Fairchild (8 page)

At first, Jasper saw little of his half-sister, being away much of the year at school. Uninterested in young children, he had intended to ignore Sophy, but discarded this notion over the summer in favor of making a pet of her to annoy his mama. He spent most of his time at Cordell tramping through the fens with his dog and a fowling piece and one day he saw Sophy drifting away from the house as he made his own way through the gardens.
 

“You may as well carry my bag,” he said, tossing it to her. “If you’re going to spend the day outside. Come on.”

She was a game little thing, he learned, solid as a soldier, gladly following him under hot sun or chilling mizzle, begging for stories of his adventures at school. She was, as he suspected, a regular hoyden and knew how to climb trees and make a whistle from a blade of grass. He laughed, seeing how pleased she was when he showed her the best places to find tadpoles, though he was past that kind of thing himself. Seeing her sitting like a sack as one of the grooms led her around on Henrietta’s old pony, he decided he ought to take an interest in her training, if only for the sake of the horse. After a particularly hard fall, he discovered Sophy’s collection of curses. Smirking, he gifted her a few jewels of his own, recognizing in the flash of her eyes a like-minded soul.

It pleased Jasper to escape with Sophy and watch her thin face vivify in his company. Naturally, she was a trial at times, being eight years his junior, but he did not hesitate to dismiss her when he tired of her company. He found he seldom did. They passed much of their time together in companionable silence or with Jasper giving orders. Rarely, very rarely, they spoke about Fanny Prescott, whom Jasper had not forgotten.
 

Sophy had tried to bury both guilt and grief, but sometimes she had to speak of her mother, though she was never certain if even the best memories would bring tears or laughter. Jasper listened avidly, imparting now and then a memory of his own. Sophy understood that he had been fond of her mother, and was comforted.

The year Jasper finished his studies at Cambridge, Lord and Lady Fairchild took Henrietta to London for the Season, launching her with all the pomp and circumstance of a ship of the line.
 
She was eighteen and a brilliant success, receiving a flattering number of offers. From the beaus vetted by her mama, Henrietta chose Lord Percy Arundel, surprising many. Two dashing eligibles had made Lady Fairchild's list, and still Henrietta chose Arundel. True, he was wealthy and an earl, but he was balding and fifteen years her senior.
 
He had bookish habits and a tendency to talk over peoples’ heads, in no way resembling the heroes of the novels Henrietta had devoured for so many years. Lady Fairchild was puzzled by this choice, but Henrietta seemed pleased with the match and snagging Arundel was a coup of which any mother could be proud.
 

Sophy, who received regular letters from Henrietta, had a better understanding of her reasons and was happy for her sister, though grieved to lose her companionship.
 

“He adores me,” Henrietta wrote. “He will not wander, and he will love me when my beauty is gone. Mother thinks he is a staid fellow. He is, but that doesn’t stop me loving him. Just don’t tell anyone.”

Henrietta married in the fall and Cordell was a quieter place without her. Jasper seldom visited, though he was often at Newmarket, a scant fifteen miles away. In command of his own money now, he tended to avoid his parents, running with a younger, faster set of sporting gentlemen.
 

Her work completed with Henrietta, Lady Fairchild tried to turn her efforts to her son, but was speedily rebuffed. Her husband refused to lend his aid, and the truce that had held between them during Henrietta's season ended. Lady Fairchild resumed hostilities with a broadside of dinners and parties, and Lord Fairchild retreated to his stables.

Over time, Lady Fairchild’s thoughts turned to Sophy. It surprised her that Sophy seldom rode with William, since under Jasper's tutelage she had become a daring rider. The girl would probably have moved into the stables, if they allowed it, so strong was her fascination with William's bloodstock. Yet she rode with her father only by accident, if they happened to choose the same time and direction. Once, Lady Fairchild had feared Sophy would eclipse her own children in their father's eyes. A misplaced worry, it had turned out.
 

