“My sister Amy wrote today to ask me to stay awhile with her,” she said with a brittle brightness. “As diverting as my trip to Bristow has been, she requires my assistance, and I fear I cannot wait until the house party is finished.”
Rising to his feet, Oliver gave her a low bow. “Then I wish you godspeed. I…”
But his voice broke over the words he wished to say. The things he ought not to speak. It did no good to tell her just how much he longed for the world to be different. How he wished there were no impediments between them. To speak such words now would only cause her more pain, so he swallowed them and allowed those unspoken declarations to fester inside.
What good did it do to tell her he felt like sitting beside her for the rest of his life? This was the end of it. He would not allow his actions to cause more harm.
With a final bow, Oliver strode away. He forced his shoulders upright, adopting a confident posture; perhaps if he acted the part, the sickening twist of his chest would ease. Time was all he needed—and to ignore the whispers in the back of his mind that told him this was a grave mistake. Before this wretched house party, Oliver had felt certain of his decision (or as certain as any man can feel when on the cusp of marrying), and that assuredness would return if he did not dwell on what could not be.
*
Stories were lies. Like the fairy tales and folklore of old, they were happy little tales spun to assure the audience that right always triumphs, wrong always fails, and those trapped in an unrequited love simply die of a broken heart. Sophie did not wish for such a grisly ending, but the pain of watching Mr. Kingsley give his final farewell was compounded by the thought that there was no relief to be found from it.
Time would ease it some, but Sophie would forever regret this loss.
Her chin trembled, and she sucked in a deep breath, holding it as she willed herself to hold fast to her composure. No one was overt enough to gape at them, but she felt the other guests’ attention on her and knew that most, if not all, had witnessed their interlude. They could not know the words they’d exchanged, and Sophie would not give them fodder for their gossip by weeping.
This was for the best. Surely it was.
Sophie could not reason her way into understanding how it was best for her, but Mr. Kingsley was acting honorably. He was remaining true to his commitment to Miss Caswell and his family. Whatever pain she suffered now was of her own making for allowing herself to grow attached to him, despite knowing his situation.
Rising to her feet, Sophie brushed off her skirts and retrieved her book. There was work to be before her trip tomorrow. Luggage to pack. Lies to fabricate. No doubt Mama would wish her to stay, and Amy would not be best pleased with her youngest sister arriving with little warning, but it was as good a reason as any to flee from Bristow. Besides, any malcontent could be assuaged with a box of chocolates and marzipans from Amy’s favorite shop.
In short order, it could all be settled, and the time was long past for her to disappear from Mr. Oliver Kingsley’s life.
Chapter 23
Crossing the grounds with quick steps, Oliver avoided the others; to one side of the pond was a thicket, which provided some solitude, and he turned his feet in that direction. He felt Miss Sophie’s eyes on him as he fled, and he sent a silent petition heavenward, praying his actions had done no serious harm to her. That his heart was bruised was his fault, but Miss Sophie did not deserve to suffer.
What a fool he was! In the midst of flagellating himself, Oliver did not notice the voices ahead until he was nearly atop the pair standing beside his intended hiding place.
“Get your hands off me!” said Father, his words a near growl.
“You Kingsley men are so coy,” Mrs. Banfield replied in a sultry purr.
With a few hurried steps, Oliver rounded the thicket and saw the lady draped around Father, who was attempting to untangle himself without hurting her. Mrs. Banfield pawed at the fellow, her lips coming close to his jaw, and he jerked away.
“Keep your distance from me and my son!”
Mrs. Banfield gave that ridiculous pout. “And what if he cannot stay away from me? Like his father, he has a weakness for Banfield ladies.”
Father’s face reddened, and he looked ready to cast her into the pond right then. “I rejected your propositions then, and I reject them now. Whatever shred of attraction I felt for you died a long time ago. Do you think you could ever compare to my wife? Now, desist this ridiculous flirtation and leave us be!”
