Page 16 of Sophia’s Letter (Ladies of Munro #1)

T he atmosphere in the Howell carriage was permeated with nervous tension. Each of the three men gave the impression that all was well, but the discerning observer would quickly have recognized it as a facade. Tobias certainly knew it was.

The owner of the luxurious coach was staring out of the window. Perhaps he was considering his escape. Perhaps he was surveying the land, noting improvements that might be made to his own estate. What he was purposefully not doing was thinking about the imminent gathering, where his untasted pies awaited him.

Tobias suppressed a giggle. He was not prone to giggling, but he was on edge, and the sound bubbled up inside of him like a hiccup. It was not dignified. He was urgently trying to get it under control before meeting Sophia’s father. The last thing he needed was to shake the man’s hand while grinning like a simpleton.

His uncle, bless his heart, bore the ordeal of imminent socializing with great fortitude. He was here for his friend, for an afternoon of excellent verse, and—if he could manage it—very little conversation, indeed. His countenance was the most convincingly stoic of the three gentlemen. Given his age, he had had the most practice at it. But his veneer was a little tarnished whenever Tobias addressed him, for his concentrated effort at calm would be interrupted, and he would barely be able to summon a meaningful response.

Unfortunately for him, Tobias found comfort in talking. The nearer they came to the Grant residence, the more Tobias nattered, and the more disconcerted his uncle became. This might have been yet another reason why the viscount kept his gaze aimed away from them, so as not to be drawn into their awkward duet.

“This is Sophia’s favorite tree.” Tobias resumed his running commentary as they turned into the drive. “She can see it from her window and watch the seasons change through it. Whether it be adorned with fresh, green shoots, filled with leaves and birdsong, or laden with snow, it is a constantly changing visage.”

“I see.”

“Do you, Uncle? I scarce think you turned your head. If you do so quickly, you might yet catch a glimpse of it. Ah, no, you have missed it. However, we can now see the flowerbed she instructed the gardener to plant. They are all her mother’s favorite flowers. I recognize some that grow in your garden also.”

“That is very likely.”

“I suppose that is true. There are some species that are beloved by all. Or it might be that these varieties grow best in the local soil. Which do you think it is?”

“I could not say.”

Tobias stared at his uncle for a second. When no further communication was forthcoming, he proceeded to steer the conversation—such as it was—on his own.

“Look! Six, seven, eight carriages are here already! It is well that the Grants have such a long drive to accommodate them all. This bodes well for your selection, does it not, Lord Howell? So many fine pies…er, ladies to choose from.”

At the sound of his name, the viscount dragged his mind away from its distraction.

“What was that?” he asked.

“I said, it seems a large number of families have accepted the invitation to the poetry reading. You will be quite surrounded by a crowd of beautiful women. And their chaperones, of course. How fortunate you are.”

Both the viscount and the earl grew visibly glum at these words. Lord Howell, who had only just surfaced from his self-imposed silence, retreated to it hastily. Uncle Edward mirrored his distant stare, the view in their minds’ eyes likely filled with anything but a bevy of beautiful young women. Tobias, by contrast, was delighted. A crowd meant cover from which to observe. And he wanted to observe their host. He intended to find the loophole through which Mr. Grant could be approached. A quiet corner from which to monitor Miss Sangford would be helpful too.

Fortunately, no such spying eyes were upon them as they pulled up to the entrance. They were able to make their arrival incognito, in so far as the insignia of the Howell family upon the carriage doors allowed.

Tobias almost forgot himself, ready to spring from the carriage, keen to channel his nervous energy into movement. But the footman bowed and said, “Mi’lord,” before stepping back, reminding Tobias that there was a correct order to things. He fought against a bouncing knee, then fairly shot from the compartment when his turn finally came.

He immediately resumed his tide of conversation, notching up the rate of speech as they approached the heavy oak front doors. “I think you will like their library, Uncle, if we can persuade our host to let you view it. It is small compared to your own, but I believe very few families can boast a collection like yours, barring perhaps his lordship’s here. The books here are not as old, but they have a wide range of classics in the original tongue, purchased, I am certain, to feed Miss Grant’s hungry mind. She is quite fluent in Latin, Greek, French…”

“Yes, yes, dear boy,” Lord Carthige interjected, “but may I suggest you rein in your enthusiasm somewhat? It will not take much to attract the watchful gaze of her father. You would do well to draw no attention to yourself. Let the afternoon be memorable for Miss Grant’s verse, and not your verbosity.”

“You are right, of course, Uncle. Thank you for your advice. I will make every effort to heed it. It would be a shame if I made a poor impression at the one opportunity I had to make a favorable one. Who knows when I might…”

“Tobias.”

“Yes, Uncle?”

Lord Carthige held Tobias’s gaze in patient silence.

“Oh. Oh, I see. Yes. Less talking. Indeed, that is for the best. I wonder if…” Tobias paused. “I’m still doing it, aren’t I?” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “This is going to be harder than I thought.”

