it, but I appreciate the beauty found in nature. I feel invigorated and yet so at peace when out in the woods. It is difficult to describe…” Oliver’s words drifted off into silence as he struggled to find the right ones.
Miss Sophie paused for only a scarce moment before adding, “It is as though you are unbound and free.”
Oliver’s smile broadened, his eyes gleaming with appreciation. “Precisely.”
The throng around them faded away as he held Miss Sophie’s gaze. Oliver did not think himself a puffed-up fellow, but the manner in which her eyes warmed made him think she also felt that spark of possibility hovering between them.
“Though it is not as fine as that which you find in the countryside, Mackleford Hall boasts lovely gardens,” he began, and Miss Sophie’s gaze brightened further. “I am acquainted with the Sudleys, and I have a standing invitation to tour their gardens at my leisure. Would you accompany me?”
He’d hardly finished speaking before Miss Sophie said, “Yes.” She scrunched her nose, chuckling at herself. “Perhaps I appear too eager, but I cannot feign circumspection when offered such an invitation.”
“Tomorrow afternoon?” Oliver asked, allowing his own eagerness to shine through.
Chapter 3
Hours of dancing into the wee hours and little sleep afterward normally made for a miserable morning, but today, Oliver’s steps were light rather than dragging. He’d attempted to rest more, but it’d been a useless enterprise; there were more important things to do than lounge about in bed.
Giving his hat and gloves to the footman, Oliver examined the nosegay in his hand. As he had no knowledge of flowers, he could not say what they were, though the shopkeeper had insisted they were wildflowers. They were not as fine as those he would’ve liked to purchase, but a bouquet of orchids or roses did not seem right for Miss Sophie.
“Put these in water, William, while I write a note.” And with that, Oliver took the steps two at a time up to his bedchamber.
Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, Oliver grinned even further at the sight of the ridiculous smile plastered on his face. Even though he’d managed to slip into bed early this morning, he’d been unable to get more than a couple of hours due to that massive grin and the accompanying memories that inspired it.
Miss Sophie.
Oliver hummed a lively tune as he strode to his desk, but it wasn’t until he sat that he realized the song was from the dance he’d shared with her. Sitting, he pulled out a pen and paper and paused. What did one write in such a note? Nibbling on the end of his pen, Oliver stared at the wallpaper, his eyes not seeing the image before him and his thoughts all too focused on calculating the hours until their outing.
A knock came at his door, and Oliver called out for the knocker to enter, glancing over his shoulder.
“Good morning, Father,” he said.
But there was no jovial reply to the greeting. Shutting the door, Father tucked his hands behind him and watched his son with an assessing eye.
“I’ve heard the most astonishing rumor,” said Father, his brows pulled tight together. “Are you courting one of the Banfield girls?”
Oliver’s smile had a mind of its own, for it grew and filled his face without prompting. Anyone with eyes would’ve noticed his marked interest the previous night, as he and Miss Sophie had spent the majority of the evening deep in conversation. He’d not been so bold as to stand up with her too often, but minus the few dances that were claimed by other gentlemen, Oliver had monopolized the rest of her attention. So, it was no surprise that tongues were wagging.
“I haven’t spoken with Mr. Banfield yet, so I would not say we are ‘courting,’ but I have every intention of pursuing Miss Sophie.”
The brightness in his words dimmed as Father’s face grew ashen. Stepping to the bed, his father sank onto it as though his feet would not hold him upright. “How is that possible, Oliver? How did you even meet?”
“At the Fitzsimmons’ ball—” But his words died on his lips, his heartbeat slowing to a dull thud as his father leaned forward, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“It cannot be true, Oliver,” he said, shaking his head and tugging at his cravat. “Please tell me this is just an infatuation and nothing more.”
“You are making no sense.” Oliver turned in his seat to face his father, and the expression he saw