She was a surprisingly agreeable thing, always docile and polite. Neither Jasper nor Henrietta took pains to please her like Sophy did. Bored, and a little lonely, Lady Fairchild stopped ignoring the girl and began summoning her to the drawing room. Always she made some excuse to herself at first: Miss Frensham had a cold and was unable to pour the tea, or she wanted Sophy present to outshine Mrs. Matcham’s two boring daughters. Lady Fairchild found comfort in Sophy’s company, for since Henrietta’s marriage, her life seemed to have lost much of its purpose. So it was natural, almost unnoticeable, when she began taking Sophy about with her and coaching her in the social arts of which she was an acknowledged master.
 

They spent many companionable hours together, shopping in the village and reading fashion magazines. Sophy’s looks could not be compared to Henrietta’s, but her taste was excellent. Within a year, Sophy accompanied Lady Fairchild most everywhere, assisted with her correspondence and wrote out the menus for her entertainments. Lady Fairchild began to depend on Sophy, to be just a little fond of her. In reflective moments, Lady Fairchild concluded there was a certain justice to it, since her own children preferred their father. She could not deny it was just a little satisfying, that she had succeeded where he could not. He tried to hide it, but she knew he envied her rapport with Sophy.
 

She never varied her imperious manners, but she valued Sophy more than she admitted.
 

Sophy was content. It was pleasant, being in Lady Fairchild’s good graces, and her latent fears of being thrown out receded until she almost forgot them. Though she missed Henrietta and Jasper, she had Lady Fairchild’s company, the horses and Cordell. She loved the wide expanse of the Suffolk countryside. Riding was her joy; racing her secret enthusiasm. Barred from the meetings in Newmarket, she extracted detailed accounts from John, the head groom, and was as proud as he each time Cordell fielded a winner. Her days were full, starting with early morning rides and ending with neighborhood parties; her thoughts never travelled beyond the next social engagement or the next race meeting. Her seventeenth birthday came and went without anyone seeming to notice. Lady Fairchild never spoke of the past, so it was easy to distance herself from her own memories. Sophy did not pause to consider the future.
 

“Thank you, Mrs. Larkin. I shall call again next week to see how you are getting on.”
 

Mrs. Larkin, now the mother of six, curtseyed as Lady Fairchild gathered her sables and swept out of the cottage.

Tom Coachman helped her into the carriage. Females of Lady Fairchild’s generation did not drive their own vehicles and nothing could persuade her to learn, though she had ordered Jasper to teach Henrietta and then Sophy, once it became fashionable for young ladies to drive a smart vehicle with one or two horses.
 

“Sophy?” she called.
What was keeping her?

“Coming, ma’am.” Sophy appeared at the carriage door, a large basket hung over her arm.
 

“What’s that?” Lady Fairchild asked.

Sophy’s face split in a wide grin. “One of Dash’s puppies. Peter Larkin gave her to me, but I will let Jasper have her. I have wanted to thank him for giving me such a handsome Christmas present, and I think he will die of envy if I do not.” Even Lady Fairchild knew that the Larkin dogs were famous.
 

“Very kind of Mr. Larkin, I’m sure.” Lady Fairchild said, looking dubiously at the basket and stretching her feet to the hot brick in front of her. It was late afternoon, but the slanting winter sunlight was too weak to melt the frost from the trees. Taking a small notebook from her reticule, she drew a check mark beside the last name on her list with a silver pencil. “He kept you outside long enough.”

“That was my fault, ma’am,” Sophy said. “It was so hard to choose just one.”

“Drive on,” Lady Fairchild instructed, rapping on the window of the carriage. Tom Coachman gave the horses leave to start.

Lady Fairchild was always diligent in visiting her husband’s tenants. She brought gifts of linen and tiny gowns after a birth, distributed hampers of food and shirts when there was illness or misfortune, and had personally vaccinated all the servants and laborers belonging to Cordell Hall. There were few roles she found as satisfying as that of Lady Bounty. Normally, she was gratified by the simple gifts she occasionally received in return: rose cuttings for her garden, a bottle of lineament she thrust onto her housekeeper, a clutch of chicks from one of the farmers’ prizewinning hens. This time she frowned at the basket, tapping her pencil against the list.
 

