Free Fairchild by Jaima Fixsen Page B

best dress and you are supposed to take special pains this evening,” Dessie said, repeating Lady Fairchild’s instructions for perhaps the fifth time.
    “Who’s coming?” Sophy asked. “She’s never made such a fuss for any of the neighbors. And we have no house guests.”  
    “You’ll see,” Dessie said, holding the secret in with a prim smile. “It’s an occasion, and you ought to look your best.”
    Sophy rolled her eyes, submitting to Dessie’s attack on her windblown hair, wondering who Lady Fairchild was entertaining tonight. It had to be someone important. Hastened by Dessie and her own growing curiosity, Sophy descended to the drawing room on light, rapid feet, took one step inside, and stopped. The room was empty, save for Lord and Lady Fairchild.  
    No impromptu party? She looked around. No guests lurked in the corners.  
    “Good evening, Lord Fairchild, Lady Fairchild,” she said, curtseying to each. Then she followed behind as her father took up Lady Fairchild’s hand and led her into the dining room.  
    The table had only three places, set in the usual gleaming china and sparkling plate. Yet it could be no ordinary meal, for Lady Fairchild was wearing her new rose satin. It was unlike her to bring out a new gown if they were merely dining with the family. Timothy, the footman, held out her chair and Sophy took her seat, eyeing Lord and Lady Fairchild carefully as she began eating her soup.  
    Lord Fairchild looked as he usually did at dinner: freshly shaved, in breeches, silk stockings, pumps and a dark coat. It was Tuesday, so he wore blue, a quirk Lady Fairchild could never persuade him to give up. His face was lined and he looked a little tired, but that was nothing extraordinary. He made conversation, his eyebrows dipping, lifting, and drawing together as he spoke. Apparently he had spent his afternoon going over the form books.  
    “And you Sophy?” he asked, between bites of turbot. “How was your afternoon?”
    “Pleasant. I finished the work Miss Frensham set me and spent the rest of my time riding.”
    “Mmm?” He was interested in the ride, not the lessons.
    “I took out Nemesis, the new Arabian. She was fresh. John says that bodes well for her race.”
    “Good.”
    “You said you finished all your set lessons?” Lady Fairchild asked, as Timothy brought out the second course.  
    Sophy nodded. “She’ll give me more when she returns.” Miss Frensham was gone for a three week holiday with her family.  
    Lord Fairchild shook his head. “She’s not coming back.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Taking a new post in Surrey, with the Beauchamps. You’ve had lessons enough.” Feeling the blood drain from her face, Sophy worked around a bite of pheasant, her mouth dry. Tonight was an Occasion, Dessie had said.  
    Not this.  
    Some fears Sophy had never been able to eradicate. She’d lived carefully for seven years, afraid of being sent away from Cordell Hall. Her stomach plunged at the thought.  
    Lady Fairchild frowned at her husband, displeased he had chosen to discuss family matters with a servant in the room.   Pointedly, she asked him what he had thought of Sunday’s sermon.  
    “I’m sorry my dear,” he said. “I wasn’t attending.”
    “Well, I am not certain I approve of the vicar choosing his text from Revelations,” she said. “I dislike apocalyptic fervor.”
    Swallowing her dry mouthful, Sophy cut her meat into tiny pieces and managed to eat one spear of asparagus. She waited, her hands gathered in her lap, while Timothy removed the tablecloth and brought out dessert. Ignoring her favorite cake—was it a sign?—she took an orange from the bowl and dissected it with her silver fruit knife. She could not look up.
    “You’re seventeen now,” Lord Fairchild said at last, setting down a half empty glass of burgundy. “It’s time we spoke about your future.”  
    Not yet , Sophy thought, desperately concealing her disquiet. But there