Page 22 of A Secret Infatuation
An answer was not required, and he led her that way, gently. She did not mind it, for she could not remember a time when someone took such care of her. Every step, encircled in his arms that way, filled her with raw awareness. It was such an odd and reassuring sensation that every nerve, and even the air around her, was flooded with it. For once she did not feel pressured to speak. The silence was enough.
At the other end of the muddy patch, he removed his arms, leaving her unmoored. It had been a delicious moment, one she would relive again and again in the privacy of her room, but of course such intimate contact could not continue. She glanced behind her and saw that Margery had navigated the muddy spot with perfect ease. In turning forward again, she spotted a rider approaching them.
“Admiral Mowbray,” Mr. Harwood called out.
The admiral greeted them from horseback. “You two are taking a great risk to go walking in weather such as this. I suspect the skies will open before long.”
“You are very right, sir. We had best turn back.” He glanced behind them. “We have come with Miss Edwards, your private secretary’s sister. I met the ladies by chance when visiting the Royal Naval Asylum this afternoon.”
The admiral raised his brow in surprise. “Did Marie go to the asylum today? I know she had intended to, but if she did, she did not tell me.”
When Mr. Harwood met Sophia’s eyes, she saw mirth in his, along with an expression of awkwardness. She understood that she was meant to make the explanation and gathered her courage to do so.
“Marie said she could not come today because she was to accompany you on a call.” She hoped she was not putting the admiral on the spot, although she knew that Marie never lied so it must have been the truth.
The admiral laughed loudly, and his horse sidestepped underneath him. “And so I did. But the visit was canceled by the other party at the last minute. I had forgotten. Poor Marie. I am sure she would have liked to go with you”—he focused on Mr. Harwood as he added—“and will certainly have regretted missing out on your walk.”
Sophia darted a curious look at Mr. Harwood, wondering if he regretted it, too. It was impossible to read his thoughts, and he answered only, “There will be other opportunities.”
He did plan to walk with Marie, then. She must not step ahead of herself and assume he was interested in her. After all, a gentleman as considerate as he would have helped any woman over a muddy section of the path.
“Well, I shan’t keep you,” the admiral said. “I’m too old to enjoy being caught in a downpour. And Lady Sophia, I am sure you are too delicate to wish for it. Harwood, you had better see her to shelter.”
Although Sophia did not think of herself as particularly delicate, she dared to hope the admiral did not object to her walking with Mr. Harwood—that perhaps he might even admit that she was a good match for him.
There was no time to build on these hopes, for Admiral Mowbray said, “I know I need have no fear for you, Harwood, for you are a hardy chap. When it comes time to settle upon a wife, choose one with a constitution as hearty as yours, for she will need it. I hear that quite as much debate is done in the MP’s drawing room as in Westminster.” The admiral laughed at his own jest.
“Yes, sir,” Mr. Harwood responded with a polite smile.
The admiral rode off, his horse picking up its pace, and Mr. Harwood led Sophia back in the direction they had come from. He carefully navigated her around the spot of mud but avoided putting his arm around her waist. He was likely heeding the words the admiral said and did not wish to give her false encouragement. After all, she was in no position to host political gatherings when she could scarcely speak to a person she did not know. It was a painful reminder that she was creating castles in the air when it came to Mr. Harwood.
Before they had walked much farther, the rain began coming steadily down. Mr. Harwood removed his cloak and held it over her for extra protection as they ran over to the spreading branches of a thick oak. Her maid rushed behind them and stopped several paces under the protection of the tree from where Sophia and Mr. Harwood stood. Sophia turned and saw the sodden form of Miss Edwards hurrying to meet them from the other direction, still some ways off and dodging the rain between the trees.
The rain picked up in strength and began to wet them even through the heavy canopy of leaves. Mr. Harwood guided her backward to the thickest part until she was resting against the strong trunk of the tree, and she felt the heat of his nearness, felt him looking down at her. She lifted her eyes, and his expression intensified.
“I wish I might offer you a better shelter. One you deserve,” he said.
With her head tilted upward, a raindrop landed on her cheek and trickled down. “I am not as delicate as you might think.” A flash of something lit his eyes—intrigue or attentiveness. She could not be sure.
Miss Edwards arrived, laughing. “Well, we did not have enough sense to turn back when we should have. But rain never melted anyone, did it?”
The thundering of hoofbeats approached from the same direction the admiral had come from, although the rider was not yet visible. The rider slowed when he came to them, and Mr. Harwood turned, giving her a view of him. Of all the people in London, it was none other than Robert Cunningworth.
Robert reined in fully. “You were caught in it, too, were you, Harwood? I’m just coming back from Bloomsbury and have cut through Oxford Gate.” His smile fell when his gaze landed on Sophia. “The two of you are out walking together?”
Sophia did not like his accusatory speech. She knew Mr. Harwood was in some debt to Lord Chawleigh, but that did not give his son the right to look down on Mr. Harwood or control his steps. Although thoroughly drenched, she stood upright and lifted her chin to Robert.
“We met by chance at the Royal Naval Asylum. Miss Edwards and I were visiting there, and Mr. Harwood had gone for his own purposes. As the weather still seemed fair, and we were going in the same direction, we came to Hyde Park together.”
She had said more than she meant to. It almost sounded like an excuse, or an attempt to cover an assignation. And she knew from experience, the more words one uttered, the more chance one could be mocked for them. The heavy rain that had come so quickly was already tapering away, and Robert looked up at the sky, then over to them.
“Well, I will take advantage of this lull in the rain to head home, and I recommend you do, too. Lady Sophia, I will see you on Thursday.” He tipped his hat and rode off, but not before she had a glimpse of his look of displeasure.
No more than a nod was required in return. The rain had stopped, and Miss Edwards led the way back to the path. She carried on a cheerful conversation that required only small contributions from her and Mr. Harwood. This was fortunate, for although Sophia had enjoyed an extended period in Mr. Harwood’s company—the first time such a thing had happened—she was less certain than ever that he might one day come to admire her.
Chapter 11
On the night of the opera, it was decided that Marie would come with Sophia in Lord Chawleigh’s carriage, and Mr. Harwood would meet her at the King’s Theatre. She confessed that although she would miss the intimacy of riding in a carriage with such a dashing man, it solved the problem of her own chaperonage.
