A Holiday by Gaslight Read online

  “It’s not the way you would have courted a mason’s daughter.”

  Ned glared at his friend. Walter was himself the son of a stonemason. The two of them had grown up together, both ambitious and both anxious to gain acceptance into society. “Miss Appersett isn’t a mason’s daughter. Her father only gave me leave to court her because I have money. Because he believed I could pass for one of them.”

  “Just because you can pass for one of them doesn’t mean you are one of them.”

  “A brilliant observation.”

  “It’s the truth. Sometimes I think you forget it.”

  “I never forget it,” Ned said in a low voice. The assertion betrayed far more feeling than he’d intended.

  Walter’s expression briefly softened. “You’re truly broken up about this, aren’t you?”

  Was he? Ned didn’t know. In all honesty, he couldn’t tell what he was feeling at the moment. A bewildering mass of disappointment, anger, and heartache was churning in his chest and in his stomach. He was quite tempted to put his fist through the wall. Either that or retire to his rooms with a large bottle of whiskey. Perhaps he was coming down with something?

  “Did you love her?” Walter asked.

  “No.” It was the truth. He hadn’t loved Sophia Appersett. How could he? He hardly knew her. Their relationship had never progressed beyond the veriest commonplace discussions about current events or the weather. Even then, Miss Appersett had done most of the talking.

  And yet, seeing her had been the brightest spot in his day.

  No, it hadn’t been love, but it had been…something. Something warm and filled with promise. Something that was gone now, irrevocably, leaving him empty and alone.

  “I admired her. A great deal.”

  The understatement of a lifetime.

  “And Miss Appersett didn’t admire you in return, is that it?” Walter considered the matter. “What does that etiquette book of yours advise in these circumstances? A tin of sweets? A flowery apology?”

  Ned stifled a groan. “I wish to God I’d never told you about that blasted book.”

  Walter flashed a broad grin. It only served to make Ned more irritable. Things had always been easy for Walter Murray. He had a natural way about him. A twinkle in his green eyes and a spring in his step. With his long, lean frame and ginger-colored hair, he wasn’t particularly handsome. Nevertheless, people seemed to like him. Women seemed to like him.

  “What you should do,” he advised, “is wait until Christmas and then, when you’re in Derbyshire, fall on your knees and beg her for a second chance.”

  Ned leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. He was beginning to develop a pounding headache.

  There would be no second chance with Miss Appersett. And even if there were, what use would it be? She’d already rejected him at his gentlemanly best. He had nothing left to offer her. No further way to prove himself worthy.

  “I won’t be going to Derbyshire for Christmas.”

  “Why not?”

  “Damnation, Walter. Haven’t you heard a word I’ve been saying? My relationship with Miss Appersett is over. She’s called it off.”

  “Ah, but has she rescinded your invitation to Appersett House?”

  Ned gave a short, humorless laugh. “No, but I’m not likely to go, am I? Not after Miss Appersett’s given me my marching orders.”

  “But—”

  “She’s made her feelings plain and I mean to respect them.”

  “And that’s an end to it?”

  “It is.” Ned returned his attention to his papers, resolved to ignore the heavy ache in his heart. “My time with Miss Appersett was a pleasant interlude, but now it’s over. I shall go on as I did before. The world doesn’t end simply because I’ve had a personal disappointment.”

  But he certainly felt like it had.

  “You told him what?”

  Sophie winced at the outrage in her father’s voice. She’d known he’d be upset by her news, but she hadn’t anticipated he’d lose his temper to quite such a degree. “It’s really for the best, Papa. If you’d but consider—”

  “You foolish, empty-headed girl. Have you any idea what you’ve done?” Papa advanced upon her, his round, fleshy face red as a beetroot. “You had no business speaking to the man. No business at all—”

  “Mind your temper, my dear,” her mother warned. She was seated on the overstuffed drawing room sofa, a scrap of needlework in her hand. With her elegantly inclined head and impeccable posture, she looked almost queenly. One hardly noticed that her black taffeta day dress was out of date—the color a little faded and the well-worn hem turned and mended within an inch of its life.

  “I have not lost my temper,” Papa said. “But when I think of all our plans—the expenses here in London—the lease on this infernal townhouse—all so you and your ungrateful sister might—”

  “What have I to do with it?” Emily cried out from her place near the fire. She was still finishing her tea, a honey-slathered scone suspended halfway to her mouth. A drop of honey threatened to plop down onto her skirts.

  Sophie leaned forward in alarm. “Emmy, do be careful!”

  Unlike Mama’s old taffeta, Emily’s dress was new. It was a delicate pink-and-yellow floral confection made only last week by a fashionable modiste in Bond Street. Removing a stain would be well-nigh impossible without fading the print.

  “Don’t be such a fusspot.” Emily caught the drop of honey on her finger a fraction of a second before it fell, then popped her finger into her mouth.

  Mama sighed. “Emily, use your napkin, do.”

  Papa continued to pace, his face getting redder by the minute. “Is it too much to ask that my daughters do their part? That they for once—just for once—show a degree of gratitude for all the sacrifices I’ve made for them?”

  Sophie shot her mother a desperate glance. When Papa was in such a state, no one else could bring him to his senses.

  Mama lay aside her needlework and rose from the sofa. With characteristic languor, she strolled to the drinks table and poured out a large measure of brandy. “Come, my love.” She pressed the half-filled glass into Papa’s hand. “If you succumb to a fit of apoplexy, you’ll be of no use to anyone.”

