“Son.”
Oliver straightened at the sound of his father’s voice. There was no need for the jolt of surprise that had his throat tightening, for there was nothing untoward about chatting with a fellow guest. It was not as though his parents wished him to snub Miss Sophie. He’d done nothing wrong. Yet, as he turned to see his parents standing behind him, Oliver could not meet their eyes.
Chapter 15
“It is good to finally meet you,” said Miss Sophie, as Oliver made the introductions. The young lady gave them her brightest smile, but his parents met it with wary nods.
“My son and daughter have spoken of you,” said Mother. Though she hid her emotions away, Oliver sensed her unease beneath the words as she tightened her grip on Father’s arm.
“They’ve been quite welcoming,” replied Miss Sophie. “It has been a pleasure to make their acquaintance. I hope we may continue the association even after the party is over.”
“Perhaps,” said Father, though it was a tone Oliver had heard far too many times as a lad and was essentially a “no.”
But Miss Sophie’s good cheer never faltered. If she sensed the Kingsleys’ disquiet, she gave no sign of it, simply continuing to speak when his parents attempted to drag Oliver away.
“That is a lovely gown, Mrs. Kingsley. The color is so unique.”
Rather than appearing pleased with the compliment, Mother tightened her grip on Father, her features tensing.
“I cannot seem to put a finger on the precise name of the shade,” Miss Sophie continued, “though I can think of the hues to recreate it. A coral that borders more on pink than orange.”
“Quite unique,” said Mrs. Banfield as she came up beside her daughter. Oliver had no notion as to how the lady had appeared unnoticed, but there she was, inserting herself in an already uncomfortable conversation.
“But then Mrs. Kingsley has such a way with fashion,” added Mrs. Banfield. Though the lady’s compliment rang with the same earnest praise with which her daughter had spoken, there was an undertone of something else to her words that spoke of an insult, though Oliver knew not what it was.
Father opened his mouth to reply, but Mother spoke first.
“My thanks.” Her tone was not overtly rude, but neither did it display any true pleasure.
“Miss Sophie is an artist,” interjected Oliver, hoping that a shared interest might spur further discussion. “She enjoys watercolor like you, Mother.”
*
Her son spoke with too much abrupt force to be masked as a polite transition into another subject, but Mina hardly countenanced his words. In her mind, she saw him sitting beside the Banfield girl, speaking and laughing with her, delight gleaming in his gaze. There was no mistaking that look. Oliver admired Miss Sophie.
In a flash, the years pulled back like the cracking skin of an old onion, and Mina was transported to that awful time in her life when she’d watched Simon trip and fall over Mrs. Banfield. But now, it was Oliver taken in by a beguiling young lady, blind to the truth that lay behind the sweet mask. Plying Mina with honeyed words while laughing at her in secret.
Mrs. Banfield ignored Oliver’s conversational shift and turned her hard gaze on Mina, her eyes sparking a challenge. “I had thought such a color was inappropriate for a woman of your years, but it is perfect for you.”
Mina had thought herself beyond the age of blushing so readily. That once common practice of hers had faded with the years, but now, her cheeks blazed red like two ripe apples. Mina opened her mouth to set the lady down, but her thoughts fled her. She was a grown woman! Closer to her dotage than a young maiden. With decades behind her, Mina could not remember the last time she had quivered and quaked when facing a social adversary, yet here she was, wishing to flee.
“And Mr. Kingsley,” said Mrs. Banfield, slanting a sly smile at Mina before shifting her covetous gaze to Simon. “You are quite as handsome as ever. The years have not touched you one jot.”
Jaws clenched tight together, Mina fought not to glower at the woman as Mrs. Banfield’s gaze raked Simon’s frame. Her stomach burned inside her, begging her to silence Mrs. Banfield. But her mind and tongue seized while under her old enemy’s power.
“You are wasting your flattery on me, Mrs. Banfield, so I would beg you to keep your words to yourself,” snapped Simon, not bothering to mask his scowl.
