A Holiday by Gaslight(5)

Sophie’s spirits sank. She could withstand Papa’s remonstrations. It didn’t matter how much he bellowed or threatened. But Mama applied an altogether different—and far more effective—technique.

She linked her slim arm through Sophie’s as they exited the drawing room. “Is it damp out? Will we need our coats?”

“No, Mama. Just a shawl, I think.”

The townhouse on Green Street was small but elegant. It had a neat little back garden with trees and shrubs laid out in a welcoming design. In the summer it was filled with the scent of fresh greenery and fragrant blooms. Now it was as stark and bare as the landscape along the Serpentine.

Her mother led her down a barren path at the edge of the garden. They walked in silence for several minutes. And then, “You must forgive your father,” she said.

Sophie felt a twinge of bitterness at the unfairness of it all. It didn’t last long. It never did. “There’s nothing to forgive. I know I’ve disappointed him. I wish it were otherwise.” She paused before adding, “But I won’t let him bully me into marrying a gentleman I don’t like.”

“Bully you? He would never do any such thing. Nor would I. We only want what’s best for you and your sister. Surely, you know that?” She squeezed Sophie’s arm. “Besides, I wasn’t aware you disliked Mr. Sharpe.”

“I don’t dislike him. Not really.”

“But you object to him? You never said so. What’s changed, my love? Has he done something? Said something?”

“He’s done nothing. Said nothing.” Sophie stopped on the garden path to face her mother. “We have nothing in common, Mama. Not a single blessed thing. And I know he must feel the awkwardness of it as keenly as I do. Indeed, when I told him I wished to put an end to our courtship, he seemed almost…relieved.”

“Did he? Well, then I daresay you’ve done the right thing.” She once again linked her arm through Sophie’s. “Come. Let’s walk. It’s too cold to be standing still. You’ll get a chill on your lungs and we can’t have that. Not so close to Christmas.”

They continued in the direction of the mews. The rattle of carriage wheels and the clip-clop of horses’ hooves sounded in the distance. There was a black iron gate at the end of the garden, a convenient shortcut to the stables and, thereby, to the street. It was how Sophie had slipped away to meet Mr. Sharpe in Hyde Park.

That had been only a few days ago. Three and half days, to be precise. It had taken her that long to muster up the courage to tell her parents what she’d done. Which was unlike her, now she thought of it. Usually, when she made an independent decision, she had the confidence to reveal it to her family without delay. This time, however, she hadn’t felt very confident. Indeed, it wasn’t long after leaving Hyde Parke that she’d begun to experience a niggling sensation of doubt.

“What do you suppose Mr. Darwin would make of your decision?” Mama asked.

Sophie wrapped her shawl more tightly about her shoulders. “I don’t see that Mr. Darwin has much to do with my present situation.”

“Doesn’t his book advise altering one’s behavior? Adapting oneself to changing circumstances in order to ensure survival?”

“He was speaking in terms of evolutionary theory, not issuing practical advice for young ladies.”

“As I recall, it was you who claimed such theories could apply to our modern society. Or was that just a means of convincing yourself to accept Mr. Sharpe’s suit?”

Sophie couldn’t remember exactly what she’d said. She was new to reading Mr. Darwin’s works and his latest, On the Origin of Species, was still very much a mystery to her. “I believe one must accept the modern world,” she said carefully. “Even if it makes one uncomfortable to do so. We none of us can avoid progress. We must change ourselves constantly in order to grow with the times. Either that or risk being left behind. But there are limits, Mama.”

“And you’ve reached yours with Mr. Sharpe?”

“I have. And let that be an end to it.” She was done with reviewing the pathetic business of her failed romance. She’d made a decision—a sensible one, at that—and she had a mind to stick to it, no matter the consequences.

And there would be consequences. There always were when she butted heads with her father. But she absolutely refused to let the prospect dampen her holiday spirits. The weeks leading up to Christmas were her favorite of the year.

She inhaled a breath of crisp morning air “If only Papa wasn’t so angry with me.”

Mama made a soft chuffing sound. “He’s not angry. He’s worried.”

“About money?”

Her mother gave a reluctant nod. She didn’t like discussing their finances, but she and Sophie had an understanding of sorts when it came to matters of money. An unspoken acknowledgment that they would share the burden of Papa and Emily’s excess.

“We’ve spent a great deal too much on our stay in London,” she said. “He’d hoped you and Emily would make a success of it. If you had, it would’ve all been worth it. As it is, we shall have to give up our lease and return to Derbyshire. Which is too bad, really. There are no suitable gentlemen there for Emily. Only this morning Lady Colson recommended we give her another season. If you were married—and married well—we could bring her out as we should. No more skimping on little luxuries.”