“All will be well,” whispered Mama as she sat in the armchair beside her daughter.
Victoria sucked in a deep breath, holding it in her lungs for several moments before she let it out and turned to face her mother with a forced smile.
Mama leaned forward and patted Victoria’s knee. “This is a setback, but it is not hopeless. If we move quickly and decisively, there is no reason we cannot secure you a husband.”
Straightening once more, Mama rested her hands in her lap. Though her expression was as calm and unconcerned as any genteel lady could hope for, it was those hands that gave her heart away. They twisted together, clutching each other as though holding onto the barest shred of control in the face of disaster.
Victoria’s smile strained, and she struggled to keep it from turning into a grimace. Working through what she might say and tossing aside that which would only exacerbate the situation, Victoria settled on a nod. When Mama spoke of matrimony, there was little else to do.
Mama’s eyes turned to Miss Banfield and narrowed. “I do not understand why the Nelsons allow her to remain here.”
“They can hardly toss her out, Mama. Nor should they.”
“She’s a jezebel who came between you and Mr. Kingsley.” Mama’s voice rose, and Victoria hushed her, though it did not stop the lady from continuing. “And I’ve heard some salacious rumors of late that make me think her parents are equally depraved—”
“As I have told you many times, Mr. Kingsley and I do not suit. Nothing more. Even if Miss Banfield were on the other side of the country, that would not change.”
“But for him to court another so quickly—”
Victoria snapped her book shut. “Whatever he chooses to do is no one’s business but his own. And Miss Banfield is a wonderful young lady, whom I admire greatly. They are good people who deserve to find happiness together, and I will not sit here and listen to you slander either of them.”
With that, Victoria rose to her feet, abandoning her book and Mama as she strode across the parlor. At the movement, Miss Banfield’s gaze rose to meet hers, and it was Victoria’s turn to send a silent apology. Though she doubted Miss Banfield had overheard their conversation, it was not the first of its kind nor the last. The soft-spoken young lady was now the source of speculation and whispers as the “other woman.”
For good or ill, it was not Victoria alone who bore the weight of this alteration to their plans.
Miss Banfield looked confused and intrigued by Victoria’s guilt, which did little to ease it. Though she hadn’t encouraged the others to judge and scorn Miss Banfield, it did not alter the fact that they did so on Victoria’s behalf.
But there was nothing more to be done about the situation. No amount of assurances had lessened their collective outrage, so all that was left was to wait out the storm. Striding from the parlor, Victoria distanced herself from the tempest while wishing her heart felt lighter for it. But her mother’s words haunted her steps, chasing after her like a wolf scenting prey.
Victoria couldn’t regret her break with Mr. Kingsley—it was the right thing to do—but that did not absolve her from doing her duty to her sisters and parents. And the weight of their futures and hopes pressed down on Victoria, demanding she make things right.
*
Once upon a time, Little Sophie had believed there was no felicity greater to be found than a comfortable armchair, a cup of tea, and a good book, but such things had been abandoned with the advent of adulthood. When indoors, there were so many people demanding her attention, and good manners forbade her from ignoring the others and sequestering herself in a quiet corner. But today the ladies were occupied with other pursuits, such as gossiping about her, Mr. Kingsley, and Miss Caswell, and Sophie was able to recapture the beauty of an afternoon free to explore literary pursuits.
Taking a sip of her tea, Sophie snuggled into her chair—or as much into it as was possible through layers of petticoats—and attempted to turn her attention to the words on the page. But her eyes read the letters again and again, never understanding what they said.
Truly, it was terribly unfair that Sophie’s mind refused to focus when granted a rare opportunity to indulge in literature. But neither could she honestly say she was unhappy with the source of her distraction. Hiding behind her book, Sophie shielded her face from the others so they would not see the ridiculous grin stretching across it. A lady did not broadcast such gauche sentiments, but Sophie could not contain it any more than she could stop the sun from rising.
Mr. Kingsley. Sophie’s whole body felt lighter at the slightest thought of him. He flitted in and out of her mind constantly, bringing memories of their time together.
If Sophie was entirely honest, the restrictions propriety placed upon them made her miss the days before their courtship at times. It was rather odd that as friends they’d been free to tromp about the woods as they wished, but now that promises had been made, they were afforded far less time in each other’s company. But it was a price worth paying, for Sophie could never regret the shift in their relationship.
Her eyes drifted from the page and met the only aspect of her situation that saddened her. Miss Caswell hid it well, but Sophie knew her break with Mr. Kingsley pained her; although Miss Caswell’s heart had not been engaged, Sophie was not ignorant as to what losing an eligible beau cost a young lady. More than that, some deeper heartache plagued Miss Caswell, and the light in Sophie’s world dimmed at the thought that her happiness had come at another’s expense.
The young lady held Sophie’s gaze, but rather than censure or anger, Miss Caswell’s expression held a pride that warned Sophie not to pity her. There was no disdain or haughtiness to it, as though such sympathy was beneath her; rather, it was the pride of one who did not need such sentiments cast in her direction. With an inner strength that Sophie thought synonymous with Miss Caswell, the young lady faced the challenges and emerged triumphant. Such a one did not wring her hands in dismay nor welcome pity.
There was so much that Sophie admired about Miss Caswell. She was lively and well-spoken. Intelligent. Self-possessed but without the arrogance that too often defined such people. And whether by intention or accident, Sophie knew she’d caused the indomitable young lady harm. For that, Sophie could not help the sorrow shining in her gaze.
Rather than turning away from the silent apology, Miss Caswell held Sophie’s gaze without censure before hiding behind her book once more. Sophie followed suit, though she was no more engaged in her book than before. Mr. Kingsley and Miss Caswell proved far too distracting for even the most fascinating treatise on the life cycle and habits of stoats.
A movement drew her attention from the page, and Sophie saw Miss Caswell on her feet. Mrs. Caswell had come to sit beside her daughter, and though Sophie couldn’t hear their conversation, there was a fractious air to it. Abandoning her own book, Miss Caswell stalked from the parlor, pausing for a moment to meet Sophie’s eyes in silent apology. Cocking her head to the side, Sophie wondered why the young lady felt she needed forgiveness, but before she could give it much thought, Miss Caswell strode through the doorway.
“She’s a sore loser,” murmured Mama. “How disappointing.”
Chapter 29
Sophie’s gaze whipped from the doorway to the seat beside her, which had been vacant a moment ago. Mama watched the empty doorway, her eyes sparkling with cool triumph.
