Page 11 of A Secret Infatuation
“No, sir. I was fortunate to escape as early as I did. But when I mentioned to the First Naval Lord’s assistant that I had been invited to dine with you and Mr. Harwood?—”
“Now, you must not speak too much of our connection with Harwood. Nothing is done in secret, mind you, but the less revealed, the better.” This was accompanied by a laugh, but Felix knew he meant it. Although there was no secret about the admiral’s having pulled strings to give him his MP position and that they shared a likeminded ambition for reform, they would make more progress if this fact was not constantly put in the limelight.
A new thought made him frown. Why was Lady Sophia here? He knew that Bartholomew Edwards was an untitled gentleman, but he came from an influential family in Worcester. If Felix were to be paired with Miss Mowbray this evening, was Edwards destined for Lady Sophia?
Felix closed his eyes briefly. He had become addled, for it was only his imagination that decided this dinner was for the purposes of courtship—or that he was destined for Miss Mowbray. That said, the admiral was now presenting Mr. Edwards to Lady Sophia, and he was bowing over her hand. If Felix was any judge, the secretary appeared to view her with an interested light. But then, that was hardly astonishing, considering her lovely frame, beauty, and gentle demeanor. Miss Mowbray seemed to know Mr. Edwards well, for they greeted each other amicably.
A servant brought out glasses of madeira, and the conversation was largely carried by the Mowbrays and Mr. Edwards, which allowed Felix to grow more at ease. He could only wonder at his having been so taken aback by Lady Sophia’s presence as to overset his composure to such a degree. He sent her furtive glances, wondering what her thoughts on the evening might be, but she was listening to Mr. Edwards and did not return them. He could scarcely hear her murmured replies. Miss Mowbray was teasing her father, causing her mother to scold, and it made Felix realize he had been neglecting his hosts.
“Miss Mowbray, did you not come to Brighton while your father was living there?” he asked when a lull presented itself.
A smile still lingered on her face as she faced him. “Not generally, for he was always anxious to return to our home in Surrey. We did go twice, however, each time for a stay of two weeks.”
“I am just wondering at not having made your acquaintance before, but I suppose that is understandable.”
“And yet, you know our daughter’s closest friend,” Mrs. Mowbray said. “How did you and Lady Sophia become acquainted?”
He was about to reply vaguely about mutual friends, but at the sound of her name, Lady Sophia looked up. “He came to my rescue when I was a girl and diverted the attention of a gentleman who was harassing me.”
Felix blinked. After her show of reserve at Lord Chawleigh’s dinner, he wondered if she had remembered their encounter. He turned to their hosts.
“Young men are not always the most sensitive, and my friend is no exception. It was a trifling service I offered her, and I am astonished she remembers it.” He smiled at her as warmly as he dared, then turned back to Mrs. Mowbray. “We met again in London this month, when Lord Chawleigh invited us both to dine. His son boarded for a time with my family so that my father might prepare him for Eton. And Lady Sophia”—he gestured to her—“is Lord Chawleigh’s neighbor.”
“Why, that is astonishing, for we are also within ten miles of Chawleigh Manor, and even less to Chesmere Park, although it is through Marie’s friendship with Lady Sophia that we know the two families at all. Lady Sophia and Marie met at the reverend’s house as girls to sew clothing for the poor, and they became inseparable.” Mrs. Mowbray smiled at the two ladies. “Mr. Harwood, I had no idea you had such connections in our neighborhood.”
“I am also surprised at your knowing Mr. Cunningworth,” Miss Mowbray said before turning to Lady Sophia. “I suppose that is my own fault, for I did not ask you how it came to be that Mr. Harwood was at Chawleigh Manor when you first met him.”
Lady Sophia did not offer up anything more of herself, but she had already surprised Felix by giving such a personal explanation for their initial meeting. Dinner was announced, and they moved into the dining room, where they sat informally around the table. Lady Sophia was once again seated across from Felix, depriving him of a chance to know her better. It began to frustrate him that this seemed always to be the case, although reason reminded him that it was only their second dinner together. He had never been so bent on seeking conversation with a woman before—even one he had no intention of pursuing.
