“Will Estelle indeed be here too?” she asked, pleased. “I had not heard. I like your son, Charles. He is a very pleasant young man.”
“He likes you too,” he told her. “He says you have a permanent twinkle in your eyes.”
“Oh,” she said, “I do not.”
“No, I know,” he said. “But you ought to, Matilda. You were born to arouse happiness in those around you. You used to do it. When I won your affections—for a short while at least—it was against brisk competition.”
“That is so untrue,” she protested.
“You were unaware of your own charms,” he told her. “It was one of the endearing things about you. You were much admired, Matilda, largely because of the sparkle of happiness you exuded.”
He must be wrong. Oh, surely he must. She had had other suitors, of course, a tedious number of them after she had sent him away. But she was Lady Matilda Westcott, eldest daughter of the Earl of Riverdale. She came with a large dowry. She was extremely eligible. The attention she received had not been at all surprising. There had been nothing personal about it. He was quite wrong about that.
“This is a silly conversation,” she said.
He laughed—and her insides turned over. “Then it is a good thing it is at an end for a while,” he said as the boat drew in to the bank and all the magic and pleasures of Vauxhall awaited them, as well as the nervousness of meeting his daughters and their husbands as a member of their family party just as though … Well, just as though Charles werecourtingher.
She wassounaccustomed to being out alone, Matilda thought. For a moment she longed for the prop of her mother to fuss over. Then she set her hand in Charles’s, got carefully to her feet against the sway of the boat, and stepped out onto the jetty. She rearranged her shawl about her shoulders as an excuse to release her hand from his, straightened her spine, and nodded briskly to indicate that she was ready to proceed. Colored lanterns swayed above their heads. The distant sound of music enticed them to come closer.
“Matilda.” He offered his arm. “I chose you as my companion for this evening because I wanted you here. Everyone will be prepared to like you. You need not look as though you were about to march into battle.”
“Do your daughtersknow?” she asked as she took his arm. “About Gil, I mean?”
“Yes,” he said.
“And they know he is married to my niece?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “And to Lady Estelle Lamarr’s stepsister. They know. They are dealing with the knowledge.”
As was she, Matilda thought. She was still dealing with it, with the knowledge that Charles must have fathered Gil a mere few months after declaring his undying love for and fidelity to her.
They strolled along a wide avenue in the direction of the rotunda, surrounded by other people, their senses assailed by the sounds of music and voices and by the sight of colored lamplight. She was here with a companion who was not her mother. She was here with a man who had deliberately chosen her. She was here withCharles.Whoever could have predicted any of this?
“Do you remember,” he asked her, his voice low, “the last time we were here together, Matilda?”
How could she possiblynotremember? The magic, the exhilaration, the pure joy of that evening. The heady feeling of being young and in love. The anticipation of a lifetime of love together. She had never doubted his eligibility, even though she knew he had been embroiled in some pretty wild escapades with Humphrey. He had been heir to a viscount’s title, after all. And that evening had been one of the very few times they had been able to snatch more than just a few short moments alone together. They had wandered along one of the narrower, darker paths among the trees until they had stopped and he had kissed her.
“It was a long time ago,” she said.
He did not answer. They had reached the rotunda with its tiers of open-fronted boxes arranged in a horseshoe shape about the dance floor. The orchestra was positioned in the center.
“It looks as if we are the last to arrive,” he said. “But everyone else was coming via the bridge. My children, it would seem, have no sense of romance.”
“And you do?” The words were out of her mouth before she could rein them in.
He turned his head to smile at her. “And I do,” he said.
Then they were at the family box and Matilda was being presented to Mr. and Mrs. Dewhurst and Lord and Lady Frater, all of whom smiled amiably at her and shook her hand. Mr. Sawyer shook her warmly by the hand too, and Estelle beamed at her and kissed her cheek.
“It was only half an hour ago that I learned you were coming here too with Viscount Dirkson, Aunt Matilda,” she said. “I was so delighted. Is this not the perfect evening for Vauxhall?”
“It is indeed,” Matilda agreed. “And may I wish you a happy birthday, Mrs. Dewhurst?”
She was a pretty young lady and favored her mother in looks, as did her brother. Lady Frater more closely resembled her father.
“Thank you, Lady Matilda,” Mrs. Dewhurst said. “But will you call me Barbara, please? And I am sure my sister would rather be called Jane thanLady Frater.”
“I would indeed,” that young lady said. “Do come and sit down, Lady Matilda. The food will be arriving shortly. Vauxhall always has thebestham. And strawberries.”
