Hearts Entwined (Victorian Love Book 3)

by M. A. Nichols

  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.

  Sophie scoffed at that bit of sentimentality. Of course, it didn’t change the fact that it was a perfectly apt description, but she hoped she wouldn’t turn into some ridiculous lovestruck lady who swooned at the very thought of her dashing young gentleman.

  Snatching the proffered note, she dismissed the footman and broke the seal on the envelope. Her eyes flew through the missive, her shoulders dropping with each word, and she read it three more times before she fully grasped its meaning.

  Dear Miss Sophie,

  I fear I must beg your forgiveness. An issue has arisen that requires me to return to Essex immediately and will hold me there for the foreseeable future, which will make it impossible for me to honor our appointment. I do hope this does not cause you any distress, though I am disappointed we shan’t be granted the opportunity to explore Mackleford Hall’s gardens.

  I thank you for your company last night. You made a bleak evening a delight, and I count myself blessed for having made your acquaintance.

  Yours, etc.

  O. Kingsley

  With heavy footsteps, Sophie moved to her vanity and sat on the chair there, her eyes staring out at nothing and her hands clutching the note and flowers. The lightness in her heart evaporated as that sad organ shrank, leaving her both empty and heavy.

  Theirs was a short acquaintance. Hardly a few hours. Surely, she should not feel such dejection over the loss of something so insignificant. But though her heart did not break, there was no denying Mr. Kingsley had left his mark, and Sophie wondered how long it would take to fade.

  Chapter 4

  Essex

  Five years later

  The train bumped and swayed, and Sophie moved with the carriage, giving it no heed as her eyes tracked the words in her book. Mr. Ephraim’s treatise on the flora and fauna of southeast England was not the most comprehensive or insightful work about native wildlife, but it did provide her with a hint of what to expect from the coming month.

  The book flew out of her hands, and Sophie’s gaze darted to her brother. “Give that back.”

  But the villain merely smiled and held it out of reach. “What will you give me for it?”

  “The better question is what I will give you if you do not.” But no matter how she tried to grab at it, Allen kept a firm hand on the book. His finger was wedged between the pages, holding her place, but his dark eyes sparked with mischief.

  “Please, do not lose my place, Allen!”

  Sophie ought not to have spoken, for that only encouraged her brother to slip his finger free and shut the book with a decisive snap. Her shoulders slumped as he handed it back to her, leaving her to flip through the pages in search of her place.

  “Your reading time is well and truly over,” said Mama.

  “You know better, Sophie,” said Papa. “It is unhealthy to strain your eyes so.”

  “And you always scrunch your face when you read,” added Mama. “It is giving you wrinkles.”

  Relaxing her forehead, Sophie rubbed between her brows to loosen the crease there, willing it not to give credence to Mama’s worries. “I just need to find my place again, and I will put it away.”

  “As you always say and rarely do,” mumbled Allen.

  With quick movements, Sophie sorted through the chapters while wishing she could recall which she’d been in the midst of when a movement from across the carriage warned her Mama was reaching for it. Hands flying, Sophie threw her bookmark in as close as she could before the offending article was snatched from her a second time.

  “Really, Sophie,” said Mama, handing the book to Papa, who tucked it into his jacket pocket. “It is rude to ignore your companions.”

  “I have nothing to add to the conversation,” replied Sophie. “I have no opinion on Mr. and Mrs. Lammley’s economic situation or the state of the Forresters’ marriage.”

  Allen guffawed. “That was ages ago, Silly Little Sophie. We were discussing the house party, which should be of paramount interest to you.”

  Autumn had not taken hold and robbed the world of its summer warmth, yet a chill washed over Sophie at Allen’s declaration. Despite being wrapped in leather traveling gloves, her fingers were icicles, and Sophie rubbed at her hands to chase away the cold.

  “I cannot imagine what you mean,” she said.

  Allen and Mama leveled looks at her that told her they did not believe her words any more than she had.

  “Are we discussing all the eligible young ladies for Allen?” Sophie gave her brother a coy smile.

  “What need have I to be married?” replied Allen with a scoff. “Hugh and Louis are doing their best to populate the world with more Banfields, and with the annuity left to me by Great Aunt Margaret, I have no reason to shackle myself to a young lady.”

  “You have been blessed, my boy,” said Mama with a smile for her son before giving her daughter a sad shake of her head. “Really, Sophie. For all your bookish ways, you do enjoy spouting nonsense.”

  Harboring a love of reading hardly made her bookish, a bluestocking, or any of the other appellations people were so fond of bestowing upon her, though Sophie did not argue, for she took no offense at the designation. She only wished she deserved such a distinction. Curiosity alone did not a scholar make.

  Allen and Mama began rambling on about the forthcoming house party with Papa adding a bit here and there. Slowly and silently, Sophie took in a lungful of air, letting it out in a long breath as she nodded at the appropriate moments.

  A month at the Nelson’s home.

  A full month.

