Chapter 8
The following day, Felix received a letter from his father, who had written to tell him of an unexpected bequeathment that would provide his sisters with a respectable dowry and suggested he return home for a visit.
He set off immediately with the noble intention of planning a parliamentary speech on pensions as he rode.
Instead, his thoughts continued to circle back to Lady Sophia.
Visiting her in her own drawing room was like being offered a plate of sweetmeats just when he was in the mood for them.
She had looked lovely in a soft yellow gown and, despite her shyness, was fully mistress of her surroundings.
The only fly in the honey was Robert’s persistent attempts to court her.
He chose the empty seat closest to her, his gestures expansive and often invading the space in which she sat.
He did not think Lady Sophia liked Robert.
Her acceptance to attend the opera was not a ready one, and he was compelled to rush in with an invitation for Miss Mowbray because he couldn’t bear the thought that Lady Sophia must bear Robert’s attention all evening with no one to shield her.
Fortunately—since it had been impulsively given—Robert had embraced the idea.
And Miss Mowbray, always agreeable, was perfectly ready to assist him in coming to her friend’s rescue.
There was something vulnerable and soft to Lady Sophia that appealed to a protective instinct, and he could not stop puzzling out what she might be thinking.
He tried to read her thoughts and even anticipate her wishes, but seemed to fall far from his objective.
The only thing he understood with any certainty was that she did not like to be the center of attention—that, and that she required time before giving her answer.
As to why Robert was pursuing her, it was perfectly clear that it came down to three things: she was above him in station and would add to his prominence; she was beautiful and wealthy, which was the only wife he would consider; he had known her the longest and had some sort of proprietary ideas about her.
He probably convinced himself that he loved her, but it was clear that he loved her attributes and not her.
Robert may well have changed since that day Felix had had to rescue Lady Sophia from his awkward, grueling attention.
After all, one could not lose a beloved mother in the intervening years and not change at least a little, becoming more staid and cognizant of what one had.
But Robert’s personality was bullish, and it would never be otherwise; he would not allow her the space to bloom.
In short, he was utterly wrong for her. What Lady Sophia needed was a man who could be patient when it took her time to speak, a man who valued her for who she was and not for how she might elevate his position, a man who wanted nothing more than to coax the hidden gems from her thoughts.
A man like…him.
Having reached this self-indulgent conclusion, Felix was thoroughly disgusted with himself.
He was determined not to reach above his station no matter how much he was drawn to Lady Sophia, and the short remainder of his journey was spent in chastisement to this end.
He reached home and brought his gelding to the stable, where he handed him over to Ashly, their gardener-groom.
Margaret, the eldest of his four sisters at age sixteen, crossed the stable entrance and stopped short at the sight of him.
“Felix! I did not know you were coming home.”
“Good to see you, Megs.” He walked over and kissed her on the top of her head. She was of an age with Lady Joanna, he guessed. And, as shy as she was with outsiders, very much resembled Lady Sophia in manner.
“Where is Father?”
“Where is he always?” Margaret answered with a quirk of her lips.
“The study, then. Walk with me?” He turned toward the house, and she matched his steps.
He had not succeeded in explaining to himself why his thoughts kept returning to Lady Sophia.
Was it that they both had many sisters? No.
It was definitely not something so prosaic as that.
That she was as shy as Meg, and so he felt an affinity for her?
Perhaps his sister might have some insight into what Lady Sophia was thinking since they shared that similarity.
“Megger, if you were to allow a gentleman to court you, what traits must he have?”
She looked at him seriously without returning an immediate answer. She was like that when it required thought. They would not have time to finish the conversation before they reached the front door. They would not have time to start.
“I suppose he must be patient with me.” They approached the bed of flowers that skirted the foundation of the house, broken only by the path leading to the door. “He must not talk so fast and so much that I can never say anything at all.”
“Hm. It’s what I thought.” The words Felix had meant to say to himself, he spoke aloud.
“You do not have someone in mind for me!” she exclaimed, looking at him in alarm.
Yanked out of his reflections, he turned to her and laughed. “No, Megglebop. I would hardly have you married at sixteen.” He didn’t remember the exact moment the silly nicknames had started, but they had come from an attempt to draw her out of her bashfulness as a small girl and make her talk.
“I am relieved to hear it.” Her twinkle had returned, and she was looking at him with a trusting air.
“But one day, I suppose I shall have to find someone for you. For you will never pluck up the courage to speak to a gentleman on your own, will you?” When she screwed up her lips in mock disapproval, he could not resist more teasing.
“And you will have to accept whomever I bring home, now won’t you? After all, Meggers can’t be choosers.”
This brought something between a squeal and a laugh as she pounded a fist on his arm.
They entered the comfortable stone house he had grown up in with the dark green door and large windows above the flower beds.
The housekeeper, who had been in the family’s employ since his birth, met him with a hearty welcome and promises to have a meal sent into his father’s study.
He smiled at her and inquired after her knee that was causing trouble, then went to the study.
