Page 5 of Sophia’s Letter (Ladies of Munro #1)

A fire blazed in the dining room, and extra rugs and cushions were brought to make Sophia as comfortable as possible. But nothing could ease the pounding of dread that thrummed within her. By the time the footman had shown their guests in, she was almost paralytic with fear.

She barely greeted Freddy, who kissed her on the cheek as if she were already his sister. But Sophia had no time to ponder whether that would ever be a reality, because Mr. Tobias Mannerly entered shortly on Freddy’s heels.

He approached hesitantly, his eyes searching the small crowd assembled there. All had risen to acknowledge him except Sophia, who was rendered motionless with both physical weakness and self-doubt.

His gaze found her at last, and his entire being lit up. He was shorter than she had imagined, but he strode across the floor toward her with a briskness that belied his height.

“Miss Grant!” he breathed, as if in the presence of inspiring beauty. “At last!”

His eyes shone, and his lips were red with a rush of feeling. He seemed oblivious of her faded looks, her body that would not let her rise to greet him properly. How grateful she was now that Katie had fussed over her hair. It was the one part of her, other than her mind, that still did what it was told. She lifted her hand to a dark tendril that draped at her neck and murmured shyly, “It is good to see you.”

“Well, that is one introduction complete,” teased Adriana. “Shall we make short work of the rest?” Without waiting for an answer, she nodded to George to do the honors. When he was done, she lightly touched Mr. Mannerly’s shoulder and indicated the empty chair next to Sophia. “Mr. Mannerly, won’t you be seated?” she said before turning to take Freddy by the arm.

“You have the place beside mine.” Adriana smiled. In truth, it was much more than a smile, for in that one look, she was offering Freddy her heart.

Sophia had to admit, she was envious of Adriana. Envious that it all came so easily to her. For when Mr. Mannerly lifted his coattails to sit, all she could offer him was uncomfortable silence.

A soft murmur of polite conversation began as the Grant siblings bid welcome to their guests. Soon the chatter around the table grew lively. But Sophia remained apprehensive and mute.

Any moment now, it would sink in. He would register her thin limbs, the dark circles beneath her eyes. His uncle should have warned him, but perhaps he had not truly understood. Here, in her presence, the reality was unmistakable.

Tobias turned to look at her, and she shrank under his honest scrutiny.

His expression did not change. She held her breath, waiting for his smile to droop. Instead, it held.

The tiniest edge of her fear dissolved.

“I cannot tell you how pleased I am to finally meet you, Miss Grant,” he said, his eyes never swerving from her face. “Of course, putting thoughts into words is no challenge for you . Alas, I do not share your gift. I can only hope that sincerity suffices where skill is wanting.”

Sophia straightened her back. “Indeed, sir, I prize candor above all else.”

“I knew you would!” he gushed. “I feel like I have come to understand you through your poems and letters. It was impossible that we should not become friends. You are so unlike any other woman I know!”

He stopped abruptly, his gaze dropping away just as suddenly.

“I…I am sorry. You must think me terribly forward. It is a fault I struggle to overcome.” He looked up, his eyes pleading. “Please say you will not take offense. I mean no harm.”

“It is quite all right,” Sophia replied, surprised to find that she meant it.

His demeanor bounced back to cheerfulness instantly, a brilliant smile creasing his laugh lines. “Excellent! You are a miracle, Miss Grant! How fortunate a man I am to be acquainted with you.”

Sophia was speechless. Did the man not have eyes? Clearly, he did, for they stared at her unblinkingly. Was he a fool, then? His letters had seemed intelligent enough. And yet, he persisted in admiring her.

A bowl of soup was placed before Mr. Mannerly, and he turned grudgingly toward it.

“You will forgive me, Miss Grant, but I shall have to give all my attention to the dish. I wish I were not a clumsy man, but soup has often been my undoing.” He grinned sheepishly. Then, his brow furrowed in concentration, he dipped his spoon into the creamy, white liquid.