  Mama and Papa were fond of house parties, but they rarely extended beyond a sennight. A fortnight at the most. With the railroad crisscrossing across the countryside, it was no great difficulty to travel across counties, so few bothered with such lavish gatherings. Yet the Nelsons were eschewing modern convention to embrace the old, opulent ways—which did little for Sophie’s peace of mind concerning the forthcoming party.

  She wondered if she would ever acclimate to the swirling dervish her parents lived, and though she did not wish to turn back the clock, life had been far simpler when she’d spent it at her governess’s knee, being too young for her family to drag her about in society.

  Turning her face to the window, Sophie gazed out at the passing scene. The sun was high and full, warming the landscape to a glowing green. Though puffs of white dotted the blue, the light broke through in great golden shafts, brightening the world as though there were no impediments. Distant clouds promised rain, but for this moment, sunlight reigned.

  While there was a uniformity to E
ngland’s landscape, there were distinct details to every county. At this speed, Sophie could not see the nuances that made this part of the countryside unique from the others, and she couldn’t wait for the opportunity to explore Essex in depth.

  With the first class carriage at the rear of the train, they couldn’t hear the engine’s great clanking, hissing noises, but the occasional puff of steam floated by the window. Sophie wondered what it would be like to sit in the second or third classes, where windowpanes were not considered a necessity and one could feel the rush of the wind. Only the sway of the carriage and the evidence of her own eyes gave any indication that they traveled at such great speeds; Sophie hardly believed such marvels existed.

  “I understand the Nelsons invited the Dosetts to stay as well,” said Mama with an arched brow pointed at Sophie.

  Papa gave an appreciative nod. “The eldest stands to inherit a pretty property with a sizable income, and from what I have heard, the second is rumored to be in line to inherit from a distant cousin. Though the former is a better choice, either of them would be a fine prospect.”

  Sophie hid her shudder. Fine prospects indeed, if “fine” meant a husband who spoke little sense, prized handsome horseflesh above all else, and was bound to gamble and drink their fortune into nothing. Fates protect her from such fine prospects.

  “And the Nelson heir is as well—though a tad young,” continued Mama, and Sophie gave no sign of agreement or dissent, simply nodding here and there to feign a listening ear.

  “I hear Mr. Nelson keeps a fine pack of hunting dogs on his estate,” said Allen, rubbing his hands together. “It is too early for foxes, but I do hope we shall do some shooting and see their animals in action.”

  “Bah,” replied Papa. “Fishing is where the true sport is at, my boy. It takes skill to choose the proper gear and situation and then guide your lure to your prey. In hunting, all that is required is a good shot, and even that is debatable when the gamekeepers throw great flocks of birds at you. It takes more skill to miss in those circumstances.”

  They devolved into that old debate of theirs, regardless of how Mama attempted to sway it back to her daughter’s marriage prospects. Turning her gaze back to the landscape, Sophie ignored the conversation and thought through her plans for the visit. It was late in the season, which limited much of the flora she wished to find, but there were a few species of butterflies she might spy.

  Her mind was so full of taxonomy and identifying markers that Sophie didn’t notice their speed slowing, only coming back to herself when the train stopped at the Chelmsford station. In short order, the Nelsons’ grooms and footmen whisked them from the train and towards a pair of waiting carriages, and the Banfields discovered they were not the only guests to arrive at that moment.

  A husband and wife stood with their two daughters: one of whom looked barely old enough to have left the schoolroom and the other nearer to Sophie’s five and twenty. The elder’s features were unremarkable, but her coiffure and gown were the height of fashion, and she bore herself with such poise and confidence that Sophie doubted the young lady ever felt a moment of self-doubt, which more than made up for her lack of natural beauty. The young lady was quite striking.

  “Mr. Caswell,” greeted Papa with a handshake, and in quick succession, acquaintances were renewed and made as applicable. Before Sophie knew it, luggage was gathered, and she was trundled into a carriage in Mr. Caswell’s place so that he and Papa could continue chatting.

  “Besides, it is yet another hour or so journey, and this will give you time to forge a friendship with the young ladies,” Papa insisted as he nudged her towards the other carriage.

  Sophie cast a lingering, hopeful look at the carriage her family was taking, but none of them gave her a second look. The young Miss Miriam Caswell fairly bounced on her toes as the party took their seats, and Sophie found herself staring at the young girl and her mother, while Miss Victoria Caswell sat to Sophie’s right.

  This was one of the many reasons why she dreaded house parties. Truth be told, Sophie did not dislike people. Nor did the thought of speaking with strangers terrify her. But being shut into a carriage with three was an enterprise fraught with disaster. Sophie had nothing to offer in terms of fashionable conversation, and though she gossiped as much as the next person, she knew too few people to make the tittle-tattle worth knowing.

  Now, Sophie was stuck with three veritable strangers and was expected to make conversation. Having been placed in this position time and time again, she knew the first five minutes would set the tone for this final leg of the journey; it never took long for her to sort out whether she had a place among her companions or would be relegated to the awkward observer.