  “These ungrateful girls,” Papa muttered as he raised the glass to his lips. “They do you no credit, madam.”

  Emily gave another indignant huff. “I haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t see why I must be scolded simply because Sophie has—”

  “Hush,” Mama said. She turned to Sophie. “Come, dear. Let’s have a walk in the garden, shall we? I could do with an airing.”

  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. Su
rely, 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.”

  Sophie steeled herself against her mother’s words. She refused to be made to feel guilty.

  Mama gave Sophie’s arm another squeeze. “You’re not to think we value Emily’s happiness more than yours, my dear. But you must allow that your sister is not as sensible as we are. She’s more like your father.”

  “She’s selfish.”

  “And you, my pet, are too severe.”

  “Am I? It seems I’ve spent my life making sacrifices for Emily’s comfort—and for Papa’s—because I’m sensible and know my duty to the family. Is it so unforgiveable that I should wish to marry someone I might like just a little, and who might like me in return for reasons other than my pedigree? I don’t require love. I’m not so silly as that. But you ask me to leave our family, to marry a stranger and live out the rest of my days in his house, as his possession. That isn’t the same as dying my old gowns and thrice-darning my stockings so that Emily might wear the latest fashions.”

  Her mother frowned. “No, indeed. We’ve asked a great deal of you, haven’t we? It hasn’t always been fair.”

  “I’ve never complained.”

  “I wouldn’t blame you if you had. Your sister and your father have a taste for fine things. They aren’t always wise. While you and I… Well, we love our family, don’t we? We aspire to do what’s best for them. And if such can be achieved by a small sacrifice here and there—”

  “A small sacrifice? Really, Mama.”

  “Wearing last season’s dresses or eating beef only once a week, I meant. Not marriage.”

  Sophie cast a glance at her mother. Three years before, when Papa had first begun the repairs and modernizations to Appersett House, she’d appeared to support his decision. And later, when the household budget had been reduced to practically nothing, she’d contrived various ways to make do.

  The economizing had grated, especially on Emily.

  “What use is a gaslit ballroom if we cannot entertain?” she regularly complained.

  But much as it bothered Emily—and even Papa, on occasion—Sophie had never thought it bothered her mother a great deal. Indeed, Mama had seemed to consider their reduced circumstances a challenge to her cleverness.

  Had she merely been putting on a cheerful face?

  A knot formed in Sophie’s stomach as she registered the fine lines of worry between her mother’s brows and the faint shadows beneath her eyes. Their circumstances must be precarious indeed if Mama was losing sleep over them.

  “No,” Mama said. “Marriage—especially to a gentleman of Mr. Sharpe’s ilk—is no small sacrifice. Your father and I were wrong to ask it of you. The poor fellow would have never fit in with our sort of people. He’s a bit coarse, isn’t he?”

  “I never thought him so.”

  “And rather too stern about the mouth.”

  “He’s a serious man, certainly, but—”

  “These quiet, brooding types sometimes conceal a fearsome temper. Who knows how ill he may have treated you if given half a chance?”

  “Mr. Sharpe is not an ogre, Mama.”

  “All the same. I see why you’d wish to avoid the match.”

  Sophie was silent. She had the distinct impression that her mother was managing her. A frustrating—and all-too-common—experience.

  “I shall explain it all to your father when he’s calmed down a bit,” Mama continued. “And then we shall go home. I confess, it will be a relief.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sophie said. “I did try to make it work. Had I known—”

  “Naturally, my love. I don’t fault you. I only wish we hadn’t suffered the expense of staying in London. And then there’s the Christmas party to think of. Another dreadful expense.”

  “Is it too late to cancel it?”

  “And disappoint
your father? I daren’t suggest such a thing. He’s so dreadfully proud of how well the house looks. This will be his first chance to properly show it off.”

  “But—”

  “No. You must trust me on this matter. A Christmas celebration won’t send us to debtor’s prison. And it will make your father and sister so very happy. As for the rest of it…well.” She gave a heavy sigh, sounding suddenly more tired that Sophie had ever heard before. “We shall think of that in the new year.”

  “Sharpe and Murray,” Emily read aloud from the sign over the door. “Rather like Scrooge and Marley, isn’t it?”

  “Hush, Emmy.” Sophie was in no mood for her sister’s little jokes, even if Mr. Sharpe’s office in Fleet Street did put her in mind of something out of one of Mr. Dickens’ novels. It was dark and unwelcoming—and situated far too close to the river for her comfort. Not the sort of place two young ladies should be visiting so near to dusk, even if they did have a maidservant in tow.

  “Oh, miss,” Annie said, her voice pleading. “We shouldn’t be here.”

  “I agree with Annie,” Emily said. “This was a fool’s errand. No one’s at home. There are no lamps lit in the windows. And the street is empty.”

  “It’s not his residence. It’s his office.” Sophie reached up to ring the bell. “You may wait in the carriage if you like.”

  Emily’s expression turned mulish. “I’d like to go back to Green Street.”

  Sophie could have happily throttled her sister. She had no use for her dramatics, least of all on such a delicate errand as this. She’d wanted Annie to accompany her alone, but Emily had insisted on joining them, and once Emily set her mind to something there was no dissuading her.

  “I want to go back now,” Emily said.

  “Then go.” Sophie gave the bell a determined tug.

  “And leave you here? How will you get back? It’s too far to walk.”

  “I’ll hail a hackney.”

  Emily looked out at the empty street. There was no sign of a hackney, nor of any other conveyance for hire. “I don’t like this.”