Page 8 of A Secret Infatuation
Her entreating eyes and plea touched a chord in him, and he bowed. “Immediately, my lady.”
It was a shame he had already sent off his hired carriage with instructions for the groom to return at a set hour. He wasted no time in exiting Friary Court and hurrying along Marlborough Road until he reached Pall Mall Street. That was the likeliest place he would be able to find a hackney. It took a frustrating amount of time to achieve his purpose, but he eventually flagged one down and called up to the driver. “To Friary Court.”
The driver furrowed his brows and tested Felix’s patience by taking his time to respond. “I expect they won’t let me in.”
Felix waved his hand impatiently. “I have official permission to be there, and I will ensure that they do. We must hurry. A lady is unwell.”
When they arrived at the gate to Friary Court, guards blocked the driver’s way. Felix had anticipated this and stepped out of the coach.
“Forgive me for this unusual mode of transportation. I have hired a carriage to attend to a lady who fainted following her presentation.”
The guards looked at his court dress and sword and moved to the side. Felix called to the driver to pull into the court and wait, then took a couple of steps forward before coming to a halt.
Near the palace wall, a crested carriage waited, and the same gentleman was settling the invalid inside of it. Lady Sophia, more animated than he had ever seen her, reached in to say something to her sister before withdrawing and coming around the coach to give directions to the groom and footman. The gentleman climbed into the carriage, and she hurried in behind him. The door was pulled shut, and the coach clattered over the cobblestones and exited.
Felix swiveled around to the hackney driver, who gave him a knowing look and spit out a stream of tobacco.
“Not needed, then, I’m to take it?”
“I am afraid you are not,” Felix said with a rueful smile. “Here’s a coin for your trouble.”
He stepped aside as the driver turned his carriage and exited the court. Felix’s thoughts were on Lady Sophia’s expression, so full of concern and animation—so far from her usual look of shy reserve or cold indifference. There was clearly much more to her than what she showed to the world, and he wouldn’t mind seeing some of it.
“Harwood, there you are. It wouldn’t do to be late to the king’s levee.”
Felix smiled at Admiral Mowbray, explaining the cause for his delay. They turned and began discussing the likelihood of Grenville’s affecting true change as they walked toward the state apartments. For once when discussing politics, however, Felix’s mind was only partially engaged. In all of Lady Sophia’s worry, he could not help but notice that she had called out to him for assistance without any reserve. Would she have asked just anyone? Or was it that she trusted him?
“Mr. Harwood?”
“Pardon?” Felix asked, realizing his mind had wandered. The admiral repeated his question of whether he knew how he must act inside the palace.
“Indeed I do. I have educated myself on what the proper protocol is. You need have no fear on that head.”
“Excellent. Let us go up, then.” Admiral Mowbray moved toward the same door Lady Sophia had exited a quarter of an hour ago.
He briefly wondered if he should pay a call on Lady Sophia to find out how her sister fared, but it took no time to dismiss the idea. Merely asking a person for help was not the same thing as inviting such intimacy as an unplanned call. Perhaps, if luck were on his side, he might meet Lady Sophia at a social gathering in the near future where he could ask after her sister—and not be forced to wait until the season was half over before seeing her again.
Chapter 4
As soon as she heard the sounds of her visitor, Sophia hurried out of the drawing room to greet her. “Oh, you have no idea how thankful I am to have you in London.”
Marie Mowbray, a friend of many years, removed a stylish blue velvet-lined bonnet from her light brown curls and turned humorous eyes to her. “You sound desperate. Has your season been very difficult thus far?”
Sophia handed Marie’s poke bonnet to Turton and slipped her arm through her friend’s, leading her into the drawing room, where the tea tray had already been set out. “You’ve no idea how much so.”
Although the queen’s presentation was the most pressing news she had to share with Marie, memories of her interactions with Mr. Harwood were what leapt to mind. There had been the dinner at the baron’s house where she had met him for the first time in years, the chance meeting in the park where she had managed to ask him a question. And of course, there had been her urgent plea at St. James’s Palace, which she had been unable to retract, for Mr. Harwood had arrived after Lord Bartoff offered his services. But to speak of those things meant revealing something so deeply private, and she was not ready for that.
Camilla entered through the door leading to the dining room and glanced from the tea tray to their guest. “Welcome to London, Marie. I suspect you both will wish to be private, so I will take my tea to my room.” She lifted the lid to the teapot, saw that the brew was ready, and poured herself a cup.
“Good day, Camilla.” Marie placed her reticule on the sofa, adding, “I assure you, your company will not disturb me in the least.”
A teacup balanced in one hand and a plate full of delicacies in the other, Camilla paused in her steps. “I may not disturb you; however, Sophia will not speak as freely if I am here, so I shall take myself off. I am sure you are more in possession of her secrets than any of her sisters are.”
Marie sent Sophia a considering glance, along with a hint of her teasing smile. “Are you quite certain? She does not give up her confidences easily, even if she is my closest friend.”
“Enough of speaking about me as though I were not here,” Sophia said with a mock glower. “I tell you everything that’s on my mind.” She corrected herself. “Well, not everything. But then what female does that?”
Camilla laughed and exited through the door that led to the stairwell, and Sophia gestured for Marie to sit. It was odd timing for these chance remarks, for although she generally did share much with Marie, one thing she had never spoken of was her affection for Mr. Harwood. If Marie had been at Chawleigh Manor that day four years ago, the story of Mr. Harwood’s heroism would surely have spilled out of Sophia. It was not that she minded telling her friend, it was just that as weeks had gone by before she saw her again, it seemed too irrelevant a thing to bring up. And then the moment had passed completely. It had become a story that went into her memento book, not something to share in whispered confidences.