His father looked pleased to see him and came to shake his hand. “I was just coming out to see about this commotion. You came as soon as you had my letter.”
“Of course, sir.” Felix took a seat next to his father’s armchair.
His relationship with Mr. Harwood Sr. could be described as a mix of easy affection and the expected signs of respect a son owed his sober-minded parent.
His father began asking him about his life in London, inquiring into its every aspect from whether he planned to move now that he had been promoted, to what his life in Parliament was like, to how he was getting along with the Cunningworths.
Felix attempted to answer all of his questions, then said laughingly, “You have convinced me as nothing else could of my need to be a more regular correspondent.”
His father smiled at this, then looked up as a knock sounded. The housekeeper opened the door then disappeared, returning with a tray of food that could feed five men, as Felix laughingly told her. They thanked her and began to serve themselves.
“So what is this I hear about a bequeathment for my sisters?” Felix asked as he tucked into the food.
“It was an aunt on your mother’s side whom I had never met. We received the letter from the solicitor, and the good news is that it provides your sisters each with a dowry of two thousand pounds.”
“What excellent news!” Felix said, his eyes brightening at this piece of good fortune. The lack of a substantial dowry had worried their mother when she was alive, and the anxiety had passed on to Felix, almost without his having been aware of it.
“I’ve only seen Meg, but I assume the others will be at dinner?” Having just taken a bite, his father merely nodded. “How have they received the news of their good fortune?”
“I haven’t told them, because I wanted to speak to you first.” His father paused, and when Felix looked at him, said, “Now that your sisters are situated more favorably, I was hoping you might welcome Margaret into your home next year for the London season? Put her in the way of some gentlemen of better standing than what she might find here?”
Felix’s fork paused on the way to his mouth.
“Father, surely you know I cannot.” He smiled to soften the blow.
“For one thing, I am renting a room in a gentleman’s establishment.
For another, she would need a chaperone to attend the parties.
As I am unmarried, I cannot fathom how I am to find one for her. ”
“Ah, well.” His father seemed to abandon the idea. They ate in silence, then he gave Felix a look. “You haven’t asked how much of the bequeathment was set aside for you.”
For the second time, Felix paused in the act of taking a bite. “That was because I assumed the answer was none.”
His father bestowed a rare, smug smile on him. Then he wiped his hands on his napkin, stood, and went over to his desk drawer. He pulled out a paper and handed it to Felix, who opened it. He looked up at his father, stunned.
“Ten thousand? This is for me? How did we not know of this relative? And where did she amass her fortune?”
“I cannot answer either of those questions as I did not know of her existence, but as your mother had no siblings, it solves at least part of the mystery. Your mother came from a good family and was not entirely without connections. This aunt likely had no one else to leave it to. You must give me the direction of your banker in London so I can have the solicitor contact him.”
Felix nodded, optimistic at his sudden change in fortune.
The sum would not alter his style of living to a great degree, for he must not treat it as annual income.
However, it gave him a measure of freedom he had not had before.
It would allow him to lease or purchase a house in a less affluential area of London, and perhaps even to that add a small estate in Sussex.
It lessened to a degree his difference in status with Lady Sophia.
A very small degree. Not that it matters, he reminded himself severely.
Still, the news brought hope and possibilities, making it more challenging to put her out of his mind entirely.
He decided he would begin looking about for a London house at once.
Even if he managed to resist the idea of pursuing any sort of friendship with Lady Sophia, he would still need to marry one day, and a man needed a place to bring a wife home to.
“You must be prudent now, son. Careful with this sudden windfall that you do not develop a taste for gambling—not that I think you will—and careful in your friendship with Robert Cunningworth. His father has been a generous patron to us both, paying for your schooling and securing your first clerical position. You must not forget it and set up his back by an overt display of wealth or attempting to rise above your station.”
As that was more or less what Felix had been contemplating, he frowned. “You know I have no interest in gaming, but what do you mean by not reaching above my station?”
“You have become used to mixing with Robert’s crowd, and you would be forgiven for viewing yourself with a certain vainglory—although you have always resisted such temptation.
You might try to live as they do, but you will quickly run through your modest fortune that way.
Keep your head down, tell no one of this change in circumstances.
Continue to pursue an honest career, and marry a simple gentlewoman. ”
“What does my marriage have to do with anything?”
“Marriage is one way to attempt to alter one’s circumstances, and Lord Chawleigh will not like it if you get above yourself. As you depend upon him for your connections, as—I need not remind you—do I, you must avoid anything that displeases him. I hope you will remember that.”
It was not the first time his father had warned him of what they owed to the baron, and it would be difficult to forget.
Until now, the logic of this precept had made perfect sense.
But he was no longer the lad he had once been, ready to bow down to the wisdom of his superiors.
He had his own ideas now. The baron had sponsored his early life, and he did owe him that.
But much of what he had accomplished afterward was either owing to the admiral or to his own talent and determined by his own morals.
And as for marrying a simple woman, Felix had to admit the subject was not one he could even contemplate at present.
“I understand,” he said, noncommittally.