Page 7 of Sophia’s Letter (Ladies of Munro #1)

T he afternoon post brought the daily letter from Mr. Mannerly that Sophia now eagerly awaited and cherished. Nothing further could come of their correspondence, of course, but it was the nearest thing to intimacy she had ever allowed herself.

The hardest part was keeping from showing any excitement at the arrival of the post. With Katie always on duty, Sophia had to open all letters with equal decorum.

Today, the wail escaped her lips before she could stifle it.

At once, Katie was alert.

“Are you unwell, miss?” Her forehead was pleated with worry. Then she saw the open letter in her mistress’s hand. “Not bad news, I hope?”

“No, no!” Sophia spluttered. “Of course not! I just… It’s only…” Her denial ground to a stuttering halt. “Oh, Katie,” she cried, “why must men be so contrary?!”

Katie took the question in her stride. “I don’t know, miss. I am sure they would say the same of us.” She smiled shyly. “If you’ll pardon my saying so.”

Sophia slumped back onto the arm of the sofa. “It was all going so well.” She tapped the letter accusingly. “Why would he get such a thought in his head?”

“Begging pardon, miss, but I cannot answer the question, seeing as I don’t know who or what the mistress is talking about. Forgiving my bluntness, miss.”

Sophia turned her head and looked at Katie properly for the first time. She had sharp features: cheekbones, nose, chin, all of it. And bright eyes to match. Papa would not have entrusted his precious child to a dullard, but Sophia had never really pondered this before.

“Katie,” she began, her head cocked thoughtfully, “what do you do when you are not looking after me?”

“Oh, well, I make sure the mistress’s clothes are clean and pressed. I tend to the fire. I…”

“No, I meant when you have time to yourself.”

“To myself?” The blank look on Katie’s face gave Sophia pause.

“Yes, you know, when you are not busy.”

“I…I hardly know how to answer that, miss. If I am not busy, then I am not doing me job properly.”

“Oh. I see. So you do not have an admirer? Someone to whom you might slip away in your stolen moments?”

Katie snort-laughed and then threw a cupped hand across her mouth, her eyes wide. “Begging your pardon, miss! I did not mean to sound disrespectful. It’s just that, if the master was to think I had me a young man, I’d be sacked on the spot.”

Sophia was horrified. “You could never fall in love? Never marry?”

Katie lowered her eyes, a corner of her mouth twitching into a demure smile. “I didn’t say that, miss. It’s just, if I did, I couldn’t stay here any longer. I’d have to choose.”

“I know the feeling.”

“Yes, miss. Poor Miss Adriana.”

“Miss Adriana?”

“Oh, yes, miss! It’s so sad that she cannot have a normal courtship. They make such a lovely couple.”

“You know about Fr… I mean, Mr. Wynn?”

Katie’s chin lifted and her chest swelled a little. “Miss Adriana trusts me with delivering their correspondence. I always take great care not to let them down. Her beau cannot send his letters here like your Mr. Mannerly does.”

Sophia’s eyebrows shot up, and a warning sounded up the length of her spine.

“ My Mr. Mannerly?”

“Yes, miss. If the mistress don’t mind me saying, she’s been clever not to speak of her feelings to the master. Miss Adriana is very bold, but it has also cost her dearly, ’cause now the master watches her closely and it is difficult for her to meet with Mr. Wynn. Not that it stops her. She’s a brave one. All the staff are rooting for her. We all love a romance, we do.”

“That is very heartening to know, I’m sure. But I would like to make it clear—Mr. Mannerly and I do not have a romance.”

Katie tapped her nose and winked. “Of course not. I understand, Miss Grant.”

“I don’t think you do . Mr. Mannerly and I correspond about literature. Perhaps you have confused our friendship with something more. Surely, your enjoyment of a good romance should not require you to invent one?”

“Oh, Miss Grant, it’s all right. I would never betray you to the master! You deserve to be happy.”

Sophia felt the weight of these words. Oh, Katie, if only you knew. I deserve nothing of the kind. Not dear Mr. Mannerly. And certainly nothing as rewarding as real happiness .

The cold reality squeezed at her heart. But Katie had meant well, and so Sophia stirred a measure of warmth into her voice. “These are generous sentiments, Katie, and I do not take them lightly. But it must be obvious to anyone that a relationship between Mr. Mannerly and myself is quite impossible. There is nothing for you to be protective of, though your loyalty is appreciated.”

“Oh, miss! If it weren’t for the master, I believe you and Mr. Mannerly would be courting openly, and very happy besides. We all think he is good for you.”

“Is that so? And what is it I am supposed to offer him in return, would you say, Katie Williams? Hmm?”

The sarcasm that laced her speech was completely lost on poor Katie, who blundered onward in her enthusiasm.

“He is a learned man, and you are so very clever, miss.”

“That is a sound basis for friendship, not love.”

The young maid shrugged. “It’s not for me to say what the gentleman appreciates in you. But the way he looks at you is…not like a friend.” Katie giggled, as if they were sharing a girlish secret.

