My Dear Sophy (5 page)

Mr. Hollingson had been ready to embrace her. And she had been more than ready to embrace him. It had been a wonderful feeling, to be held in his arms. To be wanted like that. Sophy had little experience of such things. Milverton was simply too small. There were no men she had ever felt like this about. Oh sure, a few hasty embraces with some of the boys her age, but nothing serious. Nothing that made her feel hot and cold at the same time.

But here was a man who did make her feel like that, who'd given her something new.

These thoughts occupied her until they reached the curate's cottage. Mr. Hollingson disengaged himself apologetically. Sophy instructed the boys to begin their way homeward, walking slowly and carefully. Freddy should lean as much as possible on Edward.

As the two boys gingerly started on their way back to Milverton, Sophy turned toward the cottage and found Mr. Hollingson looking at her. The smile that played along his lips disappeared as he became aware of her gaze on him. They looked at each other for a moment, until Sophy recalled them to their purpose.

Stepping toward the cottage, she said, “Let's bandage those hands. We'll need some linens and some warm water.”

A few moments only served to acquire these items. Sophy stood by the kitchen table, the water and linen next to her and Mr. Hollingson in front of her. The afternoon sun gave her enough light to see his injured hands. She turned his palms gently upward and peered closely at them. The nearness of him – after what had happened earlier – was almost too much. She must concentrate on cleaning and mending his wounds. Her fingers gently prodded his raw flesh.

He attempted levity. “So how bad is it, doctor? Is it fatal?”

Sophy smiled, laughter behind her eyes. “I think you'll live, Mr. Hollingson.”

He became suddenly serious. “Joshua, please.”

The laughter disappeared from her eyes as Sophy carefully scanned his face. He was asking her to call him by his Christian name. She hesitated a moment longer before giving a small nod and smile, acquiescing to the intimacy of his name. “Joshua.”

She still held his hands in hers as she looked at him and spoke his name. He seemed to disregard the pain they were causing him as he turned them to grasp hers. He looked down and rubbed his thumbs over the soft parts of her inner wrist. The sensuality of that action nearly made her knees buckle. She had never been touched like that. So tender and so intimate. Something as mundane as a wrist and yet it could make her feel so vulnerable and naked. He must feel her pulse pounding.

“
Sophy,” he whispered. He hadn't asked to use her name, but Sophy did not mind the intimacy. Her name sounded so natural on his lips.

Sophy dragged her eyes up to his. It seemed natural to incline her head to the side. She was ready to embrace him, as before. He slowly leaned toward her.

Sophy's eyes drifted closed as he leaned closer. She could feel his breath, warm on her face. And then his lips touched hers. Soft. And gentle. Only the whisper of a touch at first. Their lips parted and touched again as they explored each other, discovered what felt right.

It was more than a few moments before they remembered where they were. Mr. Hollingson pulled himself away but still held her hands. He smiled. A happy grin that Sophy returned involuntarily. Not that she would have stopped it if she could. She felt a sense of giddiness stealing over her.

Without saying another word, Sophy turned back to the task of cleaning and bandaging his hands. When she was almost done, Mr. Hollingson breathlessly asked her, “Sophy, may I call upon you this week?” His gaze was hot on her face. “I have something particular I would like to say to you.”

Sophy walked the path from Preston-Bowyer to Milverton as she had walked it at least once a week for her entire life. The path should have been the most familiar one in the world. And yet something was new, something had changed.

What she had shared with Mr. Hollingson had been so unexpected. It was so much more than the mechanical way she had always thought about the more intimate acts between a man and a woman. She was not ignorant of what happened, but she had not imagined that it could be like what had passed between the handsome curate and herself. It seemed so different to what she had observed of her parents. And even different to the chaste – as she now understood them – embraces that she had shared with some of the village boys. This had been something completely new, outside of her experience. She wanted to turn around, to stay in his arms. She wanted Mr. Hollingson – Joshua, he had asked her to call him – to continue kissing her in that tender and soft way. He had kissed her as if her lips would bruise without his taking the most tender care.

She reached up to run her fingers over her own lips. She pressed them, as if she could recreate the feel of Mr. Hollingson’s mouth on hers. It had been so gentle. She had been disappointed when he pulled away. Just as she wanted more, he had stopped. She was embarrassed by her desire.
She
had wanted more. But what could she do? Was she allowed to embrace him? Was she allowed to do so first? Would he think it very forward of her? But Sophy had felt that there could be so much more than the soft kisses they had shared. It had left her wanting more and frustrated that he had not given it to her and that she could not take it for herself.

Oh, she wished her mother were here. Sophy had never thought of these things before. She’d never contemplated the etiquette for this type of feeling. And she desperately wanted to talk to someone about it. To have someone share her excitement and explain to her the emotions she was feeling.

Sophy sighed. She was probably not supposed to
want
to kiss Mr. Hollingson. She would have to wait for him, as the man, to come to her. They probably shouldn’t be alone together anyway, Sophy thought. Frustrated, she wondered how in the world any courting was ever accomplished. She shook her head in dismay.

Her thoughts ran on this circle all the way home. She wanted more time with Mr. Hollingson and yet, she couldn’t take it, didn’t want to be too forward. If he liked her already, he knew that she was no shy miss. And yet, what man would want a woman who threw herself in his way, who showed that she wanted him too much?

How was a woman ever supposed to get married? And if she asked any of the women in town for advice, they would inevitably share her inquiries among themselves. Before long, the whole of Milverton and Preston-Bowyer would be abuzz and teasing her about her “suitor.” She could see it now. They would say it with a wink and a knowing look. Her life would quickly turn insufferable. And she wasn’t sure she wanted or needed that yet. She was jealous of Mr. Hollingson's attention. And before the town found out and began to tease them mercilessly, Sophy wanted to spend more time with him.

