it more likely that Allen had made the mistake than Mr. Priestly, she did not bother correcting the fellow. Luckily, the quickness of their dance did not allow for much conversing at any rate. So, as she had done before, Sophie merely nodded and smiled at the appropriate intervals, allowing Mr. Priestly to talk at great length about that all-important subject—himself.
Sophie’s eyes darted around the edges of the ballroom, but she did not spy her previous partner. The disappointment she felt at that discovery was just stuff and nonsense. A flirtation her silly heart was keen to build into something far more meaningful. Yet her feet felt like lead clunking through the hopping steps, and though this dance was no longer than the previous, it stretched on interminably before reaching its eventual conclusion.
“May I fetch you a drink?” asked Mr. Priestly as he escorted Sophie from the floor.
“My thanks, but no,” she replied, casting furtive looks around for that specific someone.
“Nonsense. You must be parched,” he said with a bow before striding away without a backward glance.
Sophie sighed and watched the boisterous groups surrounding her. No one paid her any heed, but that did not preclude her from feeling on display. With no desire to join the raucous conversations and no ability to distance herself without behaving poorly towards Mr. Priestly, Sophie had no choice but to square her shoulders and force any discomfort from her mind.
And so she stood, waiting. Several minutes passed, and though Sophie did not have a pocket watch to track the time, the next dance began, and each measure marked its passage. The refreshments were not terribly far from where she stood, and Sophie could not imagine what was taking the fellow so long. The sooner he arrived with her drink, the sooner she could retreat.
Straining to her tiptoes, Sophie tried to see above the crowd, and after a moment she spied Mr. Priestly deep in conversation with some other gentlemen about all the nonsense gentlemen of leisure chatter on about. No doubt the absolute importance of finding a wife with superb riding and archery skills.
With a smile, she lowered herself and strode away. Mr. Priestly had forgotten all about his duty, so there was no need for her to wait. But Sophie’s smile faded as she cut through the crowd in search of her forlorn corner of the ballroom. Her breath paused, a flutter stirring in her stomach as she stared at the floral arrangement that guarded her hiding place.
But Mr. Kingsley was not there.
Her smile turned inward, chiding her for fanciful notions. Taking her place beside the flowers, Sophie drew further back, wishing they hid her completely from view.
A bit of silliness. A half-hour’s worth of conversation and a dance did not mean anything more than a passing acquaintance. And surely Mr. Kingsley did not suffer for admirers and friends. It was ridiculous to believe he would continue to keep her company. Even if their brief conversation had been one of the most enjoyable she’d had in a long while.
Turning her gaze to the flowers, Sophie examined the blossoms. Though lacking the knowledge to identify the hothouse varieties, she recognized some as cultivated cousins of familiar wildflowers, and Sophie sorted through the information she knew about them. Her mind was in no way focused on the task, but she tried to wrangle her thoughts towards any subject other than Mr. Oliver Kingsley.
“Would you forgive me if I invade your haven once more?”
*
Having spoken the words in jest, Oliver expected a similar reply. What he received was a smile that lit Miss Sophie’s face as her gaze turned from the flowers beside her to the gentleman before her. The expression shifted and grew, her crystalline eyes sparkling in the candlelight.
Oliver knew enough about fashion to know Miss Sophie’s coloring was not de rigueur. Her hair was lighter and complexion darker than the hues society craved, and both held hints of the golden glow one finds when traipsing about in the sun; a few freckles were sprinkled across her nose, and though many a lady bemoaned such imperfections, Oliver thought them becoming on Miss Sophie. Perhaps other gentlemen might call her unremarkable, but he could not think of a more striking lady, and his smile grew in return.
“It is not invading if you are invited, sir,” she replied.
Oliver was no believer in love at first sight, and he would not claim to have such feelings for Miss Sophie, but neither could he deny the interest