“But—” Lyman let his thought die unfinished. None of this was supposed to happen. Della was supposed to hate him. She was supposed to cut ties with him forever, not shrug her shoulders and invite him on a holiday. That was what happened when you did something this terrible.
Could he really accept? It must be wrong, to benefit from such a mistake.
“I was thinking of Paris,” she babbled on happily, growing animated at her plan. It was just like the early days of their acquaintance, watching her follow the spark of a new idea. The sight was a familiar comfort. “But we could travel around if you’d like to see other places. Think how nice it would be, not to have anyone know us. There wouldn’t be any gossip to worry about. We could even use other names, if you like.”
The portrait she painted was seductive. Attending the theater or strolling down a busy street with Della on his arm, never worrying who might see them or what they might think.
“What about your club?”
“I’ve already stepped back in the last few months. Annabelle will exercise my rights as co-owner while I’m away.”
“And after that?” Lyman couldn’t help but ask. He didn’t want to dictate what Della did with her time, but he needed to know what he was risking if they took up with each other again. As much as he’d missed her company, there were some things he couldn’t do.
She seemed to understand his fear, for she was solemn as she answered. “I understand why it’s a problem for you, but you don’t need to worry. I don’t plan to come back to Bishop’s. Even aside from this”—Della made a vague gesture with her palm that encompassed everything from the story in the paper to their too-brief affaire—“my feelings about what we do have changed. I’d like to give it some time to see how Annabelle and Cecily fare without me, but I intend to transfer my ownership once it can be done without causing Jane too much hardship.”
“You won’t regret it later?” He didn’t want to entwine their futures, only to discover Della wanted to return to her old endeavors in a year or two.
“No.” She spoke with conviction. “What I loved was building something with Jane. Helping her to make a place in the world. But Bishop’s isn’tforme, not really. It’s time to move on.”
It was as if a weight had been lifted from Lyman’s chest. He’d grown so used to thinking of Della as impossible and beyond his reach, it was hard to imagine that might not be so. That they might really have a chance for a future together. His wife’s bill wouldn’t receive royal assent for some time yet, but it would come. And most of Europe had a more tolerant attitude toward divorce than England.Once he was free, he might marry her, if they wished it. The possibility was dizzying. He hadn’t thought he would ever be in this position again. Truth be told, he was more than a little frightened by it.
But she isn’t asking me for that.Della was a different woman than Ellen, and he was a different man than he’d once been. Perhaps they would find the time to discover whether they might fit together, once they had the freedom to explore.
“I can’t afford to travel in luxury anymore,” he warned her, well aware that he’d begun to think about her invitation in terms ofwhenandhowinstead ofif.
“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Della laughed. “I have my own money. I’d be paying for my accommodations anyway, and if you refuse me, then I’ll have to pay for a companion, as I said, so it really wouldn’t be any imposition to put you up.”
“Am I to be your kept man?” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
“Well…” A faint blush of pink dusted her cheeks. “It wouldn’t need to be that way. I was thinking, what if we wrote a guidebook to Paris, or wherever else we might choose to go? We made an excellent team. And then you’d still have an income. I finished my book, by the way. I meant to give you a copy to look over before I turn it in to Mr. Armstrong, but with all the excitement this morning, I forgot it at home. You don’t suppose he’ll want to renege on our agreement now that my name’s been tarnished, do you? It was supposed to be anonymously published anyway.” Della bit her lip.
“I doubt it,” he reassured her. “What Armstrong cares most about is whether the book will turn a profit. We’ll go see him together to talk it over.”
“Does this mean I’ve convinced you?” A bright smile broke through Della’s worry. “Are you really coming with me?”
The emotion that surged in his chest was sharp and poignant.Something very near to heartbreak—that familiar sense that he might shatter her smile if he got too close. But it was tempered by something else now: an understanding that Della was a good deal stronger than he’d given her credit for. After all, hadn’t the worst thing he’d imagined already happened? And they were still here.
He wasn’t sure the fear would ever vanish completely, but for the first time, it seemed possible that it might not dictate his every choice. Not this choice, at least.
“I suppose.” Lyman cleared his throat, for it was suddenly tight. “I can’t very well let you roam through France on your own, can I? Who would keep you out of trouble?”
Della gave a little shriek, throwing her arms around Lyman’s neck. “You’re going to love it! You’ll see. We’ll have so much fun together. I can’t wait.”
When she pressed his lips to his, he tasted hope.
If you likedA Lady’s Guide to London, you’ll loveThe Lady He Lost. Available now from Sourcebooks Casablanca.
One
1839
Lieutenant Eleazar Williams was resurrected on a Sunday—which, though fitting, proved terribly inconvenient for his family.
The Williamses were just getting ready to attend church (where, it so happened, they intended to light a candle for their departed son, now some two years in his watery grave), when their butler announced a visitor.
“It’s the young Mister Williams!” he gasped, his face white. “Returned to us!”
This statement produced some confusion, for Eli’s younger brother was away on his grand tour, and therefore a more likely candidate for an unexpected return.