Sucking in a breath that strained her décolletage, Mrs. Banfield turned away from Father with a toss of her head as though it mattered little to her, but there was a hardness in her gaze. And then she spied Oliver, and she arched a brow at him with a smile that held that ever-present invitation. His stomach turned.
“Leave!” Father barked.
A flash of pain pinched Mrs. Banfield’s features before she glided away, and Father turned a burning gaze to his son.
“Do you see what that family is?” he said through clenched teeth, jabbing a finger at her as she disappeared.
Oliver held up his hands, his brows pulled together. “I—”
“No matter how explicitly I deny her, I cannot spend even a few minutes alone without her haranguing me, desperate to add me to her list of conquests and hurt your mother in the process. And yet you are willingly casting aside a good lady in favor of a Banfield—”
“I am doing nothing of the sort!”
“Do you honestly think that anyone who has witnessed your behavior of late believes that?” Father’s voice rose with each word, but he caught himself, letting out a huff of a breath. He placed his hands on his hips, and he dropped his head.
Father stood there for several silent moments. The sound of chatter and laughter echoed in the distance, and when he spoke again, his voice barely carried over it. “I do not speak out of turn, Oliver. Your interest in the Banfield girl has been marked by every member of the party. You are toying with the affections of two ladies, and if you care for either of them, you must desist.”
Shifting from foot to foot, Oliver relaxed his jaw and released the breath stuck in his lungs. “I know, and I cannot bear the thought of causing them any more heartache. I’ve already broken with Miss Sophie.”
Father sighed with a faint smile. “It’s for the best.”
Oliver’s stomach gave a sour turn, his heart dropping in his chest as he nodded; that simple movement felt like the worst lie he’d ever spoken. And something in Father’s expression said he understood Oliver’s disbelief.
Meeting his son’s eyes with unflinching strength, his father confessed, “I courted Mrs. Banfield before I met your mother. I thought myself madly in love with her, and that no other could ever hold my heart as she did. When she married another, I was foolish enough to believe I would never love again.”
Father huffed, shaking his head at his past self as his eyes drifted away for several quiet moments.
“You know your mother and I married for convenience, but when we exchanged vows, I was still enamored with Mrs. Banfield. I kept your mother at arm’s length because I believed my feelings for her could never compare to the silly sentiments I harbored for that woman.”
Shifting, Father kicked at the ground, grinding his teeth together. He took a deep breath through his nose before he continued. “Then Mrs. Banfield and I were thrown together in a situation similar to your own, and I sought her out time and time again, convinced my behavior was innocent. Warm friendship. Nothing more. And all the while, my dear, endlessly kind, and beautiful wife’s heart broke as I fawned over another.”
Tugging at the stock tied around his neck, Father rubbed a finger across the crooked bend of his nose. “To this day, I cannot think back on my behavior without abhorrence. I was never unfaithful to your mother, but neither was I the faithful husband she deserved.”
He gave another huff and kicked at the ground again. “With time, I came to see the truth behind Mrs. Banfield’s demur
e mask. She didn’t care for me, and what I felt for her was nothing but an infatuation kept alive by my own stupidity and stubbornness.”
“Father—”
But the gentleman shook his head. “You are committing the same folly, Oliver. Learn from my mistake and let go of this infatuation before it costs you dearly.”
Oliver tucked his hands behind him, his gaze turning to the pond. There was a little breeze, causing ripples along the glassy surface; the green of the foliage and grass created a stark contrast to the dark water. But his thoughts were far from the idyllic view before him.
Father’s words only confirmed and strengthened his decision to sever ties to Miss Sophie, but the weight pressing on his chest did not lighten.
“As I have said, I know my duty, and I shan’t shirk my responsibility to my family or Miss Caswell,” said Oliver, his strength ebbing with each word; he maintained his upright posture with the last of his reserves.
“Duty and responsibility?” Father’s brows rose high, his tone echoing that surprise. “You sound like a condemned man.”
