Chapter 1 #2
Camilla considered this, then went over to the wardrobe to pull it out. “Yes, it becomes you very well. You should wear it more often.” She shook out the dress. “Here, I will help you into it.”
“Thank you.” Sophia shivered as Camilla unbuttoned her plain silk gown, and she hoped her sister would think it was from the cold.
The evening had gone from dull to significant all at once.
She stepped into the emerald gown with the embroidered leaves on the net overskirt, attempting to suppress her emotions.
She had thought herself over this childish infatuation with Mr. Harwood, but her racing pulse told her otherwise.
Was she fanciful for holding on to the idea of him for four years?
A man she had met only once and with whom she had not even exchanged a word?
The answer was yes. Fanciful and foolish.
And yet, she was helpless to feel anything differently.
After all, he was the only one who had ever defended her without knowing her or requiring she give a response.
He was the only gentleman who appeared to see her.
The effect of that smile and wink had not faded, no matter how many years had marched by.
Of all the gentlemen she had met since, he still stood out as singular and ideal.
At least tonight, Mr. Harwood would see her at her best. She had grown more loquacious than she was at fifteen and now dressed stylishly. He would find before him a woman grown.
“Your cheeks are pink. It’s becoming,” Camilla noted as she stepped around Sophia to observe the effect of the new gown. “Here, let me slip this diamond leaf comb into your hair.”
When this was done, Sophia reached out impulsively and hugged her sister. Camilla looked at her in surprise. “Thank you for buttoning my gown. I daresay the servants are busy.”
“Mama is certainly keeping Margery busy with Joanna’s hair. It seems a comb has not gone through it in ages.” And in an odd reversal of roles, she added, “Don’t dally. I shall wait for you downstairs.”
Sophia nodded and went over to sit at her dressing table.
She stared into the mirror and turned her face first to the left to see her unsmiling mouth from that angle, then to the right.
She tried to smile as she hoped to do for Mr. Harwood but could only swallow convulsively.
Pulling on her gloves, she leaned her forehead onto her fingertips.
Let me be interesting tonight.
The baron’s London house was located at 20 Grosvenor Square on the opposite end from the Earl of Poole’s, and Sophia and her family went there on foot.
Only Tilly was left at home with the governess.
Evo was away at school, and Dorothea and her husband had been invited but were unable to attend.
As soon as they knocked on the front entrance, a footman ushered them into the brightly lit interior.
After taking their cloaks, the butler led them to the drawing room.
Lord Chawleigh came out to greet them, stopping first in front of Lady Poole. “Welcome to our home, my lady. Welcome, Ladies Sophia, Camilla, and Joanna. It is good to see our dear neighbors once again, although we have both suffered a life-altering loss in the interim.”
“It is sadly true.” Lady Poole left her hand in his, adding, “It must be particularly hard for you, my lord, since it has been only one year.”
Sophia’s mother had improved since her initial wave of grief had passed—and after gaining a son-in-law upon whom she might rely.
Lord Chawleigh inquired after her health, then took her elbow and led her into the drawing room as Robert bowed before Sophia.
His features had filled out, and his expression was almost considerate.
“Good evening, Lady Sophia.” He greeted both of her sisters as well, offering his arm to her and Joanna, who was closest. “I apologize, Lady Camilla, that I do not have a third arm to offer you.”
“You would look very strange if you did,” Camilla replied. “Please do not trouble yourself. I am perfectly capable of walking without tripping over my feet.”
This elicited a smile, and Sophia began to hope that the years had indeed improved him. So far, he had not yet overwhelmed her with excessive attention, and he had found humor in her sister’s playful retort.
Once they entered the drawing room, all other thought fled Sophia’s mind.
Two gentlemen stood near the mantelpiece, and her eyes traveled from Mr. Perkins to Mr. Harwood.
When the latter gentleman turned and met her gaze, she managed to keep her own steady.
She would show him that she was not the same tongue-tied maiden she had been at the age of fifteen.
At least, that was her intention, but her courage lasted all of two seconds before she averted her eyes.
Mr. Harwood had changed very little, except for a certain bulk to his shoulders and arms, which was visible through his coat. He watched their approach, and she was able to assess that although his face had matured in the ensuing years, his eyes were still kind; his lips hinted at that same smile.
Breathless, she halted in the center of the room as the gentlemen left their position and approached. She returned Mr. Perkins’s greeting mechanically and turned to face Mr. Harwood.
“This is Lady Sophia,” Robert reminded him. “And these are her sisters, Lady Camilla and Lady Joanna.”
“Your servant.” Mr. Harwood bowed before them, and before Sophia had time to ponder whether he had remembered her, he turned to her sister. “I recall meeting you, Lady Camilla. You were my partner in the game of fours, and you had the steadiest of hands.”
Camilla looked pleased. “I should write you off as a flatterer, except that I do enjoy playing bowls and think I am not terribly ill at the game. However, you must play against my sister Joanna if you wish to be truly challenged. She is accomplished at any sport she sets her mind to.”
“Hardly worth boasting about,” Robert murmured, and Mr. Perkins snickered, but Mr. Harwood looked intrigued and brought his eyes to Joanna.
“I shall look forward to the opportunity, then, my lady. Would it be unkind to confess to my hope that you will not outplay me?” This was accompanied by a charming smile.
