Hearts Entwined (Victorian Love #3) - M.A. Nichols Page 0,22

gaze held hers. “I will admit this is an unwanted and unhappy turn of events, but this is too important to Oliver, and I would never forgive myself if we were to cast a pall over what should be a joyous time.”

Simon’s brows drew together. “I cannot stand the thought of you being subjected to her company.”

But even as he spoke, Mina saw the hints of other worries buried beneath the surface. Over thirty years of marriage had stripped away any mystery, and even if Simon was not always aware of his feelings, Mina had come to know her husband.

“I do not doubt you, Simon.”

His dark eyes sharpened, his brows rising.

“We have spent decades together, and you have more than proven yourself to be honorable and loyal,” said Mina. She dropped her hand, clasping both of his. “I do not doubt you. I do not wish to pass another moment in her presence, but I do not fear it, either. She is nothing to us and has no power, except that which we give her.”

Simon’s expression softened, his eyes warming with admiration as he leaned closer, coming within a hair’s breadth of kissing her. If not for a sudden burst of laughter from somewhere behind them, Mina would have forgotten entirely that they were not alone. Simon sighed, his lids lowering as he scowled at the interruption, and Mina found herself smiling at it.

Shifting her hand, Simon lifted it to his lips, pressing a tender touch to her palm. “Are you certain we cannot return home?”

“My resolve is weakening,” she murmured, “but best not. We can weather this, Simon.”

Chapter 8

Evenings were interminable. Long hours surrounded by strangers and passing acquaintances, traveling from dining rooms to drawing rooms to ballrooms and so on. An endless parade of empty conversation, to which Sophie had little to add while standing on the periphery, wishing she were elsewhere. And a house party only added to the discomfort.

Where balls or concerts boasted larger crowds in which to hide, a house party’s small guest list highlighted Sophie’s status as a wallflower. Among those guests, friendships formed and strengthened during the many days spent together, but night after night, she remained shunted to the side.

Sophie might’ve been quite hurt if she allowed herself to dwell on it. But once she discovered a proper corner in which to hide, her thoughts were entertaining enough; there were always books to ponder and plans to make. Though she couldn’t claim a fondness for such isolation, it was far preferable to being forced to converse on redundant and unimaginative subjects with those who had no true interest in engaging odd Miss Sophie Banfield in discussion.

But it was difficult to lose herself in contemplation while the world around her kept dragging her into the present.

Refusing to allow her eyes to drift to a certain gentleman who stood with his young lady, debating the social issues of the day, Sophie cast her thoughts to moths and butterflies and the local Lepidoptera she’d not yet spied in the wild. Of course, the proper time for viewing insects and wildflowers was in the spring, but Sophie had not spent those most precious months in the country since coming out; heaven forfend Mama and Papa miss any part of the Season.

“Are we not to have a moment’s peace?” The harsh whisper drew Sophie’s attention to a pair of young ladies standing together. Like most drawing rooms, the Nelsons’ was a large, rectangular space, which provided little opportunity to hide from sight, and Sophie’s chair was sitting not far from the pair, but neither gave her any notice.

“Calm yourself, Phyllis,” replied the flowery confection of a lady, whom Sophie belatedly realized was their hosts’ daughter, Miss Hettie Nelson.

“But Lily is forever going on and on. Why can she not hold her tongue for once?” Phyllis—Miss Thompson?—spoke in a near hiss, her posture growing rigid as she spoke.

“There is nothing to be done about it,” said Miss Nelson. “She is to be Victoria’s sister-in-law, and as it happens, Victoria is fond of Lily.”

“And Victoria has the patience of a saint,” replied Miss Thompson with a huffing laugh. “It was torture enough to suffer her company again and again as children. I had hoped to be free of her when we came out, but it appears she is to plague me my entire life.”

“That is a tad harsh,” said Miss Nelson, clasping her hands before her. “I freely admit Lily can be trying at times, but she’s not as