Especially if that time was spent kissing. The thought popped into her head before she could scold it and tamp it down for being one of those improper things ladies didn’t think about. Sophy laughed and said aloud to herself, being alone on the path homeward toward Milverton, “Sophia Elizabeth Wentworth, you are a very naughty and silly girl.”

She tried to push aside the thoughts of Mr. Hollingson's more
physical traits in favor of the mental and spiritual things she found so very attractive about him. With all good intentions, she started a list in her head. But she had to start over when she reached the number three without remembering numbers one and two.

“
Oh, all right,” she said aloud, giving in to herself. “But only when you are quite alone, Sophia.” And since she was, at that particular moment, alone, Sophy let her imagination run to the less ladylike places it wanted so much to go.

But it wasn’t long until, as was becoming quite usual in her life, her thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of arguing. Sophy was outside of her own home now, before the open window of the drawing room, the place where she usually sat and mended. From out of the window issued the loud sounds of her brothers and her father. It did not sound like a happy or pleasant conversation. It was not, in fact, a conversation at all. That would imply two rational people discussing something calmly.

Sophy was still out of sight beyond the window, and so she had a choice. Did she really want to enter the fray? Or should she simply sneak past the window and go for a long walk down by the Old Mill, leaving the men to their disagreements? She was sorely tempted to continue down the road and through to the other side of town toward her favorite pond. It was hours before dinner and today
had
been visiting day. She could rightly justify a little longer out in the world. It was extremely tempting.

Sophy had almost decided on this course of action when she heard her father say firmly, “Hold still, Frederick.” This was followed by such an unexpected silence that Sophy couldn’t help but look to see what could possibly have happened. Was Freddy actually obeying their father? His injury must be worse than she suspected.

She stepped forward and saw her father bent over Freddy’s foot. Edward was holding his brother's good hand. And the injured boy was looking decidedly whiter than usual, with his lips curled in pain. To his credit, Freddy wasn’t making any noise, apart from small grunts, as his father manipulated his foot, stretching it here and there to check its function. It was no more than the man had done a hundred times before. But Freddy’s silence worried her. And not only because it could mean a more severe injury than she had guessed. A silent Freddy was always up to something.

And so Sophy threw herself into the breech. She passed the window and stepped into the front hall where she divested herself of her bonnet and shawl. Deciding that it would be best to play innocent of the few minutes feuding she had witnessed, Sophy entered the drawing room breezily, announcing her presence with a cheery hello.

“
Hello, family,” she called. To a man, they grunted in reply, intent on the examination and without a word to spare for her. Good, a few more minutes for her to take the temperature of the room and decide how best to proceed. Freddy still looked pale but determined not to let his father see him in pain. Edward looked as if he was ready to take all the guilt on himself.

And Papa was engrossed, as always, in his examination. Sophy knew the anger at his son would come after he had verified that he would not perish from his injuries.

Papa hit a particularly tender spot and Freddy finally broke his silence.

“
Ow!” He jerked his leg away from his father’s hands. “Papa! That
really
hurt!”

“
Well, of course it did, Frederick,” his father exclaimed, trying to grab the leg and continue his examination. “Now give that leg here.”

“
No, you’re only going to hurt me again.”

“
You
were the one that hurt yourself in the first place, young man. I am only trying to figure out if this stupid caper will cause any real harm.” There was anger in Papa's voice.

“
Stupid caper!” Freddy, taking offense, tried to get up, but his hurt leg would no longer support him. “Stupid caper! How can you say that? I was only
walking
when I
accidentally
fell into a well, Papa!” Freddy’s voice was climbing higher and higher as his outrage at the utter unfairness of his parent grew.

“
One does not simply fall into a big hole in the ground,” Papa was also growing impatient with his perpetually troublesome son.

“
Yes they do.” Freddy spat the words at him. “And besides, it was a well-hole not a great big hole in the ground I neglected to see.”

“
He’s right,” Edward tried to interject on behalf of his brother. But its only result was that Papa turned on him instead.

“
And you! How could you let your brother do something like this?” Edward looked startled at this turn. Then he quickly came over indignant.

“
Now, Papa, you cannot blame
me
for Freddy –“

“
No one on this earth can control your brother!” Papa interrupted Edward’s protestation. “He is the bane of my existence most days. Always arguing and getting into trouble. I cannot abide this continued stupidity from my own son.” By now Papa was standing, towering over Freddy who was, of necessity, still sitting on the sofa. “I don’t know where you get this from, Frederick,” he sighed. “Your mother was an angel and I cannot see where I’ve ever gone wrong with you.”

At this Freddy rolled his eyes in a familiar gesture of adolescent impatience. It only set his father off again.

“
And don’t you make that face at me, young man.” Papa waggled his finger in Freddy’s face. “I will… I will… ugh.” Unable to find a sufficient threat, Papa settled for an exasperated grunt uttered from deep within his clenched jaw.

Sophy had let the scene play out. Like an infected wound, it was better to air it than let it fester. Let them scratch at each other now rather than have this anger remain until later. It would be her job to patch up the masculine feelings that had been injured more than anything that had been done to Freddy’s body.

“
Papa,” Sophy cut into the thick and angry silence that had fallen over the room, “how are Freddy’s injuries?” She made no admission of what had happened between the father and son. If her father had seen fit to stand and argue instead of mending his son, she assumed the injuries weren’t too severe.