Sleepless in Southampton by Chasity Bowlin
Chapter One
The public coach was not at all what she’d expected. One hour into the journey and that was abundantly clear. Admittedly, Sophie’s existence had been fairly sheltered. Even living all of her life in London and witnessing some of the more unfortunate aspects of poverty and vice from afar, she had not quite been prepared for it in such close proximity. The woman beside her reeked of gin. The man on the opposite seat leered at her despite his ecclesiastical garb and the Bible that remained in his hand at all times.
She’d been trying desperately to concentrate on the book she’d brought to read but the jostling of the coach with its worn springs and lumpy seats had made it nearly impossible. Glancing up, she once again caught the vicar staring at her in a way that made her terribly uncomfortable. Hunching her shoulders forward, she wanted nothing more than to disappear into the seat. Unfortunately, that allowed her already drunken seat mate to list sideways until Sophie found herself crushed beneath the woman’s not insignificant heft.
“Blue ruin,” the vicar uttered in a stage whisper. It was accompanied with a very inappropriate wink.
Sophie didn’t reply. She simply tried to prop the woman’s nearly limp form up as best as possible. Thankfully, the coach began to slow, easing into the yard of a busy inn presumably to pick up more passengers as they were far from full. The change in pace awakened her fellow traveler who turned and glared at Sophie as if she were somehow the offending party.
“I got my eye on you!” the woman warned, jabbing a very round and stubby finger near Sophie’s face just as the coach rocked to a jarring halt. “I’ll not be robbed by some whey-faced trollop!” With that, the woman and the vicar both left the coach and made for the inn.
Uncertain whether to be more offended by being called whey-faced or a trollop, Sophie contented herself with disembarking from the vehicle and strolling about the inn yard for a moment. Mindful of her surroundings and careful to stay well in sight of the building, she did so just long enough to stretch her legs. When she returned to the coach, she faced a quandary. She could resume her previous seat and have that alarmingly aggressive and increasingly intoxicated woman as her neighbor for the duration or she could take her chances with the vicar and his winks and wandering eyes. She was very concerned that perhaps more than his eyes might wander if she were to be in such proximity to him.
At that moment, the coach door swung open and a large shadow filled the doorway. It then gave way to the large frame of a gentleman climbing inside the small vehicle. Sophie glanced only at his clothing, noting that it appeared to be clean and of good quality if somewhat worn. He looked far more appropriate than her other traveling companions, though given that one of those companions was actually a vicar, the irony of it was not lost on her.
“Is this seat taken?” he said, pointing to the spot next to the vicar’s recently emptied seat.
“No. It’s vacant,” she replied. Then inspiration struck. “But—” Sophie stopped. It was terribly inappropriate. It might also cause quite a row, but did she have a better option? No. She did not.
“But?” he queried.
“Well, I don’t suppose you would consider sharing this seat with me? It’s just the woman sitting here is a bit of drinker and perhaps a bit of a brawler, as well and… the vicar who is occupying that seat… well, I’d prefer not to sit with him if I have any other options,” she finished lamely. “I think perhaps he is not well-suited to being part of the clergy. The best word I can think of to describe him is… lecherous. You must think me quite horrid!”
Other than a raised eyebrow, he said nothing. Instead, he simply moved to take the seat next to hers and settled in.
Sophie sighed. “Thank you so very much. I know it’s a terrible imposition, but I’m very grateful!” She turned to face him fully and then realized that she might have made a terrible error in judgment. When he’d first entered the carriage, she’d simply made an assumption based on the value of his clothing that he was a gentleman. But his face had been concealed by the shadows of the carriage and she’d had no notion of what he actually looked like. Now, seated and with the sunlight pouring in, she could see that he was terribly handsome. With chiseled features and kind brown eyes, his hair was dark as well, though perhaps with gold streaks woven into the rich brown strands. He looked like a man who enjoyed the outdoors, a man who would ride and hunt and shoot. He also looked very much like a man who could turn a girl’s head. And she was a girl who could not afford to have her head turned.
“It’s no imposition at all,” he answered. “Having a pretty girl ask me to sit beside her is the best part of my day thus far. I have good company and get to fancy myself a chivalrous hero in the process.”
Sophie felt herself blushing, the heat of it rising in her cheeks. Without conscious thought, she ducked her head, tucking an errant curl back into her bonnet and then glanced up at him through lowered lashes. “Thank you again.”
“For sitting beside you?”
Sophie’s blush deepened. “For that, yes… and for the compliment.”
“You are very welcome for both,” he replied. “I realize it isn’t exactly the done thing, but I feel, under the circumstances—my heroics in choosing to brave the wrath of my fellow travelers by taking up this particular perch—I should at least have the benefit of knowing your name.”
“Miss Sophia Upchurch,” Sophie answered, hating that her voice sounded slightly breathless and tremulous. “And your name, sir?”
