A Holiday by Gaslight Read online

  Sir William approached to greet them, seemingly at the urging of his lady wife. Like Sophie and her mother, he wore a black armband, a symbol of mourning at the passing of the Prince Consort. On Sir William, however, the scrap of fabric appeared almost ostentatious. He was a proud man. Rather too proud, Ned thought, given the circumstances.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Sharpe,” he said. “You are very welcome.”

  As his parents talked with Sir William and Lady Appersett, Ned found himself standing beside Sophie, a little distance away. He looked down at her, uncertain what to say.

  She appeared to be equally uncertain. “It wasn’t too great an inconvenience, was it?” she asked at last. “Bringing your parents, I mean.”

  “Not at all. They were pleased to accept your invitation. Though it may well prove to be an awkward visit if our courtship comes to nothing.” He instantly regretted his words. What was he thinking to be so dry, so flippant, about something so important?

  Sophie didn’t seem to mind. “I’m resolved not to think of what will happen after Christmas. Even if the whole world were to disappear in a puff of smoke—and this house along with it.”

  “That bad, is it?”

  “You can’t really expect me to answer that, sir.”

  “Can’t I? And here I thought we were supposed to be candid with each other.”

  “Not in the hall,” she said. “Not as the guests are arriving.”

  “When?”

  She looked away from him to smile briefly at an elderly lady and gentleman who had just been admitted by the butler “Are you an early riser?”

  “Always.”

  “We can go for a walk in the morning, if you like. I’m up at sunrise. There’s no one about then.”

  He had no opportunity to answer. Sir William and Lady Appersett moved off to greet the new arrivals and his parents drifted back, looking only slightly less uncomfortable.

  Sophie gave them a bright smile—far brighter than she’d ever given him. “We have mulled wine and cake in the drawing room,” she told them. “But you must be tired from your journey. And I daresay you’ll wish to freshen up. I can have tea sent to your rooms if you’d prefer?”

  His mother drew herself up with offended dignity. “We shall join the other guests, Miss Appersett.”

  “Of course. Mr. Murray is already there, I believe. He’ll be glad to know you’ve arrived safely.” She summoned a footman. “Will you show Mr. and Mrs. Sharpe to the drawing room?”

  “Aren’t you coming?” Ned asked.

  “Not yet. I must remain with my parents until the last of the guests arrive. But please, do go ahead, Mr. Sharpe.”

  He bent his head, his voice sinking to an undertone. “You’d better call me Edward. Or Ned, if you like. It will be confusing, otherwise. Too many Mr. Sharpes.”

  Sophie looked up at him. Her cheeks flushed pink. “Very well,” she said. “Ned.”

  Sophie rose at dawn to wash and dress. Mr. Sharpe—or Ned, as he’d asked her to call him—hadn’t precisely said he’d meet her for a walk, but she was taking no chances.

  The house party was already in chaos. Papa was in a foul mood about some of the guests she’d invited. And Mama was at sixes and sevens trying to placate him at the same time she managed everything else. As for Emily…

  Well. She’d taken a liking to Mr. Murray of all people.

  Sophie was dumbfounded. If she’d known there was a chance her sister would strike up a flirtation with the man, she’d never have invited him. Her parents were banking on Emily marrying a title, for heaven’s sake. If she squandered her chances with a stonemason’s son, Sophie would never hear the end of it.

  She fastened up the bodice of her heavy woolen dress and slipped her arms through the wide sleeves of her paletot. With any luck, no one would be up but the servants.

  The gaslight in the wall sconces that lined the corridor outside her room was turned on low. It was just enough light to find her way to the stairs. She held her skirts as she descended two flights to the entry hall.

  And then she stopped short.

  “Good morning!” Emily said brightly. She was bundled up in a fur-trimmed cloak, her hair disposed in sable ringlets beneath a matching fur and velvet hat.

  So much for privacy, Sophie thought grimly. She crossed the hall, frowning. “What on earth are you doing up at this hour?”

  “Meeting someone.”