But Oliver was past the point of discussion. There was no more to say, nothing more to be done, and it did no good to bemoan his situation. Father called after him but, thankfully, did not follow as Oliver turned back to the party and strode to where Lily and the other young ladies played.
“Mr. Kingsley.” Miss Caswell clutched her battledore before her with a tight smile, and Oliver felt a flush of shame, knowing that his behavior was the source of her unease.
“Would you join me for a stroll around the garden?” Forcing all other thoughts from his mind, Oliver gave her a warm smile. Regardless of his current torment, he was always pleased to see her, and it was best to focus on that.
“Certainly,” she said, taking his proffered arm.
Oliver forced his feet to maintain a languid pace as the pair wound their way around the others and towards the ornate gardens. With more distance, Miss Caswell’s tension eased, her smile growing more natural, and the pressure in his chest subsided. Here was a fine choice for his future. The proper wife.
Repeating those words in his mind, Oliver forced his thoughts to focus solely on the delightful young lady at his side.
*
It was nothing but an infatuation. The words didn’t do much to unravel the knot Victoria’s heart had twisted itself into, but she clung to them as Oliver Kingsley led them away from the others and into the formal gardens. The Nelsons’ grounds were truly lovely, but the effect of the flowers and manicured shrubs was lost on her, as her thoughts returned again and again to the sight of her beau seated beside Miss Sophia Banfield.
Surely it was naught but a passing flirtation. Something forgotten as quickly as it had struck. And Mr. Kingsley was still attentive, spending more time with her over the last few days than he had with Sophie.
But no self-imposed deception allowed Victoria to ignore how Mr. Kingsley’s eyes brightened at the sight of that young lady. The aura of satisfaction he always had when in her company, as though he was meant to be by her side. No matter how Victoria attempted to pass it off as meaningless, her conscience would not allow that lie to stand uncontested.
Mr. Kingsley was more than infatuated with Sophie. But surely it wasn’t anything close to love. The pair hardly knew each other.
Victoria winced at the recriminating thought that recalled the rapid manner in which her feelings for Mr. Dixon had developed so long ago during a chance meeting at a ball. It hadn’t been an instantaneous love—Victoria wasn’t certain such a thing existed—but interest had developed into an attachment and then something deeper in a matter of days. For some, it took months or years to develop such strong attachments, but she could not guard her heart when every interaction with Mr. Dixon had shown her more and more reasons to admire him.
As she and Mr. Kingsley stepped towards the gardens, she felt Mr. Dixon’s gaze following her, and only when the greenery of the formal garden enveloped them, blocking them from view, was she able to let out the breath she’d been holding.
Victoria was not one to fumble with her words, but her tongue was cemented to the roof of her mouth, refusing to offer up even the slightest bit of assistance. And Mr. Kingsley was of no help. Breezes brushed the bushes; their rustling foliage and the distant sound of the others were the only sounds breaking the silence.
Conversation was always easy between them. Victoria could not think of another time when she’d struggled for words with Mr. Kingsley, but the silence pressed down on her. It bore witness to the shift in their situation, and Victoria’s heartbeat increased as she fought for a solution.
“Kiss me,” she blurted.
Mr. Kingsley stumbled to a stop and turned his gaze to hers with brows raised. Victoria winced at her idiocy, but she could not retreat now. Though her words had been hasty and poorly cobbled together, it did not lessen their importance.
“The time has passed for us to settle things between us, as we have courted for nigh on a year.” She fought the impulse to fidget and held herself erect, meeting his gaze without blinking, though her heart trembled in her chest. “And I was under the impression that this gathering might mark the end of the waiting.”
It was more than an impression, for the engagement had been settled in all but name, but there was no need to belabor that point. They both knew the truth.
Mr. Kingsley tucked his hands behind him, and they stood face to face as though discussing a business arrangement, which Victoria supposed this was—even if she truly liked and admired her intended business partner.