She watched him more closely now that she was free to do so without being watched in return. She was trying to reconcile the man before her with the assumptions she had made about him. His connections with nobility had thrown her, to be sure. She had imagined him to be a more worldly sort of man, mixing in all the right circles, flamboyant, even a little inclined to preen, like the younger of his two uncles. Certainly, he was dressed immaculately. And there was not a hair out of place. Not a single one of his perfect sandy-blond curls. They all fell to the side in a soft wave.

It would feel good to run her fingers through hair like that…

His lips, too, were shapely, closing about each spoonful gracefully and then firmly embracing the spoon as it was drawn slowly from his mouth.

Sophia felt a slight sweat forming in her neck. Tch, they made the fire too hot! She pushed the rug from her lap. It slid to the floor.

In a trice, Mr. Mannerly had reached down and collected it. He offered it back to Sophia, his face turned toward her once more. Now she could see his blue eyes. They contained none of the haughtiness she had presumed would be there. No, they were kind and open. And in them she could see a future worth having.

“Did you not want this?” he asked, still holding out the rug to her.

“Oh,” she managed to say, trying to collect herself. “Oh that,” she added, as if seeing the rug for the first time. It was almost impossible to tear herself away from those blue eyes that looked at her with the patient question still unanswered. “Er…the footman can take it away. I am no longer cold.”

“No, indeed, your cheeks are quite flushed,” he noted.

His comment made her more self-conscious, and she felt the warmth deepen upon her face.

He peered more closely at her.

“Actually, Miss Grant,” he said with concern, “you seem to be developing a fever.”

“I assure you, I am quite well,” Sophia insisted. His focused attention only heightened her embarrassment, and she desperately willed her face not to betray her. She knew she must be quite crimson by now.

Mr. Mannerly’s skin, by contrast, drained of its color. He flung the rug to the floor and grasped her hand as if to support her. “This dinner is too much for you,” he said with some alarm. “You are overexerting yourself.”

Several of Sophia’s siblings looked up from their soup with some surprise. George opened his mouth—no doubt to protest at Mr. Mannerly’s liberties—but Adriana shook her head at him urgently. George subsided, but Sophia had the feeling his soup did not receive his full attention anymore.

Meanwhile Tobias was looking at her hand, its bony, ashen form nestling in his own sturdy palm. He shook his head sadly. “It is my fault. I have badgered you for a meeting. But you knew better. You knew you would not manage. I have been selfish in my enthusiasm. I have not understood.”

Sophia gingerly drew her hand from his. In the corner of her eye, she saw George exhale and relax into his chair. “You are not to blame, sir,” she told Tobias. I am pleased you have come.”

Of course, she meant it. The reality of his presence had been more than she could have hoped for in her private fantasies. But it was time to come down to Earth again. She pursed her lips. “Yes, it is very good that you have come. For now you can see the facts before you. You understand. I am little more than an invalid.” It was a relief to pull the veil from his eyes. If they were at least to be friends, he should understand what little she had to offer. “All you knew of me before were words on a page,” she continued. “My writing gives me the means to enter a world that is otherwise closed to me. In my letters, I am whole. But here you see me as I am. Weak. Confined to my chair. Easily flustered. Perhaps now you will see fit to adjust your opinion of me. At least there will be no further cause for false compliments.”

There. No more pretense. Sophia was glad of it.

Then why did it stab at her heart so?

But there was no relief in the face of Mr. Mannerly. Instead, the worry turned to confusion and pain.

“False compliments?” His voice was a whisper, as if uttering the words were an offense to the ear. “You believe I have tainted my admiration of you with dishonesty?” He sat back, running his fingers through his mop of hair. Then he threw his hand up in frustration. “I know my faults, Miss Grant. I am wordy to excess. But I never exaggerate. I am sorry if you have found my praise tiresome, but it was never, ever bloated with flattery.”

The hurt was so shallow in his eyes that Sophia could not bear it. She wanted to cup his face in her hands and cover it with slow, comforting kisses. He was like a child in his innocence, but in every other way, a man. A very dear man. A very lovely, lovely man.

“You did not realize your compliments were undeserved,” Sophia tried to explain. “I only wish for you to alter future correspondence to reflect the reality you have discovered here tonight.”

His pained features softened, but the confusion remained. “How are you different from my expectations?” he questioned. “Are you not intelligent, talented, honest, and true? How have I misjudged you?”

