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.”