.”

“I will not spare myself only to have you suffer instead. Miss Sangford must leave your family be.”

Sophia chewed on her lip.

Tobias held his breath.

“Very well,” she agreed.

Tobias exhaled with relief.

“On one condition.”

He offered her a wary glance. “What is it?”

“If there is any indication that his lordship is falling into Miss Sangford’s trap, we must rescue him from it, no matter the cost.”

Tobias sucked in a rush of air. “That would mean…”

“Yes, I know what it means. But I don’t think you do. When she reveals the truth, the result will not merely be an uncomfortable confrontation with my father.”

“No?”

“No.” Sophia’s fingers clasped and unclasped each other with nervous energy. “There would be no more…poetry.”

“Oh. But we could still…”

“It would be quite impossible.”

“I see.” Now it was Tobias who was solemn and silent.

“Do you accept my condition?”

“It is a heavy price.”

“Yes, my love. It is.”

Sophia looked up into his eyes. Her own were wide and hopeful, but she bit her lip tentatively.

“I will not have your uncle pay the price for a secret that was never his to bargain for,” Sophia insisted, though her chin trembled a little as she said so. “This is the pact I am willing to make. Shake my hand and seal it like a gentleman.”

Tobias reached out and took her precious hand in his. “You have my word.”

Sophia released a shuddering breath. At once, Tobias pressed her to him, her ear upon his pounding heart. Her bonnet pushed back and he gently undid its ribbon, freeing the beautiful frame of her face from its stiff enclosure. He stroked her curls, soothing himself in equal measure with each caress.

“We will weather this storm,” he assured her, in the hopes of also reassuring himself.

They sat in this manner, drawing courage from each other. The movement of the carriage both jostled and lulled the lovers within. Sophia’s breathing became more even, and Tobias allowed himself a few treasured moments of pleasure, his beloved within his embrace, the world outside a distant place that touched them not.

It was simple and wonderful, and it ended rather abruptly when Sophia pushed herself upright, crying, “I have it!”

“What is it?” Tobias asked, trying to quiet his racing pulse at the suddenness of her action.

“The invitation! You haven’t forgotten, surely? There must be a means of bringing Miss Sangford and Lord Carthige under the same roof.”

To be perfectly honest—Tobias admitted to himself only—the issue of the invitation had quite escaped him while Sophia rested in his arms. The scent of his beloved still lingered in his mind, as did the memory of her hair teasing his chin. His happy thoughts tried to shuffle aside to accommodate the urgency of this new conversation, but did so rather grudgingly.

“You have an idea?” He marveled that she had found a solution, especially since one of his own was entirely absent.

“I do. Though really it was you who gave it to me.’

“I did?” Tobias was genuinely puzzled.

But Sophia was already rushing ahead in the conversation.

“Of course, I alone cannot carry out this plan,” she said, her manner businesslike and serious. “However, you have access to a resource that is perfectly suited.”

“Oh, good,” Tobias enthused rather weakly.

“It is the one excuse for which Father will tolerate company, especially if it is to include me.”

Tobias perked up at once. “What is it? Tell me. What has your brilliant mind conjured up?”

Sophia clasped her hands together and brought them to her lips, which broadened into a smile.

“Poetry, Tobias,” she declared. Poetry.”