Victoria’s steps paused, her hands twisting together as a weight settled onto her shoulders, threatening to crush her beneath it.
It had taken years to secure a gentleman of good fortune whom she also admired. Victoria had never bothered hoping for love; it was too much to believe she could find that and the means to secure her family’s happiness in the same gentleman. But friendship was enough, and Victoria had hunted for years to find just such a gentleman.
And now, he was slipping through her fingers like London fog.
What would happen to her family then?
Scowling at herself, Victoria sent a scathing rebuke inward. She was no flighty miss who cried defeat at the first sign of difficulty. Besides, she and Mr. Kingsley shared a mutual admiration and friendship, and that had not changed since Miss Banfield had arrived, so why would Victoria allow herself to be overtaken with thoughts of despair simply because Mr. Kingsley enjoyed the company of another as well?
“Miss Caswell.”
No other sound could strike Victoria with such force; it wasn’t the words spoken but the clear, distinct tone that belonged solely to Mr. Dixon. His voice wrapped around her, delving deep into her heart and filling her with such strength that she felt as though she could sprint back to London and not feel the slightest bit faint.
“Good afternoon,” she replied, though her thoughts were more focused on calming her heaving lungs. A slow breath in and out. Again and again. And with each breath, sanity prevailed, not only robbing her of the elation she’d felt but filling her limbs with a leaden weight until Victoria was certain she could not move from that spot, though she ought not to stay.
“I am surprised you are not with the other gentlemen,” added Victoria, tucking her hands behind her and not allowing herself to meet the gentleman’s eyes.
Mr. Dixon’s footsteps were muted by the soft dirt path, but Victoria sensed him moving closer, though her gaze remained fixed on the tufts of grass and ferns sprouting along the base of the trees and the moss climbing its trunk.
“My family did not have time for luxuries like fishing, so I never learned as a lad, and I see no use in picking it up now,” he replied. “It seems a useless pastime.”
Her breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a huff, and Victoria found herself shaking her head at his bold declaration that revealed his humble origins. Yet even as exasperation colored her feelings, buried beneath it was a pulsing admiration for that fearlessness—and shame that she was so bound by her fear.
“You needn’t be so critical of yourself.” His declaration drew Victoria’s gaze, and her dark eyes crept upwards to meet his. Mr. Dixon stood just a few feet away from her, his hands in his pockets as though he were strolling a London thoroughfare. His blue eyes were so striking, contrasting with his dark mop of hair and making them seem all the brighter despite the shadows of the forest.
“My circumstances taught me to embrace my lower-class origins,” he said with a shrug. “If I’d been raised in your situation, no doubt I would be as fearful as your family is of someone discovering your limited finances.”
He motioned with his hand for her to continue on her way, and Victoria strode next to Mr. Dixon, the pair weaving through the forest as all thoughts of her original destination vanished from her mind.
“Have you enjoyed your time in Bristow?” she asked.
Mr. Dixon’s dark brows rose, a teasing smile curling his lips, but rather than avoiding her insipid question, he answered it. “It’s lovely, but I miss the city. And I look forward to curtailing my frequent trips there on Mr. Flemming’s behalf. Having made the journey several times since we’ve arrived, I am heartily sick of it.”
“You are a weak traveler,” she said with a wicked grin.
Leaning over, Mr. Dixon bumped her with his shoulder. “I told you that in confidence. Had I known you would mock me at every opportunity, I would’ve kept silent. How can anyone feel at ease when being bumped and jostled so?”
“If you do make a fool of yourself on these journeys, you can have some peace knowing there is no one of your acquaintance to witness it.”
Mr. Dixon laughed, kicking at a stone in their path. “That is a small comfort.”
Their path and conversation meandered along, and Victoria seized onto the tranquil moment while she could, shoving aside thoughts of her family and marriage to simply enjoy the company of this dear man. Her heart lapped up his attention like a starving kitten given a saucer of cream, and when the path split, Victoria hardly noticed Elijah leading them away from the river.
