Page 5 of A Secret Infatuation
Chapter 2
Felix Harwood entered his rented lodgings at No. 123 on the Strand. The rooms were located on the second floor of a narrow, red brick terraced house. He had taken them before being promoted to junior commissioner at the Sick and Hurt Board, but he had been disinclined to move into something larger because of the unobstructed view it gave him of the Thames.
He responded to a knock that came minutes later, allowing a servant to bring in his laundered items and hang them in the placard placed against one wall. Felix thanked him and handed him a coin. When he was alone again, he went over to the window, folded his arms, and leaned against the frame as he stared out. Below him was a stretch of garden enclosed by a wrought-iron fence that allowed a glimpse of the service lane beyond it and stone steps on the bank leading down to the water.
It was difficult to credit how far he had come in the past three years. The son of a vicar with a modest living, he had secured a distinguished post in the Admiralty and, most recently, a seat in the House of Commons. Lord Chawleigh had given him some early advantages by paying for his schooling and calling in favors for his first position as a quarter-sessions junior clerk. But Felix had obtained his transfer to Brighton as a customs clerk by his own industry. There, a fortuitous meeting prompted the Admiral Mowbray to recommend him to a position in the Admiralty, after they had discovered a sympathy in their ideas for reform. The admiral then pulled strings so that Felix might win the pocket borough of Gatton and serve his constituency in Parliament. When he learned of this, Lord Chawleigh had expressed some discontent at the shift in Felix’s political views, but he had been distressed by the loss of his wife and mostly left Felix to make his own way.
Last night was the first time Felix had seen the baron in many months. Lord Chawleigh had recovered some of his equanimity after Lady Chawleigh’s death, but at first glance seemed far from the imposing man he had once been. It was astonishing to think that he could have been in love with his wife, for in every other way he seemed beyond such human emotions. However, as they waited for the lady guests to arrive, Felix was soon made aware that the baron had not forgotten what he owed him and would be expecting his vote on certain bills that had to be carried through both Houses. Felix nodded and tried to appease without giving promises, but he was relieved when they heard the arrival of more guests. For all the ways both Robert and his father might try his patience, he cared for them. They had given him opportunities he otherwise would not have had, and he knew that deep down there was goodness in both.
His mind drifted to Robert’s neighbors from Surrey—the Earl of Poole’s daughters, whom he had not seen for several years. He did not remember having met Lady Joanna, but he did remember Lady Camilla—and her elder sister—quite distinctly. Lady Sophia had been a couple of years his junior then and now was fully grown. She appeared still to be excessively shy, and he wondered why that was. She was titled, wealthy, and a beauty besides. It bothered him to think that some event or ill treatment might have caused such timidity. As though she had been crushed by someone in her life—some one or many—although perhaps that was his imagination. Her father had seemed perfectly congenial when he was alive, and her mother and sisters were all that was agreeable.
Ah, well. It didn’t do to dwell on the issue of Lady Sophia’s bashfulness, for even if she was of an age to consider as a woman of interest, she was far above his touch. He had no ambition to embark on a courtship with the daughter of a peer. Felix would not have given her a second thought, except that she had seemed upset with him last night in the way she turned away with a frown. Not just cold and indifferent, but upset, and he did not know why.
Enough of that. He pushed away from the window frame, willing himself into action. He had just returned from riding, so would wash up before heading out to Brooks’s, where the admiral had promised to make him a member. He owned to having some nerves at the idea of applying for membership to such an illustrious club, but he must remember that he was an MP now, and this was where he belonged.
When he arrived at Brooks’s, Admiral Mowbray led him into the dining area that was open to guests. He leaned in to avoid being overheard.
“Your membership is a sure thing,” he promised. “Brooks’s is friendly toward Whigs, and they will be glad to have your vote.”
Felix knew this, but responded politely. “That is good to hear. Thank you for your sponsorship, Admiral. I will do my best to achieve our aims.”
“Excellent.”
