Hearts Entwined (Victorian Love Book 3)

by M. A. Nichols

  Elijah’s kisses were still fresh on her lips, and his tender voice echoed in her ears, begging her not to surrender, but Victoria knew there was no debate as to her course of action. Even if she wrapped herself in justifications now and embraced his offer of marriage, no love or joy could survive for long if it came at the expense of her sisters’ future. Far too many ladies were left spinsters with little to no income, and Victoria would not allow her sisters to be among them.

  Hettie and Phyllis had talked of beauty, youth, and connections overcoming financial deficiencies, but that was growing rarer nowadays. Those two young ladies may not recognize the metamorphoses their world was undertaking, but Victoria was not blind to it. The Great Hunger was bleeding many coffers dry and forcing more and more heirs to choose a well-dowered bride. The years between now and when her three sisters would marry weren’t likely to improve the situation.

  Miriam was correct. Mr. Kingsley was a good man, and Victoria would be honored and content to be his wife. It was far better than she’d hoped for, and to wish for more was pure greed.

  Chapter 20

  Never had Oliver been more grateful for the privacy of his thoughts. Granted, the gentlemen around him would be unlikely to raise a fuss over the string of foul language streaming through his head as he tugged and twisted the fishing line. Likely they would laugh at his pedestrian choices, as even in his thoughts he didn’t favor any true vulgarity.

  With the rod under his arm, Oliver attempted to decipher the knotted mess in his hands. He would far prefer to hand the ridiculous thing over to one of the servants who served as ghillies, but it was a matter of pride to undo one’s own tangle. Even the more frivolous members of the group handled their gear, as though doing otherwise was an indictment on one’s character.

  And so, Oliver was left to grumble and grouse.

  It was ridiculous that he was struggling today. Though neither he nor Father were avid fishermen, Oliver was no novice to be tangling his line so thoroughly. Already, he’d lost two flies to the muck and weeds haunting the bottom of the river, and now it seemed his rod was determined to punish him for the mistreatment.

  Gentlemen dotted Fyrne River, though the lazy trickle of water hardly warranted the name. It may have been an apt description in some long-ago time and on rare occasions when the heavens dumped great deluges, but in most instances, it was a mere stream.

  The forest pressed in around them as the fishermen cast out their lines, their poles arcing forward and back with the elegance of a dancer as they positioned their flies—or attempted to. The sound of the water lapping over the rocks was drowned out by the gentlemen around him; Mr. Flemming, Mr. Nelson, and Mr. Dosett debated the finer points of flies and technique while the younger gentlemen contented themselves with a different battle of wills, in the form of wagers and bragging, punctuated by the ridiculous antics one expected from young men of wealth, importance, and moderate intelligence. Other than Oliver, only Mr. Banfield and Father remained silent—the former due to his concentration on the business at hand and the latter due to his disinterest in the conversations.

  Yet even as Oliver cursed it and all those who’d invented the silly tackle, he knew the fishing line was suffering because of his inattention. Truly, he was not such a poor fisherman to make so many mistakes, but with his mind firmly on other things, there was little question as to why Oliver was fumbling so.

  Courtship was supposed to be simple. The couple spent time together, decided if they would suit, and then married or parted ways. Gentlemen didn’t even need to show any real imagination when it came to squiring the lady about, as there were expected activities in which all courting couples engaged. Yet Oliver’s life was decidedly complicated.

  It was difficult to believe how much had changed since the advent of this wretched house party. Little more than a sennight ago, Oliver had been on the brink of proposing to Miss Caswell. His decision had seemed clear. But then Miss Sophie appeared, who was not a viable option, no matter how she appealed to him.

  Oliver yanked at the line, which only tightened the tangles. The urge to cast the rod and reel to the ground overtook him, and it was only by the barest bit of self-control that he reined in the impulse.

  Miss Sophie was not possible. His heart could not reconcile the lady he’d come to know with the conniving creature her mother claimed her to be, but even if she was as honest and kind as she appeared to be, there was the issue of his parents. Binding their families together would bring untold misery to his parents, and it wasn’t right for Oliver to allow it.