There was no other person with whom she could speak so freely. Even if Victoria wished to hide some portion of herself away, Elijah had the uncanny ability to ferret it out, uncovering her secrets before she could stop him. And he never judged her for them. With that brilliant, blazing grin of his, he simply offered assistance and advice to assist her through the difficulties.
What would she do without his sound judgment? Or his ability to make her laugh? No matter how dark the days were, he always found some humor.
Dropping her left hand, Victoria let her arm sway with each step, brushing against her skirts. And then Elijah’s was there, a feather-light touch brushing against her skin as they walked along; each graze set her heart skittering.
From somewhere in the distance, a chorus of bellowing cheers rang out through the forest as one of the gentlemen landed a great monster of a fish, and reality snapped back into place, filling Victoria’s mind with thoughts of Mr. Kingsley.
“Elijah, please,” she murmured, and then winced, covering her eyes at the slip. “Mr. Dixon, please.”
But even as she made hollow protests, his arms drew her close to his chest. Elijah’s lips met hers, and Victoria lost all sense of the world as his love enveloped her. It flowed from his touch, filling her and dulling her mind to everything else but him.
Chapter 17
Victoria’s heart soared, racing through the heavens, and she met his ardor with her own, giving him the only thing he’d ever asked—her love. There was no stopping herself as she surrendered to the moment, for no one would be able to turn aside from such adoration.
Her chest heaved as the kiss slowed, but her breath and heartbeat sped when he spoke.
“I will not give up on us, Victoria.” The words were a pledge as fervent as any ever given from a suitor to his lady, and Elijah’s bright eyes glowed, echoing his words.
“But I am not free.”
“You are not married, so you are still free,” he replied.
“I will marry Mr. Kingsley if he will have me—”
Elijah silenced those words with another heady kiss, stealing Victoria’s few remaining faculties. When he released her again, she struggled to know what it was she’d been saying before.
“I will not give up on us, Victoria,” he repeated.
“That is not fair of you,” she mumbled. “How am I to think when you keep—”
A teasing grin flashed across his face before Elijah snatched her in another kiss. The one remaining shred of logic told her she ought to object, but rationality was drowned in the sheer bliss Victoria found in Elijah’s embrace and the bone-deep desire to remain there for all time.
When he released her lips, Elijah framed her face in his hands, holding her attention to him as he whispered, “My heart belongs to you.”
Heart filled to brimming, she felt his love burn through her veins, strengthening her as nothing else did. Elijah was everything she wanted, and there was no doubt in her mind that theirs would be a joyous pairing full of all she desired and dreamt of. For one brief and beautiful moment, Victoria allowed herself to dream of marrying him.
And yet…
Those insidious words crept into her mind, tainting those vain imaginings with the truth.
Elijah leaned in again, but Victoria pulled her face free of his hold.
“Please stop.” Her heart trembled in her chest, but Victoria clung to thoughts of her sisters. Steel threaded its way
through her tone, giving her words a bite to them. “I am not free to welcome your overtures, Elijah. Can you not understand that?”
But rather than look repentant, angry, or anything sensible, Elijah dared to give her a tender smile, his hands dropping to her shoulders and drifting down to wrap around her waist.
“What I understand is that you are sacrificing your happiness for your sisters’ sake, providing for them while denying yourself. If you were merely ashamed of my low birth, then it would be easy to feel indignant because of your rejection, but you only care how it will affect your sisters’ prospects.”
Pressed close to him, Victoria felt his chuckle more than she heard it, and his smile turned wry. “Even though it runs contrary to my goal of securing you as my wife, I cannot help but admire your tenacity and dedication to your family.”
The mirth fled his expression, his eyes burning into hers as Elijah said with absolute conviction, “But I will not give up on us, Victoria. I will not force your hand, but neither will I surrender. And even if you should marry another, I will go to my grave with your name written upon my heart.”