Mrs. Banfield held a hand to her chest, her eyes widening. “I was merely being kind, and this is how you respond?”
Buried beneath Mina’s fury over her inaction was anger over the lady’s “compliment” of her husband. Simon had changed much over the years. Lines marked his eyes and the edges of his mouth. Gray hairs colored his temples and were sprinkled through his dark tresses. He was no longer the young man Mina had married but a gentleman who had five and sixty years to his credit; his face held the story of their life together, and Mina knew each mark and had watched it shift and alter over the years, growing more handsome with each one. How dare Mrs. Banfield strip that all away in favor of the young fool she’d known three decades ago!
Yet even as Mina attempted to gather those thoughts and set Mrs. Banfield straight, her thoughts fled. Any misstep would lead to further derision, and Mina’s thoughts refused to order themselves into anything coherent.
“Do not bother spouting your lies, Mrs. Banfield,” said Simon, narrowing his eyes at her. “We will tolerate your company as long as you are guests of Mr. and Mrs. Nelson, but we need not exchange false pleasantries. Keep your distance from me and my family.”
Mrs. Banfield straightened, her expression pulled into an affronted sneer that was as earnest as her earlier compliments, and then she turned, dragging her daughter away.
“That is why you cannot have anything to do with the Banfields and their ilk,” said Simon, turning a hard look at their son.
Oliver shook his head. “But—”
“Can you not see how poisonous they are?” said Simon, his arm growing taut beneath Mina’s touch. “Feigning kindness while sharpening their claws on their victims.”
“Simon, please,” whispered Mina as her husband’s tone rose.
Oliver turned a worried gaze to his mother, though his expression remained tight. “I am sorry for what Mrs. Banfield said.”
Mina shook her head. There was no apology necessary—not from her son, at any rate. She cursed herself for being so weak in the face of such meaningless words.
“Would you give us a moment?” asked Simon, nodding at Oliver to leave.
Their son glanced between the pair, his jaw clenching as those muscles twitched. Giving them a jerking nod, he turned away.
“Mina, darling…?”
“I am well, Simon,” she said, giving him some semblance of a smile as they strolled arm-in-arm away from the site of her shame.
“Do not lie to me,” he said, pulling her to face him. “I know she hurt you.”
Mina let out a puff, the tension of the last few minutes easing out of her. “I am more bothered that she has power over me. I am not the cowering little mouse she knew all those years ago, yet one look from her has me shaking in my shoes.”
Simon raised a hand to brush a thumb across the edge of her jaw, and his eyes warmed. “You were no mouse, Mina. You were patient and long-suffering. There is a difference. But I vividly recall when you unleashed your fury on me concerning her, and that was not the action of a coward.”
It was pointless to debate the point, as Mina knew Simon would never concede it, so she refocused on the more important concern.
“I’ve made a place for myself in Bristow,” she said as something stirred inside her heart, though she could not give it a name. “I’ve found my footing and earned the respect of those in the neighborhood.”
With each word, the sentiment took shape, filling her with such frustration at herself, her situation, and those behind it. “I may not be the darling of Bristow society, but I am accepted and well thought of. I have fought and strived to better myself and m
ove past those days when I was held prisoner by the bad opinions of others.”
Mina paused, taking Simon’s hands in hers and holding his gaze with all the intensity of her heart. “I love who I am, Simon. I can say that with all honesty, and I’ve worked hard to achieve it. Yet Mrs. Banfield swans in and undoes all my work with one look and a few foul words. How is that possible? Why am I so weak?”
Simon’s dark eyes held hers in a steady gaze, his heart shining through them as he lifted her hand to press a kiss to her gloved palm.
“You are not weak, darling. You never have been,” he murmured. “Strength comes in many forms, and your heart is too large to be unmoved by those intentionally cruel. Weakness would be for you to embrace their vicious manners. Instead, you fight through the pain, remaining true to the kind soul you are.”
Oh, that wonderful man. Mina’s heart expanded in her chest, filling her to bursting as she held his loving gaze.
