Hearts Entwined (Victorian Love Book 3) Page 6

  That was a thought. Not one that Oliver had given much credence before, but there was an appeal to the possibilities it outlined. For a moment, Oliver cast his mind to that future, picturing effecting change beyond Bristow’s small borders.

  “I will consider it,” said Oliver, and Miss Caswell’s smile widened, lightening her whole face as she squeezed his arm.

  Ducking closer, Miss Caswell whispered, “I adore seeing you speak with such conviction.”

  And with her cheering him on, Oliver could well believe he was destined for a life in public service.

  *

  Relaxing her cheeks, Mina Ashbrook forced her smile to soften. The silly thing kept shifting into a grimace, and Mina knew better than to allow gossipmongers and harpies to see her distraught. Like predators scenting weak prey, they could not be trusted; they circled round, waiting for the moment to strike in a savage dance as old as time.

  But that was a tad harsh.

  Mina gave herself a silent admonition for that uncharitable comparison. Mrs. Nelson was nothing but a product of too much money and time. Like many of their class, boredom filled her days, leaving her to seek creative means of entertainment. Unfortunately for Mina, Mrs. Nelson preferred gossip and drama.

  That said, Mina felt not a shred of guilt over her thoughts for Mrs. Susannah Banfield. Snake. Harpy. Whether real or mythical, there were plenty of creatures that reminded Mina of that woman.

  “We needn’t stay, dearest,” whispered Simon, as Mina clutched his arm closer. The pair strolled around the edge of the drawing room as others gathered around card tables.

  “I shan’t flee like a child,” replied Mina. “Oliver is on the brink of marrying Miss Caswell, and Lily is so pleased to be with her friends once more. I will not ruin this for them, nor will I abandon my children to be unsupervised while the Banfields are about.”

  “But I cannot stand the thought of you forced into such an intolerable situation. I shan’t allow you to be hurt by her venom again.”

  Pulling Simon to a halt, Mina turned to face him, and how she wished they were alone so she could kiss that dear, sweet man. His gaze met hers, and the words she’d meant to speak were swept from her mind by what she examined in those dark depths. Fate had repaid all the long, lonely years of her youth with an overabundance of happiness and love. Simon had feet of clay—as all do—but how she adored him, and when he looked at her with such devotion and concern, it was impossible to remember his shortcomings.

  “I love you, Simon Kingsley,” she whispered, shifting her hold on his arm until their gloved hands were covertly clasped together.

  “I still find that difficult to believe.” His thumb brushed over the back of her hand, and Mina leaned into his side, longing for privacy.

  “Do not fret, my love,” said Mina. “I wished never to set eyes on the Banfields again, but much has changed since our last interaction, and I am not afraid of her.”

  Simon nodded, though he looked ready to flee.

  “Besides,” she added, “as of yet, she has not approached or given any hint that she wishes to acknowledge us.”

  But even as she said that Mina knew better. Susannah Banfield was a cunning huntress. And if summoned by her vain hope, Mrs. Banfield and Mrs. Nelson strode over arm-in-arm.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley, I am so pleased you’ve joined us for the evening,” said Mrs. Nelson, giving them a warm smile, her eyes shining with eager delight. “Allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Banfield. I am so pleased she and her family have agreed to join us.”

  “In truth, I am well acquainted with the Kingsleys,” replied Mrs. Banfield, giving Mrs. Nelson an apologetic smile.

  The lady feigned a blush. “Of course. How silly of me. I had entirely forgotten they were the ones who brought you to our dear village all those years ago when we first met. I do owe you both such a debt of gratitude, for without your invitation, I may not have made friends with this wonderful creature.”

  “You are too kind, my dear Mrs. Nelson,” replied Mrs. Banfield with a light tap of her fan against the other’s arm.

  And in a trice, Mina realized she had underestimated Mrs. Nelson. She did not have Mrs. Banfield’s cruel bent, but she did go to great lengths to cause trouble wherever she could, as though her ennui was only satisfied when others were made to dance to her tune.

  “We didn’t realize you two had forged such a strong friendship,” said Simon in a tight tone, and Mina held firm to his arm, lending him strength and patience.

