But that did not mean they could not ask vague but pointed inquiries. Not wishing to give rise to any hopes, Victoria released Mr. Kingsley’s arm, and the pair drifted off in different directions. That caused some raised brows, but it did little to temper the curiosity and silent congratulations pointed at them.
Pushing it from her thoughts, Victoria feigned indifference and took up a proffered battledore as Hettie and Phyllis skirted the subject. With a smile, Victoria smacked the shuttlecock, sending it flying through the air to Lily.
And though Victoria knew all attention was fixed on her and Mr. Kingsley, she felt the weightiness of a particular set of eyes. Her gaze drifted from her companions to meet Mr. Dixon’s, who watched her with that unflinching regard of his. Fumbling with her battledore, she spun it in her hand and feigned ignorance at the unspoken question radiating from him.
The shuttlecock struck Victoria’s head, eliciting laughter and groans as it fell to the ground. In a flash, she snatched it up and sent it rocketing through the air once more.
But no matter how she tried, she could not put him out of her thoughts. Meeting Mr. Dixon’s eyes, Victoria gave a slow shake of her head. A spark brightened his gaze, lightening his expression, and she gave him a more resounding shake of her head, for her present matrimonial state did not alter their situation; her family’s finances were still in need of assistance, and her sisters’ futures rested on Victoria’s shoulders. Mr. Kingsley may not be a viable option, but he was not the last gentleman of consequence and fortune available to her.
Yet her refusal did not dim the hope gleaming in Mr. Dixon’s eyes. Rather, the rascal dared to wink, his smile growing as he watched her.
Chapter 26
Though many claimed society was the only true source of engaging conversation, most discourses relied on set subjects with little variation. In many ways, it was a kindness, as it allowed those with little wit or intelligence to contribute, and Oliver felt infinitely grateful for it as he struggled with both for the duration of the afternoon. Luckily, gathering clouds did as much to clear the party as did the lateness of the hour, rescuing him from further discussion.
It was a miracle he was able to function in any form after the insanity he’d suffered today.
“The carriage is ready,” said Father, nodding for his son to follow.
Shoulders tightening, Oliver fought not to rake his hands through his hair. Their eyes locked for a moment, but he turned his away, hoping his father wouldn’t see the guilt written in his expression.
“I believe I shall walk,” replied Oliver.
Father gave him a sly smile. “No doubt you wish to have a few more moments with a certain young lady, but don’t take too long. Your mother shan’t forgive you if you are late for the celebratory dinner she is planning.”
Oliver rubbed at the back of his neck and nodded, though he could not meet his father’s gaze again. The older gentleman gave his son a warm pat on the shoulder and turned away. Waiting until Father was safely ensconced in the carriage, Oliver hurried up the front steps to the waiting footman at the door.
“Might I speak with Miss Sophie Banfield?”
“She left for a walk not a half-hour ago, sir.”
Oliver nodded at the footman and turned, making his way around to the side of Hardington Hall. He never resorted to sprinting, but Oliver scurried past several of the windows. The rooms on this side of the house were empty at present, but he would not count on luck to keep someone spying him. Once out of sight of the Hall, his feet carried him along the paths to search Miss Sophie’s usual haunts.
If courting Miss Sophie was a good thing, why must he resort to such lengths?
With each step, his insides grew more tangled and embittered. Questions and accusations flooded his mind. What son could subject his mother to associating with someone so cruel as Mrs. Banfield? Or defy his father in such a blatant fashion? Could he subject his family to a permanent association with the Banfields?
And though Miss Caswell claimed all would be well with her, Oliver knew it wasn’t the entire truth. How could he chase after his happiness at the expense of others’?
But even as those wretched doubts threatened to turn him about, Oliver clung to one constant thought buried beneath it all—this was his future, and he must make it what he wished it to be. The remaining hurdle was still there, but it was not insurmountable. With all the rest resolved, Oliver knew he’d be a fool not to try.
Stopping at a clump of wildflowers growing at the base of a tree, Oliver plucked the blossoms, his thoughts turning to what he wanted for his future. Whether Miss Sophie featured a key role in it was still a question, though the more he thought about it, the more the vague specter that played the role of wife in his fantasies resembled Miss Sophie.
Surely there was some way to reconcile his parents’ fears and Oliver’s happiness without sacrificing one for the other.
Cresting a hill, Oliver cast his eyes to the base of a particularly fine oak tree and spied Miss Sophie seated beside its trunk. Even at this distance, he knew her, and all other thoughts fled at the sight. Free of the constraints he’d placed upon it, his heart thumped in his chest, telling him with utmost clarity that it belonged to her.
*
A distant rumble warned Sophie that she ought to return to the house. She doubted anyone had missed her yet, but she was in no mood to suffer a lecture about ruining her dress in the rain should Mama take notice. And yet the thought of being locked away with all the party aflutter over Miss Caswell’s impending announcement was enough to keep Sophie precisely where she was.
Dinner would force her to return soon enough.
Wrapping her arms around her knees, Sophie tucked her skirts around her feet and leaned her head forward, closing her eyes to the world. The birds and insects were quiet, anticipating the coming rain, and if she focused, she could hear the distant sound of raindrops tickling the treetops like a percussive symphony. She embraced the music, allowing it to force aside thoughts of Mr. Kingsley and Miss Caswell.
Sophie refused to be one of those young ladies who pined after an unrequited love; surely there was no cause to mope about like a lovesick child. Mr. Kingsley was little more than a stranger, and Miss Caswell was a fine lady who would make a fine wife for him. Yet no matter how she tried to get her heart to see reason, it ached at the memory of Miss Caswell on his arm. Surely a woman could not die of a broken heart after such a short acquaintance, but Mr. Kingsley had become a fixture in her world.
No one else sat with her hour after hour as she painted. No one else asked about her work or showed the slightest interest in it. No one else made her smile so easily. Laugh so often. Whereas the rest of her family had long ago found their place in the world, Sophie had only just discovered hers; to return to the solitary shadows made her heart shudder and groan like a decaying tree buffeted by a windstorm.
