Page 10 of A Secret Infatuation
“I think my father hopes to evade the London season altogether by having a match made right in his living room.” Marie laughed.
Sophia wished she had the resolve to offer a smile to what was meant to be humorous, but the likelihood of such a design having success stole her will. Marie was charming. She had soft brown eyes to match her curls, and what was more, she was perfectly at ease with everyone. A man like Mr. Harwood must surely prefer a woman such as Marie over one who was too shy to string two words together.
When she had sufficient command of her voice, she said, “That sounds like a pleasurable evening. When is the dinner to be had?”
“We have only just arrived yesterday, so the date has not been set.” Her friend turned considering eyes to Sophia and the corner of her lips tipped upward. “Shall I see if we might conjure up another gentleman and send you an invitation, as well?”
“Yes, why not?” Marie had probably spoken in jest, being confident that Sophia would reject the idea, but she could not resist an opportunity to spend more time with Mr. Harwood.
“Oh!” She looked at her more fully. “I hardly expected such easy capitulation.”
Sophia smiled, but when Marie’s questioning look held, she felt like she should explain. “I don’t mind a dinner when I am with friends. A small dinner,” she added.
“Well then, I will be sure to arrange a very small one.” Marie leaned in. “I do hope to see you enjoy your season, and I think it’s a fine thing you are willingly accepting invitations. It is a good beginning.”
“Yes,” Sophia replied, somewhat weakly, already filled with guilt for her duplicity. “I hope we will both enjoy our seasons.”
Chapter 5
Felix had successfully navigated his first weeks of sitting in Parliament, listening to proposed legislation and hearing a debate that had been carried over from the last season. He joined the investigative committee the admiral had pushed for—the Commission for Naval Inquiry—and another that interested them both particularly, the one to discuss providing pensions to soldiers and their families. Both he and the admiral felt strongly that it was unfair to serve the crown in good faith, only to end up begging on the streets because one had become infirm as a result of that service. This, and the lack of pensions provided to the widows of ordinary soldiers and seamen who fell in the line of duty, were matters that must be rectified with some urgency. His maiden speech on the plight of these could not be described as brilliant, but it had garnered applause and the echoes of “hear, hear!” from certain quarters.
He fully enjoyed his morning work in the Admiralty, and the afternoons and evenings he spent in Parliament, and felt he had come into a life that suited him. The only thing he had not figured out how to manage was the politely worded request he had received from Lord Chawleigh on behalf of his son. Aware of Felix’s connection to the admiral, the baron had decided that as Robert lacked direction to seek out a career, a post must be found for him. In a recent interview, he intimated to Felix that the post that would most suit was that of assistant to the prize agent. Not only might he advance in the role and move from assistant to agent, he would be assured of a land-based, comfortable job that was likely to prove lucrative. After all, for every enemy ship captured, Robert would receive a percentage of the prize money.
“It is a trifling thing I ask of you. As you know, Robert is eager to be of service to the crown,” Lord Chawleigh had said. “And now that you have connections in the Admiralty and are on intimate terms with Admiral Mowbray…”
Felix found it tricky to refuse without sounding ungrateful. Lord Chawleigh must come to understand that Felix could hardly present such a request to his patron, when the admiral was directing him to raise his voice to exert influence against such favoritism. For the moment he had not given a definitive refusal, but he would have to do so.
He was now on his way to dine at the admiral’s house in Cavendish Square after two weeks of finding plausible reasons why he could not accept an invitation for dinner. He knew little about the other Mowbrays except that the admiral’s first wife had died in childbirth, along with his son. His second wife was a good deal younger than her husband, and she had produced a daughter whom the admiral greatly cherished. There was no reason for Felix to be reticent about joining the dinner except that he suspected the admiral had ulterior motives for inviting him, and that those motives involved his daughter, the admiral’s pride and joy. After all, he had said more than once with a particular smile that he was sure that Felix would find his daughter to be a charming, sensible girl.
The admiral was a worthy man, but one could not claim him to be a handsome one. Of course, there was every possibility that his daughter had taken after her mother, the admiral’s much younger second wife, who might well be a beauty. But this was pure conjecture. He supposed his hesitation came down to not being ready for his heart to be engaged; he therefore put up obstacles against the possibilities. That the image of Lady Sophia popped into his head at that exact moment must be pure coincidence, for he was certainly not interested in her. And even if he owned himself to be, he would not embark upon such a courtship. No, his future wife was likely to be practical and from a humbler station in life. With any luck, she would be good-humored and fair, as well.
On second thought, perhaps his reluctance to meet the admiral’s daughter was unjust. Perhaps she was all of these things.
His rap on the knocker brought a footman to the door, who bid him enter. Felix found the interior warm and welcoming, with wooden floors and a staircase running along the right side of the main hall. The corridor walls were uncluttered, painted white, and boasted simple frames. On his left was a stone pedestal holding a potted fern. He handed his hat and cane to the servant and followed him into the drawing room, where the admiral stood to greet him.
Felix came and shook his hand, then bowed before the admiral’s wife, who was indeed pretty, and who greeted him graciously. Perhaps he would be in luck and could hope for a pleasant evening if Mrs. Mowbray’s daughter was anything like her.
“And this is my fair Marie. I am sure you will see why she is my pride and joy.”
He turned to greet the admiral’s daughter, but his attention faltered—came crashing to a halt—when he saw Lady Sophia standing at her side. Social correctness required him to greet Miss Mowbray first, since her father had presented her to him, but his lips seemed to stutter, along with his heart, for he greeted her with, “Lady Marie…Miss Mowbray…a pl-pleasure.”
Felix was not a man easily overset, and this display of awkwardness hugely embarrassed him. He attempted to hide it in his bow.
Miss Mowbray studied him curiously with a small smile on her face, but he didn’t think she was laughing at him. She would have every right to do so. Lady Sophia’s brows were knit, and he could see she was concerned by his reaction. She probably thought he had gone mad.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Harwood. My father has told me much about you.” Miss Mowbray sank into a curtsy, then turned to the earl’s daughter standing next to her. “And I am to understand you are already acquainted with Lady Sophia?”
“Yes. A little. Lady Sophia, your pleasure—your servant,” he corrected himself hastily. Would it be too soon to ask for a visit to the retiring room so he could pull himself together? Where had his diplomacy gone? It was just that her presence was so wholly unexpected, he had forgotten how to perform the most basic civilities.
“Good evening, Mr. Harwood,” she said quietly.
His attention slid back to her face, but he could not read anything there. Then again, he was not sure he would like to know what she was thinking. It was all so humiliating.
“Let us sit and have a drink while we wait for our dinner.” The admiral had not seemed to notice anything amiss with Felix, or at least pretended not to. He resumed his seat next to his wife.
Lady Sophia and Miss Mowbray sat on the sofa, and Felix took the chair across from them. The knocker sounded again, and the admiral beamed with satisfaction. “What a pleasant evening we shall have. That must be Edwards.”
Mr. Bartholomew Edwards was the admiral’s personal secretary, and he and Felix had begun to develop something like a friendship in their common cause. When he was ushered into the room, the admiral waved him over. “You are not as late as you feared.”