“If you do not like her, I will keep her in the stables,” Sophy said, though it was plain the idea distressed her.
 

Lady Fairchild waved a hand. “My dear, I’m sure it’s no matter if you keep her in your rooms. Heaven knows one more dog will make no difference.”
 

William knew she hated his dogs in the house, but the dogs came inside nevertheless. It was not the puppy that displeased her. No, this dog was just the latest instance of a growing problem.
 
When she and Sophy conducted their errands of mercy or drove into Bury St. Edmonds to visit the shops, farmers’ sons increasingly found excuses to speak to Sophy. The shop boys were too attentive, following her with their eyes. Worse, Sophy was friendly in return, smiling as readily to Peter Larkin’s bashful greeting as she did to Jasper’s teasing.
 

Until now, Lady Fairchild had always been glad Sophy never tried to increase her privileges or insinuate herself higher. She had liked her for being content with her place. It had never troubled her before when Sophy failed to discourage the familiarities of the local people, but Lady Fairchild saw where it was leading now. Letting Sophy marry a farmer or a tradesman would be intolerable. She could not invite those men to her home, or visit Sophy in theirs. Day by day, she was realizing that she did not want Sophy to pass out of her life after reaching adulthood.
 

It was strange, Lady Fairchild thought, watching Sophy lift the lid of the basket and slip her hand inside to fondle the bundle of silky fur. She had never expected to like her.
 

 
Though not a beauty, Sophy was undeniably pretty. It surprised her that William’s features had turned out so well on a female, but they had indeed. Sophy’s face was arresting, her dark, mobile brows and pale skin topped by the bright tangle of her hair. Of course the local boys noticed. Sophy’s self-deprecating manners only encouraged their presumption. These farmers’ sons would never have dared to throw a second glance Henrietta’s way.
 

It was a problem, but it didn’t have to be. Finding an acceptable husband for Sophy would be difficult, but was by no means impossible. Examining the idea, Lady Fairchild’s pulse quickened. Sophy was illegitimate, but acknowledged, and with a good dowry. She had all the necessary accomplishments and an eye for color and design. If she brought Sophy out, Sophy would do very well. Leaning her head back into the velvet upholstery, Lady Fairchild let a dreamy half-smile creep across her face. There was nothing that gave spice to the London Season like arranging a marriage.
 

It would be truly magnanimous of her.
 

Eyes narrowed, she watched Sophy, who was intent on her puppy. With her hair cut, some simple pearls, and a delicate figured muslin, nothing could look more appealing. She would show best at outdoor events, Lady Fairchild decided—rides in the park, Venetian breakfasts—they would have to pay special attention to choosing habits and walking dresses. Of course she could not bring Sophy everywhere. There would be no court presentation, no vouchers for the assemblies at Almacks, but otherwise she would have Sophy’s company. Her one dissatisfaction with Henrietta’s marriage to Arundel was that they lived so far away. She might have better luck there with Sophy.
 

“You look vastly pretty today, Sophy, but I think it’s high time we got you some new gowns,” she said.
 

“Thank-you, ma’am. That is most kind.” A pink flush stole into her cheeks. “But I won’t need anything until you and Lord Fairchild return from London.”
 

Lady Fairchild didn’t contradict her. No need to explain just yet. She would speak to William first.
 

*****

“Don’t let that overgrown mouse chew on your dress,” Dessie scolded, fastening Sophy up the back. “That flounce was three shillings a yard!” Letting out a cry of vexation, Dessie pounced on the puppy and stuffed her into the basket, cursing Peter Larkin under her breath.
 

“Sorry! She can’t help it,” Sophy said, crouching down to examine her hem. “It’s just a small tear.”

Dessie sniffed.
 

“I can mend it myself, you know,” Sophy said. “No one will see it, but I can change if you think I should.”

“This is your best dress and you are supposed to take special pains this evening,” Dessie said, repeating Lady Fairchild’s instructions for perhaps the fifth time.