Hearts Entwined (Victorian Love Book 3) Read online

  “By no means, sir. You have mistaken me for my sister, Amy, who is lately married to Mr. Roger Flint.” Sophie leaned away from the fellow and used the spins and turns in the dance to put some distance between them, but there was little more she could do when he pulled her closer.

  “Not possible,” he said with a dismissive sniff. “Allen was quite specific about it. A gentleman would be quite lucky to have a wife with such a fine seat…”

  “That would be Amy.”

  “…and who adores archery…”

  “That would be Fanny,” said Sophie, casting a glance to where her sister was flirting with her latest beau.

  But Mr. Priestly did not seem to hear her and continued, “I am quite the marksman myself. Perhaps we might test our skills against one another? Mrs. Winton is hosting a picnic Thursday next, and I understand there is to be a competition—”

  “I am no archer. I have not touched a bow since one of my stray arrows nearly injured my brother, Hugh.”

  Fanny and Amy had insisted it was their eldest brother’s fault for straying too close to the target, but the sight of that arrow sailing towards Hugh had left an indelible mark, even if it made no contact with him. There were far too many pastimes to undertake and too few hours in the day to bother with something she found distasteful.

  “Surely not. Allen was singing your praises earlier.” Mr. Priestly paused and gave a knowing nod. “But then, you are likely too modest to see your talents in the same light.”

  As Sophie thought it more likely that Allen had made the mistake than Mr. Priestly, she did not bother correcting the fellow. Luckily, the quickness of their dance did not allow for much conversing at any rate. So, as she had done before, Sophie merely nodded and smiled at the appropriate intervals, allowing Mr. Priestly to talk at great length about that all-important subject—himself.

  Sophie’s eyes darted around the edges of the ballroom, but she did not spy her previous partner. The disappointment she felt at that discovery was just stuff and nonsense. A flirtation her silly heart was keen to build into something far more meaningful. Yet her feet felt like lead clunking through the hopping steps, and though this dance was no longer than the previous, it stretched on interminably before reaching its eventual conclusion.

  “May I fetch you a drink?” asked Mr. Priestly as he escorted Sophie from the floor.

  “My thanks, but no,” she replied, casting furtive looks around for that specific someone.

  “Nonsense. You must be parched,” he said with a bow before striding away without a backward glance.

  Sophie sighed and watched the boisterous groups surrounding her. No one paid her any heed, but that did not preclude her from feeling on display. With no desire to join the raucous conversations and no ability to distance herself without behaving poorly towards Mr. Priestly, Sophie had no choice but to square her shoulders and force any discomfort from her mind.

  And so she stood, waiting. Several minutes passed, and though Sophie did not have a pocket watch to track the time, the next dance began, and each measure marked its passage. The refreshments were not terribly far from where she stood, and Sophie could not imagine what was taking the fellow so long. The sooner he arrived with her drink, the sooner she could retreat.

  Straining to her tiptoes, Sophie tried to see above the crowd, and after a moment she spied Mr. Priestly deep in conversation with some other gentlemen about all the nonsense gentlemen of leisure chatter on about. No doubt the absolute importance of finding a wife with superb riding and archery skills.

  With a smile, she lowered herself and strode away. Mr. Priestly had forgotten all about his duty, so there was no need for her to wait. But Sophie’s smile faded as she cut through the crowd in search of her forlorn corner of the ballroom. Her breath paused, a flutter stirring in her stomach as she stared at the floral arrangement that guarded her hiding place.

  But Mr. Kingsley was not there.

  Her smile turned inward, chiding her for fanciful notions. Taking her place beside the flowers, Sophie drew further back, wishing they hid her completely from view.

  A bit of silliness. A half-hour’s worth of conversation and a dance did not mean anything more than a passing acquaintance. And surely Mr. Kingsley did not suffer for admirers and friends. It was ridiculous to believe he would continue to keep her company. Even if their brief conversation had been one of the most enjoyable she’d had in a long while.

