Hearts Entwined (Victorian Love Book 3)

by M. A. Nichols

  “I do care for you,” said Mr. Kingsley.

  “As I care for you,” came her quick reply. “But not as a husband and wife ought to.”

  Mr. Kingsley gave a huff. “It would make things simpler if we married.”

  Victoria glared at the fool. “So help me, Mr. Oliver Kingsley, if you say such a thing again, I will accept your proposal, force you into a marriage of convenience, and do my utmost to torment you for the rest of your life.”

  He winced. “I’m simply saying it is the easier course of action.”

  “But not happier.” Resting a hand on his knee, Victoria held his gaze, not allowing Mr. Kingsley to turn away from the depth of her feelings and the truth of her words. “You must promise to at least attempt to follow your heart. Courting Sophia Banfield may not be easy, but do not allow this happy possibility to pass you by without giving it a chance to flourish. You two may not suit in the end, but do not cry retreat until you are certain.”

  “May I point out yet again that this is an extremely odd conversation to have with your beau?”

  Victoria gave his knee a light smack and narrowed her eyes once more. “Promise me.”

  Mr. Kingsley’s smile warmed. “I give you my word to pursue it to its conclusion—whatever that may be.”

  Giving him a nod, Victoria relaxed once more as they lapsed into another silence. Pushing aside thoughts of the impending tempest, she reveled in the quiet before the storm. Reality lay outside the garden walls, and she was not ready to face it. Not yet. Hiding was not a long-term solution, but a moment of solace was exactly what she needed.

  The tightly shaped shrubbery made hardly a sound, though the persistent breeze rustled a leaf or two as a songbird trilled a joyful tune. The sun hung high in the sky, but the wings of Hardington Hall provided enough shade to keep them from becoming overheated. Victoria would always prefer the energy of the city, yet this perfect pastoral scene made her understand the appeal of country life. And Mr. Kingsley belonged here as surely as Victoria belonged in London.

  “Are you ready to face the hordes again?” he asked.

  Victoria groaned, covering her face as the scope of their situation struck her, chasing away her temporary haven.

  “Perhaps we should just marry,” she mumbled.

  Mr. Kingsley’s brows rose at that, and Victoria gave him a commiserating smile—though the fellow clearly did not understand why he deserved it.

  “No doubt they believe we are now engaged and are awaiting our return to celebrate the news,” she said.

  He grimaced and ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

  Victoria swatted away his hands and smoothed the riotous locks. “You are not helping by making yourself look rumpled. There will be all sorts of rumors about what we were up to.”

  “You are right yet again, Miss Caswell,” he said, his shoulders slumping. “I suppose there is nothing to be done about it, and we must face them at some point.”

  Getting to her feet, Victoria smoothed her skirts, and Mr. Kingsley picked off a stray leaf and blade of grass that grasped the fabric, though it would do little good, as the eager eyes awaiting their return would notice every detail and extrapolate scandalous conclusions.

  Victoria took Mr. Kingsley’s arm, and they meandered back to the group while she focused on calming her heartbeat and breath. It would not do to look joyous or depressed, so she schooled her features into that pleasantly bland mask everyone affected in society. To all outward appearances, the couple looked as though they had simply enjoyed the afternoon air and toured the garden together. A wholly unremarkable interlude.

  “If the others ask—” began Mr. Kingsley.

  “They will.”

  “When the others ask,” he corrected, “do not feel the need to protect my reputation. As this is my doing, I ought to bear the brunt of it.”

  Pulling the gentleman to a stop, Victoria crossed her arms and faced him. “And why would I do that? If you recall, I was the one who rejected you before you could get through your ridiculous proposal. And proceeded to talk you out of forcing the issue when you were too pig-headed for your good.”

  Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Mr. Kingsley pinched his lips together as he turned his face to the sky, shaking his head. “You will never let me forget that, will you?”

  The situation did not deserve a laugh, but Victoria felt like doing so anyway. “Not until you make things right with your lady love.” Taking his arm once more, she pulled him along the path with a smile. “If you must know, I plan on telling them the truth: we do not suit. That is the heart of the issue, and the details of our parting are no one’s business but our own.”

  Mr. Kingsley slanted a glance in Victoria’s direction. “You are being far kinder than I deserve.”

  “That assumes I am merely a victim of your choices, but we both had a hand in this,” she replied.

  Victoria did not know if Mr. Kingsley intended to argue the point, but as they were fast approaching the others, there was nothing more to be said. What was done was done. She repeated that to herself as her parents and friends all turned towards them at their approach. Victoria counted herself lucky that any announcement was expected only after their respective families had been told privately; her friends fairly vibrated with the need to know what had transpired, but none would be so gauche as to ask the couple directly.

  Not yet.

  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.

  This would not do. Sophie gritted her teeth, her eyes squeezed tight as she forced herself to turn away from such thoughts. There was no good to be had in dwelling on that which could not be. Tomorrow she would leave Bristow and never see him again.

