Page 21 of A Secret Infatuation
Chapter 10
Mr. Harwood leapt out of the carriage before their footman could open the door, and he held out his hand to each of them, even Margery, her maid. Sophia conferred with the driver, who promised to wait for them within eye’s distance of the entrance. As they crossed the gates into Hyde Park, she was conscious of a bubbling happiness from being in Mr. Harwood’s presence. It mattered little that Miss Edwards was also with them, for as much as she was comfortable chatting away, she was equally comfortable with silence; it was easy for Sophia to make herself heard in Miss Edwards’s company. In the intemperance of spring, the brief bouts of sun they’d seen earlier in front of the asylum seemed to have disappeared. Grayish clouds brought a cool breeze that whipped the ribbons of her bonnet as they followed the path that branched away from Rotten Row.
“Do you think it will rain? Perhaps we should not travel too far within the park.” Miss Edwards continued to march forward, her actions belying her words of caution. Sophia glanced behind her at Margery, who returned a bolstering smile. If no one else seemed to mind the threat of rain, she was not going to deny herself the opportunity to walk with Mr. Harwood. It was he who expressed his hope that the rain would hold.
“When shall we begin approaching members of Society on behalf of the naval asylum?” Miss Edwards asked. “Mr. Knox has informed me that without an act of benevolence, they will have finished their stock of textiles in a month’s time, and there are no fewer than twenty beds that require subscriptions.”
Despite the urgent need, the thought of approaching anyone at all caused Sophia’s breath to leave her. It occurred to her that she was about to reveal how few people she knew in London. She was not someone of significance, her title notwithstanding.
When she did not answer immediately, Miss Edwards—kind as she was—was ready to fill the silence. “I suppose I might apply to my father for whom to approach. With his connections in the Admiralty, he will be able to recommend people. He just requests to be left out of the discussions so there is no conflict with his work on the board.”
Sophia walked between Mr. Harwood and Miss Edwards, with Margery following at a respectful distance. It was her turn to contribute something to the conversation.
“If you are able to discover from your father whom to approach, then I will take it upon myself to visit them.” Perhaps she could convince Dorothea to come with her, although her sister was supposed to be staying at home as much as possible. It must be Marie, then.
“Although I don’t have many connections in Society,” Mr. Harwood said, “I might be able to speak to certain members of Parliament and ask if their wives would be amenable to receiving a visit from you on the subject of subscriptions.”
He pivoted slightly to catch her eye, and she offered a feeble smile back. He had likely noticed how daunting she found it to call upon persons unknown and was doing what he could to help.
“Oh, but look.” Miss Edwards pointed. “There is Mrs. Nickleson. I have been wishing to speak to her about donating a portion of her late husband’s library to the asylum, for I have learned she does not know what to do with all of those books. Would you please excuse me?”
“Of course,” Sophia and Mr. Harwood replied at the same time.
Miss Edwards hurried off, her short stature forcing quick, small steps. Before reaching her object, she turned and called back, “I shan’t be long. If you continue in the same direction, I will find you.”
The path was not as crowded as the Row, but it was still strange to see it so empty of people. The only sounds were their footsteps on the gravel path and the rustle of leaves in the wind above. Sophia realized that at last—at last—she was walking alone with Mr. Harwood and would have her chance to know more about him. She did not know how long the uninterrupted time would last but hoped she might think of something interesting to say. Something he would call to mind after they had separated. How dreadful it would be if he found her insipid and wished himself elsewhere. Their elbows brushed, and the touch sent a shock through her, increasing her awareness of his presence. Out of the corner of her vision, she saw him begin to lift his arm to offer it to her. Then he dropped it.
“Miss Edwards seems wholly devoted to the concerns of the asylum. She is an admirable woman,” he said.
Their steps had slowed, and she guessed it was so they would not leave Miss Edwards too far behind. As though Margery understood her mistress’s wish for private conversation, she allowed her steps to lag.
“I, too, admire Miss Edwards.” She almost added she is able to do what I cannot but stopped herself. Mr. Harwood would already know that.
She had not walked on this path before, which was lined by a row of hedges on one side separating it from the Serpentine River. On the opposite side of the path, plane trees and oaks grew at steady intervals, offering shade. The ripple of leaves overhead revealed glimpses of a gray sky, and the light wind caused a swath of bluebells under the trees to dance.
It was so peaceful, she forgot her resolution to engage Mr. Harwood in conversation. She was simply enjoying the moment. A movement from the hedgerow caught her eye, and she paused. Mr. Harwood drew to an immediate halt.
“Look!” she said, pointing. “A bird has made her nest in the hedge, close enough for us to see.”
She went up on her toes to see if it was a hedge sparrow as she thought. He followed her movements, leaning over with her, and the warmth of his arm next to hers traveled to her heart. The bird cocked its head warily from the short distance, and she felt Mr. Harwood’s eyes on her.
“Is it a robin, do you suppose?”
She forced herself to look at him, but it was difficult to remember how to reply when he was looking at her so intently. “I do not think so, for it has no orange breast.”
A series of notes emanated from the hedge and was repeated. At the flute-like song, Sophia smiled. It seemed the bird was trying to introduce himself. “It is a song thrush. I can tell by its trill.”
“Is it? I shall put my trust in you,” he said, smiling down at her, “for I confess I do not recognize the sound. I have never stopped to pay attention.”
Sophia listened until the bird had finished its aria, feeling it deserved their attention. Mr. Harwood made no move of impatience, waiting until she moved forward again before taking his place at her side.
“I once found a book on ornithology in my father’s library and grew curious. I was first captivated by the illustrations, but then I began to listen and observe the birds near me.”
“Well, your time spent studying the species has served you well, for you were certainly able to identify that one.” She could hear the smile in his voice, and the compliment warmed her. He spoke of studying and achievement—attributes that were not usually applied to her.
Mr. Harwood crooked his elbow again in what seemed an unconscious gesture before dropping his arm. She searched for other things she might share that would interest him.
“Lady Sophia—” In a quick movement, he placed his right arm around her waist and his left hand on her arm. “I fear the path here is too muddy for you to tread upon it. Might I suggest we walk to the edge, where the ground appears firmer?”
