Chapter 4
As soon as she heard the sounds of her visitor, Sophia hurried out of the drawing room to greet her. “Oh, you have no idea how thankful I am to have you in London.”
Marie Mowbray, a friend of many years, removed a stylish blue velvet-lined bonnet from her light brown curls and turned humorous eyes to her. “You sound desperate. Has your season been very difficult thus far?”
Sophia handed Marie’s poke bonnet to Turton and slipped her arm through her friend’s, leading her into the drawing room, where the tea tray had already been set out. “You’ve no idea how much so.”
Although the queen’s presentation was the most pressing news she had to share with Marie, memories of her interactions with Mr. Harwood were what leapt to mind.
There had been the dinner at the baron’s house where she had met him for the first time in years, the chance meeting in the park where she had managed to ask him a question.
And of course, there had been her urgent plea at St. James’s Palace, which she had been unable to retract, for Mr. Harwood had arrived after Lord Bartoff offered his services.
But to speak of those things meant revealing something so deeply private, and she was not ready for that.
Camilla entered through the door leading to the dining room and glanced from the tea tray to their guest. “Welcome to London, Marie. I suspect you both will wish to be private, so I will take my tea to my room.” She lifted the lid to the teapot, saw that the brew was ready, and poured herself a cup.
“Good day, Camilla.” Marie placed her reticule on the sofa, adding, “I assure you, your company will not disturb me in the least.”
A teacup balanced in one hand and a plate full of delicacies in the other, Camilla paused in her steps. “I may not disturb you; however, Sophia will not speak as freely if I am here, so I shall take myself off. I am sure you are more in possession of her secrets than any of her sisters are.”
Marie sent Sophia a considering glance, along with a hint of her teasing smile. “Are you quite certain? She does not give up her confidences easily, even if she is my closest friend.”
“Enough of speaking about me as though I were not here,” Sophia said with a mock glower. “I tell you everything that’s on my mind.” She corrected herself. “Well, not everything. But then what female does that?”
Camilla laughed and exited through the door that led to the stairwell, and Sophia gestured for Marie to sit.
It was odd timing for these chance remarks, for although she generally did share much with Marie, one thing she had never spoken of was her affection for Mr. Harwood.
If Marie had been at Chawleigh Manor that day four years ago, the story of Mr. Harwood’s heroism would surely have spilled out of Sophia.
It was not that she minded telling her friend, it was just that as weeks had gone by before she saw her again, it seemed too irrelevant a thing to bring up.
And then the moment had passed completely.
It had become a story that went into her memento book, not something to share in whispered confidences.
Only now, Mr. Harwood was here in London, and that changed things. She wondered what he had thought about returning to Friary Court with a carriage, only to find out she had left. Was he irritated? Disappointed?
“Going back to your rather alarming greeting,” Marie began as she settled herself, “I am eager to know what has happened since you’ve arrived. It has only been two weeks, so I suspect not much could have.”
“How little you know,” Sophia said, smiling with fabricated self-importance.
As her mind spun through where she should begin—considering again the notion of bringing up Mr. Harwood as a person of significance and rejecting it—she poured tea for her friend and passed the sugar bowl to her.
After pouring a cup for herself, she was ready.
“Dorry fainted in the queen’s drawing room.” The effect this piece of news had on Marie was pronounced, for her friend thought the world of Dorothea and her ability to manage all circumstances. She returned an open-mouthed stare.
“Lady Dorothea? I find that astonishing.” She absorbed the news in silence for a moment, then glanced back at Sophia, a smile making an appearance. “I have sometimes felt she could lead an army against Napoleon.”
Sophia laughed. “She did indeed—faint, that is—and I still cannot believe that it was not me who did so.”
“Do you know why she did?” Marie sat back and sipped her tea. It already felt natural to have her in their London drawing room. Sophia had not realized just how much she missed having a close confidant, especially since Dorothea would not be taking on that role this season.
“I wrote to you that she is increasing,” she began, and when Marie nodded, went on. “We all think that must be the reason for it. In any case, the doctor said there is no cause for alarm. It does not appear the baby was injured in the fall.”
“And yet, women with less strength than Dorothea do not generally faint…” Her voice trailed away, and Marie sent her a guilty look. “But I do not mean to be alarmist, for the doctor has said all is well.”
“Dorry said she cannot account for it either, except that perhaps she did not eat enough for breakfast. She admitted to being a little nervous to meet the queen, which surprised me, but assures me she is perfectly well now. Miles will not give any weight to her assurances and has insisted she remain at home for at least a fortnight. He would have her remain in bed if he could, but I do not think she will submit to that.”
“Nor do I.” Marie laughed. She set down her cup and clasped her hands, leaning forward. “And what of other news? How are your sisters doing? How are they filling their time while you attend all of the season’s activities?”
“The start to the season has been slow, thankfully.” Sophia sighed. “I would have loved for Camilla to have had her come-out this year, but she is only attending select events of a more private nature. Mama thought it best that the focus be on me this year.”
“And I know how much you enjoy that.”
