“Are we there yet?” Emily asked as she sat up.
“Nearly,” Sophie said. “Here. Let me re-pin your plaits.” Emily obediently bent her head while Sophie made swift work of smoothing and pinning her elaborately braided coiffure.
Sophie’s own hair needed no attention. She’d rolled it into a large chignon at the nape of her neck earlier that morning and secured it with over a dozen pins. It wasn’t likely to budge in a high wind, let alone during a railway journey.
In short order the train arrived at the station. Papa joined them to disembark, smelling strongly of tobacco and spirits. It was raining dreadfully. An icy wind whistled down the platform, whipping at Sophie’s heavy skirts and biting at her face. Papa shouted to the porters about their luggage and then, with a great deal of fanfare, they all bundled into the carriage and began the last leg of the journey home.
The roads were awash in mud, and none more so than the rural track that led through the valley. Appersett House rose up amongst the wooded landscape, an enormous structure of graceful lines wrought in honey-colored stone.
It hadn’t always looked so elegant. During the seventeenth century, the ruin of the original house had been torn down and the whole of it rebuilt in the fashionable Palladian style. All stately windows and engaged columns, set back from a pristine vista of rolling green lawn.
Even our ancestors didn’t know when to stop improving.
The carriage rolled up the long drive, coming to a stop in front of the wide, sweeping front steps. The ground was the consistency of pea soup.
“It needs to be re-graveled,” Papa grumbled as he handed them down from the carriage.
Sophie pretended she didn’t hear him. The last thing she wanted to think about at the moment was the family’s finances—or lack thereof. What she needed was a warm fire and a hot cup of tea. She followed her mother and sister into the house where both awaited her, along with hot buttered scones and freshly baked lemon cakes.
For all its splendor—and for all Papa’s endless modernizations—Appersett House was, quite simply, home. The gaslight cast a soft glow on richly carpeted rooms filled with overstuffed chairs, plump sofas, and tufted footstools edged in silken fringe. Every imaginable surface was covered in meaningful bric-a-brac. There were crystal animal figurines, blue and white porcelain, and silver epergnes and branches of candles. Gilt-trimmed clocks chimed from the mantelshelves and paintings of illustrious ancestors graced the silk-papered walls.
Granted, the carpet and furnishings had seen better days, but the faded grandeur of Appersett House was what Sophie loved best about it. The rooms were cozy rather than austere, perfect for snuggling up with a favorite book or dozing off beside a crackling fire.
“There’s so much decorating to do before the guests arrive,” Mama said as they finished their tea.
Emily licked lemon icing from her fingers. “If we have any guests.”
“No one has sent their regrets, have they?” Sophie asked.
Mama returned her painted porcelain teacup to the tea tray. “Not as yet, but it’s a fortnight before they’re scheduled to arrive. We may yet hear from them.”
And hear from them they did
Nearly half of their guests felt the death of Prince Albert significant enough to disrupt their holiday plans. Letters began arriving within the week, sending excuses and regrets and, in one case, a mild reproof that their Christmas revels hadn’t been cancelled altogether.
It was a catastrophe, at least as far as her father and sister were concerned. Even her mother lamented the great waste of so much food and the expense of all the various trifles purchased to make the holiday memorable for their guests.
Over the course of the next week, Sophie thought on the matter at length. She was not impulsive by nature. She’d spent all her life doing exactly what she was told. But society was evolving at an accelerated rate. This was the modern age, after all. And surely the gentry were no different from any other organic beings. They must adapt to changing circumstances or risk extinction in one form or other.
Besides, weren’t she and Mr. Sharpe supposed to be open and honest with each other? To dispense with the stiff formality that had characterized the beginning of their courtship and get to know each other for who they really were?
What better way to do so than to invite his parents to join their Christmas party?
And if they were to come, surely there could be no objection to inviting others of their class.
The prospect sent a nervous hum through Sophie’s veins. There was much that could go wrong. But it was Christmas and, despite her concerns, she felt rather optimistic.