  “Mrs. Nelson is such a darling,” said Mrs. Banfield.

  “And now you are being far too kind,” replied Mrs. Nelson.

  Mina had once heard of fish that swam alongside sharks, feeding off the leftover morsels those larger predators did not consume, and it felt a rather apt comparison for the pair. Though they were different breeds with different weapons at their disposal, they were predators all the same.

  “I understand you have quite the multitude of festivities planned during the party,” said Mina, hoping a change in subject might ease the growing tension. It was another vain hope, but Mina refused to surrender.

  “Certainly,” said Mrs. Nelson. “And I do hope you and your family will join us for much of them.”

  For if they did not, Mrs. Nelson would have no highlight to her entertainment; the Kingsleys were the unwitting centerpiece of her machinations. But Mina chided herself for allowing the lady to rattle her so. On her own, Mrs. Nelson was an annoyance but not malevolent, and it was not fair to condemn her simply because that lady’s shortcomings were so easy to see.

  “We have already accepted, and we shan’t go back on our word,” said Mina, wishing she’d pressed the Nelsons further to discover the entirety of their guest list before committing to attend.

  “I hope to have a peaceful and…” Simon’s voice drifted off, the corners of his smile straining. “…civil time together.”

  Mrs. Banfield gave a trilling laugh and a shake of her head that set her golden ringlets dancing. “You speak as though you expect the worst of this visit, but I am certain it will be vastly entertaining.”

  The Susannah Banfield of the past had been a subtle creature; each look and touch was formed to convey innocence to the casual viewer and an invitation to those of a mind to accept it. That cunning shroud of virtue had caused Mina much heartache in her younger years when Simon had seen only that and not the selfish heart beneath it.

  The Susannah Banfield of the present still clung to that shroud, but it was little more than a gauzy veil, hardly masking her true intentions. With a graceful hand, she caressed Simon’s arm with a gleam in her gaze that promised far more, should he wish it. Those outside their circle of conversation would see nothing amiss, but those inside it could not mistake her brazen act.

  Simon jerked out of reach, his expression hardening, even as he fought to remain stoic over the liberty Mrs. Banfield had taken, and Mina clenched her jaw, her heart slamming against her ribs, pushing her to slap the harlot away. The lady smiled, and Mina saw the glint of amusement and satisfaction shining in her eyes.

  “It is good to see you again,” said Mrs. Banfield, steering Mrs. Nelson away.

  Neither Simon nor Mina spoke. Holding firm to her husband’s arm, Mina wished she could ease the anger thrumming through him. Turning him away from the crowd, Mina pressed a hand to his cheek—not caring if anyone witnessed the tender touch.

  “How dare they treat us this way!” Simon’s words were hard, but he kept his tone low. “We’ve had our differences with the Nelsons, but they know the history between us and are taunting us with it now.”

  “Peace, my love,” said Mina, nudging his face so that his gaze held hers. “I will admit this is an unwanted and unhappy turn of events, but this is too important to Oliver, and I would never forgive myself if we were to cast a pall over what should be a joyous time.”

  Simon’s brows drew together. “I cannot stand the thought of you being subjected to her company.”

  But
even as he spoke, Mina saw the hints of other worries buried beneath the surface. Over thirty years of marriage had stripped away any mystery, and even if Simon was not always aware of his feelings, Mina had come to know her husband.

  “I do not doubt you, Simon.”

  His dark eyes sharpened, his brows rising.

  “We have spent decades together, and you have more than proven yourself to be honorable and loyal,” said Mina. She dropped her hand, clasping both of his. “I do not doubt you. I do not wish to pass another moment in her presence, but I do not fear it, either. She is nothing to us and has no power, except that which we give her.”

  Simon’s expression softened, his eyes warming with admiration as he leaned closer, coming within a hair’s breadth of kissing her. If not for a sudden burst of laughter from somewhere behind them, Mina would have forgotten entirely that they were not alone. Simon sighed, his lids lowering as he scowled at the interruption, and Mina found herself smiling at it.

  Shifting her hand, Simon lifted it to his lips, pressing a tender touch to her palm. “Are you certain we cannot return home?”