*
It wasn’t inhis nature to lie. And in truth, it wasn’t a lie. It simply wasn’t the entirety of the truth. “Henry Meredith,” he answered, omitting his title. Impetuous, unplanned, and yet he didn’t regret it. No sooner had he stated that than he felt as if a weight had been lifted from him. It felt good to just be Henry, not to be Marchwood. Not to be the heir apparent to the Duke of Thornhill. For that moment, sitting on a public stage with a very pretty girl who clearly only smiled at him because she liked him and was grateful that he might have spared her the discomfort of an unpleasant neighbor. She had no knowledge of and therefore no interest in his title or his prospects. For the first time in a very long time, he didn’t have to question whether or not it was his wealth, his position or his well-mapped future that prompted the pretty smile of a woman who’d caught his eye.
Caught his eye.Henry tamped down that particular line of thought. It sounded as if he were considering her for a potential bride. He wasn’t in the market for one of those, and if he were to bring home some young woman he met on a public coach, regardless of how proper she appeared in her prim pelisse and traveling gown, his aunt and uncle would have apoplexy. Well, actually they would probably only be grateful he’d decided to seriously pursue a woman. Of course, if he wanted a bride, no one’s opinion but his own would or should matter. But he wasn’t looking for marriage. Not yet. He was much too young. No. He would just enjoy a brief flirtation with her and then they would go their separate ways. After all, he’d uttered that half-truth and damned himself with it. He could never pursue anything further with her, even if he desired to, not without coming clean.
“Tell me, Miss Upchurch, are you traveling to Brighton?” He posed the question as much as a distraction from his own spiraling thoughts as a way of getting to know her better.
“No, only as far as Southampton. I’ve obtained a position as a companion to an elderly lady there,” she answered softly.
That complicated things. She would be in Southampton. He would be in Southampton. She would be a companion to a woman of some means. Which meant they could potentially cross paths again.
The other travelers returned to the coach then, a somewhat weaselly-looking vicar climbing in first followed by a woman who appeared to be foxed already though it wasn’t even eleven in the morning yet. Her ruddy cheeks and the broken veins in her rather bulbous nose indicated that it was a fairly common occurrence. Still, rough and possibly disreputable as they were, they were welcome because it again pulled him back from spiraling thoughts that might have him confessing his title—the very thing he was running from—to her.
“You’re in my seat!” the woman snapped, leveling a menacing glare at Miss Upchurch.
“Are there assigned seats on a public conveyance?” Henry asked. “If so, it must be a fairly recent policy.” There was no such policy in place and they all knew it. In most cases, it was simply a matter of being nice and minding ones manners that kept order on public transportation. But given that the pretty and very sweet girl sitting beside him appeared to be genuinely and reasonably anxious of the woman, his bad manners were warranted.
“Not a policy,” she sneered mockingly. “But I was sitting there ’fore we stopped!”
“Well, you may sit on the other side of the coach now,” Henry replied. “There are ample seats available, fortunately.”
The woman grumbled again, but seeing that he wouldn’t be cowed, she made her way to the other seat and settled in, glowering at him the whole while. If he had achieved nothing else, he had at least managed to shift her ire from Miss Upchurch to himself. Henry simply smiled.
“Are you going on to Brighton, Mr. Meredith?” Miss Upchurch asked softly. The question was clearly an effort to defuse the tension amongst the coach’s inhabitants.
Henry turned to her and spoke softly. “No. As a matter of fact, I will also be ending my journey in Southampton. I’m going to visit family there. Nothing so exciting as your journey… embarking on a new position in a new city. You’re quite brave, Miss Upchurch, to take on such challenges.”
The drunken woman across the way let out a snort and rolled her eyes. Henry cast a baleful stare in her direction while Miss Upchurch simply laughed nervously and played with the ties to her bonnet, wrapping the ribbon about her fingers.
“I’m not certain how challenging my position as a companion will truly be… though, I think my employer is referred to as something of an eccentric,” Miss Upchurch answered sheepishly. “Still, it will be an adventure, I hope.”
The twinkle in her pretty eyes as she said it, the slight dimple in her cheek and the way the sunlight burnished the red-gold curls just visible beneath her bonnet—Henry was completely charmed by her. When she smiled, her nose crinkled just a bit, animating the smattering of freckles there. Not the traditional beauty, but a beauty nonetheless, he thought. What if he did want to see her again? What if braving her temper by confessing the concealment of his identity wasn’t such a terrible idea? “And who is this eccentric woman? I have some degree of familiarity with Southampton’s higher society.”
“Her name is Lady Parkhurst. Do you know her?” Miss Upchurch asked.