  “Who?”

  “Mr. Murray.” Emily stifled a giggle. “Of the firm of Sharpe, Murray, and Cratchit.”

  Sophie gave a quick glance around before turning on her sister. “Emmy, hush! This is no laughing matter.” She caught her arm and marched her away from the stairs. “Are you telling me that you’ve made an assignation with Mr. Murray?”

  Emily tugged her arm free from Sophie’s grasp. “How dastardly you make it sound! We’re only going out to collect some Christmas greenery.”

  “Christmas greenery my great aunt Sally. Emmy, have you no care for your reputation?”

  “Why? Is Mr. Murray a rake? Will he ravish me at the first opportunity? Really, Sophie. The man’s a guest here, he’s hardly likely to—”

  “He doesn’t have to do anything. The mere hint of impropriety would be enough to—”

  “Pish-tosh. It’s all perfectly innocent. A mere holiday flirtation.”

  Sophie made an effort to gentle her voice. “Flirtation is not a game, dear. Not when you’re an eligible young lady and he’s an eligible man. You mustn’t raise his expectations.”

  Emily gave a scornful laugh. “As if I would lower myself! He’s a tradesman, Sophie. A rough fellow of absolutely no account except for money. Besides, just because Papa said you must marry beneath you, it doesn’t follow that I must. My prospects aren’t so grim as yours.”

  Sophie saw no humor in her sister’s words. She didn’t suppose she was meant to. “I’d no idea you had such fixed opinions on the subject.”

  “Someone in the family must uphold the old standards. With you haring off to Fleet Street of an evening, I daresay it must be me.”

  “Lord help us all.”

  Emily’s delicate features transformed into a scowl. “What are you doing up anyway? Not going down to the kitchens, I hope. Mama has already sorted the menus. And we none of us want any of your little economies this Christmas. We’re meant to be enjoying ourselves.”

  A gentleman cleared his throat. “Forgive the interruption, ladies.”

  Sophie froze, and Emily along with her. They turned in unison to find Mr. Murray standing near the servant’s door that led down to the kitchens. He was dressed in a heavy wool topcoat and trousers. His head was uncovered, his carroty hair slightly disheveled.

  Sophie wondered how long he’d been there.

  “Mr. Murray,” Emily said in tones of exaggerated relief. “There you are. I’ve been waiting an age.”

  Mr. Murray’s mouth curved into a wry smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Have you? How unfortunate.”

  Sophie regarded him with reluctant sympathy. He’d heard everything, of course. Every hurtful, judgmental word. “We’ll be going out to gather greenery with the rest of the guests tomorrow, sir. You’ll wish to join us then, I presume.”

  Mr. Murray inclined his head. “I would at that, Miss Appersett. No point in going out twice.”

  Emily opened her mouth to object. “But—”

  “And you’ll be returning to your room, won’t you, dear?” Sophie held Emily’s gaze. “It’s too early to be tramping about out of doors. I’m sure you agree.”

  Emily’s eyes narrowed. She glared at Mr. Murray a moment before turning the full force of her fury on her sister. “Very well. No one’s up at this hour but servants and common people anyway. I should have known—”

  “Emmy,” Sophie said, a warning note in her voice. “Not another
word.”

  Emily clamped her mouth shut. She cast another dark glance at Mr. Murray before spinning round in a swirl of fur-trimmed velvet and flouncing up the stairs.

  When she was well out of sight, Sophie turned to Mr. Murray. She wouldn’t apologize for her sister. Not to anyone, least of all a man who was practically a stranger to her. Still…

  “She’s very young,” she said.

  Mr. Murray’s lips quirked. “And very decided in her opinions.”

  “It was wrong of you to arrange to meet with her. I can’t imagine what you were thinking.”

  “Do you know,” he said, “at the moment, I can’t remember myself.”

  “You mustn’t do so again. If anyone were to find out, the consequences wouldn’t be to your liking.”

  “In other words, I’d end up married to the little viper, and she to me.”