This pulled a smile from Sophia. No one made her laugh as much as Marie. Her sisters tended to protect her, her mother to lean on her, and her brother to provoke her. Marie simply accepted her—and listened, teased, or recounted the most ordinary things.
“Camilla makes frequent trips to Hookham’s for whatever latest novel is all the rage. Joanna, as you’d expect, is out riding every morning with our groom. She comes with us in the barouche when we go to Hyde Park, but I suspect that is just to see who is riding what horse.”
“And Matilda? Everard?” Marie was a longtime family friend, and although she sometimes called the siblings by their honorifics when addressing them, she called Sophia by her first name and generally did the same when speaking of the others.
“Evo will not be home until Easter vacation, and I must say that although I miss him, my mind rests easy knowing he is under his housemaster’s rule.”
“And does not require you to keep him in line,” Marie added.
Sophia nodded. “Tilly still follows Joanna around whenever permitted. And when Joanna pushes her off, she is content to sit with me and work on her embroidery or sketches. She prefers my company to the governess, although Miss Cross has been nothing but kind to us all. Dorothea plans to hire her for her own schoolroom when the time comes.”
“That is good. Miss Cross is accustomed to your ways and you to hers.” Their conversation had settled into its usual easy rhythm. “Was Dorothea’s indisposition the only pressing news, then?”
Sophia thought again about bringing up the dinner and the other events relating to Mr. Harwood but decided they were too insignificant to talk about and nodded.
“Well, for my part, I am still astonished that my father has finally decided to bring us to London.” Marie’s pretty brown eyes were now positively glowing. “For two years, my mother urged him to rent a larger house and allow me to take my place in Society, and he has finally done so.”
“What caused his change of heart?” Sophia handed Marie a piece of lemon cake when she noticed her guest had not served herself.
“Now that Papa is attempting to bring about reform through Parliament, he will spend the entire season in London.” She bit into the cake.
“Mm. My compliments to your cook. He hopes to end some of the corrupt practices, such as positions in the Admiralty being given based on favor rather than merit. I cannot help but confess my selfish pleasure that his goal coincides with my own—of spending the season in London, I mean to say.”
“It is not selfish to wish to come to London. Or, if it is, then I am selfish for wishing you here.” Sophia smiled and reached for the separate jug to add more hot water to the teapot. “I had not realized your father was to join Parliament.”
“Oh, he is not. He does not have the stamina for the long debates. But he has seated someone he trusts in Gatton, and Papa will act through his proxy. He is from Sussex, not terribly far from us—a gentleman by the name of Mr. Harwood.”
Sophia was in the act of stirring in more tea leaves, and she dropped the spoon into the pot with a small clatter.
The loud noise jarred her as much as the news.
Catching herself, she continued stirring without looking at her friend, her mind reeling at the surprise of hearing his name.
Here, she had been trying to decide if she would speak of him to Marie, but her friend had done so first. Was that not significant?
As her mind raced to find an appropriate response, Sophia settled on admitting to knowing him, for they would eventually all meet, and Marie would wonder at it if she said nothing about their acquaintance.
“I have met Mr. Harwood briefly. Once, years ago at Chawleigh Manor, and then again recently at their house in London.” When she felt it safe to look up, she added, “In fact, he happened to be at St. James’s Palace when we were coming out with Dorothea, and I asked him to fetch a rental carriage.
I fear I sent him on a fool’s errand, though, for we left in Lord Bartoff’s carriage before he returned. I hope he was not vexed with me.”
Marie shook her head. “I cannot see how he would be. I have not met him, but my father promised to have him come to dine.” She sent Sophia a mischievous smile. “He is purported to be handsome—is he?”
“I…I cannot say.” In that moment, she wished she were anywhere but here.
“I think my father hopes to evade the London season altogether by having a match made right in his living room.” Marie laughed.
Sophia wished she had the resolve to offer a smile to what was meant to be humorous, but the likelihood of such a design having success stole her will.
Marie was charming. She had soft brown eyes to match her curls, and what was more, she was perfectly at ease with everyone.
A man like Mr. Harwood must surely prefer a woman such as Marie over one who was too shy to string two words together.
When she had sufficient command of her voice, she said, “That sounds like a pleasurable evening. When is the dinner to be had?”
“We have only just arrived yesterday, so the date has not been set.” Her friend turned considering eyes to Sophia and the corner of her lips tipped upward. “Shall I see if we might conjure up another gentleman and send you an invitation, as well?”
“Yes, why not?” Marie had probably spoken in jest, being confident that Sophia would reject the idea, but she could not resist an opportunity to spend more time with Mr. Harwood.
“Oh!” She looked at her more fully. “I hardly expected such easy capitulation.”
Sophia smiled, but when Marie’s questioning look held, she felt like she should explain. “I don’t mind a dinner when I am with friends. A small dinner,” she added.
“Well then, I will be sure to arrange a very small one.” Marie leaned in. “I do hope to see you enjoy your season, and I think it’s a fine thing you are willingly accepting invitations. It is a good beginning.”
“Yes,” Sophia replied, somewhat weakly, already filled with guilt for her duplicity. “I hope we will both enjoy our seasons.”