Uncle Edmund patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. “Perhaps begin with silence. You will learn more from listening than speaking.”

Tobias opened his mouth to express his agreement, saw his uncle’s look of dismay, and closed it at once. He received a nod of approval as his reward.

In his newly wordless state, Tobias noticed Lord Howell pausing as the butler turned to show them in. He set his broad shoulders squarely, straightened to his full impressive height, and restored the bearing of Viscount Howell. To look at him, one would never guess how he dreaded entering those doors.

Tobias and his uncle planted themselves firmly behind him. It was an act of support, but also a reminder that his lordship’s escape route was now cut off. To his credit, the viscount strode ahead into the home of the Grants with such convincing bravado, he seemed almost arrogant. Tobias would not have been surprised if people assumed he were. It would take a very special woman to peel away this outer layer without triggering his alter ego, the hapless suitor.

Uncle Edward had reverted to his perpetual discomfort in any space that did not surround him with books or art. The sound of many feminine voices rose up from a distant room. Tobias could have sworn he saw his uncle hitch in his step, as if there were a moment in which he had to persuade himself to keep moving forward.

All three of them slowed as they reached the doorway to a large reception room. The volume of chatter and sheer heat from a multitude of bodies so close together created a sort of barrier to be crossed upon entering.

They may have stood there indefinitely. Certainly, the viscount was in no hurry to proceed. Somewhere within the gathered throng, however, someone recognized him. News of his arrival passed from ear to ear, faces turning like dominoes toward the doorway. A body pushed forward—a man with hair so dark, it was almost black, tied back in a queue. His was not a friendly face, but his greeting was civil enough.

“Welcome, my lords.” Their host gave a stiff, almost military bow.”

Mr. Grant gave Tobias a fleeting scrutiny. However, being in the company of the viscount seemed to earn him instant approval. Tobias had his tongue under control, so that the opportunity for embarrassing himself was greatly diminished.

“My nephew,” Lord Carthige explained. “Mr. Tobias Mannerly. He stays with me at Newcliffe Hall and assists in the unenviable task of cataloging my extensive library. He has a great admiration for Miss Grant’s writing. In fact, it was he who brought it to my attention.”

Mr. Grant reached out his hand and Tobias did the same. They shook like equals, though Tobias was convinced his fingers had turned to jelly. So far, he saw nothing of concern. Just because Mr. Grant was not a chatty sort of fellow did not make him a villain. Goodness, that would make his uncle and the viscount the worst of the lot!

“I must apologize for the humidity,” said their host. “We cannot open the windows. There is a chill outside, which I must protect my daughter from. But I could offer you cold refreshment. And we have a well-aired parlor adjacent if you wish to have some relief.”

Lord Howell must have longed for the solitude of that parlor, but all eyes in the room were now upon him. “Thank you, Mr. Grant,” he said with a convincing smoothness. “I am most grateful that you agreed to play host in my stead. Your daughter’s health was the very reason I suggested it. It is right that you put her needs first. We will manage nicely.”

Mr. Grant bowed again. “Thank you for your understanding. Not everyone has been as…agreeable.”

“Ladies are more delicate,” the viscount explained, as if he had knowledge on the subject. “We must allow for their lack of durability.”

Tobias felt laughter gurgling to the surface. The viscount really was trying his best. Only, his best involved viewing women as some sort of engine, to be maintained rather than cherished. Tobias could only hope that, among the ladies present, they might find someone who didn’t mind.

“Fortunately,” Mr. Grant responded with absolute earnest, “we have several gentlemen present too, should our feminine company feel the need to faint. I do not think my footmen alone could deal with this much delicacy .”

“They do appear armed with fans,” the viscount noted.

“Will we be seated soon?” Lord Carthige asked. “The ladies should be much more comfortable when not exerting themselves.”

Tobias rolled his eyes inwardly. What was the matter with the members of his sex? Was he the only one who saw women as strong, fascinating beings who were as resilient as any man? Heaven help all the eligible young ladies here if this was what they had to put up with. His own parents had set a very different example. His sister had not been raised to think herself dainty or insufficient in any way. She was an accomplished woman, excellent at both needlework and horsemanship. He, in turn, had been taught to expect such qualities in his choice of wife. Sophia might not be able to ride, but—by gum!—she was by no means weak. Anyone who could survive her losses and limitations—and flourish in spite of them—was made of strong stuff.

He took stock of his host. Mr. Grant did not appear particularly cruel. There was no hardness to his features, save for the absence of any mirth. In fact, his eyes were those of a man with deep feeling. There was something familiar about his manner. A sense of tight control over self. As though it were necessary to survive. The way a mountain gripped the earth when it felt the magma shift below. It was like…yes, like the way his uncle projected peace onto his person, without necessarily feeling it. Tobias had always assumed it was because people made Uncle Edmund uncomfortable. Was it something from his childhood? Tobias did not know, but it saddened him to think that his beloved uncle should carry an injury in the way Mr. Grant did.