No lady hearing such a declaration could remain firm. More than the words, Victoria saw his unwavering adoration in every facet of his expression; it burned in his eyes and radiated from his touch. Sending a cry heavenward, Victoria prayed for forgiveness; she was not strong enough to withstand it. Closing her eyes, she forced aside all thought and brought her lips to his.
***
Fishing was a diverting pastime, but Oliver couldn’t focus on it while his thoughts were so tangled. Stepping away from the other gentlemen, he gave all assurances to return shortly, though Father answered with a distinctly unhappy look that held more than a touch of warning. Letting out a sigh, Oliver shoved his hands in his pockets and tromped into the forest in search of a bit of quiet, as there was no peace to be found.
Oliver adored and respected his parents, but they were being so ridiculous. Though they no longer scolded him for his friendship with Miss Sophie, they gave him plenty of silent reprimands. Father was forever sending him hard looks that demanded Oliver’s obedience, while Mother’s eyes were filled with despair, as though he were careening towards utter destruction.
Couldn’t they see Miss Sophie was different from Mrs. Banfield and the rest of her family?
Though in all honesty, Oliver wasn’t even certain why his parents were so set against that family. Certainly, they were not the sort with whom he’d wish a close acquaintance, but what he’d seen of the family, they were not deserving of such animosity. Perhaps it was due to some misunderstanding. It wasn’t unusual for feuds to begin over minor irritations or miscommunications, and if Oliver could merely discover the source of the trouble, he might be able to mend the breach.
But then what?
Oliver halted in his tracks and shoved his hands in his pockets with a sigh. This was all pointless; it was not as though Oliver could maintain a friendship with Miss Sophie once his marriage to Miss Caswell was settled.
“Come to clear your head, Mr. Kingsley?”
The voice had Oliver jumping, and he whirled around to see Mrs. Banfield standing behind him. With a glance, he realized he’d wandered farther from the river than intended, and they were well out of sight.
Mrs. Banfield watched him with half-lidded eyes, a smile curling her lips. “I was hoping for some time with you.”
“I cannot imagine why,” he said with a slanted grin. “I am not terribly interesting.”
Her lips formed into a pout that looked incongruous with a lady of her years. “You are too hard on yourself, Mr. Kingsley. I am certain you have much to interest me.”
Mrs. Banfield lifted a hand to his lapel as though brushing aside a speck of dirt, but her hand lingered there as she stared up into his eyes. Oliver stepped away, but she moved with him, coming so close that her skirts tangled around his legs.
“At times, I find these parties so boring,” she said with a sigh that brushed against his cheeks, bringing with it a cloying scent of roses. “Perhaps there is something we might do to better occupy our time.”
If Oliver had been in ignorance as to her meaning—and he was certain he wasn’t—any doubt fled when Mrs. Banfield drew close enough that she brushed against his chest, rising to her tiptoes to whisper into his ear.
“The rest of the guests will be outside for several hours, and my bedchamber is a short journey from here.”
The sudden and brazen overture took him so by surprise that Oliver was rooted in place like a petrified tree, blinking and shuddering at the feel of her hands running up his chest. When he finally moved, he did so carefully, so as not to topple the woman, who was leaning heavily on him as her hands roamed.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice coming out in a juvenile squeak.
“There’s no need to be coy, Oliver,” she said with a laugh, her fingers working to undo his waistcoat buttons. Her voice dipped into a purr. “Ever since I arrived, I’ve longed to further our acquaintance.”
With a firmer move, Oliver put distance between them. “Madam, I have no interest in furthering that sort of acquaintance with you or any lady.”
“That is a shame for Miss Caswell,” chuckled Mrs. Banfield, and Oliver’s face burned at the implication. But his cheeks only grew redder when she added, “And my daughter.”
Oliver felt aflame, his gaze dropping as he took another step away, and Mrs. Banfield laughed.
