Chapter 11 #2
“Mr. Harwood, if you don’t object, I would very much like to have some refreshment.
Sophia, you don’t mind, do you?” Marie asked her with a look of concern.
She was a true friend and worried about leaving her in Robert’s company alone, but naturally she, too, would desire to move about and see people.
Mr. Harwood’s glance in her direction was quick before he turned to Marie with a smile. “An excellent idea. Let us go.”
Felix walked beside Miss Mowbray plagued by a sense of dissatisfaction. He did not like to leave Lady Sophia behind with Robert; she had the appearance of a small animal trapped by a predator. But what could he do? He was here to escort Miss Mowbray, and his obligation was to see to her comfort.
“The soprano is as wonderful as everyone has said,” she observed, as they wove around the operagoers to where the champagne was being served.
“Madame Catalani? Yes, she has a rare talent.” It took everything in him to pay her the attention she was due, but his mind was still in the box with Lady Sophia.
Was Robert taking undue advantage of their time alone?
Was he pressing her to return his feelings—was he proposing?
Certainly, he was a better match for Lady Sophia on paper.
Even if his status as the son of a baron was not on par with the daughter of an earl, he was heir to a title and the Chawleighs’ wealth was not to be scoffed at. And there was no other heir but him.
He forced his attention back to Miss Mowbray. “Let me fetch a glass for you. If you’ll wait right here, I think you will not be troubled by the crowds.”
“Thank you, Mr. Harwood.” She gave him an unaffected smile. It was a shame he could not give her his heart, for she was a perfectly agreeable woman. But one could not control such things.
As he waited for the person in front of him to be served, he thought back to the day in the park with Lady Sophia as he had often done since.
He remembered guiding her around the muddy patch and facing her as he shielded her under the oak, although he could do little against the drops that fell from above.
The small space between them buzzed, and it felt like they were inhabiting an island of their own, despite her maid and the eventual presence of Miss Edwards.
He supposed it was then his heart was lost to her.
He no longer wanted to pretend that his feelings were disinterested.
But his father’s words, and his own sense, dictated that he had no right to pursue her.
When it was his turn, he held up two fingers, and the servant handed him two glasses. “Here you are, sir.” He paid and forced his mind back to his companion.
“Your champagne, Miss Mowbray,” he said with a dip of his head.
He would not be a cad and make her feel she was uninteresting just because his heart was elsewhere.
That was not her fault. “I was surprised not to see your father tonight. I know how much he loves the opera.” He chuckled, adding, “And any party and entertainment one might propose to him.”
She chuckled. “He and my mother are dining with old friends, and it was planned before he knew of tonight’s performance.” After a pause, she looked over her glass. “I heard you met Lady Sophia and Miss Edwards at the naval asylum.”
“Yes, quite by chance.” Another memory washed over him of Lady Sophia facing him under the oak tree—a different expression on her face, something other than shyness.
He lifted the champagne to his lips. “We went to Hyde Park afterward, but it was an unfortunate decision, for we were caught in the rain.”
“Yes, so I have heard. Sophia said you have offered to assist her in soliciting subscriptions for the asylum. If I know her, she will make every effort to be successful at finding donors, even if it is difficult for her to approach strangers.”
Lady Sophia had confided much to her friend. About their chance meeting, the walk in the park, the rain—she had even told her about his offer to help. Was it because women talked to each other about everything? Or did she talk about him because her mind dwelled on him?
“I did indeed. I do not know how much assistance I will be, but I will do my best to find members of Parliament with generous-minded wives. Kind ones,” he added.
“Oh yes, you appear to understand that about Lady Sophia. She will flee from anyone who will not receive her with kindness.” The words were warmly spoken and showed true affection, but Miss Mowbray’s eyes were on him.
From the intensity of her focus, he suspected her interest went beyond mere friendship.
He had no wish to lead her to believe something of that nature lay in his own heart, but how did one pass on such information without being unkind?
This produced in him a desire to escape, and he spoke without thought. “Shall we return to our seats?”
“But, Mr. Harwood…we have not finished our champagne.” She looked at him, perplexed.
He considered the glass of champagne in his hand, noting that he had scarcely touched it. “Oh, how right you are.” He smiled feebly and took a large swallow. Although her smile remained fixed, something in her eyes faltered. A small group was descending on them, and they both turned.
“Good evening, Marie. Good evening, Mr. Harwood.” Lady Dorothea had approached with her husband, and they were flanked by Lady Camilla and Lord Pembroke, who Felix remembered had offered to escort her to the opera.
Lady Camilla’s cheeks were flushed and her lips stretched in a smile, showing how much she was enjoying the evening.
They exchanged greetings, and Lady Dorothea asked, “Where is Sophia? Is she not with you?”
“She stayed behind in the box,” Miss Mowbray answered. “I think the masses assembled in the corridor was probably more than she wished to face this evening.”
“Very likely.”
Lady Camilla turned to Miss Mowbray, her brows now furrowed. “She stayed behind in the box with Mr. Cunningworth?”
There was something about the way she said it. Perhaps she knew how little her sister liked being in Robert’s company. It made Felix even more eager to return to the box. He had learned his lesson, however, and would not appear rushed. “Are you walking back to your box? Shall we go together?”
“We are,” Lady Dorothea replied, taking Mr. Shaw’s arm.
Felix checked that Miss Mowbray’s glass was empty. In an excess of caution, he asked, “Finished?”
She smiled and handed him the glass, and he returned both to a servant.
They returned to their seats, bidding farewell to the others, for Lord Pembroke’s box was situated above the stage.
The last few steps were difficult to maintain at the same calm rhythm, but Felix forced himself to do so.
When they entered the box, Robert was leaning into Sophia as she shrank back.
He took a hasty step forward, and Miss Mowbray said in a clear voice, “You were very right not to have gone, Sophia. You would have disliked the crowds.”
Robert pulled away and turned as Felix stepped around his chair and met his expression with a shuttered one of his own.
Watching Robert bully a woman like Lady Sophia made him incensed.
It was infuriating not to be in a position to shield her from it.
He waited until Miss Mowbray was seated before sinking into his chair.
“It was a crush out there? I daresay it was.” Robert looked behind him at the door to their box. “Perhaps there’s enough time for me to have a glass of champagne—that is, Lady Sophia, if you do not mind?”
“Not at all.” It was difficult to make out, but Felix had been listening for her reply and caught it. That was all it took for Robert to get to his feet and head to the opening of the box, just as his father and Mrs. Heathrow entered it.
“You had best stay put, son. All of Society is returning to their seats.” Lord Chawleigh spoke in an imposing manner that would have been difficult to disobey. Robert hesitated for a moment, then returned to his seat.
The activity on the stage increased as actors took their place for an intermezzi ballet and the chandeliers were lowered again.
Felix wished he could ask Lady Sophia what she was feeling, wished he could reach over and lay a comforting hand on her arm.
But wishes were just that. He hoped he wouldn’t have a life made up only of wishes.