Hearts Entwined (Victorian Love #3) - M.A. Nichols Page 0,14
there was nothing to be done.
“Miss Phyllis Thompson, might I introduce Mr. Elijah Dixon.” Victoria was quite proud of herself for not tripping once over her words—especially while Mr. Dixon was watching her with such unblinking focus. “Phyllis’s family lives in the neighborhood and shall be joining us for most of the coming festivities.”
Mr. Dixon stepped forward to perform all the social niceties, and Phyllis dipped into a curtsy, though the young lady faltered when Victoria added, “Mr. Dixon is Mr. Flemming’s private secretary and is accompanying him to the house party.”
Victoria’s lips pinched at the shift in Phyllis’s expression. Though her friend hid it well, Victoria did not miss the dimming in her eyes as Phyllis quickly took the measure of Mr. Dixon and dismissed him between one heartbeat and the next.
Turning back to Victoria, Phyllis said, “I came running to find you. The Kingsley carriage arrived just moments ago.”
A blush colored Victoria’s cheeks, her eyes drifting to Mr. Dixon for a moment before she forced them back to Phyllis.
“That is wonderful news,” said Victoria.
Mr. Dixon cleared his throat, his bright eyes dimming briefly as he held Victoria’s gaze. “It is good to see you again, Miss Caswell, and a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Thompson, but I fear Mr. Flemming is awaiting my return.”
“Yes, of course,” said Phyllis with a vague wave towards the door as Mr. Dixon bowed and left. When the door shut tight behind him, she added, “What a shame. He is somewhat handsome.”
“Mr. Kingsley?” Victoria’s brows drew together.
Phyllis laughed. “Mr. Dixon. His ears are a touch too large, but his coloring is striking.”
“I think his ears suit him,” said Victoria.
But she received only another laugh at that. “To each their own, I suppose, but it is of no matter, as he is unlikely to have two guineas to rub together.”
“But—”
“Not all young ladies have your good fortune to land such an eligible young man as your Mr. Kingsley,” continued Phyllis, “but I heard the Dosetts’ heir is unattached, and they have a fine estate in Wiltshire. Though his younger brother is said to be the heir of some distant relative, I would not gamble on that. Such inheritances are easily reversed.”
Phyllis took Victoria by the arm and led her to the door. “I’ve washed my hands of Mr. Farthing, for I shan’t waste more time on tepid beaus. He’s had months to pursue a courtship and still cannot bring himself to be bold enough to ask my father’s permission to court me. Mr. Charles Dosett is from a good family and has a healthy income that will provide nicely for his future, so I will have him.”
Slanting a look at her friend, Victoria said, “Have you made your intended aware of your decision?”
Wrinkling her nose, Phyllis gave another laugh. “Don’t be silly. Gentlemen are useless when left to their own devices. I made that mistake with Mr. Farthing, and I shan’t do so again.”
“You sound like Miriam, who declared she is determined to fall in love at least once before we return home, but I wish you good luck on your endeavors,” said Victoria.
Phyllis gave her a broad smile that was likely to bespell Mr. Charles Dosett the moment he saw it. “And to you, as well.”
***
Where some houses focus on imposing size, others choose design and ornamentation; of course, there are sprawling buildings that are both prodigiously large and finely decorated, but such grand estates were a rarity in their little corner of England. There was Buxby Hall, which was owned by Sir Albert Lovell and boasted both, but as the baronet did not care for the country and never visited, few other than the servants recalled its existence.
The Nelsons’ home could not compare to Buxby Hall but was impressive in its own right. The skeleton of Hardington Hall looked like a child’s block dropped on the Essex countryside, but where its shape bespoke simplicity, the architect had compensated with opulent details that called to mind the Baroque French chateaus. This was by no means Oliver’s first visit to his neighbors’ home, but it never failed to instill a sense of awe as one entered the foyer to be greeted by gold leafing and frescoes that felt out of place in their quaint English village.
However, he preferred his Avebury Park to this, for all the ornamentation brought a heaviness to the house that was far from inviting. Imposing, certainly, but Oliver preferred a home to be welcoming. Give him large rooms with