Sophie Beckett is four years old and doesn’t understand why everyone gives her dirty looks when she sings the songs that Grandmama had. She doesn’t understand the grumbles of “papist” by the occasional servant. She doesn’t know that Ireland is revolting… again. What she does know, though, (or, at least hopes) is that maybe if she stops speaking like Grandmama, then the earl will pay more attention to her. And so, she stops using the tongue of her grandmother.

Sophie Beckett is nine-years-old and has forgotten much of her life before the earl. She doesn’t remember any of her second language. She might be fluent in French, but technically, it’s her third language. Sophie is nine and understands more. She understands that this latest Ireland rebellion is a blip, only important to those on the isle who are revolting. The earl doesn’t care and pulls the paper away from her, remarking that she shouldn’t worry herself with the goings on of an isle across the sea.

Sophie Beckett is twenty-three and standing over the man she dreamed of. He’s sickly and pale and all she can think to murmur as he twists and turns is a soft string of words that her grandmama had used. It’s a hazy memory, and the words come out with little effort, even as they sound foreign to her own ears and she’s not quite sure what exactly they translate to. Little by little, more hazy memories of language appears and she starts to piece together the words’ meanings, but there’s almost always an uncertainty to them. She whispers “I love you” in their quiet lulls in the tongue of her grandmother, even when other people are around, even when they look at her funny.

Sophie is twenty-three and married to the man that she dreamed of. He’s not perfect, but he’s hers and that’s what matters. (Plus, she’s not perfect either. God knows she’s made her own share of mistakes.) He asks, one night when they’re tangled together, what all those words she says mean and where they come from. She explains “I love you,” but that she’s not sure what everything else means or where exactly they come from, aside from Grandmama.

Sophie Beckett is fifty-four-years-old when she learns that those words are Irish from her newest daughter-in-law, who easily translates each word with the precision of someone whose first language was Irish Gaelic. She’s left reeling, suddenly understanding a lot of different reactions to her as a child. Coupled with the delivery of a rosary and a simple letter from the current Penwood earl, she’s left with a lot more answers than she would have ever expected.

Sophie Beckett is fifty-five-years-old and standing on the island where her grandmother and mother came from. Her husband wraps an arm around her shoulders, kisses the side of her head, and whispers “I love you” in Irish, echoing her own productions. It’s purely by accident that she discovers where her family had come from.

Sophie Bridgerton is fifty-five-years-old and staring at a gravestone with the name “Liam Beckett” carved into it. An older woman approaches, and tells her the short, sad story of a man who died young and penniless and alone. The old woman tells her that Liam Beckett urged his wife, Mary, to take their daughter, Bridget, and go as he was dying and refused to let them waste their money or time on a dying man. The last the woman had heard, Mary and Bridget Beckett had gone to England for work. Sophie knows, for sure, then that this man was her grandfather and as she returns to the inn where she and Benedict are staying, she learns that the name Liam is an Irish short form of William… which just so happened to be the name of her youngest son. Perhaps the world just has a funny way of working.