  Turning her gaze to the flowers, Sophie examined the blossoms. Though lacking the knowledge to identify the hothouse varieties, she recognized some as cultivated cousins of familiar wildflowers, and Sophie sorted through the information she knew about them. Her mind was in no way focused on the task, but she tried to wrangle her thoughts towards any subject other than Mr. Oliver Kingsley.

  “Would you forgive me if I invade your haven once more?”

  *

  Having spoken the words in jest, Oliver expected a similar reply. What he received was a smile that lit Miss Sophie’s face as her gaze turned from the flowers beside her to the gentleman before her. The expression shifted and grew, her crystalline eyes sparkling in the candlelight.

  Oliver knew enough about fashion to know Miss Sophie’s coloring was not de rigueur. Her hair was lighter and complexion darker than the hues society craved, and both held hints of the golden glow one finds when traipsing about in the sun; a few freckles were sprinkled across her nose, and though many a lady bemoaned such imperfections, Oliver thought them becoming on Miss Sophie. Perhaps other gentlemen might call her unremarkable, but he could not think of a more striking lady, and his smile grew in return.

  “It is not invading if you are invited, sir,” she replied.

  Oliver was no believer in love at first sight, and he would not claim to have such feelings for Miss Sophie, but neither could he deny the interest that forced him to seek her company again. Though he’d spent the entirety of her dance with Mr. Priestly musing over this sudden turn of events, Oliver was no closer to understanding why or how it had happened.

  “So, do you enjoy London?” he asked.

  Miss Sophie’s brows drew together. “Pardon?”

  “Before Mr. Priestly interrupted us, I had asked you if you enjoy London.”

  A rosy hue colored her cheeks, and Miss Sophie smiled, though Oliver did not know what it was about his question that pleased her so. He only felt a resounding lightness in his chest at having stumbled upon it.

  “To the utter mortification of my family, I do not,” she said with a smile. “I find nothing to recommend Town. Society holds little amusement for me, and without that, all that is left is crowded streets, choking fog, and a stench worse than any pigsty, which lingers on one’s clothes long after one has escaped back to the country.”

  A burble of laughter caught in Oliver’s throat at that all too apt description, and Miss Sophie wrinkled her nose with a grimace.

  “Please forgive me. That was terribly uncouth of me to say.”

  “You gave voice to my thoughts, Miss Sophie. There is nothing to apologize for.” Oliver chuckled yet again, and Miss Sophie’s expression eased back into a grin. “My mother and sister are fond of the museums and concerts, but I prefer to remain at home. If not for my deep and abiding love for them, I would never stir from Essex.”

  Miss Sophie slanted a look at him. “And never explore the beauty to be found in other landscapes?”

  Oliver considered that a moment. “Then I amend my statement to, if not for my deep and abiding love for Mother and Lily, I would never step foot in London again.”

  A spark lit Miss Sophie’s already bright eyes, and one side of her lips curled upwards. “Better.”

  “I am glad I meet with your approval,” he replied with an arched brow.

  Miss Sophie’s cheeks pinked, and she shook her head, her gaze dropping. “I do apologize. You must think me terribly forward—”

  “I think you engaging and highly entertaining.” Oliver couldn’t say what possessed him t
o be so frank with the lady, but he felt more at ease with her than he did any other person of his acquaintance outside his family. And though he knew the suddenness of his feelings ought to bother him, Oliver refused to give heed to such worries.

  “I simply think it is a waste to restrict yourself to only one county,” she said. “There is so much more to see.”

  “Then you are an adventuress?”

  Miss Sophie laughed at that. “Hardly. I have never stepped on foreign soil, but I’ve seen a great deal of our gorgeous country. There is so much to see from the sandy shores of Cornwall to the craggy Peak District and even the great mountains of the Highlands. The moors of Devon vary from those of Yorkshire. And there is such a variety of flora and fauna…”

  Her words drifted into silence, and Miss Sophie cast a look at Oliver, her features tightening ever so slightly. “I apologize, Mr. Kingsley. I did not mean to ramble on.”