  Sophie’s lips compressed. “She’s not a viper, Mr. Murray. She’s a willful child, that’s all.”

  “She’s nineteen. Scarcely a child. But I won’t argue with you. There seems little point in doing so. Your sister has the measure of me—and of Sharpe, too. I only wonder that you don’t feel the same. Or is it that you hide it better?”

  Sophie stiffened. “My feelings about Mr. Sharpe are none of your concern.”

  Mr. Murray smiled again. “Fair enough.” He moved away from the door. “He’s in the kitchen, in case you’re interested. Mrs. Phillips was kind enough to feed us. Sharpe stayed behind for a second helping—or so he said. I expect he’s waiting for you.”

  Sophie’s heart fluttered on an unexpected rush of pleasure. He’d remembered about their walk after all.

  She inclined her head. Mr. Murray bowed in return before taking his leave. His face was set in stone as he ascended the stairs. She supposed he was embarrassed about what Emily had said about him. Embarrassed and angry. Hopefully such feelings would prompt him to steer clear of her sister for the remainder of his visit.

  The party was going to be difficult enough as it was. The guests were already morose over the death of Prince Albert. It hadn’t helped that the local vicar, Mr. Hubbard, had droned on about it last evening after dinner. By the time he’d finished his sermon, no one was much in the mood for merrymaking.

  And Mr. and Mrs. Sharpe certainly didn’t appear to like her overmuch. Quite the reverse. Sophie had the distinct feeling that she’d been weighed, measured, and found wanting. Indeed, nothing she’d done all evening had seemed to be right in their eyes. Every word exchanged with Ned—and there hadn’t been many—had earned her a glacial glance from his mother.

  Was this why young ladies were told never to marry outside of their class? Was it simply an unworkable proposition?

  She’d been puzzling over it most of the night. Tossing and turning in bed, reminding herself of how awkward her first two months of courtship with Ned had been. They hadn’t talked. They hadn’t laughed. They’d merely gone through the motions. Walks in the park, visits to Cremorne Gardens, or to hear a recital. He’d been her escort, nothing more. Not once had she felt a deeper sense of connection.

  Was she a fool to think she’d find it now he was here in Derbyshire? What if the pair of them simply had no affinity for each other?

  It was a very real possibility, but she couldn’t entertain it. She was determined to do her duty to her family. She wouldn’t make a martyr of herself. Nowhere near it. But if something could be salvaged between her and Edward Sharpe—even if it were just friendship—she would accept him as her suitor. As her husband.

  It would have to be enough.

  She proceeded through the servant’s door off the main hall, descending a narrow flight of stairs down to the kitchens. They were spacious and bright, filled with the fragrance of freshly baked bread, hot coffee, and eggs and bacon. Maids and footmen bustled about, mumbling “good morning, miss” to Sophie as they passed.

  Ned was standing near the ovens, exchanging easy words with the cook, Mrs. Phillips, as she stirred a pot of porridge. When he caught sight of Sophie, his expression became at once less open. More serious.

  “Miss Appersett,” he said. “Good morning.”

  “Mr. Sharpe.” She bent her head in greeting as she walked past him, moving away from the prying eyes of Mrs. Phillips and the rest of the kitchen staff. A door off the kitchens led to the yard. She opened it and ducked outside, relieved to discover that Ned had followed in her wake.

  He shut the door behind him. “I didn’t know if you’d come.”

  “Nor I you,” she said. “Let’s away from the house, shall we? The servants have enough to gossip about this morning.”

  He fell into step beside her. “I gather you’re referring to Murray’s ill-conceived meeting with your sister.”

  “You knew about that?”

  “He told me this morning. I advised him to leave her alone, for whatever that’s worth.”

  “I’m sure he meant no harm.” Sophie wondered who she was trying to convince. “It’s not likely to come to anything, in any case. I expect they’ll avoid each other from now on.”

  “You sound very sure of yourself.”

