A Perfect Mistress by Barbara Mack Page A

Mrs. Ferguson was whisking the plate away.
    Mrs. Ferguson offered to fix her hair , and Sophie was quite pleased when she finished . Little curls cascaded from a high knot to dangle around her face. She stared in the mirror and thought it looked quite lovely. She didn’t recognize herself, she looked so pretty, and she hugged the older woman fiercely.
    “You’re so good to me,” she choked out . “I lived with you for all those years, and I never knew how good you were. I should have.”
    “Hush now, child . It’s all right. All I did was fix your hair.”
    Sophie knew it was much more than that, but she knew that Mrs. Ferguson was embarrassed. Her face was bright red, so Sophie let it go.
    They settled in the sitting room to wait, and Sophie’s stomach tied itself in knots. She was just regre tting her big breakfast when a knock came at the door. She clutched her stomach, trying to still the butterflies there.
    Bonita ushered him in, and he crossed to Sophie immediately, clutching her hands in his. He bent to look in her face intently.
    “Are you all right, Sophie?”
    “Yes, I am now.” Her hands trembled in his, and he held them tighter. Bonita and Mrs. Ferguson retreated to the kitchen. She could hear Becca squealing in the other roo m, and t he noise the little girl made seemed awfully loud to be coming through a closed door . W hen Sophie glanced that way, she saw that the door had been left open a crack. A wide crack, and if she wasn’t mistaken, that was an eye peeking at them. She squeezed Jackson’s hand and tilted her head toward it, hoping he would pick up the signal and understand. She didn’t want to have this conversation with the two sisters watching, even if they both were awfully sweet. He squeezed back and winked .
    “Do you feel  up to going for a ride? I rented the gig again. The note Robert gave me said you’d been dosed with laudanum and I thought you might not feel up to walking as we usually do.”
    “I’d love to go for a ride.”
    Sophie jumped to her feet and called out to the sisters that she would be leaving for a while. The kitchen door swung the rest of the way open before she was finished speaking, and she hid a smile behind her hand.
    “Take your time, take your time,” Bonita said, bouncing Becca on one hip. “You young people enjoy this sunshine while you can.”
    Once outside, Jac kson handed her up into the gig then took the reins from Robert, who stood resolutely by the horse. Sophie suspected from the huge smile on his face that Jackson had given him a coin for is trouble. Jackson nodded toward a valise as he flicked the reins and got the horse moving .
    “Open that, would you?”
    Inside the valise were her things. Her spare dress lay on top, carefully folded. She blushed when she dug farther into the bag and saw her ragged under clothing. She so hoped Jackson hadn’t noticed how threadbare they were. There was her handbag, the fine linen kerchief that she’d made from scraps of Delia’s dress, and the soft woolen shawl David had bought her the Christmas before he died. Down in the bottom was a small, carefully wrapped bundle, and she opened it, her breath catching in her throat. She clutched it to her chest, eyes shining.
    “How did you get my things?”
    “I went over to your sister’s house and found a policeman there. I told him that I was your fiancée and that you were too overwrought to come back to the house. I t wasn’t hard to convince him to let me in. I recognized that dress when I opened your wardrobe, so I knew I must be in the right room. Is the cameo special to you?”
    “It was my mother’s. It’s the only thing of hers that I have.”
    Her mouth trembled , as did her voice , and Jackson switched the reins to one hand and patted her knee. “There, there,” he said awkwardly. “I know this must be hard for you, but it’s going to be all right.”
    They traveled in silence for a little while, Sophie tilting her face up to the sun and