“I suppose I should be more circumspect, but I do not see the point in waiting any longer.” Victoria was not one for fibs, and that statement leapt straight into a blatant falsehood. Her resolve weakened with each thought of Mr. Dixon’s whispered declarations. Merely meeting his gaze was enough to allow her determination to crumble further. To say nothing of her beau’s waning interest.
“We know each other quite well, Mr. Kingsley. Is there a reason to equivocate?”
He nodded, giving no words to the thoughts she saw buzzing about his head like the bees flitting around the garden. Taking Victoria by the hand, he pulled her close, and she fumbled to know what to do with her hands. Placing them on his chest felt unnatural, though it was no more comfortable to place them on his shoulders or wrap her arms around him.
His hand rested on her back, and Mr. Kingsley leaned forward but his toes caught hers, and Victoria squeaked and stumbled into him, their arms pulling them together reflexively. Then his lips pressed to hers, and Victoria closed her eyes, willing her heart to latch onto this dear man. But it was difficult to concentrate when every touch brought comparisons to Mr. Dixon. Mr. Kingsley’s kiss was more than a perfunctory touch, but even as it deepened, Victoria searched for a spark of passion or delight to be found in his embrace. The motions did not differ much from those she’d shared with Mr. Dixon, yet they felt like a different beast altogether—some foreign, alien creature that did not belong in the same genus.
The kiss slowed, and the couple parted, their embrace holding them close as Victoria met Mr. Kingsley’s gaze. They say the eyes are the window to the soul, and it was a truth so universal that some variation of that proverb had existed for hundreds of years and across countless cultures. One’s eyes speak with a language all their own, communicating the deepest heart, and Mr. Kingsley’s were no exception. Instead of a spark of pleasure, she was met with eyes dulled by resignation and disappointment. Eyes that mirrored Victoria’s own.
“Miss Caswell, will you marry—”
“No, Mr. Kingsley.” Victoria forced the words out before she had the opportunity to rethink this hasty course of action.
Even speaking the words brought a sour turn to her stomach, but it was far less painful than the twist of guilt that struck at the thought of sacrificing Mr. Kingsley’s happiness for her family’s sake. Perhaps if she’d caught a hint of contentment in his gaze she could move forward with a marriage bas
ed on friendship, but she could not bring herself to force Mr. Kingsley to play the part of the honor-bound groom.
“I think it time we have a frank discussion,” she said, stepping back to slump onto the stone barrier lining the path.
Chapter 24
When one has kissed a young lady and proposed matrimony, one expected the young lady to accept with overflowing declarations of joy or perhaps even swoon. Though Oliver knew better than to expect the latter from Miss Caswell, a vehement denial was certainly unexpected. His jumbled thoughts attempted to grasp the situation, but these thoughts were overshadowed by the lightness that filled his chest at her refusal.
A man ought to feel distraught. Shouldn’t he?
But then again, a man ought to feel some stirring of passion when locked in a young lady’s embrace. The kiss had been pleasant enough, and there was no denying that he’d responded to it as any man would when an attractive woman threw herself in his arms, but it was lacking. Oliver hated viewing the experience in such a light, but he couldn’t deny that his response to Miss Caswell was nothing more than perfunctory.
Needing a seat, Oliver collapsed onto the wall beside Miss Caswell.
“That did not go as anticipated,” he murmured.
Miss Caswell turned her head to glance at him with raised brows, a sad smile on her lips that held more than a touch of self-mockery. The pair looked at each other for several long, silent moments before Oliver gave a huffing chuckle, and Miss Caswell joined in his low laughter.
“That was not how I had imagined this moment.” Miss Caswell drew her hands into her lap and sighed with a shake of her head.
“Then I am not alone in my confusion?”
Miss Caswell’s brows rose. “I am not confused about the kiss, but I am at a loss as to why you would propose when you love another.”
Hearts Entwined (Victorian Love Book 3) Page 16