  “You weren’t rambling, Miss Sophie, and you have nothing to apologize for. It’s clear you are passionate about the subject.”

  Miss Sophie pursed her lips, glancing around them before saying softly, “I adore naturalism, and I cannot help but expound at length about it. The variety of life to be found even in a single village is astounding, and the more I study it, the more awed I am at the complexity of it all. There is something about the forests, fields, rivers, lakes, wildlife, and insects that fills me with such reverence. And yet, at the heart of it, there is so much joy to be found in simply being out in nature.”

  Halting once more, Miss Sophie winced. “Please forgive—”

  “Nonsense,” Oliver shot back before she could trip over herself to apologize for that which needed no apology. “I adore hearing you speak so passionately.”

  “Then you are an anomaly, sir, for I have not met many who care to hear about my studies.”

  “And that deserves another ‘nonsense.’ I happen to know several fellows from school who have dedicated their lives to that subject, and you are not the first lady I’ve met who shares that interest. It is an admirable course of study,” he replied, earning another sparkling smile from the young lady.

  “For my part,” he continued, “I cannot claim to understand the science behind it, but I appreciate the beauty found in nature. I feel invigorated and yet so at peace when out in the woods. It is difficult to describe…” Oliver’s words drifted off into silence as he struggled to find the right ones.

  Miss Sophie paused for only a scarce moment before adding, “It is as though you are unbound and free.”

  Oliver’s smile broadened, his eyes gleaming with appreciation. “Precisely.”

  The throng around them faded away as he held Miss Sophie’s gaze. Oliver did not think himself a puffed-up fellow, but the manner in which her eyes warmed made him think she also felt that spark of possibility hovering between them.

  “Though it is not as fine as that which you find in the countryside, Mackleford Hall boasts lovely gardens,” he began, and Miss Sophie’s gaze brightened further. “I am acquainted with the Sudleys, and I have a standing invitation to tour their gardens at my leisure. Would you accompany me?”

  He’d hardly finished speaking before Miss Sophie said, “Yes.” She scrunched her nose, chuckling at herself. “Perhaps I appear too eager, but I cannot feign circumspection when offered such an invitation.”

  “Tomorrow afternoon?” Oliver asked, allowing his own eagerness to shine through.

  Chapter 3

  Hours of dancing into the wee hours and little sleep afterward normally made for a miserable morning, but today, Oliver’s steps were light rather than dragging. He’d attempted to rest more, but it’d been a useless enterprise; there were more important things to do than lounge about in bed.

  Giving his hat and gloves to the footman, Oliver examined the nosegay in his hand. As he had no knowledge of flowers, he could not say what they were, though the shopkeeper had insisted they were wildflowers. They were not as fine as those he would’ve liked to purchase, but a bouquet of orchids or roses did not seem right for Miss Sophie.

  “Put these in water, William, while I write a note.” And with that, Oliver took the steps two at a time up to his bedchamber.

  Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, Oliver grinned even further at the sight of the ridiculous smile plastered on his face. Even though he’d managed to slip into bed early this morning, he’d been unable to get more than a couple of hours due to that massive grin and the accompanying memories that inspired it.

  Miss Sophie.

  Oliver hummed a lively tune as he strode to his desk, but it wasn’t until he sat that he realized the song was from the dance he’d shared with her. Sitting, he pulled out a pen and paper and paused. What did one write in such a note? Nibbling on the end of his pen, Oliver stared at the wallpaper, his eyes not seeing the image before him and his thoughts all too focused on calculating the hours until their outing.

  A knock came at his door, and Oliver called out for the knocker to enter, glancing over his shoulder.

  “Good morning, Father,” he said.

  But there was no jovial reply to the greeting. Shutting the door, Father tucked his hands behind him and watched his son with an assessing eye.

  “I’ve heard the most astonishing rumor,” said Father, his brows pulled tight together. “Are you courting one of the Banfield girls?”

