The Firstborn

Chapter Seven

Sophia held George on her hip, his fingers grasping at the frayed edge of her shawl. Above them, the rain clouds had begun to break apart, while the breeze ruffled the pale hair that stood up on the infant's head.

She had hoped he would sleep for the entirety of the walk from Lady Rutledge's manor back to their cottage, but the rumble of a passing coach had disturbed him from his slumber, and so she attempted to keep him happy and distracted by the various sights and sounds the outdoors had on display.

Ahead of her, she noticed the hulking form of the inn, and near its entrance, the familiar figure of the Reverend Fenton. He was clad in his usual black, and what she could see of his expression across the distance between them seemed particularly severe, even more than what she was often forced to endure when his glance happened to fall upon her during Sunday morning services. Making a quick turn, she skirted around the side of the large building. She held her breath until she felt certain she had succeeded in slipping by without garnering the reverend's attention.

After the appearance of Lord Haughton on her doorstep the previous day, Sophia wasn't confident in her ability to face another overbearing man, especially one intent on imparting his opinion on how best to rear her sister's child. If she was to be honest, she was tired of being treated as little more than a blight on polite society. All she wanted, more than anything, was to be able to go about her daily life and raise her nephew in peace. Why the rest of the civilized world seemed unable to allow her such a small freedom, she could not begin to understand.

She stepped into a narrow, muddy lane that would keep the main traffic of Stantreath behind her, and yet continue to lead her toward home. A few seagulls, dipping overhead, caught George's attention, and he squealed in delight as they fluttered on the breeze before circling toward them again.

Sophia heard the step of someone walking behind her, but she didn't look back right away. It wasn't a private lane, and now that the weather had begun to clear, no doubt several other townspeople would be wanting to dry out after the morning rain. But when the steps quickened, as if trying to catch up with her, she finally stopped and turned around.

"Mrs. Brixton!"

A young man, his cheeks flushed in his apparent attempt to dodge the various puddles and holes that clogged the lane, ran up to her side.

"Mr. Fenton," she said, and dipped her chin in greeting. The man before her was a startling contrast to his father, both in looks and character. Where the Reverend Fenton was tall and angular, his eldest son carried his weight across broad shoulders and possessed a tendency towards plumpness in his jaw. His hair was fair, the ends of it curling out from beneath the brim of his hat. But the greatest difference of all was in his eyes. Josiah Fenton looked at her with kindness, while Sophia suspected that his father would be hard pressed to deliver an adequate definition of the word.

"Mrs. Brixton," he said again, while his gaze darted from her face, to the ground, and back again. "I do hope you and your family are in good health?"

Sophia blinked at him for a moment, until George reached up and gave her earlobe a tug. "Why, yes. Of course. And you? You are well, I suppose?"

"Quite, especially now." Again, his gaze met hers. Then, suddenly, he cleared his throat and looked back over his shoulder. "My father is at the inn. He wished to call on someone, and I thought I would take the opportunity to get a bit of fresh air. And then I saw you, and-and little George, and I thought..." He stopped, swallowed, and cleared his throat again. "Well, I thought perhaps I could accompany you. That is, unless you'd prefer to be alone."

At first, Sophia could think of no reason why he should not walk with her. But then, Lady Rutledge's comments, about the young Mr. Fenton's marked interest in her, rang through her head. For them to walk together, in the open, where anyone could see... Well, in a town of this size, it was tantamount to a proposal of marriage.