  “My resolve is weakening,” she murmured, “but best not. We can weather this, Simon.”

  Chapter 8

  Evenings were interminable. Long hours surrounded by strangers and passing acquaintances, traveling from dining rooms to drawing rooms to ballrooms and so on. An endless parade of empty conversation, to which Sophie had little to add while standing on the periphery, wishing she were elsewhere. And a house party only added to the discomfort.

  Where balls or concerts boasted larger crowds in which to hide, a house party’s small guest list highlighted Sophie’s status as a wallflower. Among those guests, friendships formed and strengthened during the many days spent together, but night after night, she remained shunted to the side.

  Sophie might’ve been quite hurt if she allowed herself to dwell on it. But once she discovered a proper corner in which to hide, her thoughts were entertaining enough; there were always books to ponder and plans to make. Though she couldn’t claim a fondness for such isolation, it was far preferable to being forced to converse on redundant and unimaginative subjects with those who had no true interest in engaging odd Miss Sophie Banfield in discussion.

  But it was difficult to lose herself in contemplation while the world around her kept dragging her into the present.

  Refusing to allow her eyes to drift to a certain gentleman who stood with his young lady, debating the social issues of the day, Sophie cast her thoughts to moths and butterflies and the local Lepidoptera she’d not yet spied in the wild. Of course, the proper time for viewing insects and wildflowers was in the spring, but Sophie had not spent those most precious months in the country since coming out; heaven forfend Mama and Papa miss any part of the Season.

  “Are we not to have a moment’s peace?” The harsh whisper drew Sophie’s attention to a pair of young ladies standing together. Like most drawing rooms, the Nelsons’ was a large, rectangular space, which provided little opportunity to hide from sight, and Sophie’s chair was sitting not far from the pair, but neither gave her any notice.

  “Calm yourself, Phyllis,” replied the flowery confection of a lady, whom Sophie belatedly realized was their hosts’ daughter, Miss Hettie Nelson.

  “But Lily is forever going on and on. Why can she not hold her tongue for once?” Phyllis—Miss Thompson?—spoke in a near hiss, her posture growing rigid as she spoke.

  “There is nothing to be done about it,” said Miss Nelson. “She is to be Victoria’s sister-in-law, and as it happens, Victoria is fond of Lily.”

  “And Victoria has the patience of a saint,” replied Miss Thompson with a huffing laugh. “It was torture enough to suffer her company again and again as children. I had hoped to be free of her when we came out, but it appears she is to plague me my entire life.”

  “That is a tad harsh,” said Miss Nelson, clasping her hands before her. “I freely admit Lily can be trying at times, but she’s not as bad as all that.”

  Miss Thompson sighed, shaking her head. “Perhaps not, but hiding my frustration is exhausting. All this deception sits uneasy with me. I prefer honesty to all this pretense, but if I speak my mind to Lily, Victoria may never forgive me.”

  Miss Nelson straightened, her hands tightening. “Phyllis—”

  But at that moment, the young lady in question strode to the other young ladies. At first glance, one might think Miss Lily Kingsley plain, as her figure was far too plump for fashion, but there was a light about her that left Sophie quite in awe. Like herself, Miss Kingsley dressed in simplistic gowns and coiffures, but where Sophie looked plain, Miss Kingsley looked fetching.

  “I am so pleased we are all together again,” said Miss Kingsley, beaming at her companions. “It has been too long. And isn’t it a marvelous evening? The meal was sumptuous, Hettie.”

  Miss Nelson gave a faint smile and nodded. “I am certain Mama will be pleased to hear your praise.”

  “It is high praise indeed,” said Miss Thompson with a bright smile. “Our Lily is quite the expert on food.”

  Sophie sucked in a breath, her shoulders tensing at the verbal blow, but neither Miss Kingsley nor Miss Nelson gave any hint that they’d heard the insinuation beneath it. Miss Thompson hid it well, but there was a tone to the compliment that marked it as anything but kind, and with Miss Kingsley’s ample figure, Miss Thompson’s meaning was clear.

  Had Sophie misheard it? Or perhaps she was judging Miss Thompson harshly.

