Excerpt of Miss Lattimore's Letter by Suzanne Allain

Sophie had given herself a stern lecture between the church and the wedding banquet and convinced herself that she had no interest in Sir Edmund at all beyond the natural concern one would have for the dear friend of a friend. She even smiled beguilingly at an uncle of the bride’s, but after he sought her out she soon found herself regretting the impulse. Mr. Barrett was a member of the Jockey Club with a tidy bit of property in Leicester, and Sophie found herself learning far more than she’d ever desired to know about the Newmarket races, the Atherstone Hunt, and a Squire Osbaldeston, who was apparently the “best dashed cricketer and master of the hunt to ever be born of woman.” (Since Sophie knew of no other way for a man to be born, she assumed this meant he was quite literally the best.)

So it was difficult for her to hide her relief when Sir Edmund approached them, and in consequence she greeted him far more warmly than she’d intended. Mr. Barrett, presented with evidence that Sophie was very liberal with her smiles and thus no better than a coquette, took himself off and found a fellow sportsman (in the library of all places) who gave him a good tip on the July races.

“I had no idea you were a devotee of equestrian sports,” Sir Edmund said to Sophie, once Mr. Barrett was out of earshot.

“I am not; and have learned quite enough today to satisfy any ignorance I had on the subject.”

“So you would not be interested in a description of the chestnut I picked up at Tattersall’s; a prime bit of blood and bone, got by Blackleg out of Sprightly? I plan to run him at Newmarket.”

“Do you, indeed?” Sophie asked, curious about this insight into his personality. She had not thought him one of the Corinthian set.

“I do, actually, but we do not have to discuss it. I’d prefer to hear about your plan to remove to Bath.”

Sophie was a little embarrassed at this reminder, thinking he must believe her to be pursuing him there, but she could detect nothing satirical or knowing in his direct and friendly gaze. “Cecilia told you, I suppose,” she finally said.

“Yes, and I am quite happy that you took me up on my suggestion. She says Mr. Hartwell is helping to arrange matters.”

They both looked across the room to where Cecilia stood talking to Mr. Hartwell. “Yes,” Sophie said. “Mr. Hartwell has been very obliging indeed.”

“I imagine it is to be a match between them?” Sir Edmund asked, lowering his voice.

Sophie looked up at him, alarmed. “Oh, no; matters have not yet reached that stage. It is premature to speak of it.” 

“But it would be a very good match, and there appears to be genuine affection between them, on his side at least. I wonder that you do not use your talents to promote it,” Sir Edmund said, his brow furrowed in confusion at her negative reaction.

“I could not interfere in my cousin’s affairs. I must allow her to make her own decisions.”

Sir Edmund shook his head. “I shall never understand you, Miss Lattimore. Here we are, at the wedding celebration of a match you instigated, and yet you appear to have an aversion to making matches.”

“It is not an aversion, it is just . . . a profound respect, I suppose, for the institution. You were at the ceremony today. It is a wonder that any mortal enters the bonds of matrimony when it is announced at the outset that it is not to be taken ‘unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God.’”

“I think you left out a portion,” Sir Edmund said, with a wicked twinkle in his eye. And Sophie, who had knowingly omitted the part about how marriage should not be undertaken to “satisfy men’s carnal lusts and appetites,” had a difficult time keeping a straight countenance and could not prevent a blush from warming her cheeks.

There was a slight pause and then they both began laughing.

“Trust the church to expound on matters not to be mentioned in polite society,” Sir Edmund said.

“And to ascribe the basest of motives to human behavior,” Sophie added.

Sir Edmund opened his mouth to reply, stopped himself, and merely shrugged. Sophie was left to wonder if he disapproved of her implied criticism of the church, or if he disagreed that such motives for marriage were base. She could not think too deeply on the second supposition and remain comfortable in his presence, so she was relieved when he spoke again.

“To return to the subject of your trip to Bath, have you found a house to let?”

“We did, with Mr. Hartwell’s help. It is on Rivers Street,” she said.

“An excellent address. Mr. Hartwell is to be commended. May I call on you there?”

Sophie was surprised but attempted to conceal it by answering calmly: “Yes, of course. We’d be very pleased to receive you.”