The admiral had a good-natured visage, a jovial demeanor, and a love for balls and parties. Someone who had never seen him command might be fooled into thinking him an ill fit for his post. Felix had seen him in action, however, and when Admiral Mowbray pressed forward, nothing deterred him. They settled down to discuss the most pressing parliamentary business, with the admiral recommending the committees Felix should be part of.
The year prior, a commission had been created to ensure that all new naval appointments would be merit-based rather than handed out by favor. Felix was barred from investigating appointments in the Sick and Hurt Board where he worked, but he would join the commission to investigate irregularities in other areas of the Admiralty. He would use his position to call for pensions to sustain the widows of seamen who had lost their lives in service to the crown. He had seen firsthand how the loss of a family’s breadwinner plummeted all its members into poverty, and at present only the officers’ families received some form of compensation.
Although serving with the yeomanry on the coast had given Felix a sense of purpose, it paled compared to all he hoped to accomplish in Parliament. The prospects were rich and exciting, especially with Grenville and Fox at the helm.
Upon leaving the club, his mind filled with committees and reform, he nearly ran straight into Robert, who was walking with Perkins and Grantly on Bond Street.
“You need to look where you’re going, Harwood.”
“My apologies.” Felix grinned at his friends. “I’ve just been to Brooks’s to meet with Admiral Mowbray.”
Robert shook his head. “Did you hear nothing of what my father said last night? I cannot believe you are still bent on Parliament—and as a Whig? Why spend hard-earned money only to tire yourself on a lost political cause?”
Felix clasped him on the arm, laughing. “Not you, too? Why not let me just continue in my pigheaded way?”
Tom Perkins smirked. “You cannot argue with him, Cunningworth, since he has owned to being pigheaded.”
Grantly waited until their laughter had died down. “Join us, Harwood?”
It took Felix no time to decide that he was far too restless to return to his rooms and would like nothing better. “Where are you headed?”
“To the stables, and then Hyde Park for a turn on Rotten Row,” Robert said. “Come along if you’ve nothing better to do.”
“Why not? I will meet you there, as my horse is stabled in the opposite direction to yours.”
That was another thing he would have to look into. He kept his horse and phaeton in a stable and carriage house on Drury Lane, not far from his rooms. It had been convenient and affordable when he had first arrived in London, but it was not the nicest of areas. It was time to change stables, even if it meant three pounds more a month.
Robert waved, and they parted ways.
Felix had continued to call Cunningworth by his first name, partly because they had met as lads, and partly because his surname was a mouthful to say. For some inexplicable reason, Robert seemed truly to like Felix despite the disparity in their stations. He was not an easy person to get along with, especially when he considered himself slighted. But he had boarded with Felix’s family while the vicar tutored him and prepared him for Eton, and they had shared enough moments in boyhood to develop a close bond. Robert was an only child, and Felix had only younger sisters.
When he finally reached Hyde Park, the promenade at the fashionable hour was well underway. As of yet, he had not made many influential connections in London, but he suspected that was about to change, now that he was an MP. He scanned all those gathered, some on horseback, some in carriages, and still others on foot. He didn’t spot his friends, but his eyes came to rest on an open barouche carrying four figures in fur-lined cloaks and bonnets, for it was still early in the spring. One of them turned, and he recognized Lady Sophia with her sisters and mother. Another still in girlhood bore a resemblance to Lady Sophia and Lady Poole, and he assumed she must be the youngest daughter. He hesitated for a moment as he stared at the crested carriage. Should he ride over and greet them?
Perhaps Lady Sophia had sensed his regard, for she looked at him and seemed to grow still when recognition dawned. Her eyes latched on to his for a brief moment, before she turned away, chin up and mouth tightened. It reinforced his impression from the night before that she did not like him, but he could not guess what her reasons might be. It irked him, for he was generally considered to be an affable fellow. It was not as though he were pursuing her as a fortune hunter might. All he had done was to spare her Robert’s harassment all those years ago in the drawing room. Even at last night’s dinner, he had been careful to treat her exactly as he did her sisters, without giving any hint of what had happened in the past.