Sophia had known in advance that Mr. Harwood would come to dine at Marie’s house, but it had still been difficult to breathe when he walked in. She was quickly discovering that when it came to social discourse, her usual nerves and anxious heart flutterings were nothing compared to how she felt when in Mr. Harwood’s presence. Somehow, it was more comfortable having him remain in the pages of her memento book, where she could allow him the space to be perfect while keeping her own heart safe from risk. It was more difficult to meet him in the flesh and expose herself to the constant threat of appearing ridiculous in his eyes.
Not that he seemed to view her that way. On the contrary, he was the one who appeared nervous this evening. Although she supposed that was normal after making her friend’s acquaintance. Marie was everything a man like Mr. Harwood could hope to meet. She mixed freely in all types of company, and her conversation was peppered with humorous quips and easy discourse. It must be Marie who had set him off-kilter, for it was when he met her that he appeared to be the most overset, fumbling with his greeting. Following that, he had fallen silent until he finally gathered the courage to speak to Marie—although she must not imagine he needed such courage. She was merely projecting her own weaknesses on him. In the limited time she had spent with Mr. Harwood, he had shown himself remarkably able to handle all circumstances and all nature of people. Tonight’s greeting was the exception.
He had asked whether Marie had been to Brighton to visit her father, and she assumed he regretted not having made her acquaintance earlier. With her ears tuned to everything that concerned Mr. Harwood, she had also heard Mrs. Mowbray’s question of how she and Mr. Harwood were acquainted and spoke up to answer it for herself. It was a desperate attempt to let Mr. Harwood know that she had seen him in the light of rescuer that day in Chawleigh Manor.
Now she was seated at dinner beside Mr. Edwards, who made himself agreeable and required little more from her than a simple murmur of encouragement as he spoke. She thought she was acquitting herself well in the conversation, but she could not be perfectly at ease in his presence, for his conversation was so lively, he scarcely waited for her tiny contribution before moving on to something else. He was able to eat at steady intervals while he spoke, but she was forced to leave her dinner almost completely untouched. What if he should require her assent while her mouth was full?
The conversation between the Mowbrays and Mr. Harwood appeared to be more interesting than her own, and Marie’s laughter was so infectious that he had grown at ease and was responding naturally.
“How came you to sponsor Mr. Harwood?” Marie asked her father. “I am now learning he was not in the navy, but in the army, so I cannot fathom how your paths crossed.”
Mr. Harwood raised his eyes to the admiral’s, smiling but giving no answer. Admiral Mowbray returned the look, took a sip of his wine, and set down his glass. “I discovered Mr. Harwood’s extraordinary diplomatic skills through a chance encounter while my officers were on shore leave. Is that not so, Edwards?”
Mr. Edwards returned a wry smile. “Indeed it is, and I can only thank the heavens I was not there that day, for I might have lost my position—and your good esteem.”
“What happened?” Marie asked, turning to Mr. Harwood with great interest. He met her look with humorous eyes, but shook his head. It seemed he was too modest, and the admiral answered in his stead.
“My officers were on leave and were meant to keep the sailors under their regard, so that the good innkeepers, townspeople, and local society would not wish us to Jericho. This was of particular necessity, since Prince George was reputed to be in residence in Brighton Palace—or would be arriving at any moment.”
Marie’s quick wit caused her to say, “You might stop the story here, Papa, for I know that even if the naval officers had behaved with the utmost correctness, the sailors were probably ripe for mischief.”
The admiral chuckled as he shared an enigmatic look with both Mr. Harwood and Mr. Edwards. “Well, there you would be wrong, my dear. It was the naval officers who started the brawl with the local yeomanry in the pub that night. Mr. Harwood, would you care to tell your part?”
Mr. Harwood cleared his throat and offered a weak smile. “I would rather let such a thing be forgotten, but of course I do not wish to disoblige you.” He turned to Marie and included Sophia in his look. “The soldiers were being fractious that night and wished to have the pub all to themselves, which was not a reasonable thing to expect.”
“Because the sailors were engaging in coarse behavior, I am ashamed to say. Flirting with the barmaids and innkeepers’ daughters in plain sight of the militia, who were used to that privilege.” The admiral’s lips turned up and he gestured to Mr. Harwood. “Go on.”
He paused before continuing. “A physical fight began, and some of us were in a timely position to encourage the parties involved to cease before things got out of hand.”