Sophia breathed out an exasperated sigh. “These qualities are not the whole story, sir, as you can clearly see.”

“I do not see how your difficulty in walking is relevant. Would a stronger step have made you a better poet, or given you greater integrity?”

“No, I suppose not, but…”

“What am I missing? What would you have me change in my regard for you?”

Sophia blushed again. It was proving very difficult to have the man see reason. Moreover, his stubbornness was strangely comforting. She was no longer quite as motivated to alter his fond appraisal of her.

She caught a reassuring smile from her sister. Adriana was leaning slightly towards Mr. Mannerly, whose speech was too soft to travel far. Her sister was drinking in every word of their conversation, though she nodded at the rest of the company at appropriate intervals. She would likely scold Sophia later for countering Mr. Mannerly at every turn.

Sophia hesitated. Perhaps Adriana was right. Was it truly necessary to undo all of the kind gentleman’s generous opinions?

“I certainly would not want you to think less of me than I am…” she answered at last.

“But you think I do not see you as you really are.”

“Yes!”

He sat back, and looked at her with determined concentration.

“I see it now,” he confessed at last.

“You do?” Her heart sank.

“The fault is clearly with you.”

“It is?” Her chest tightened.

“It is you who do not see yourself as you really are.”

“Oh!” She exhaled in relief.

“My dear Miss Grant, if you will permit my candor, I suspect you have been greatly disappointed by your physical limitations and therefore assume everyone feels the same. I, however, do not see how it makes one jot of difference to the person you are. All the qualities I have discovered in your letters and wonderful lines of poetry are the ones I value most. I fail to grasp how your health would improve your character, though I do sympathize that it is a frustration for you. I do not know how to make this any clearer.”

It took several moments for Sophia to regain her bearings.

“I see,” she said, though truly, she did not. She had spent the latter half of her life thus far mourning her losses—her health, her mother. They had robbed her of joy and freedom. The vivacious girl of her youth was gone, replaced by this old maid of nearly thirty in a body that didn’t work. In contrast, young Mr. Mannerly was so full of energy, his life ripe with promise. Why was he not repulsed by her? He should have been.

“Ah, Miss Grant.” He shook his head slowly. “I have not convinced you.” He sighed. “Well, let us agree to disagree, then. It should not spoil the evening. After all, there is always hope for any dinner where I have not spilled soup on my napkin.” He offered her a lopsided grin, and she could not help but return it.

By now, the footman was serving the roast beef, and chatter had swelled around the table. It was a remarkably genial gathering with George playing host instead of their father. Freddy and Adriana exchanged tender glances, their hands finding excuses to brush lightly past each other. Henry got away with student humor that would have been summarily condemned by their father. And Bess, who had been allowed to join the dinner despite not being out officially, was beside herself with excitement, her youthful laughter punctuating the spirited dialogue.

Sophia allowed herself to forget Mr. Mannerly’s delusions for the moment. He was obdurate in his opinion of her, and she had given up persuading him otherwise. Tomorrow, they would continue their literary correspondence, and everything would return to its comfortable, predictable status quo. As it should.

And yet, when she watched him chatting with, well, anyone at the table, he fit right in. It was uncomplicated. Joyous even. So very, very opposite to her daily life. It brought back memories of the dinners Mama would arrange when Papa had traveled to London. She’d only done so when he’d been from home. Not because he would have spoiled the mood. No, not then. But because she’d known that, when he returned, he would want to have his family all to himself. He’d always missed them terribly and would scoop them up in his arms where they’d waited for him excitedly at the door. There would be noisy play, with their usually reserved father growling like a lion and chasing them about the house.

She barely recognized who he was now. He would not like this gathering at all. It was noisy, cheerful, and certainly not safe. How was he to keep his daughters close to home when there were such eligible gentlemen present?

Sophia wondered if Mr. Mannerly would still delight in her company if he knew how strange her family was. Well, she wasn’t going to let it bother her tonight. It was just the one dinner. Papa would never find out. They all protected each other’s secrets. Mr. Tobias Mannerly and Conrad Grant were much better off knowing nothing about each other.