  Oliver’s smile had a mind of its own, for it grew and filled his face without prompting. Anyone with eyes would’ve noticed his marked interest the previous night, as he and Miss Sophie had spent the majority of the evening deep in conversation. He’d not been so bold as to stand up with her too often, but minus the few dances that were claimed by other gentlemen, Oliver had monopolized the rest of her attention. So, it was no surprise that tongues were wagging.

  “I haven’t spoken with Mr. Banfield yet, so I would not say we are ‘courting,’ but I have every intention of pursuing Miss Sophie.”

  The brightness in his words dimmed as Father’s face grew ashen. Stepping to the bed, his father sank onto it as though his feet would not hold him upright. “How is that possible, Oliver? How did you even meet?”

  “At the Fitzsimmons’ ball—” But his words died on his lips, his heartbeat slowing to a dull thud as his father leaned forward, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “It cannot be true, Oliver,” he said, shaking his head and tugging at his cravat. “Please tell me this is just an infatuation and nothing more.”

  “You are making no sense.” Oliver turned in his seat to face his father, and the expression he saw made his stomach twist. What ought to have been a joyous declaration was met with a frown.

  “Nothing good comes from the Banfields.”

  Oliver scoffed. “How can you make such a judgment without even knowing Miss Sophie?”

  “I know her family, and that is enough,” replied Father with a scowl.

  Getting to his feet, Oliver paced the room. “You are speaking out of turn, Father. I grant you her kin are not the sort with whom I would wish an association, but Miss Sophie is a fine lady. Intelligent and kind.”

  Father’s hands fell, his shoulders slumping. “I thought the same of her mother once, and I am eternally grateful I saw the truth before I was ensnared. Marriage is for life, and I would be devastated to know that you—”

  “Marriage?” Oliver halted in his tracks and turned on his heels to face his father. “I fully admit I admire and esteem Miss Sophie, but I only met the young lady last night. We are not at the point of declarations of love and exchanging vows.”

  A spark of light chased away the shadows in Father’s eyes, and he held Oliver’s gaze with an unflinching stare. “Then your heart is not engaged?”

  Oliver could not give a denial or acceptance to that question, for it was too soon to say either way, but his mind turned back to a previous comment. “You know Miss Sophie’s mother?”

  “Knew,” corrected Father. “I knew her, but I have neither seen nor s
poken to the woman since long before you were born. She is barred from our home and our acquaintance.”

  Crossing his arms, Oliver tried to picture his parents taking such a harsh step. If not for the fact that the news had come from his father’s own lips, Oliver wouldn’t have believed it. “What did Mrs. Banfield do?”

  Father’s gaze dropped to the floor, and though his posture remained straight, there was a deflated quality to it. “Please do not ask me. I know you are curious, but I cannot bring myself to lay bare our history together. Sufficeth to say Mr. and Mrs. Banfield think nothing of their marriage vows and assume all others feel the same. And I will not recount the many horrid things she’s said about your mother.”

  Anger, hot and furious, sparked in his heart as Oliver’s fists clenched. Though he never understood the reason behind it, he’d seen the cool manner in which some of the ladies treated his mother and his younger sister. Female social politics were incomprehensible to him, but he was not ignorant of the ruthless nature in which they were conducted at times. Oliver had mourned alongside his sister when she had been the focus of such venom, and he couldn’t bear the thought of either her or Mother being subjected to that.

  “But Miss Sophie is not like that—”

  “She was raised by those who understand how to feign goodness and have no shame.” With slow movements, Father rose to his feet and came to stand before his son. “I will not order you to cut ties with the Banfields, but I beg you to do so. If not for your sake, then your mother’s. I fear it would break her heart to see you court one of their ilk. Nothing good will come of it.”

  Casting his thoughts to those wonderful hours he’d spent in Miss Sophie’s company, Oliver scoured each word and expression, searching for any sign of duplicity, and he would wager his entire inheritance that she was what she appeared. But would he wager his life? His parents’ happiness?

  “Please give it some thought,” said Father. “You are only one and twenty, and though you think yourself quite mature, you are still so young and have much more of life to live. It would break my heart to see you suffer for an infatuation.”