  She recalled the bleak look on Mr. Murray’s normally cheerful face. “Earlier, in the hall, I’m afraid he might have overheard my sister voicing some rather unflattering opinions.”

  Ned’s brows lifted. “Dare I ask?”

  They strolled side by side out of the yard and along the wide path that ran parallel to the woods bordering Appersett House. The ground was covered in a light dusting of new-fallen snow. It melted into slush beneath the worn soles of Sophie’s half boots.

  “If you must know,” she said, “it was something about his being in trade.”

  “Ah.” Ned’s deep voice was peculiarly neutral.

  “I don’t share her opinions.”

  “Your parents do.”

  Sophie didn’t care for his blunt assertion, but she didn’t argue with it. He was right, after all. There was no good reason to deny it. “My parents aren’t unique among their class.”

  “And yet they’ve pressed you to accept me, a man whose entire fortune is built on trade.” He looked at her. “Are you to be the sacrifice by which they maintain their place in society?”

  She winced. “That’s rather harsh.”

  “You said they used your dowry to have Appersett House fitted for gas.”

  Heat rose up in her face. “So they did.”

  “A singular decision.”

  “Only if you don’t know my father.” Sophie folded her arms at her waist. “When I was a girl, no more than thirteen, some gentlemen from the railway company came to Milton St. Edmunds. They wanted to put a platform halt just outside the village. The villagers were against it. They couldn’t abide the thought of railway tracks cutting across the countryside. But Papa knew we must have that station. He felt so strongly about it and argued so persuasively that all the villagers soon came around to his way of thinking. It was progress, you see. Just like the gaslight. And Papa has always said one can’t stand in the way of progress.”

  Ned appeared unmoved by her tale. “Progress is all well and good. But just what did your father expect you to do for a husband?”

  “My parents expected both my sister and me to marry well. That’s why they brought us to London.”

  “One of you with a dowry and the other without.”

  She glanced at him as they walked, wondering what he was implying. “You make it sound as though a great injustice had been perpetrated against me.”

  “Hasn’t there?”

  “Not in the least. The plain fact is, I didn’t wish to marry when I was nineteen, nor when I was twenty, nor one-and-twenty. My dowry meant nothing to me and everything to my father. Why shouldn’t he have it if it would make him happy?”

  “Did he ask you for it?”

  “
I beg your pardon?”

  “Before he took it and used it on Appersett House, did he ask you if he could have it?”

  Sophie didn’t answer. Of course Papa hadn’t asked her permission. Why would he? “Must we speak of such things?”

  “Not if you object.”

  “I don’t object. But I don’t see how it will help us get to know each other any better. All it does is make me feel bad about myself.”

  Ned frowned. “Forgive me. That wasn’t my intention.”

  She shrugged a shoulder. It wasn’t a very ladylike gesture, but it was eloquent enough of her opinion on the matter. She didn’t wish to discuss her dowry anymore. Nor did she wish to discuss the dratted gaslight.

  “What would you like to talk about?” he asked.

  She raised her head to look at the trees. The branches were frosted with snow. It sparkled like sugar in the morning sunlight. “It’s beautiful when it’s new, isn’t it? So clean and white and perfect.”

  “It’s certainly cleaner than it is in London.”

  “Does the snow get very dirty there? I imagine it must with all of the activity in the streets.”

  “Excessively so. Have you never seen it?”

  She shook her head. “We’ve spent every winter here since I was born.”

  “Would you like to spend Christmas in London?” he asked. “To live there all the year round?”

  Her stomach gave a nervous quiver. “I suppose it would be all right.” They walked in silence for several steps. “Did you enjoy holidays in London when you were a boy?”

  “I worked through most of them.” Ned’s mouth hitched into a fleeting smile at her expression. “You look appalled.”

  “Oh no,” she stammered. “I just…I didn’t realize…”

  “All of my family worked. The shop was closed on Christmas Day, but there was always someone who needed something. My parents rarely turned people away. They were forever obliging their customers. It’s a central tenet of their business.”

  “What sort of work did you do for them?”