And it was entirely wasted on Oliver Kingsley.
Perhaps if she was in earnest, he might’ve been concerned over her attentions. Unfortunately for her, Oliver found it more humorous than amorous, and he fought to keep his smile polite. When he’d been her age, such flirtations had been welcome, but his heart was far too entangled to find any pleasure in it now.
“Alas, I am no archer,” replied Oliver. “I have no talent or interest in the sport, so you had best seek another.”
“Then perhaps a round of lawn bowls?” Miss Dosett fluttered her eyes in what was likely meant to be an alluring manner. He’d seen such practiced movements fell many young men, but Oliver had never understood the attraction of such artifice. The young lady stepped forward, resting her hand on his arm. “I would love to test my skill against yours.”
Oliver stepped free of her touch. “I do apologize, Miss Dosett, but I fear you’d be better served finding a more engaging partner, and I do not wish to participate in the lawn games this afternoon.”
With that, he strode from the young girl, moving with just enough haste to leave her in no doubt that her efforts were wasted but not enough to bruise her pride. After nearly a fortnight of rejecting her overt flirtations, Oliver had hoped Miss Dosett would grasp his meaning, but he suspected she cared as much about his opinion on the matter as she cared for snaring Mr. Oliver Kingsley. He was no more than a man, and she could not resist the temptation to ensnare him. Or attempt to, at any rate.
At least Miss Miriam did not follow her friend’s lead, for it would be terribly uncomfortable to fend off such advances from the sister of his soon-to-be espoused wife. That could be counted as a blessing.
And while overt, those young ladies’ flirtations held none of the improper invitations of Mrs. Banfield’s. Theirs were nothing more than those of young ladies newly released on society testing their prowess and attraction. Another blessing.
Glancing around the grounds, Oliver searched for a companion, but found Miss Caswell, Lily, and their group engaged in a game ofjeu de volant, the young ladies laughing as their battledores swung wide, allowing the shuttlecock to slip by them and fall to the grass. Miss Dosett returned to Miss Miriam’s side, and the other young men gathered around as they took their arrows and bows. The older gentlemen were gathered, likely in the midst of some heated debate, while the matrons were scattered here and there around the lawn.
And none of them held any appeal. Oliver was in no mood for games or debate. He simply wished to quietly enjoy the afternoon and the fine scenery.
Try though he might to ignore it, his eyes pulled him towards Miss Sophie, who was seated away from the others with her nose pressed in a book, thankfully; as she was otherwise occupied, it gave him an added determination to leave her be. His conviction had held strong for the past few days, but it was difficult to avoid temptation when the opportunity was seated before him, calling to him with far more allure than the other diversions.
But then her brother snuck up behind Miss Sophie, his hands moving quickly to snatch the book from her. Oliver was too far to hear their exchange, but Allen snapped the cover shut and shook it at her like a schoolmaster reprimanding a student. Though there was a good-natured smile on the fellow’s face, Oliver couldn’t help but notice that Miss Sophie’s eyes dimmed, her shoulders drooping. The fellow tossed the book to the ground beside her and strode back to his companions, the other young gentlemen cheering his return as though his presence was the greatest gift they could receive.
Oliver felt Miss Sophie’s bone-deep sigh as she lifted the book once more, flipping through its pages to place her bookmark in its proper place. Clutching it to her chest, she stared out at the others, seeming so very solitary. A part of the gathering, yet apart from it all.
“That was unkind of your brother,” said Oliver, unaware of when he had approached her side.
Glancing up at him, Miss Sophie brushed the words aside with a wave of her hand. “Brothers are made to try their sisters’ patience.”
Oliver took a seat beside her, stretching out on the grass. “I hope I don’t give my sister such trouble.”
“It is a brother’s nature,” she replied, turning her gaze towards the others. “Allen means well.”
The words were kind, and Oliver did not doubt that Miss Sophie believed them, but there was a quality to her tone that whispered of that resigned sigh he’d witnessed before.
“I do hate to see you unhappy, Miss Sophie.” The words came to his lips before Oliver could think better of it, and the young lady’s eyes widened and met his.
“That is a stark assessment of my mood, Mr. Kingsley.”
“It doesn’t make it any less true.”
Miss Sophie’s gaze dropped, her grip on her book relaxing as she rested it on her lap. “Unhappy is too hard a word for it. I know I am blessed, and I am grateful for the life I have.”
“And yet…?” he prodded. When Miss Sophie met his gaze, Oliver gave her a challenging raise of his brow. “Your tone was rife with those unspoken words.”
Giving a wry smile, Miss Sophie shook her head. “There is not a person on earth who has no wants. No life is that perfect.”
“True,” he said with an appreciative nod. “But that is no answer. And yet…?”
Miss Sophie’s brows drew together, and she sucked in her lips, nibbling on the edge as her gaze drifted away from him and to the others’ games and conversations.
“Do you ever feel out of place, Mr. Kingsley?”
The question was hardly more than a whisper, something easily lost among the sounds of frivolity surrounding them. Yet those tentative words struck Oliver with more force than Miss Sophie likely intended and settled into his heart like a physical weight. His shoulder brushed hers, and Miss Sophie’s eyes snapped open to gaze at him while his thoughts sorted through what he might say to drive away the loneliness weighing Miss Sophie down.
“At times, but I doubt that is what you mean,” said Oliver.
“Please, let us speak no more of it,” said Miss Sophie with a shake of her head. “It is only a bit of melancholy nonsense, and I shall be right soon enough. It does no good to dwell on that which I cannot change.”