Mr. Grant, meanwhile, had cast his gaze over the room, as if performing an informal census. “We are waiting for one or two more guests before we begin. I am sorry I cannot introduce my sons to you. Henry has returned to his studies at Cambridge, and George was called away on a business matter. They are very disappointed to miss their sister’s debut, but needs must. Perhaps you will allow me to introduce my daughter to you in the meantime? She has already been settled in readiness for the reading.”

“It would be an honor to finally meet the talented young lady,” Lord Howell answered. “I am certain my companions are equally as eager to do so.”

He followed his host and companions obediently across the room. The conversation among the other guests had resumed, but at a lower pitch, as each person tried to hear what Lord Howell was saying over their own pretense at chatter.

At last, they reached the small dais that had been erected to face the chairs so that the audience might see Sophia clearly, since she was seated too. Tobias could only imagine how such focused attention horrified her. Indeed, she was clearly relieved to see him approach. Her pinched expression relaxed at once, a warm smile easing onto her features.

“Lord Howell,” her father began, “my eldest daughter, Miss Sophia Grant.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he replied. “Thank you for being willing to share your work with us.”

Sophia lowered her head by way of a curtsey. Then her eyes flicked up and she brought her hand to her heart. “It is a privilege, sir.”

Next, her father indicated the earl. “I don’t know if you recognize Lord Carthige. We had him to dinner when you were just a girl. I should say your mother had him to dinner. As I’m sure everyone knows, I have always preferred to be a private man.”

“That is precisely why I remember you, my lord,” Sophia added. “Guests here are a rarity and therefore always make an impression on me.”

Lord Carthige offered a wry smile. “I am grateful to be remembered. Not that I deserve it. I have been equally remiss with my dinner invitations.”

“Do not worry yourself, my lord. I would have been unable to attend them. You are quite safe from us in your seclusion.”

“I am no longer as cut off from society as I once was, Miss Grant.” He indicated to Tobias. “My nephew, Mr. Tobias Mannerly, has kindly provided me with his company and a shared love of books.”

To Tobias’s complete and utter astonishment, his uncle leaned in a bit closer to Sophia and took on a tone that was both conspiratorial and teasing. “What I had not counted on, is his equal love for conversation. I do not mind a critique on the volumes we are cataloguing, but Mr. Mannerly enjoys a lively debate on a much wider range of topics. I am unused to it. And yet, it is not entirely unpleasant. However, today, with so many people in attendance, he might have his fill. Perhaps, if we can exhaust him, I will be spared this evening.”

And then, to Tobias’s horror and delight, his uncle winked at Sophia. Winked . Edmund Stopford, Earl of Carthige, notorious hermit and shunner of fellow humans, had winked at a young woman.

Sophia laughed and clapped her hands. “You have my sympathies, Lord Carthige! It sounds absolutely terrible. But I will say you bear it bravely.”

At these words, the earl straightened up. “Well now, Nephew, the lady has been warned. Do your worst.”

Sophia turned her dancing eyes upon Tobias. And he found he had absolutely nothing to say.

There was much he wanted to say. How wonderful it was to see her without meeting in secret. How she looked radiant, as always. How his uncle was full of surprises. He racked his brain for something he might be permitted to say aloud. Embarrassingly, he came up with very little except, “I am a great admirer, Miss Grant. Of your works, I mean. I am thankful my uncle’s invitation was extended to include me.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mannerly. I wonder—since you are so well-read, and more willing to express those opinions, as your uncle has indicated—whether you would look over my list of poems I have chosen for the reading? My father professes to love them all equally, which is impossible and also unhelpful. I do not wish to disappoint our guests. Will you speak honestly and tell me whether I have chosen well?”

“It would be my honor,” Tobias replied. “Though I might be in agreement with Mr. Grant.”

“I shall be very disappointed if you are,” Sophia warned. Then, as her father turned away to continue the introductions of the other guests to the viscount, she whispered, “She’s not here.”

Tobias was startled by the unexpected comment. “Who?”

“Miss Sangford. I sent her the invitation and she accepted. All a bit of a farce, really, since she demanded it in the first place. And now she’s not here.”

Tobias surveyed the room. There were a few taller ladies present, but none with the distinctive spindly limbs and pinched expression. He was not surprised. The other guests had been handpicked. Miss Sangford would most assuredly not have been on the viscount’s list. “She probably wants to make a grand entrance,” he told Sophia. “You know, arrive at the last minute so all heads will turn to acknowledge her. There really wouldn’t be any other way for my uncle to take note of her.”

“What if she doesn’t come?” Sophia fretted. “What if something has prevented her? Will she still keep our secret? I have no other plan if this one fails.”

“Miss Sangford would not miss this opportunity to further her own cause. She would neglect her closest friend’s wedding if it meant arranging her own. Not that she stands a chance.”

“I hope you’re right. I don’t know what unsettles me more: worrying about her being here or worrying about her not being here.”

“I don’t think you have a choice anymore,” Tobias remarked, straightening up. “Look who has come to try her luck at fishing for a husband.”