As the evening wore on, Sophia let herself laugh. She did not stop Adriana from divulging what an absolute urchin their eldest sister had been as a child, able to outrun and out-pummel her brothers as the need had arisen. Mr. Mannerly had turned to Sophia, his mouth an “O” of surprise. But he did not appear shocked. He seemed incapable of being rattled.

By the time their guests were readying to leave, Sophia was still keeping up with the rest of the company. She felt strong, buoyant. The visit had refreshed rather than drained her. She almost wished…yes, she did wish it could happen again.

“You look well, Miss Grant,” Mr. Mannerly said as he took his leave. “I am relieved that you have made a complete recovery from your earlier turn. May I say that the color that now touches your cheeks is most becoming?”

“You know very well you should not say such things,” Sophia scolded, but her heart was no longer in it. She let him kiss her gloved hand. She would have to buy a new pair—this one would be squirreled away under her pillow, ready for her to savor the delectable memory (and the lips that had formed it) whenever she chose. She was walking on air.

Without thinking, she rose from her chair.

There was a gasp from Bess. The room went quiet. All eyes turned in Sophia’s direction.

“Whatever is the matter?” she asked.

“Are you tired? Shall I have a footman carry you to your room?” inquired George with some concern.

“That is not necessary. I feel quite fit enough.” Sophia felt as surprised as they looked. “Yes.” A broad smile echoed her realization. “I feel…I might walk to my chambers myself if someone offered me their arm.”

She was momentarily disappointed when Mr. Mannerly did not offer. It would, of course, have been inappropriate. But such was the wholesome nature of the man that she would have accepted gladly and not thought his intentions anything but honorable.

Henry, who was nearest to her of her brothers, stepped forward briskly and held his arm out to her. “Ready?” he asked, though his dubious expression suggested he did not think she possibly could be.

“Ready.” She nodded. His arm stiffened as she placed some of her weight upon it. It was enough. She would manage. Sophia turned to Mr. Mannerly. “Thank you for coming.” The simple words did not do justice to the impact his presence had had, but she was certain he knew this.

He bowed, his hand to his chest. “It has been…pure poetry.”

It would have been a fitting response to stride from the room like a queen, gliding on the euphoria of an evening unlike any other. Instead, Sophia walked slowly, taking great care not to give the appearance of shuffling. Out of sight of Mr. Mannerly, she stopped to catch her breath.

Henry put a supportive arm around her. “Would you like to sit a while?”

“I can do it.” She was panting slightly, but determined to see it through.

“Look, Fee, if anyone can do it with the power of sheer doggedness, it’s you. But nowhere is it written you have to do it all at once.”

“You promise not to fetch a footman?”

“I promise.”

She lowered herself gratefully onto a wide bench. Henry joined her. Despite his youth, and the playfulness suggested by freckles and strawberry-blond hair, he was just as patient and sensible as George. Sophia counted her brothers among the handful of blessings that remained to her. It was easy to be herself in their company. As it was with Mr. Mannerly…

She looked down to hide the blush she felt rising to her cheeks. Her eyes fell on the small table that stood beside them. It supported a wide-lipped vase. Being early spring, there were daffodils, irises, and snowdrops on display. She wondered who had picked them. It was something she had always done with her mother. Her blush evaporated as a chilly reminder took its place. Neither her mother nor she would gather flowers again.

And it was her fault.

The well of energy that had filled up during the evening poured out of her so suddenly that she slumped against Henry.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, buoying her up against his chest.

“I…I probably just overdid it.”

“Too much too soon?”

“Yes, that’s it. I’ll be fine once I’ve had a proper rest.”

“Say no more.”

And because Henry was a good brother and would keep his promise, he reached over and scooped Sophia up into his own arms and carried her to her room.

Katie fussed while undressing her, wishing aloud that her mistress would not take such risks with her health. But Sophia was too tired to listen. She watched from her bed as the maid carefully collected her black silk dress, shoes, and other paraphernalia, to be taken downstairs and cleaned.

As her eyelids began to close heavily, Sophia murmured, just loud enough to be heard, “Leave the gloves.”