“Oh, she does have her hooks in you, doesn’t she?” Crossing her arms, Mrs. Banfield watched Oliver with an appraising eye. “In love with one lady while engaged to another. I see you take after your father in more than your physique.”
Oliver straightened at that, watching her with narrowed eyes, but before he could say a word, Mrs. Banfield snuck forward, brushing a touch across his abdomen.
“Should you wish to abandon your priggish ways, you are free to visit me at any time,” she said with a smirk. “I am quite discreet and could teach you a thing or two to please your ladies.”
Insides roiling, Oliver stepped back and turned away from Mrs. Banfield, not pausing until she was out of sight and sound of him. Though muted by clothing, her touch lingered and encircled him like a miasma, and he longed to return home and scrub his skin clean.
Oliver owed his parents an apology. Though Mrs. Banfield had no air of sainthood about her, he hadn’t expected such a wanton proposition. Clearly, Mother and Father knew her better than he, and though he couldn’t embrace their accusations against Miss Sophie, neither could he keep from wondering if she were as skilled as her mother at hiding her true nature.
“Oh, she does have her hooks in you, doesn’t she?” Mrs. Banfield’s words haunted his steps as he hurried back to the safety of the river.
Was she like her mother? Every instinct said Miss Sophie was the antithesis of that creature. And yet…
Chapter 18
“Sophie.” Mama fairly hissed the name, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the bonnet beside Sophie’s feet. “If you refuse to sit under the canopy, you must at least take some steps to protect yourself. For goodness’ sake, young lady, do not allow your complexion to darken any further.”
Then, smiling as though nothing were amiss, Mama continued back to the rest of the party, taking a seat beside Mrs. Nelson beneath the tent the footmen had erected.
Sophie nudged the bonnet with her foot, but when Mama called again at her, she had no choice but to take the thing and plop it on her head. Stifling was not a term one used often to refer to British weather, but heavy rain from the previous night had left a remnant humidity in the air; with the sun baking them from above, Sophie thought stifling the best descriptor. Though the straw allowed some air through, the bonnet felt too constraining, neither covering enough to be of much use for shading her skin nor keeping her head cool.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be quite so onerous for her to bear if it were a matter of propriety, but Mama couldn’t imagine a fate worse than
losing one’s beauty. Or rather, the ability to capture a man’s eye. Since Sophie had little need or desire for such a thing, she didn’t see the use in chasing after such an elusive thing as attractiveness.
That said, there was one gentleman whose eye she wouldn’t mind catching.
Sophie’s cheeks burned anew at the memory of Miss Caswell’s expression. Mr. Kingsley was nothing but a friend. Truly. But such lies were best left unsaid, even to oneself.
The look in Miss Caswell’s eyes. The young lady was like Queen Boudicea, facing down the Roman enemy, and it pained Sophie to know that she was the source of such ire. Though never so bold as to flirt with the gentleman, Sophie did welcome Mr. Kingsley’s attention. And she hoped…
Getting to her feet, Sophie snatched up her satchel and wandered away from the others. The forest called to her, beckoning her to bask in its cool shade, so Sophie wandered toward it, giving an audible sigh as the shadows cloaked her flush skin.
Swallowed up in the trees, Sophie knocked back her bonnet, allowing it to dangle from the ribbons, and searched the forest floor for a prime painting spot. Felled by age and gravity, a tree rested on the ground, and Sophie plunked herself onto it, setting her satchel beside her. There was nothing to draw from that vantage, but she allowed herself a moment to rest and clear her thoughts of a certain gentleman.
For even if the gentleman were free, it would not change his family’s objections.
Sophie wished she could catch Mrs. Kingsley alone to apologize on Mama’s behalf for all those little sharp words and digs that littered the past sennight. But the opportunity refused to present itself, and each time the Kingsleys and Banfields interacted, there was yet another reason for Sophie to beg the Kingsley matriarch’s forgiveness. Why did Mama detest her so?
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