knee-deep and announced every slight movement, and though some part of her wished to hold onto her embarrassment, there was no point in fostering it, so she gave a self-deprecating laugh.
“No doubt you more than adequately announced yourself,” she replied, running her hands along her front and straightening her apron. “But I fear I was far too preoccupied to notice.”
“And what has you so preoccupied?” asked Mr. Kingsley, his gaze turning from her to the empty field. “You are far from Hardington Hall.”
Pushing back a lock of hair that had tumbled free of her chignon, Sophie smiled. “I couldn’t help myself. The others were content to lay about the parlor, but I couldn’t waste such a glorious morning.”
Mr. Kingsley tucked his hands behind him and nodded absently as a smile lit his gaze. “If I recall correctly, you are passionate about naturalism, so I would expect nothing less of you.”
“I am surprised you recall that detail.”
Rocking forward on his feet, Mr. Kingsley replied, “It is impossible to forget such enthusiasm.”
Sophie ignored the thump of her heart at that pronouncement. Luckily, a flutter of movement stole her attention as something moved in a patch of wildflowers just behind Mr. Kingsley. She stiffened and pressed a finger to her lips when Mr. Kingsley opened his mouth. Inching down, Sophie snatched the satchel and journal and crept towards the flowers, and Mr. Kingsley stared but said nothing as he inched alongside her. Stopping beside a vibrant patch of rosebay willowherb, Sophie sat slowly, her eyes fixed on the moth perched among the stalks.
“You beauty,” she whispered, fetching her drawing pencils and opening her watercolor journal to a fresh page.
“What is it?” asked Mr. Kingsley in hushed tones as he sat beside her.
“Deilephila porcellus.” But Sophie paused and rethought that pronouncement. “No, that isn’t correct.” Staring off to the side for a moment, she hunted through her memory. “Deilephila…elpenor. More commonly known as the elephant hawk-moth.”
“Elephant is right.” As though objecting to the tinge of mockery in the fellow’s tone, the moth’s wings buzzed, and Mr. Kingsley grimaced, dropping his voice before continuing, “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen such a large moth before. Though, in truth, I’ve never given moths much thought before.”
“Hawk moths are fascinating creatures,” said Sophie as her pencil scurried across the page to capture the insect. “Unlike most moths and butterflies, they beat their wings like a hummingbird or bee. It allows them to hover and maneuver as other moths cannot.”
The drawing took shape quickly, as her subject had the good sense to hold still. Of course, it helped that this species was nocturnal and the moth was likely to remain where he was unless they disturbed him again. Given the opportunity, Sophie retrieved her paint kit, watercolor brushes, and water jug, and began adding the much-needed color, for that was where the elephant hawk moth truly shined.
Streaks of pink and green covered the creature, blending into the brightly colored blossoms of the rosebay willowherb. Sophie had seen quite a few magnificent butterflies and moths before, but this little beauty was breathtaking. If only she could bring him home with her, but Mama had banned any insect collecting paraphernalia from the house party, leaving Sophie with no other recourse but to satisfy herself with appreciating and recording her find. Nothing more.
Mr. Kingsley shifted, leaning closer, and Sophie’s fingers fumbled with the brush, though she caught herself before she dropped a great splotch of pink in the wrong place.
“That is lovely,” he said. “You have quite the talent.”
Sophie glanced at him from over her shoulder. “I am middling at best.”
“No false modesty,” he replied with his eyes fixed on her creation. “My mother is an avid artist and raised me to appreciate it, and as someone who truly has a middling skill for it, I can attest that you are much better than that.”
Blinking at the compliment, Sophie knew not how to respond. “As you are the first to compliment it, I find it difficult to believe you.”
“That cannot be true,” replied Mr. Kingsley, his brows drawing taut.
Sophie turned her gaze back to her subject, forcing her attention to her painting. “I will concede that my governess praised them, but that is the extent of my fame.”
Mr. Kingsley did not reply, but he stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles, leaning back against his elbow. He gave a grunt that confirmed he’d heard her and did not believe her, but that was of no consequence, for it did