Page 2 of A Secret Infatuation
Robert hesitated still, but the first gentleman—her rescuer—went over to the desk in the corner of the room. “Here it is, and the paint’s dry. Let us go.”
To Sophia’s surprise, he put his arm around Robert and steered him out of the room, the others following. She heard Robert’s laughter above the rest, which meant the friend had been able to take the sting out of his words—although, it was not out of the realm of possibility that Robert did not know what a Philistine was. Regardless, she couldn’t believe anyone was capable of managing him that way. She had never known one able to do so, not even his own father.
Her vision cleared, and she had a sudden desire to see the face of the man who had come to her aid. All she had perceived was his olive coat and buckskin breeches—hair that fell in golden-blond waves like an angel. Heart racing, she hurried to the doorway and peered out. There was no one in sight.
Once outdoors, she rejoined a group of girls that included her sister Camilla, walking in the direction of the game being set up on the lawn. No one took notice of Sophia, which was precisely what she had hoped for. The players were in high spirits as they chose teams for a game of fours. There would be many more spectators than players, but no one seemed to mind it.
Sophia’s first glimpse of the gentleman she was seeking was a rewarding one. The man had a handsome face with pale blue eyes underneath unruly brows; his nose was perfectly proportioned, and his lips remained on the edge of a smile. The faint lines on either side of it hinted at good humor. She could not draw her eyes away, but watched as he naturally took charge of the players, reminding them of the rules with an ease that showed him a born leader. She wished she could ask someone what his name was, but doing so would reveal her interest. If, however, she paid attention someone might address him, and she would have her information.
“Harwood, stop. If you put me with Perkins, we shall be soundly beaten. Give me one of the ladies instead.” This was from one of Robert’s university friends.
Laughter came from all sides at the friendly slight, but Sophia focused on the words. He had called the gentleman Mr. Harwood. She had not expected victory to come so quickly! She scarcely took in his response because Robert joined in with the teasing.
“Felix always offers to organize the games. It’s so he can hoard the best players on his team and cover his own deficiencies.”
Robert’s crack was met with more amusement, and Sophia found herself smiling along with everyone. Mr. Felix Harwood. She knew his Christian name now, too. As if Mr. Harwood felt the pull of her interest, he turned and approached the group of girls where Sophia stood. She went still behind Bernice Milton, fearful he would speak to her—wishing he might speak to her.
“Can I persuade any of you ladies to join us?”
“I will,” Camilla offered, stepping forward, and he turned to Sophia’s sister with a look of pleasure. That her younger sister could so easily win such a smile from him dimmed Sophia’s feelings of victory at having learned his name, but she could not do what Camilla did. She could not join the game, for as with many things, she was not good enough.
“No one else?” Mr. Harwood asked the group at large. It felt like his voice was directed toward her, but she kept her face lowered. His offer was met only with the shake of heads and hands covering their giggles. Bernice stepped to the side, leaving Sophia exposed.
His boots moved into Sophia’s vision. When she dared to look up, she found his eyes on her, but he did not press her to play. Instead, he smiled and gave her a wink, which stopped her heart from beating for a full pause. He then turned to where the game was being set up, and she could breathe again.
“Grantly, go and see if some of those returning from the boathouse wish to play, and we shall have our eight.”
Mr. Grantly lifted his hand and went off to Mr. Smithson, who was walking beside Dorry, but Sophia could only think of Mr. Harwood’s smile and the wink he had sent her way. He had not only protected her, he had seen her. She could scarcely say that about her own family. She stared at his retreating form as he went and picked up one of the balls. He tossed it up and caught the ball easily, then laughed when another of their friends pretended to throw a punch. And suddenly…suddenly it was as though the world had color.
Mr. Felix Harwood. She had not thought that such a kind and handsome and honorable gentleman could exist.
Chapter 1
March, 1806
Grosvenor Square, London
There was no satisfaction to be found in returning to London for another season, especially one that featured Sophia’s come-out. Last year, she could hide behind Dorothea, who was on a mission to find the most eligible bachelor London had to offer. No one had expected Sophia to court suitors and be at her most charming, since her elder sister had drawn the attention. Dorry had ended up marrying Miles Shaw, who was not London’s most eligible bachelor. But that mattered little, for she was made to see what great worth there was in becoming Mrs. Shaw, even if it had taken nearly losing him to realize it.
