Page 4 of A Secret Infatuation
Mr. Harwood had changed very little, except for a certain bulk to his shoulders and arms, which was visible through his coat. He watched their approach, and she was able to assess that although his face had matured in the ensuing years, his eyes were still kind; his lips hinted at that same smile.
Breathless, she halted in the center of the room as the gentlemen left their position and approached. She returned Mr. Perkins’s greeting mechanically and turned to face Mr. Harwood.
“This is Lady Sophia,” Robert reminded him. “And these are her sisters, Lady Camilla and Lady Joanna.”
“Your servant.” Mr. Harwood bowed before them, and before Sophia had time to ponder whether he had remembered her, he turned to her sister. “I recall meeting you, Lady Camilla. You were my partner in the game of fours, and you had the steadiest of hands.”
Camilla looked pleased. “I should write you off as a flatterer, except that I do enjoy playing bowls and think I am not terribly ill at the game. However, you must play against my sister Joanna if you wish to be truly challenged. She is accomplished at any sport she sets her mind to.”
“Hardly worth boasting about,” Robert murmured, and Mr. Perkins snickered, but Mr. Harwood looked intrigued and brought his eyes to Joanna.
“I shall look forward to the opportunity, then, my lady. Would it be unkind to confess to my hope that you will not outplay me?” This was accompanied by a charming smile.
“Not at all. I will not go easy on you, however,” Joanna replied without an ounce of bashfulness. “You must decide if you wish to risk it.”
He laughed and bowed again before rejoining the other gentlemen, who had each taken a glass of claret. Lord Chawleigh indicated for the servants to bring ratafia for the young ladies and sherry for Lady Poole before encouraging everyone to take their seat.
Sophia did so numbly, trying to wade through the shock of being of so little consequence in Mr. Harwood’s eyes. He had remembered Camilla but not her. She must have imagined that his defense that day had been for her sake and not so that they might proceed with the game of bowls. She had imagined that his knowing smile had been given specifically for her. She was clearly trivial in his regard, for he could scarcely treat her with less significance. Meanwhile, she had held on to the unwavering hope that he might have retained some small thought for her throughout the years. What a simple creature she was.
The conversation swirled around her, but she did not participate, not even to give the usual commonplaces that would show her to be a woman of interest. When the butler announced the dinner, Robert leapt to her side and bowed before her.
“Lady Sophia, I would be honored if I might escort you into dinner.”
Wordlessly, she took his arm, now sentenced to eating beside Robert and struggling to follow his conversation. He never left much time for silence. Behind her, she heard Mr. Harwood solicit Camilla, and Mr. Perkins offer his arm to Joanna.
As the footman helped her into her seat, Robert turned to her and smiled. “I haven’t forgotten about you in these two years’ absence, Lady Sophia. I hope we may see much of each other this season.”
He had never revealed any compelling reason for his interest in her, other than a desire for her family’s connection—that and he thought her biddable. Neither were traits she wished might inspire a man to pursue her. It had not been Robert Cunningworth she hoped would pursue her.
Sophia managed to arrange her lips in something that looked like a smile, but her heart grieved. She had always known the fantasy she’d created out of Mr. Harwood would not hold, but she was unable to help it. Her heart followed its own desires. As for Robert, it mattered little that he seemed determined to please this evening; she did not have any feelings for him at all.
The dinner passed more tolerably than she might have imagined, given the fact that she was heartsore and hard-pressed to perform socially. Mr. Harwood was seated across from her, and she allowed herself to listen to his conversation whenever the pauses in her own permitted it. She conversed with both Robert and Tom Perkins on her other side, whom she did not feel particularly close to, considering how easily he had joined Robert’s harassment in years past. Once, Mr. Harwood met her regard across the table, and the surprise of it caused her to turn away with a frown. He could not know that he had been anything special to her. She must let him think she had forgotten him, too.
Once the dinner was concluded, the men stayed behind in the dining room for port, while the women went into the drawing room. As soon as they were alone, Lady Poole called the attention of Sophia and her sisters.
“Lord Chawleigh has laid claim to our long friendship by inviting us to dine with him although there is no hostess to serve at his side. He requested that one of you might pour the tea when the gentlemen join us after their port. Sophia, dear, I think it had best be you.”
Camilla sent her a look of concern at the same time that Joanna protested, “But, Mama, Sophia is tongue-tied around gentlemen. Had you not better do it?”
Instead of answering, Lady Poole held Sophia’s gaze. “She must overcome her bashfulness if she is to have a successful season. It is best if she begins now.”
Sophia tried to give voice to the protest that rose up in her, but nothing came out. Was this not akin to announcing some sort of understanding with Robert? Her reluctance warred with her inclination to be an obedient daughter. She swallowed and nodded her head.
They were not made to wait long before the sounds of the gentlemen’s voices approached the drawing room. A footman entered through a servant’s door with a tea tray, followed by a maid carrying the hot water. They set these down on the table on one end of the room, and Sophia glanced at her mother, who leaned in.
“The Chawleighs have always been good neighbors—almost like family,” her mother whispered. “There is no need to make any ado about such a simple request.”
Sophia smoothed the skirt of her gown and stood. The porcelain jar of tea sat on the tray, and she pinched the leaves and put them in the steaming teapot, hoping she was preparing it to Lord Chawleigh’s satisfaction. Around her, the discussion settled on Vice-Admiral Nelson’s state funeral, which the baron had attended. No one seemed to remark on her position beside the tea tray, which was a comfort. When the tea had steeped long enough, she moved to pick up the pot, then hesitated. She would have to ask each gentleman how he took his.
It was easiest to begin with Lord Chawleigh, who reached over and patted her arm. “Thank you for performing the service, my dear. I will have sugar. Two spoons.”
She nodded mutely and went to Robert and Mr. Perkins, mumbling the same request. Then she stood before Mr. Harwood, who lifted his eyes. His seemed uncommonly bright, giving the same impression he could see through her. But that was an illusion; he did not even remember her. Her throat worked, but nothing came out.
“If you would be so good as to bring mine with milk, I would be much obliged to you.” Mr. Harwood smiled warmly.
Unable to hold his regard, Sophia turned, and it was not until afterward that she realized she had not returned an answer. He would see her in the same light as he had four years ago. It had been naive to think she had overcome her timidity, even a little bit. She brought everyone their tea and avoided looking at Mr. Harwood when she brought his. What a ninny he must think her. There was only one thing to do now, and that was to put aside this secret infatuation she had maintained all these years. To forget about Mr. Harwood completely.
The only problem was, she was not sure she could.