“It is only natural that being faced with a former tormentor would stir up old pains and aches you thought had healed,” he added, his fingers stroking the backs of hers. “Sometimes one cannot see a wound still exists until someone jabs it.”
“But I will overcome it.”
“Of course you will.”
Mina let out a slow breath and nodded, taking her husband by the arm and leading him around the guests. Resolved she may be, but she was in no mood to leap back into the fray. Not yet.
“I will speak with Oliver,” said Simon, but Mina shook her head.
“That may make things worse. We cannot avoid the association—for now.”
“Are you certain?”
Mina nodded. “I do not like it, but we’ve already expressed our opinion on the matter. To force the issue may make her all the more appealing and hurt our standing with our son. It is only a few weeks.”
Simon sighed. “I cannot help but remember the last time you were forced to wait out your time with the Banfields. It did not end well for us.”
“It did in the end,” said Mina.
“At great cost.”
“This is different, darling. We are different,” said Mina. “I do not fear her meddling, and I will not allow her to disconcert me any further. I shall overcome it.”
“Yes, you shall,” said Simon, sending her a look filled with warmth, admiration, and such belief that if Mina hadn’t been certain before, she was now. One way or another, she would overcome whatever power Mrs. Banfield still held over her.
Chapter 16
Anyone with sense knew better than to depend on British weather cooperating with one’s plans. If one wanted sunshine, it was guaranteed to pour. When rain was needed, the skies cleared. And the rest of the time, it shifted between the two with enough frequency that one was guaranteed the best and worst weather several times in a single day.
Victoria wanted to know how the Nelsons managed for so many fine days in a row. Though there had been gloomy moments, the past sennight had left the party free to enjoy the outdoors most afternoons. Taking advantage of a particularly fine afternoon, the Nelsons laid out yet another vast spread of delectable treats. The ladies reclined in the sun—beneath tents, of course—while the gentlemen tested their fishing skills. All in all, it was quite a perfect day.
If only Victoria could enjoy it.
Mrs. Kingsley and Mrs. Thompson were seated at easels while the rest of their generation gave up any pretense of such diversions and withdrew to the far side of the canopy to gossip, unaware that Miriam and Miss Dosett had positioned themselves to be out of sight and mind but not out of hearing.
Hettie, Phyllis, and Lily were gathered round Victoria and prattled on as they painted and sketched. Victoria nodded and smiled at appropriate intervals, but having little artistic talent, she’d not bothered to feign interest in the supplies the Nelsons had provided. Being so occupied with their masterpieces and their conversation, her friends gave little notice of how her eyes drifted to Miss Banfield.
Having eschewed the blankets and chairs in favor of sitting directly on the grass, the young lady rested her watercolor journal atop her lap as her brushes moved across the paper to capture the world around her. Forest surrounded the clearing with great trees looming into the air, but often Miss Banfield’s attention was aimed at a single wildflower or insect. Once, Victoria had even found the young lady examining a pile of droppings, though what Miss Banfield found fascinating in such disgusting things was beyond her.
While keeping her face turned to her companions, Victoria’s focus was fixed upon that young lady who’d caught Mr. Kingsley’s eye.
Though not apparent at first glance Miss Banfield was a pretty creature whose features echoed her mother’s aging beauty. No doubt, the young lady chose such plain clothes and coiffures because anything fancier would hamper her explorations, but it also muted her loveliness as much as Victoria’s elaborate styling enhanced hers.
But Miss Banfield’s appearance neither placated nor stirred the aching worries that settled in Victoria’s stomach, for Mr. Kingsley’s attraction to the young lady had little to do with the outward.
It had been easy to dismiss Phyllis’s concerns about Mr. Kingsley’s wandering eye at first, but the past sennight had slowly stripped away that confidence. If Victoria were to believe the whispers, the gentleman escorted the young lady every morning as she traipsed around the countryside. Victoria gave little weight to rumors, but it was impossible to ignore how often her beau sought Miss Banfield’s company. Or his expression while deep in conversation with her. That glimmer in his eye. The tenderness in his smile. The peaceful joy he radiated whenever their heads were together.
