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 spoken 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.”
And with that, his father left, and Oliver sank onto his chair where the blank paper awaited his words.
***
Standing before her bed, Sophie examined the shawls arrayed there. A jacket was unnecessary on such a fine day, but she needed something to protect her from the odd chill, and of course, there was the matter of the proper bonnet. Grabbing a green fringe shawl, Sophie strode to the mirror and wrapped it around herself, turning this way and that. The shawl was a lighter shade, one that she had thought would complement the darker green of her gown, but the hue held a touch too much yellow to be quite right.
Dropping her shoulders, Sophie sighed at herself. It was silly to put so much thought into a few accoutrements, but even as she laughed at herself, she returned to the bed, cast aside the rejected shawl, and drew up the next.
This was a far better use of time than pacing the hallways, waiting for the hours to pass. Their appointment was still some time away, but Sophie could think of nothing else. Neither books nor drawing nor sewing proved diverting enough to distract her from the memories of the previous evening and the daydreams of the coming outing.
“Come in,” she called at the sound of a knock on her door, and a footman strode in with a bouquet in hand. Sophie fairly bounced to him, scooping up the flowers and holding them to her nose, the combination of scents filling her with such lightness that she feared she might float away.