  “I would hardly say I am an expert,” replied Miss Kingsley with a furrowed brow. “But who does not enjoy a fine meal? It reminded me of a dinner I had in Lancashire when I was visiting my uncle and his family. We dined with a family…” she paused, scrunching her brow. “What was their name? The Callums? Or Christians?”

  “Does it matter?” replied Miss Thompson with a sigh.

  Miss Kingsley laughed, her nose scrunching. “I suppose not. But they lived in this beautiful village not far from my uncle’s home, and they were rural enough to keep a large kitchen garden yet close enough to the railroads and harbors to supplement their produce and game with exotic fares.”

  Without pausing, she launched into a description of the dishes, rendering them in such detail that Sophie could taste them and speaking with such gusto that it was difficult not to get swept up in her excitement—which made Miss Thompson’s slack expression and Miss Nelson’s glassy gaze all the more shocking. Miss Kingsley rattled on, unaware that her companions’ attentions were lagging, which was an absolute shame for them as the young lady was a lively companion.

  Then Miss Kingsley halted mid-word, turning her attention to Sophie. “Hello, there.”

  Dragging her friends over, Miss Kingsley gave Sophie a brilliant smile and curtsy as Miss Nelson went through the introductions.

  “I am so sorry I didn’t see you there sooner,” said Miss Kingsley. “It must be terribly uncomfortable to be thrown in with a group of ladies with whom you have no former acquaintance.”

  Miss Kingsley spoke so openly and artlessly that Sophie could not help grinning.

  “It’s not how I prefer to pass a month,” said Sophie.

  “For certain,” said Miss Kingsley with wide eyes. “I would be terrified in your situation.” But she paused, her cheeks pinking. “I suppose it’s uncouth to say that.”

  Miss Nelson turned her gaze to her mother. “I fear Mama is calling for me.”

  Sophie doubted that was true, but the young lady strode away, with Miss Thompson feigning excuses about assisting her, leaving Sophie alone with Miss Kingsley.

  “I do apologize for my frankness,” began Miss Kingsley, and it took a moment for Sophie to recall what the young lady had been saying before the others abandoned them.

  “Do not fret, Miss Kingsley. I am not offended in the slightest. You may be the only person here who understands that some do not care for being thrust into a group of strangers.”

  A tightn
ess in Miss Kingsley’s shoulders loosened. “Hettie and Phyllis certainly do not understand when I shy away from such situations.”

  Sophie’s brows rose. “You are uncomfortable in crowds?”

  Miss Kingsley ran her hands across her skirts. “I assure you that introducing myself just then has exhausted my social prowess. I doubt I shall be able to approach another stranger for a fortnight at the very least. Speaking with someone once we are engaged in conversation is not difficult, as I do love talking, but broaching the conversation is terrifying.”

  “Then you have an advantage over me, for I do not find it enjoyable to broach a conversation nor to remain in it.”

  “I shall take it as a compliment that you have not run away screaming,” Miss Kingsley replied with a saucy grin.

  Sophie covered a laugh, though Miss Kingsley did nothing to hide her amusement.

  “Now that we have established how petrified we are to speak to one another,” said Miss Kingsley, “perhaps you might tell me something about yourself.”

  “Myself?”

  Miss Kingsley nodded. “Nothing puts a person so at ease than to speak about her favorite topic.”

  Sophie snorted. Her eyes flew wide open at that horrid sound, and she cast a look around, but no one was the wiser—except for Miss Kingsley, who looked amused but ignored it.

  “What do you wish to know?” asked Sophie when she trusted herself to speak.

  “Perhaps I ought to begin with the little details, such as where you hail from, but why begin with such insipid questions?” Tapping her fingers along the edges of her skirts, Miss Kingsley’s gaze drifted to the side, her lips pursing as she thought. “What do you love to do most in the world?”

  Sophie’s eyes widened. “That is a rather large question.”

  Miss Kingsley nodded. “But it is far more interesting.”

  And more invasive, though Sophie was not about to tell the young lady that. As she pondered over how to respond, Miss Kingsley chimed in again.

  “I adore music. If I had my way, I would fill every moment with song. I never feel quite so at ease as I do when singing, and I am convinced that the best part of London is all the concerts and musicales. And you?”