Sophia sat on a cushioned Chippendale chair, which matched the mahogany desk and bed frame. She liked her yellow and gold baroque-papered room with its view that overlooked Brook Street and the houses opposite. The quiet hours spent here gave her solace, helping in a small way to equip her for the activities that must be spent without.
That night they were to go to Lord Chawleigh’s London house to begin their season. It had been two years since they had seen their Surrey neighbors. First, Sophia’s father had died. Then, last year, Lady Chawleigh had taken ill, and her sickness progressed over the course of the spring. Robert remained with her on the estate, while Lord Chawleigh traveled back and forth from London, first tending to his wife, then returning for the most urgent parliamentary sessions. Lady Chawleigh died early in the summer, prolonging the absence of social calls that had begun with the earl’s death. Sophia had not regretted it, for Robert still made her uncomfortable. He was not unkind as he had been in his youth, but he paid her more attention than she wished for. With any great hope, he would have turned his attention elsewhere since they had last met.
Restless, her attention fell on her reticule that lay on the desk. She pulled open its strings, and from the bottom of the cloth bag removed a tiny key, tied to a blue ribbon. Listening for any hint that one of her siblings was about to invade her sanctuary, she inserted the key into the narrow desk drawer and pulled it open. Inside was a supple book with a pastel-blue cloth cover whose pages were bound together by ribbon-covered wire. She allowed her fingers to explore the soothing, familiar texture, then set it on the desk and opened it carefully. She had not looked at it in recent months, but something about having to begin her London season caused her to reach for its comfort.
The first page contained a date: June 7, 1802. Underneath was a drawing of the stretch of lawn in front of Chawleigh Manor. A few of the lawn balls could be made out, but there were no people. Sophia did not draw figures well enough to have attempted it. She turned to the second page, which held the words, “Mr. Felix Harwood.” Those she had written in the prettiest hand she possessed. And although she had been tempted at the age of fifteen to write it again and again, and to add “Mrs. Felix Harwood” underneath it, she had resisted the childish impulse. Next to his name were three pressed yellow trefoils, which had been trampled under his feet from where he stood at the start of the game. A scant memento from the day, but they were all she had. That, and the words her father let fall over dinner about how Lord Chawleigh held the advowson for Mr. Harwood’s father. The vicar had boarded and tutored Robert before he went off to Eton.
“Apparently,” her father had said, “Lord Chawleigh saw potential in young Harwood and paid for his schooling with a charge to keep his son in line.” Sophia had seen for herself how gifted Mr. Harwood was in this. It appeared, then, that both Mr. Harwood and his father had a patron in Lord Chawleigh.
“His benevolence paid off, for he worked as a quarter-sessions clerk and helped enforce game laws, which benefited both Chawleigh and myself.” Her father had given one other precious bit of information—Mr. Harwood was to transfer to a more prestigious post in Customs in Brighton, where he planned to join the yeomanry to guard the coast from the French. Therefore, she knew not to expect to see him again when she visited Chawleigh Manor.
She turned another thick, worn page of her memento book, and on this was a newspaper clipping from the Surrey Gazette, dated February, 1804.
“Mr. Felix Harwood, only son of the Vic. Thomas Harwood of Farnham, has accepted a commission as Lieut. in the East Surrey Yeomanry.”
Sophia remembered the day she had stumbled on the article. It had been during a dull season when their father had once again left for London without them and invitations at home were few. With nothing to do, she read the newspaper from front to back and gasped audibly when she stumbled upon his name. Fortunately, no one had been there to question her reaction. What a shock to read of Mr. Harwood in the paper when she had almost given up hope of hearing of him again! Once she was sure that the newspaper had been read by everyone, she slit the page with the article before Mrs. Pratt could take it. That had been mere weeks before her father’s untimely death—before their lives had tumbled into the chaos of grief.
Nothing else occurred to feed her secret hopes regarding Mr. Harwood since the article, but she kept them alive by remembering how deftly he had managed Robert. How he had defended her, and the smile and wink he had sent her afterward on the lawn. She sometimes wondered if he thought of her, too, after that day. Perhaps he was also shy and dared not pursue her?