He did know her. She was a close acquaintance to his aunt and uncle, unfortunately. Which meant that his identity would likely be discovered whether he confessed it or not. “Not well, I’m afraid. Mostly by reputation.” It wasn’t a lie, he reasoned. No one knew Lady Parkhurst well. The woman was more prickly than a hedgehog and made it a point not to be well known to anyone save for her circle of gossipy harpies. He did have a moment of pity for poor Miss Upchurch, though. Lady Parkhurst was not at all an easy person to deal with.
“Oh,” she said, somewhat let down. “I thought perhaps you might be able to offer some insight into her personality and how I might best proceed with her. This is actually my first position since graduating from the Darrow School.” The admission was offered in a hushed tone, as if she were somewhat embarrassed by her lack of work experience.
Henry kept his expression neutral but the Darrow School was known to him. It was known to everyone. While not exactly scandalous by nature, the origins of many of the school’s students were steeped in scandal and secrets of the most salacious nature. Euphemia Darrow, a by-blow herself, had taken the sizable fortune her father had settled on her and used it to establish a school where she could care for and train fellow illegitimate daughters of the nobility so that they could provide for themselves through respectable employment. There were many conversations that occurred at parties and clubs about which of the students of the Darrow School had been sired by which lord. In fact, he was fairly certain there were bets on the books at both White’s and Boodle’s regarding whether or not specific gentlemen were paying tuition there.
“The Darrow School? It’s quite infamous, I do believe,” he commented. A glance across the way showed the drunken woman to be sleeping, or more likely simply passed out. The lecherous vicar, however, was all ears.
“I suppose it is,” she agreed. “Though I can’t imagine why people would find it so very interesting. It’s just a school, after all. Not so different than any other despite the somewhat unusual parentage of its pupils.”
He didn’t argue the point. He couldn’t help but wonder if her opinion was a reflection of her own insecurity about its notoriety or if it reflected instead her naïveté about where it was that she’d spent her life and received her education. In her plain dress and plainer bonnet, it was clear to him that Miss Darrow had schooled her students on how to blend into the wallpaper and not be noticed. It was, he supposed, a way of protecting oneself as a woman alone in the world. “How old were you when you became a student there?”
“Oh, I’ve always been there,” Miss Upchurch answered. “I cannot recall a time when I was elsewhere. Alas, I was too young to be a true pupil when I first arrived there, but Effie—Miss Darrow—has been most excellent to me over the years. She has treated me more like a daughter than a student.”
“So you have no family?” he asked. It brought the sting of guilt. He was complaining about his own, hiding from them, in truth. And for the day at least, pretending they did not exist. And yet the young woman beside him was alone entirely.
“None that I am aware of,” Miss Upchurch answered. “I was left at the Darrow School as a foundling. I was quite fortunate that Effie—Miss Darrow—was sympathetic to my plight rather than sending me to a workhouse or an orphanage as so many might have. But Effie is all that is kind and generous. I should hope one day that I might manage to be just like her.”
She said it rather plainly, as if she weren’t discussing something that was completely heartbreaking. To be abandoned and alone, to be dependent on the love and care of strangers as an innocent child—it was something he couldn’t quite imagine. Yet she had lived it, and seemed not the least bit jaded by the experience. There was no hardness or bitterness in her and he found himself quite taken with her for that. He found himself quite taken with her for any number of reasons.
“I’m sorry for that, Miss Upchurch, and for bringing up something that must surely be painful for you,” he offered in sincere apology. The last thing he’d ever want to do is cause such a bright and beautiful young woman any pain. So, tell her who you are. Stop lying to her.
“Honestly, I can’t recall anything but Effie,” she admitted with a soft laugh and a shrug. “And one could not ask for a kinder or more caring person to rear them. I have no regrets about how my life has turned out. I feel very, very blessed. Do not trouble yourself on that account, Mr. Meredith. I am quite content with what I have been granted in life.” Her reassurance was accompanied with a sweet and winsome smile.
He was simply astounded by her and what appeared to be her truly astonishing resilience. “What a remarkable person you are, Miss Upchurch, to have so much positivity… no doubt your generous spirit is a testament to the kindness of your Miss Darrow.”
There was another pretty blush and Henry then turned the conversation toward more pleasant things and things more pertinent to her current situation. “What do you know of Southampton, Miss Upchurch? And what are your interests that I might offer some insight as to activities there you will enjoy?”
“I have never seen the sea before,” she admitted with a twinkle in her eyes. “Naturally, I know that what I’m seeing at Southampton is more of an estuary but, still, I’m quite curious about the natural beauty of the seashore and about the opportunities for sea bathing!”
And so for the remainder of their journey, Henry acted as a sort of tour guide, regaling her with information about Southampton and the many delights it could offer. It occurred to him during their journey that she and Philippa were of an age. He regretted that they would not have the opportunity to meet and become friends for he could only think that Miss Sophia Upchurch would be an excellent influence for his very isolated young cousin.
