Mrs. Thompson leaned away, her eyes reading all the disbelief due to that statement, and Mina responded with a faint but earnest smile. With such support and knowing Mrs. Susannah Banfield had no reason to step foot in the Kingsleys’ home again, Mina knew this was a burden she could bear. It was not pleasant, but not as miserable as the last time the Banfields and Kingsleys had mixed.
Only a few weeks and the party would disperse. Oliver would be engaged with the wedding date set. Then the Banfields and Kingsleys would go their separate ways and, hopefully, avoid meeting for another thirty years.
Chapter 9
Hands in his pockets, Oliver strolled through the field. Stopping, he turned his face to the broad azure sky stretching above and sucked in a deep breath of air. The sunlight warmed his cheeks, heating them enough that he wondered if this afternoon’s picnic would be an uncomfortable affair; at present, the temperature was perfect, but the day was still young.
Closing his eyes, he drank in the light and listened to the trill of birdsong and chirp of insects, the rustle of breezes through the grass and leaves. At first blush, one might think this world empty compared to the frenetic movement of London, but the country echoed with the sounds of life.
Oliver ought not to dawdle. As the guests were left to their own devices this morning, he could steal away some time with Miss Caswell, and yet he felt the strongest urge to stretch out in the grass and stare at the lazy puffs of clouds that dotted the sky.
It may be the only solace afforded him for some time.
Pinching his nose, Oliver took in another deep breath that had naught to do with savoring the morning air. How was a fellow supposed to take the matrimonial leap in front of a lady whom he previously courted? Not that he and Miss Sophie had courted. Theirs was hardly an acquaintance. An evening spent together some five years ago. That was all.
And yet…
Oliver shook his head at his folly. There was no “and yet…” There could not be. Even if he were free to pursue Miss Sophie, that would not resolve the objections that had driven them apart five years ago. Father’s feelings had not ebbed in that time, and though they hadn’t enumerated the Banfields’ sins, there was no mistaking his parents’ dislike of that family. Mother had spent a full hour the night previous and another hour this morning lecturing her children on avoiding “those people.”
Stuffing his hands once more in his pockets, Oliver wove through the fields that separated his family’s estate from Hardington Hall, wondering how the Kingsleys and Banfields had come to such blows; his parents were not ones to hold grudges.
But that was neither here nor there, Oliver reminded himself. The source of the trouble was of no importance. He was courting Miss Caswell. Would marry Miss Caswell. Having Miss Sophie in attendance was of no significance. She was an old acquaintance. That was all.
Besides, Miss Caswell was a fine creature and would make an even finer wife. That dear lady had such strength and confidence that it was impossible to ignore her; Miss Caswell commanded society’s attention not because of birth or fortune (though her family claimed aristocratic lineages on both sides), but through character. She was compelling, charitable, and a dear friend, and Oliver was honored that she wished to build a future with him.
But then a movement seized his attention, pulling his thoughts from Miss Caswell and turning his gaze to a copse of trees to the left of his path.
With a book in one arm and a satchel slung on her shoulder, Miss Sophie waded through the grass, her eyes scanning the greenery around her. She straightened, and then crouched, abandoning her things to brush a hand along a tuft of wildflowers. Miss Sophie wore a gown of rosy hues and an apron of rich green, and from what little Oliver knew of her, he doubted she’d intended to match the landscape so perfectly, but she looked as though she had sprung from the blossoms, which was rather fitting—as was the sight of Miss Sophie’s bonnet dangling by the ribbons from her satchel strap.
Halting in his tracks, Oliver reminded himself that she was Miss Banfield now, but having spent so many years thinking of her as Miss Sophie, it was difficult to make the change now. As he did so only in his thoughts, Oliver supposed it didn’t matter.
His feet moved before he’d made any conscious decision to do so, but Oliver was relieved to find a moment to speak with her without an audience. Likely, Miss Sophie had not given him a second thought in the intervening years, in which case there was no need for him to feel out of sorts wooing Miss Caswell in front of her. If they could meet as friends, the rest of the party mightn’t be uncomfortable.
*
Settling into the grass, Sophie laid aside her watercolor journal and her satchel and examined the rosebay willowherb. The pyramidal stalk was such a beautiful blend of pink and purple, the flowers looking not quite one or the other. It was a tad late in the season to find such splendid blossoms, and Sophie could not believe her luck.
“Miss Banfield—”
Sophie shot to her feet, slapping a hand over her mouth to hold in the startled squeal, and spun around to see Mr. Oliver Kingsley standing just behind her. His hands shot upwards in placation, his eyes wide at her reaction.
“I do apologize, but you startled me,” she said, fighting away the blush threatening to embarrass her even further.
Mr. Kingsley blinked at her, his brows pinching together. “I was not being quiet. I thought you heard me coming.”
The grass around them was near knee-deep and announced every slight movement, and though some part of her wished to hold onto her embarrassment, there was no point in fostering it, so she gave a self-deprecating laugh.
“No doubt you more than adequately announced yourself,” she replied, running her hands along her front and straightening her apron. “But I fear I was far too preoccupied to notice.”
“And what has you so preoccupied?” asked Mr. Kingsley, his gaze turning from her to the empty field. “You are far from Hardington Hall.”
Pushing back a lock of hair that had tumbled free of her chignon, Sophie smiled. “I couldn’t help myself. The others were content to lay about the parlor, but I couldn’t waste such a glorious morning.”
Mr. Kingsley tucked his hands behind him and nodded absently as a smile lit his gaze. “If I recall correctly, you are passionate about naturalism, so I would expect nothing less of you.”
“I am surprised you recall that detail.”
Rocking forward on his feet, Mr. Kingsley replied, “It is impossible to forget such enthusiasm.”
