Mary Nichols - Mistress Of Madderlea

‘Do let us go out for a walk,’ Sophie suggested when her aunt had been helped back to her room, where she would dress with the help of her maid and sit reading or sewing until the pain in her hands forced her to stop. ‘I shall die of boredom if I’m confined to the house a day longer.’

For the first time that year the air was balmy, the rain which had kept the young ladies indoors all the previous week had lifted and everywhere was fresh and green. Daffodils and gilly flowers were blooming in the garden and Sophie had noticed violets out along the edge of the drive. It was a day for walking and breathing deeply and thanking God you were alive to enjoy it.

‘We’ll walk through the woods,’ Sophie said, as they donned cloaks to cover their light wool morning gowns and buttoned their feet into sturdy boots. ‘Round over Corbury Hill, down through Little Paxton and back through the village. We can call on old Mrs Brown on the way and see how she is. What do you say?’

‘But, Sophie, it’s all of five miles. Are you sure you’re up to it? ‘

‘Of course. I’m perfectly well now, or Uncle William would not have suggested going to London. I am persuaded one needs a great deal of energy for all the balls and soirées and visits to the theatre, not to mention picnics and riding in the park.’

Charlotte laughed as they left the house behind and made for the footpath to the woods which ran alongside the garden. ‘You have left out the most arduous exercise of all, Cousin.’

‘Oh, what is that?’

‘Finding a husband, of course.’

Picking her way carefully over the damp grass, Sophie contemplated the prospect. The only men she had really been close to were her father and her two uncles and the thought of being touched or kissed by anyone else sent a frisson of fear, mixed with a strange surge of excitement, through her whole body. And then she thought of Madderlea and her fortune and knew that those two facts alone would ensure a flock of suitors. But how to choose? How to be sure that whoever offered for her was looking at her for herself and not her inheritance?

‘It will not be easy.’ She sighed. ‘There are times when I almost wish I had no fortune, no Madderlea. It is a weighty responsibility, you know.’

‘How so?’

‘It is not only Madderlea Hall which is old and always in need of repair—there are servants, indoors and out, and the tenants, who look to the Hall to repair their cottages and keep the land in good heart, and the villagers, whose welfare must be considered, and the parson, whose living is in the gift of the Lord of the Manor. I must choose a husband who will be as careful of all those responsibilities as Uncle Henry was, who will love Madderlea as much as I do.’

‘You have not said one word about him loving you. Do you not believe in marrying for love?’

‘Of course I do, but how can I be sure of any man? Madderlea will be a great enticement to deceive, don’t you think?’

‘Oh, Sophie, you must look for love as well. You will be so unhappy if you do not.’

They had entered the woods, taking a well-defined track between the trees. Sophie lifted an overhanging branch, its new leaves glistening with raindrops, and stooped to pass beneath it, holding it for Charlotte to follow.

‘Oh, Charlie, I should not care if he were as poor as a church mouse, if he loved me. In fact, I think I should be averse to a man with a fortune. Men with deep pockets are almost always arrogant and unfeeling and think that money will buy anything, even a wife. I am thankful that money is not one of the attributes I shall be seeking.’

‘Oh, and what qualities would you be looking for in a husband?’

‘He must be handsome and well turned out, but not vain of his appearance as some dandies are. I think it is far more important that he should have an interesting face and be able to converse sensibly without being condescending. He must allow me to be myself and not try to mould me to his idea of womanhood. He must, of course, be honourable in everything he does. He must be good with children, for I should like children, and be kind to his servants.’

Charlotte raised an enquiring eyebrow. ‘Oh, is that all?’

‘No, he must be considerate and tenderhearted and not haughty or domineering. But not soft. Oh, no, definitely not soft.’

‘Goodness, Sophie, where are you going to find such a paragon? You ask too much.’

Sophie sighed. ‘I know, but I can dream, can I not? Don’t you ever dream?’

‘Yes, but only of Freddie.’

‘Mr Harfield, ah, yes, I had almost forgot him. You will be able to enjoy your Season, safe in the knowledge that you have him to come back to.’

‘I am not so sure, Sophie. Freddie told me that his father wants him to marry someone with a substantial dowry; you know I don’t have that.’

Sophie laughed. ‘I have not heard that Mr Harfield is making any push to obey his papa. He has never so much as looked at anyone else.’

‘No, but Sir Mortimer is the squire of Upper Corbury, which I own is nothing compared to Madderlea, but in our little pool, he is a big fish, and no doubt Freddie will have to give in in the end.’

‘Then he is not the man I took him for,’ Sophie said.

They had come out of the woods on to a lane which wound up and over Corbury Hill. The dark fields, here and there showing the tips of winter wheat, stretched on either side of them. On the skyline, they could see the hunt, galloping behind the yelping hounds.

‘Do you think they’ve found the scent?’ Charlotte asked, as the sound of the hunting horn drifted across to them.

‘I hope not. I feel for the poor fox.’

‘Oh, Sophie, and you a country girl!’ She stopped. ‘There’s Freddie. Don’t you think he is handsome, the way he sits his horse?’

Sophie smiled. ‘I am persuaded that you do.’

The young man had spotted them and turned his horse to meet them, pulling it up in a shower of damp earth, almost at their feet.

‘Freddie!’ Charlotte said, brushing down her cape. ‘You have made us all muddy.’

He grinned, doffing his hat to reveal blond curls. Two years older than they were, he still had the slim figure and round face of a youth, but had been rapidly maturing over the previous two years and would soon have all the mamas for miles around looking at him with an acquisitive eye.

‘I beg your pardon, Miss Hundon.’ Then, to Sophie, ‘Miss Roswell.’

Sophie smiled. ‘Mr Harfield.’

‘It is so pleasant to be out after all the rain,’ Charlotte said, teasing him. ‘And we might not be able to do so much longer.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘We are both going to London for a Season. What do you think of that?’

‘Season?’ he echoed in dismay. ‘You mean you are to have a come-out and mix with all the eligibles?’

‘I mean exactly that,’ she said, laughing.

He dismounted and walked over to grab both her hands, a gesture which Sophie knew she ought to discourage as being highly improper, but she had no heart to do it.

‘Charlie,’ he said, using the familiar name of childhood. ‘You wouldn’t…Would you?’

‘Now, who’s to say? I might…’

‘Oh, no, please say you are only teasing…’

‘I am only teasing.’ She looked at him with her head on one side, while Sophie pretended to examine something in the hedgerow. ‘But you know, Freddie, if your papa has his way, I should be holding myself back in vain.’

‘I will bring him round. Promise me you will be patient.’ He could hear the hunt fading in the distance. ‘I must go.’ He put her hands to his lips and reluctantly released them. The next minute he was astride his horse and galloping away.

‘You know, that was highly indecorous conduct,’ Sophie said, as they resumed their walk. ‘If anyone had seen you…’