  And Miss Caswell was not a bad choice. Her strengths and virtues were numerous, and they cared for each other. There was little more a man could wish for.

  And yet…

  Those words kept haunting him, not allowing him any peace. The moment Oliver settled on a course of action, it resurfaced, sending him back to the beginning. It was to the point where he wished to make a choice—any choice—just to be done with it.

  “That is a lost cause,” said a voice just to the side of him.

  Oliver slanted a look to see Mr. Allen Banfield watching him.

  “But then, fishing is a lost cause,” he added, skewering his own abandoned rod with a look. “It is a shame we are too early for any proper hunting. It is infinitely preferable to this.”

  “We thought to leave the old men to their lazy pastime,” said Mr. Charles Dosett. “Care to join us?”

  “Heathen,” bellowed the elder Mr. Banfield from his place on the other side of the stream.

  The fellow’s son kicked at the water, spraying it towards his father, which set the old fellows grumbling about frightening the fish, though the young Mr. Banfield met it with a laugh. Knowing this was a lost cause, Oliver handed his rod to the waiting servant. Allen led the group downstream as the Dosett boys jabbered on about some wager and young Mr. Julius Nelson followed. Mr. Dixon was nowhere to be seen, and Oliver was disappointed at that, for he was the only one guaranteed to provide any interesting conversation.

  He’d rather set off on his own, but the thought of being caught by Mrs. Banfield again was enough to keep him shackled to the others. There was protection in numbers.

  “Did you hear about Alfred King?” asked Julius, casting a sideways glance towards Allen, but the fellow merely huffed and rolled his eyes, which left Julius deflated.

  “That is old news,” said Allen.

  “Just because you know all the tittle-tattle, does not mean the rest of us are so similarly blessed,” said Charles with a laugh.

  Gentlemen were so quick to condemn ladies as gossips, yet time and again, they proved possessed of equally loose lips. Oliver held in a sigh and wondered if it wasn’t too late to return to fishing; surely spending hours untangling fishing line was a great deal more interesting than this.

  Allen waggled his brows at the others and said in a hushed tone, “It appears that old Alfred has broken with Miss Landry.”

  The other fellows grimaced, and Charles sucked in a sharp breath and said, “That is rum luck. She was such a pretty thing.”

  Oliver held back a roll of his eyes. “You speak of her as though she’s passed away.”

  Charles huffed. “No, but it is a waste. I’d thought to court her once upon a time.”

  “And you still could. She is free now,” said Oliver, but that was met with gaping silence.

  “You think I’d want Alfred’s leavings?” The question was asked with such mock horror that it was clear Charles thought any reply other than “no” was inconceivable.

  Peter come around to Oliver’s side and threw an arm around his shoulders, which Oliver shook off. “They’ve been courting for nigh on a year now. What gentleman in their right might would want her now? Even if she remained unspoilt—”

  That statement was met with a few jeering chuckles, and Peter spoke over them. “Even if she remained unspoilt, clearly she is unsuitable or Alfred would’ve married the chit. If her dowry were greater, perhaps someone might take h
er off her father’s hands, but as is, I cannot imagine anyone bothering.”

  And with that, the gentlemen began discussing the various merits of the ladies in their acquaintance as they meandered along, but Oliver was lost in the realization that his situation was far more settled than he’d imagined.

  Oliver would marry Victoria Caswell. Not simply because his family objected to the Banfields, but because to do anything less would be to subject her to the same scorn poor Miss Landry was receiving. The derision on the gentlemen’s faces would be equally turned to Miss Caswell as it was to Miss Landry.

  For better or worse, Oliver had already bound his future to Miss Caswell’s, and there was no undoing it without ruining her.

  “The look on your face is the exact reason why I see no purpose in courting,” said Allen.