“Not at all. I will not go easy on you, however,” Joanna replied without an ounce of bashfulness. “You must decide if you wish to risk it.”
He laughed and bowed again before rejoining the other gentlemen, who had each taken a glass of claret. Lord Chawleigh indicated for the servants to bring ratafia for the young ladies and sherry for Lady Poole before encouraging everyone to take their seat.
Sophia did so numbly, trying to wade through the shock of being of so little consequence in Mr. Harwood’s eyes.
He had remembered Camilla but not her. She must have imagined that his defense that day had been for her sake and not so that they might proceed with the game of bowls.
She had imagined that his knowing smile had been given specifically for her.
She was clearly trivial in his regard, for he could scarcely treat her with less significance.
Meanwhile, she had held on to the unwavering hope that he might have retained some small thought for her throughout the years. What a simple creature she was.
The conversation swirled around her, but she did not participate, not even to give the usual commonplaces that would show her to be a woman of interest. When the butler announced the dinner, Robert leapt to her side and bowed before her.
“Lady Sophia, I would be honored if I might escort you into dinner.”
Wordlessly, she took his arm, now sentenced to eating beside Robert and struggling to follow his conversation. He never left much time for silence. Behind her, she heard Mr. Harwood solicit Camilla, and Mr. Perkins offer his arm to Joanna.
As the footman helped her into her seat, Robert turned to her and smiled. “I haven’t forgotten about you in these two years’ absence, Lady Sophia. I hope we may see much of each other this season.”
He had never revealed any compelling reason for his interest in her, other than a desire for her family’s connection—that and he thought her biddable. Neither were traits she wished might inspire a man to pursue her. It had not been Robert Cunningworth she hoped would pursue her.
Sophia managed to arrange her lips in something that looked like a smile, but her heart grieved.
She had always known the fantasy she’d created out of Mr. Harwood would not hold, but she was unable to help it.
Her heart followed its own desires. As for Robert, it mattered little that he seemed determined to please this evening; she did not have any feelings for him at all.
The dinner passed more tolerably than she might have imagined, given the fact that she was heartsore and hard-pressed to perform socially.
Mr. Harwood was seated across from her, and she allowed herself to listen to his conversation whenever the pauses in her own permitted it.
She conversed with both Robert and Tom Perkins on her other side, whom she did not feel particularly close to, considering how easily he had joined Robert’s harassment in years past. Once, Mr. Harwood met her regard across the table, and the surprise of it caused her to turn away with a frown.
He could not know that he had been anything special to her.
She must let him think she had forgotten him, too.
Once the dinner was concluded, the men stayed behind in the dining room for port, while the women went into the drawing room. As soon as they were alone, Lady Poole called the attention of Sophia and her sisters.
“Lord Chawleigh has laid claim to our long friendship by inviting us to dine with him although there is no hostess to serve at his side. He requested that one of you might pour the tea when the gentlemen join us after their port. Sophia, dear, I think it had best be you.”
Camilla sent her a look of concern at the same time that Joanna protested, “But, Mama, Sophia is tongue-tied around gentlemen. Had you not better do it?”
Instead of answering, Lady Poole held Sophia’s gaze. “She must overcome her bashfulness if she is to have a successful season. It is best if she begins now.”
Sophia tried to give voice to the protest that rose up in her, but nothing came out. Was this not akin to announcing some sort of understanding with Robert? Her reluctance warred with her inclination to be an obedient daughter. She swallowed and nodded her head.
They were not made to wait long before the sounds of the gentlemen’s voices approached the drawing room.
A footman entered through a servant’s door with a tea tray, followed by a maid carrying the hot water.
They set these down on the table on one end of the room, and Sophia glanced at her mother, who leaned in.
“The Chawleighs have always been good neighbors—almost like family,” her mother whispered. “There is no need to make any ado about such a simple request.”
Sophia smoothed the skirt of her gown and stood.
The porcelain jar of tea sat on the tray, and she pinched the leaves and put them in the steaming teapot, hoping she was preparing it to Lord Chawleigh’s satisfaction.
Around her, the discussion settled on Vice-Admiral Nelson’s state funeral, which the baron had attended.
No one seemed to remark on her position beside the tea tray, which was a comfort.
When the tea had steeped long enough, she moved to pick up the pot, then hesitated.
She would have to ask each gentleman how he took his.
It was easiest to begin with Lord Chawleigh, who reached over and patted her arm. “Thank you for performing the service, my dear. I will have sugar. Two spoons.”
She nodded mutely and went to Robert and Mr. Perkins, mumbling the same request. Then she stood before Mr. Harwood, who lifted his eyes.
His seemed uncommonly bright, giving the same impression he could see through her.
But that was an illusion; he did not even remember her.
Her throat worked, but nothing came out.
“If you would be so good as to bring mine with milk, I would be much obliged to you.” Mr. Harwood smiled warmly.
Unable to hold his regard, Sophia turned, and it was not until afterward that she realized she had not returned an answer.
He would see her in the same light as he had four years ago.
It had been naive to think she had overcome her timidity, even a little bit.
She brought everyone their tea and avoided looking at Mr. Harwood when she brought his.
What a ninny he must think her. There was only one thing to do now, and that was to put aside this secret infatuation she had maintained all these years. To forget about Mr. Harwood completely.
The only problem was, she was not sure she could.