Sophia did not laugh. She sat with her spine straight and stiff, her fingers knitted together on her lap. “How would you know how he looks at me?”

Katie was taken aback. “Oh…er…the footman…at the dinner…”

“You discuss us? And our guests? With the rest of the staff?”

“O-Only out of a-admiration,” Katie stammered. “We would never gossip maliciously. We have all worked here for years, Miss Grant. You have become like family to us. It brings us joy to see you thrive. Please, miss, we mean no harm by it.”

Sophia tried to be angry and indignant, but it could not last. It was true—the staff were like her extended family. The various footmen, about whose necks she threw her arms to be carried between rooms. Katie, to whom she had, many a time, owed an easier breath, or the simple comfort of a re-fluffed pillow. Cook, who sent her favorite dishes to her room when she was too exhausted to leave her bed. They knew her, cared for her, in a manner that was beyond mere duty.

Sophia’s affront melted away. “I am sure you mean well. Alas, that is my difficulty. Everyone means well. Even Mr. Mannerly.” She cast her eyes to the letter once more. “He wants to meet Papa.”

“Oh, miss!”

“Exactly. No doubt he thinks it the gentlemanly thing to do. But it is quite impossible. And how should I explain that to him?” Her voice dropped, sinking with her hopes. “He will discover the madness at the core of this family. And then I will lose him.”

She looked up at Katie, tears pooling in her eyes. “Why can’t I have this one small thing? Do I ask too much? Just to know such a man exists who admires me as I am? I have kept him at arm’s length. I have followed the rules.” She balled a fist. “Those infernal rules!”

The tears flowed hotly now.

Katie was across the room in an instant, kneeling beside her. She reached as if to take her mistress’s hand to console her, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, she sank to the floor, her upturned face distraught. “Miss Grant… Oh, Miss Grant, don’t cry.”

But Sophia had held these tears back too long. Now that she had released her emotion, she could not stem its flow.

“I can send for some tea,” offered the desperate maid. She sprang up and made for the bell ribbon, but Sophia’s shaky voice halted her steps.

“Leave it.” She sucked in a deep, tremulous breath. “Tea will not fix what ails me. Nothing can cure that.” Her eyes were raw and red, and bitterness crept into her voice. “I must pay the price of my sins.”

“Mistress?” Katie stood, her hands helpless at her sides. “Maybe you should speak with the vicar?”

Sophia barked a rough, rueful laugh. “He cannot undo what has been done. No, I must break contact with Mr. Mannerly. This charade must end. I have been the maker of my own calamity. I should face up to its consequences.” She stifled a sob. “Even if it breaks my heart.”

Katie made to protest, but Sophia shook her head vehemently. “We shall speak no more on this. You have been kindness itself, dear Katie, and I shall not forget it. But I know what I must do. It is pointless to avoid it. Do not press me further.”

Katie was the picture of dejection. As if it was her world that was collapsing. To her credit, she nodded obediently and took her seat once more, though her eyes were strained as if she, too, had tears to shed. But Sophia had no pity to spare. Her own heart was gutted. And the hardest part still lay before her.

She pulled a sheet of paper closer. It slid easily across the tray. She dipped the quill in ink. It sank and rose in silence, the black liquid coating it gently, like a whisper.

Dear Mr. Mannerly , she wrote in smooth, even strokes, while her heart raged and howled within her. I thank you for your letter. No more letters! The pending loss shrieked and clawed at her mind. As you know, my father is currently away in London for some weeks. But he would be back. And he would pin her heart to his dreadful collection of imprisoned souls like a butterfly, to be preserved for his enjoyment only. His return does not, however, signify the possibility of a meeting. To explain this in a letter, to display such words in a permanent form, is not right. Whatever else my father may be, I will not commit his faults to paper. Faults—her capsizing world remembered, as it tilted into the tumultuous sea of her thoughts—that had been of her creation. Oh, Mama! If Papa had only been home that Monday!

If you would be willing to call upon me at ten in the morning, I will make my meaning clear. But I should add—and this will not be debated, sir—that this letter and that meeting will be the last of either. The pain roared through her chest. Her ears filled with a deafening pressure as if drowning.

Thank you for our conversations and all you have contributed to making me a stronger poet. Poetry! Would she ever write another word of it without thinking of him? Her two loves were so intertwined now. Perhaps she had lost them both. The wail of despair soared through her, rising upon a tide that threatened to consume her.

With gratitude, Sophia Grant. She could add nothing more. He would be hurt. He would recover. She could not think of him. She could not stop thinking of him.

She bit hard into the inside of her cheek. She must address the letter before tears ruined her efforts. She did not have it in her to write these words again.

“Katie,” she said, the exhaustion shallow in her voice, “have this delivered. And then leave me awhile.”

“But, miss…”

“Do as I bid you. There is no harm that can befall me now that could increase the pain I already suffer. I do not wish to be watched while I mourn.”

“Yes, miss,” Katie answered sadly. She carried the letter from the room, and with it, the finality of Sophia’s decision. She closed the door behind her with a soft click. To Sophia, it was the sickening sound of a tomb being sealed. And she was alone within it.