  Oliver stumbled over a rock but kept himself from falling face-first into the water, and the three younger gentlemen brayed at it; if Oliver cared about their opinions, he might’ve been unnerved, but as it was, they were more annoyances than companions. Perhaps it had been a mistake to join them.

  “Courtship has merits,” replied Oliver.

  “And costs. Do you truly wish to get trapped into marriage?” asked Allen.

  “Trapped is hardly the word,” said Oliver.

  Allen’s lips pursed, a wicked twinkle sparkling in his eye. “With Miss Caswell on the hunt for a husband with deep pockets, I would say that snared might be a better description.”

  Hands clenched at his sides, Oliver leveled a hard look at the fellow. “Do not cast aspersions when you know nothing of Miss Caswell—”

  “Aspersions nothing,” said Allen. “It is the cold, hard truth. I have it from reliable sources that she has a pittance for a dowry and her family coffers are empty. Without a fatted calf, the Caswells may be ruined.”

  Oliver schooled his features, hiding his upheaval behind a nonplussed mask. Of course, Allen likely thought Oliver reeling from that revelation, but the emotions waging war inside him had little to do with Banfield’s accusations against the Caswells.

  “Whether or not that is true is of no relevance,” replied Oliver. “I do not fear marriage nor view it with any animosity.”

  “I suppose you must secure an heir for your estate,” said Allen with a rueful grin. “I praise my luck for being the second son.”

  Oliver turned to look at the fellow, his brow arched. “I will not lie and say I do not wish for an heir, but I would marry regardless of that. I have no bitter feelings towards the institution and rather anticipate the opportunity to partake in it.”

  Allen gave a dramatic gape. “I had thought you more sensible than that.”

  And Oliver had thought Allen less irritating than he was proving to be. But thoughts of a proper set-down fled as Oliver noticed the other young men in the group, who were watching Allen as though he were one of the ancient heroes of old whose every action and word was all it should be.

  Hiding a scowl at that foolishness, Oliver chose to speak the truth—something these young fools were unlikely to hear from Allen.

  “Any man of sense would long for a marriage to a good woman,” said Oliver. “It is a blessing to both parties that only increases as they give life to children and grow their family. I welcome it and look forward to the day when I pledge my life to my wife.”

  Stepping closer, Oliver held Allen’s gaze. The other was far broader and likely more skilled at brawling than he, for Oliver had never felt a penchant for boxing nor found himself in need of fisticuffs, but Oliver did not allow that to unnerve him.

  “And I will not give any countenance to rumors or insinuations concerning the Caswells,” he said, his eyes offering up the warning implied in his words.

  Allen’s eyes shone with laughter, which did little to bank the growing fire in Oliver’s chest. The only thing that kept Oliver from planting him a facer was that the taunting twist of his smile wasn’t malicious. The fellow enjoyed causing trouble, but it was more for his amusement than a desire to hurt. It wasn’t comforting, but it gave Oliver just enough control to keep his temper in check.

  “What about rumors or insinuations concerning yourself?” asked Allen. “There are some who begin to wonder if an engagement between Miss Caswell and you will ever occur, as a certain gentleman is showing a marked interest in a certain Miss Sophia Banfield.”

  Chapter 21

  Oliver sucked in a quick breath, his body stilling as he fought to keep his composure. Mrs. Banfield had alluded to something similar, but it was easy to ignore it as an aberration. However, upon hearing Allen confirm it, and the others around him showing no signs of shock or disbelief, Oliver had to accept the possibility that such gossip was “common knowledge.”

  The world stilled in its orbit, holding Oliver there as he thought through every interaction and every moment with Miss Sophie. Surely, he had given no rise to such beliefs, but even as he attempted to lull his guilt, Oliver realized that the sheer volume of memories spoke for themselves. Though they were not more numerous than those he shared with Miss Caswell, they were too numerous to ignore.

  “There is nothing wrong with a bit of flirtation,” said Mr. Peter Dosett, his brows raising suggestively. “Even married men deserve a bit of fun from time to time, but there is no chance his mother would accept a Banfield as a daughter-in-law, what with the history between her husband and Mrs. Banfield.”