  But it was impossible to ignore thoughts of Mr. Kingsley when everything around her sparked some memory of him. Even the breeze carried his voice, calling out to her like a phantom set to haunt her the rest of her existence.

  Silly Little Sophie. Never had that appellation been more apt.

  Mr. Kingsley’s voice rang out once more, and just as she was determined to cover her ears, Sophie noticed footsteps accompanying it. She didn’t think phantoms had feet.

  Lifting her head from her knees, Sophie saw the gentleman in question striding quickly to her, and pain pricked at her temple. Taking in a breath to ease the knot in her chest, she wished she could hide. The polite thing to do would be to stand and greet him properly, but Sophie didn’t trust her limbs to keep her upright.

  “Miss Sophie.” Mr. Kingsley came to a stop just before her, and Sophie hugged her knees, her neck cricking as she looked up at him.

  “What are you doing here, Mr. Kingsley? I thought everything had been settled between us.”

  Mr. Kingsley opened and closed his mouth several times. With one hand he scratched at his head, mussing his hair into an adorable mess.

  “Miss Sophie…” He fidgeted some more. “I thought through my words the entire trek here, and yet I fear they’ve abandoned me.”

  Flinching as raindrops began falling in earnest, Mr. Kingsley stepped under the canopy. Sophie shifted as though to stand, and he took her by the hand, pulling her to her feet. She wasn’t sure when her gloves had gone missing, but the feel of his bare hands against hers sent a shock running through her. Sophie leaned against the trunk, allowing the roughness of the bark to ground her in reality—though it did little to help, as Mr. Kingsley did not relinquish his hold once she was upright.

  Lifting his other hand, Mr. Kingsley shoved a bedraggled posy of wildflowers at her, his brows creasing as he took in their sad state. The stems and many of the leaves were crushed in his grip and the rain had done its fair share to damage the blossoms.

  “They looked prettier when I picked them,” he mumbled as the delicate blooms drooped over the side of his hand.

  Sophie nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Digging deep inside, she managed to smile as the gentleman verbally stumbled over himself while apologizing for their sad state.

  “I wanted to present you with something more fitting,” he added, but Sophie thought them quite fitting as they matched the sorry state of her heart. “I wished to ask you if I might call on you tomorrow.”

  Sophie’s brows furrowed. “That would make it difficult to maintain the distance we agreed upon. Besides, tomorrow I am bound for Nottinghamshire.”

  Mr. Kingsley frowned, his lips pinching together as he shifted in place. “I know what we agreed to do, Miss Sophie, but things have changed…I had thought…we might go for a drive…” He puffed out his cheeks with a heavy sigh. “Please don’t leave.”

  Breath caught in her chest, Sophie stared at him, scrambling to decipher his meaning. A drive was so much more than the informal outings and meetings they’d shared. It implied something that Sophie dared not hope he meant. Her gaze fell to their hands, which were still clasped together.

  “Miss Caswell may not be pleased with that,” she replied.

  He gave a huffing laugh. “She may bludgeon me if I let you leave.”

  When Sophie simply stared at him, Mr. Kingsley added, “Miss Caswell and I have parted ways.”

  Her breath came in quick, panting bursts, and Sophie
struggled to control it as she was trapped in his warm gaze.

  “Then you are not engaged?” she whispered.

  “Not in the slightest.” His grin grew at that, and Sophie’s own matched his. “Luckily, Miss Caswell has saved this stubborn fool from his folly and broken ties with me. Despite all expectations to the contrary, Miss Caswell would not engage herself when my heart is so clearly enamored with you.”

  And then he echoed his previous question. “Would you honor me with a drive tomorrow? And allow me to escort you to the Nelsons’ ball the week after next? And squire you about the countryside to examine flowers and insects and anything else you like?”

  Now, instead of rapid breaths, Sophie found her lungs did not work after that rapid succession of questions. She knew she must look the fool with her mouth gaping and eyes wide, but there was no mistaking his intent. Her hands held fast to his, and Sophie began to nod, her lips forming the answer she desperately wanted to give—but then rational thought made itself known, recalling precisely why that mightn’t be the best decision.

  “And what of your family’s objections?” she asked.

  *

  When he was ten years old, Oliver took a nasty fall from a horse. Having ridden from a young age, it wasn’t the first time he’d taken a tumble, but that time was particularly painful and terrifying. Having struck the ground, pain shot through him, but that was quickly overshadowed when his lungs seized. His breath was gone, and no matter how he struggled, Oliver could not fill them again. Though it had taken only a few seconds for them to work once more, that time had seemed to stretch into minutes and hours as he’d lain there, fighting for breath.

  Miss Sophie’s question had much the same effect.

  “What do you know of that?” he finally asked.

  Her lids lowered, and though she slackened her hold on his hand, she did not release him—not that Oliver would have given up so easily. Not now.