  “You must tell me everything about your brother, Miss Sophie,” said Miss Miriam, clasping her hands in her lap and leaning forward.

  Sophie blinked at the young lady, but it was Mrs. Caswell who spoke.

  “Oh, really, Miriam.” Mrs. Caswell’s lips puckered, her expression scrunching. “You mustn’t be so forward.”

  “But he was quite handsome, Mama.” Miss Miriam fairly sighed as the coach lurched forward, forcing her into the squabs.

  “And a second son.” Mrs. Caswell said the words as though they were akin to “maiden-eating dragon.”

  Miriam would be better off setting her sights on some other gentleman, but Sophie could not help but stir the waters a touch. “Yes, Hugh has the distinction of being eldest, but my father’s maiden aunt doted on Allen and ensured he is provided for.”

  Perhaps Sophie would have felt more terrible about offering up that information (for it was bound to cause trouble), but when Mrs. Caswell’s look turned from disdainful to calculating, any guilt fled. Some of the most skilled matrons had tried to snatch him up, and Allen remained unshackled; if Mrs. Caswell wished to try her hand at ensnaring him, she would get the disappointment she deserved.

  “I am determined to fall in love by the end of this trip,” said Miss Miriam with a dramatic sigh, smoothing her skirts.

  “Dearest,” said her sister, “this is your first step into society. There is plenty of time for falling in love.”

  “I have spent years preparing for this moment, and I mean to enjoy it to the fullest. And that includes falling in love.” Miss Miriam gave a decisive nod, as though that was all it required to see her desires come to fruition, and Sophie silently wished her luck. Though she’d never found any joy in playing with hearts in such a manner, there were plenty who reveled in traipsing from romance to romance.

  “You must forgive my sister, Miss Banfield. Though my parents have declared Miriam ready for society, I fear society may not be ready for her,” said Miss Caswell with a smile that robbed her words of any cruelty.

  Miss Miriam stuck out her tongue, and Mrs. Caswell gave a hissing, “Girls.” Her daughters merely laughed at their harried mama, and Sophie fought back a smile. What would it be like to have a sister with whom she shared that sort of playful relationship? Even after years spent in close quarters with Fanny and Amy, her sisters had never teased. Not good-naturedly at any rate.

  “But you haven’t said a word about your brother yet,” said Miss Miriam. “What should I do to turn his head?”

  “Wear a gown.” The words came out quickly, and Sophie’s cheeks threatened to pinken, but Miss Caswell gave a snorting chuckle, and Sophie bit back a laugh.

  “My brother is not terribly imaginative, Miss Miriam. He enjoys horses, hunting, and gambling. He despises being useful and does not find it endearing in others. But more than anything, be aloof. Though he enjoys being the object of admiration, Allen grows bored with any lady who dares to show interest. He adores the hunt.”

  “That does sound rather unimaginative, Miss Banfield,” said Miss Caswell with a wry smile. “You just described all the eligible young bachelors the Nelsons are hosting.”

  Sophie echoed Miss Caswell’s grin, and for the first time since Mama had announced that they were joining the Nelso
ns’ house party, Sophie felt happy at the prospect. Perhaps here was a young lady who did not view her with suspicion (for how else does one see a competitor?) or dismiss her off-hand for not meeting the ideal of a fashionable young lady. No, Miss Caswell was returning Sophie’s jests.

  “Eligible young bachelors…” Miss Miriam fairly sighed the words as though this was the pinnacle of perfection any young lady could wish for. “Perhaps I shall fall in love many times before we return home.”

  “For all the lavish entertainments the Nelsons have arranged for this party, I daresay Miss Miriam may provide a fair bit of her own to witness,” said Sophie, giving Miss Caswell a hint of a smile.

  The young lady gave her sister an appraising eye. “And she is determined enough to set those young fools on a merry chase.”

  Miss Miriam crossed her arms. “Not all of us have had the good fortune to find a catch like your Mr. Kingsley.”

  The name slipped from Miss Miriam’s lips, and the very ground beneath them stopped moving, as though the world itself had halted on its axis, holding Sophie prisoner in that moment. Mr. Kingsley. Surely that was not an uncommon name. It might be any number of Mr. Kingsleys that existed in the world.

  “Mr. Kingsley?” Sophie spoke his name before she could think the better of it.

  “He and Victoria are courting,” said Miss Miriam with a wide smile that matched her sister’s.

  “The wedding is not yet set,” added Mrs. Caswell, “but Mr. Kingsley has made it clear this party will be the setting of a grand announcement.”

  Even a simpleton would recognize the implication thick in her tone as she spoke the words, and Sophie’s heart ceased beating altogether as she said, “My mama did not mention a Mr. Kingsley on the guest list.”

  Miss Miriam waved that away. “The Kingsleys are the Nelsons’ nearest neighbor, and though not a member of the party proper, his family and some other members of the Bristow elite will participate in much of it. I am anxious to see the future home of our soon-to-be Mrs. Oliver Kingsley.”