Mr. Kingsley still sought out Victoria’s company with equal frequency, but she recognized the sentiments stirring for Miss Banfield, even if the gentleman himself didn’t recognize that his heart was straying.
Victoria’s muscles ached as though she had run from Hardington Hall to this secluded corner of the grounds, her stomach tying in knots as she feigned a nibble of food here and there; even if she felt inclined to eat, Victoria would not arm her insides with something that would just roil and churn, causing her distress for long hours after.
What was she to do?
“Have you seen your brother of late, Lily?” asked Victoria as she rose to her feet.
Lily held a board with watercolor paper fixed atop it, and she held out the painting, examining it this way and that. “I believe the other gentlemen dragged him off to fish.”
Victoria leaned over Lily’s shoulder and glanced at her work. “That is lovely.”
Lily shook her head. “I cannot stand watercolor.”
“You are too like your Uncle Graham,” added Mrs. Kingsley from her seat. An easel sat before her as she sent swirls of color across the paper, capturing with deft strokes the forest. “Watercolor requires patience, something I fear you both lack.”
“If the color would simply stay where I put it, I would have no qualms with the medium,” replied Lily, tossing her painting next to Phyllis and Hettie’s abandoned drawings.
But as the ladies spoke, Victoria’s thoughts strayed as Miss Banfield’s gaze rose to meet hers. Victoria’s lungs heaved, her pulse increasing as she held that young lady’s eyes. She didn’t know if it was fear or anger that sent her blood racing through her (as they were both present in equal measure), but she silently begged for everything to work out as it must. For Miss Banfield to leave Mr. Kingsley be.
The young lady had the integrity not to feign innocence over their silent battle; her complexion pinked, her eyes dropping to her sketch, though she abandoned her paintbrush and pencils on the grass beside her. Letting out a huff of air, Victoria felt little triumph at Miss Banfield’s humble posture. She could not blame the young lady for feeling as she did. Mr. Kingsley was a fine gentleman and would make a good husband. But his heart was already claimed, and she was not about to relinquish it.
For her family’s sake, Victoria couldn’t.
Making her excuses
, Victoria went in search of the gentleman. Her skirts were heavy enough to be unwieldy if they were truly out in the wilds, but like most fine houses, any grounds not needed for the master’s livelihood were manicured and controlled; even the most natural looking landscape was carefully crafted and designed by the likes of Capability Brown to give all the appearance of natural beauty with only the occasional crumbling ruin, Grecian temple, or other folly hinting that man had ever touched it. Thus, the path leading into the forest was wide and clear, and easily traversable.
The woods swallowed her up, the trees looming high above and casting her in shadows as Victoria wound her way towards the river. The sounds of water rushing over rocks grew as she drew closer, but the thud of her heart against her ribcage drowned it out.
Surely Mr. Kingsley would not throw her over. Not for some lady whom he’d just met.
But even as Victoria tried to calm her frantic heartbeat, she knew only a fool would ignore the free and easy manner in which the pair conversed. In truth, Victoria had come to enjoy Miss Banfield’s company. She was well-informed yet unassuming, and though she was soft-spoken, she was neither shy nor timid.
Victoria’s steps paused and she placed her hands on her hips, throwing her head back to stare up at the leaves above. Good heavens. The lady’s personality mirrored and complemented Mr. Kingsley’s far too closely. Shaking her head, Victoria’s steps came quicker as she marched along the forest lane. A similarity of disposition did not signify that he would throw her over. Victoria and he had been courting for so long, and a gentleman did not expend that amount of effort to simply walk away.
Yet there was nothing binding Victoria and Mr. Kingsley together. An understanding, certainly, but that may not preclude him from abandoning her.
What would she do? The question bounced around her mind like an overexcited bumblebee, begging for her to answer it, yet no answer was forthcoming. What could she do? It had taken years for her to secure a gentleman of good fortune.
Hearts Entwined (Victorian Love Book 3) Page 11