  At that, the others stared at Peter, though young Julius scowled. “I told you that in confidence.”

  Peter’s brows rose and he scoffed, “You said the neighborhood all knew what was going on, so it isn’t a secret.”

  “I would thank you not to gossip about my family,” said Oliver, glaring at them each in turn. “My father and Mrs. Banfield have no past—or at least not the type you are insinuating. He is the epitome of honor and devoted to my mother.”

  “You don’t know about it?” Peter stared at Oliver, a hint of pink coloring his cheeks.

  But Allen merely gave a choking laugh. “Knowing my mother, I doubt what passed between them was anything innocent.”

  Oliver clenched his fist, imagining planting it squarely in Allen’s nose. The fantasy was so vivid in detail that Oliver almost believed he’d done it. He took a step closer, and the others shifted around them, drawing Oliver back to reality as they watched with wide eyes, waiting with bated breath to witness the possible rout. The Dosetts were spoiled fools and unlikely to change, but Julius was several years younger and hardly old enough to be counted a man; the fellow had seen enough examples of ungentlemanly behavior at present, and Oliver did not wish to add to them.

  Turning on his heel, he stormed away, ignoring any calls to bring him back and not slowing his retreat until the forest swallowed him up and the others were far behind. He’d rather risk an encounter with the devil than return to their ranks.

  Oliver’s feet pounded the forest floor, giving some outlet for the frustration coursing through him. How dare they malign good people? Simply because they had no sense of right and wrong, they believed everyone capable of deceit?

  A whisper rose up to ask him if there might be some truth to it, and given his parents’ reaction to the Banfields, it would be foolish not to wonder. But Oliver dismissed the thought. He was not so young as to believe his parents infallible, but there was no doubt that Father was devoted to Mother. And even if it weren’t the case, he’d never embrace infidelity; though other gentlemen viewed the marriage vows as flexible, Simon Kingsley believed them as binding and unwavering as any word of honor given.

  No, Oliver gave those rumors no credence, though their very existence served to strengthen his parents’ objections to the Banfields.

  As for Miss Caswell, her family’s finances were of no consequence. Oliver needed no dowry, and once he turned his thoughts to it, he recognized the little signs of insolvency that were of no significance on their own but showed the truth with context.

  The Caswells’ clothes were finely made but lacked em
bellishments. They eschewed driving through the Park during the Season, claiming a preference for walking. They were well-liked and well-connected among London society, yet they abstained from entertaining due to Mrs. Caswell’s “nerves.” They made a good show of preferring simpler tastes than many of the upper classes, yet Oliver now suspected that it had more to do with necessity.

  How had he not noticed all the little signs before?

  Pausing on the path, Oliver placed his hands on his hips and threw back his head with a sigh. Eyes closed, he took in several breaths and wondered why things had become so complicated. The forest air filled his lungs, weaving its magic through him as he inhaled its crisp, fresh scent.

  And with it came clarity.

  Peter’s revelations had been intended to inspire panic or upheaval, but instead, they filled Oliver with a renewed sense of purpose. He did not doubt Miss Caswell’s goodness. Whether or not money played a role in her accepting his courtship was immaterial, for Oliver knew she reciprocated the admiration and friendship he felt. They’d built the beginnings of a relationship that would serve them well through the years, and Oliver did not shy away from the thought of assisting her family in whatever capacity they required.

  Neither could he blame them for resorting to such lengths. Society was not kind to the fallen and viewed them with pity or derision.

  No, the money did not change his feelings towards Miss Caswell, but it did alter his feelings towards himself. How could he harbor fantasies of a life with Miss Sophie when they would bring ruin to the Caswells? The choice between the two young ladies—if there ever had been one—was no longer just about his happiness or that of the ladies involved. Could he live with condemning the Caswells to penury? They may have gotten themselves into this financial mess, but Oliver had the power to free them of it. How would his conscience accept that he’d chosen his own happiness over so many others’?