Hearts Entwined (Victorian Love #3) - M.A. Nichols Page 0,28

not change the truth.

“It’s lucky we stumbled across it,” said Sophie, her brushstrokes moving clear and unflinching across the paper. “I am rarely in the country while butterflies and moths are most active, and there are not many townhouse gardens sizable enough to attract suitable specimens.”

A weighty silence followed, and Sophie couldn’t fathom why that innocuous statement troubled Mr. Kingsley so.

“And I stole away your opportunity to visit Mackleford Hall’s garden,” he said.

Sophie needn’t ask his meaning, for she knew it well enough. If reliant on her memory alone, she mightn’t have remembered the location of their failed excursion, but his note had kept such details fresh in her mind. If pressed, she could recite every word he’d written, but no one with sense would be so foolhardy as to reveal that little secret.

“A gentleman is hardly a gentleman if he cannot keep his word,” said Mr. Kingsley. “But I am grateful for the opportunity to beg your forgiveness in person.”

Pausing in her work, Sophie met his eyes. His brows were drawn low, and he dropped his gaze away.

“I do not know what kept you from escorting me that day, but I doubt it was a dereliction of duty,” said Sophie. “You do not seem the sort to throw someone over without good reason, so there is no need to harbor guilt over something so small.”

Mr. Kingsley did not meet her eyes again and there was a tension to his jaw and shoulders that belied his lazy posture on the ground, though he gave her a hesitant nod.

Slowly, his gaze rose to meet hers. “Might we continue as friends, then? Though we are not well acquainted, it is awkward to pretend we are strangers.”

Friends. That word held happy expectations Sophie would accept without reservation if not for the person asking it of her. It was foolish for her to harbor romantic fancies towards Mr. Oliver Kingsley, soon-to-be husband of Miss Victoria Caswell. Despite Sophie’s determination to dispel any sentiments greater than friendship, something pulled her towards him. Not love. Not precisely. But attraction and interest were imprudent emotions to feel towards a “friend.”

“Of course, Mr. Kingsley I would like that.” Sophie groaned at herself, though she knew there was no other response. Heartbreak was an acceptable risk if it allowed her the opportunity to spend a few hours in private conversation with Mr. Kingsley. His company was too enticing, and Sophie couldn’t recall the last time she’d been afforded such friendship; her parents’ circle of acquaintance did not boast many with whom Sophie wished to converse.

For his part, Mr. Kingsley appeared pleased and altogether unaffected by her declaration, giving her a bright nod before shifting positions so he might offer her his hand.

“Friends, then?”

Sophie scrunched her nose with a laugh at the highly ridiculous handshake, but as she was tramping about in the countryside sans bonnet or gloves alongside a gentleman with whom she could not fashion a romance despite her heart’s determination to do so, it seemed rather fitting to break even more with convention and take his hand in hers.

“Friends it is, Mr. Kingsley.” It would be easier to speak such words with utter sincerity if her heart did not thump a staccato against her ribs at the touch of his hand. Rolling her eyes inwardly, Sophie cringed away from her silly behavior.

Silly Little Sophie, indeed. Her brother would forever mock her if he knew she fairly swooned over a touch.

Chapter 10

“Now, you must tell me what your plans are for your drawings,” said Mr. Kingsley, his posture relaxing once more as she returned to her work.

“Plans?”

“You’ve spoken with such enthusiasm about naturalism in all its forms and are collecting drawings of various subjects if the thickness of your sketch journal is any indication,” he said, nodding at the book on her lap. “It appears to me you are working towards something important.”

Sophie cast a look at him but forced herself to keep her eyes trained on her subject; that was far safer. “It is only for my own amusement.”

Silence met that for a moment, and Sophie wondered what had the gentleman so pensive. Then he spoke with a tone filled with admiration. “So, you do it for the love of the thing.”

“You sound surprised at that.”

Mr. Kingsley sat upright and plucked a blade of grass, rubbing it between his fingers. “So many care about fame and fortune. Or prestige. They are not content with merely being a partaker; they must be a leader. It is admirable to