A delicious weakness ran through her legs and she leaned against the counter.
“Before we do that,” he said, “you have to learn how to read the clock properly.” He pulled out the fob with his pocket-watch, flipped it open with one hand, lifted it to his face and lowered his gaze. His profile was as sharp and commanding as that of an emperor’s on a Roman coin.
The soup tureen crashed to the floor.
Both Hector and the Duke leaped to their feet. “Mama!”
“Are you hurt?” the Duke asked at the same time.
All the blood had drained from her face and she gripped the table for support. “Do that again.”
“I beg your pardon?” A slight frown formed on his face.
“What you just did.” She moistened her lips. “With the watch.”
He lifted it. “This?”
She nodded.
“What did I do?”
“Put it back in your pocket, then take it out and look at it.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he complied. He tucked it into his pocket and drew it out with one fluid motion, flipping the lid open.
Lena closed her eyes.
She felt him warm and solid stepping up behind her, gripping her shoulders.
“What is the matter?”
She swayed under the overwhelming surge of emotions. “I finally remembered,” she whispered.
“What?” His grip tightened slightly on her shoulders.
She looked up, meeting his eyes.
“You.”
Chapter Twenty
It was a clear,sharp vision of colour, sight, and smell.
She’d just stepped out of a shop into a busy street, when a voice suddenly exclaimed from behind her. “Oh look, quickly, my lady, there’s your betrothed.” Was it her maid? Was her name Martha?
Her heart began to pound and her breath quickened in anticipation. She craned her neck and tiptoed forwards to get a glimpse of him, her very first glimpse, and then she saw him pulling up in a curricle, which was immediately surrounded by several other gentlemen. He stood up and pulled out his pocket-watch.
“A quarter to the hour,” he said, “to the minute. That means I was one and a half minutes faster than Garford. I have won the wager.”
Several pedestrians paused and murmured amongst themselves. “The Marquess of Drayton. Son of the Duke of Aldingbourne. Ten thousand pounds per annum and two estates, and he’s not even a Duke yet. They say he isa rising star in Parliament, remarkable for his young age. Mark my words, he’s on the path to greatness.”
She’d felt a surge of pride that this was the man she would one day marry. How fine he looked, how tall and handsome! He was immaculately dressed in a dark blue coat and trousers, his beaver hat perched rakishly on his head, the flaps of his greatcoat swinging back as he stepped down from the curricle with a light foot.
He swept past her, not knowing who she was, for their betrothal had only been informally agreed upon by their parents, and they had not yet been formally introduced. Had he noticed her, he would have seen an awkward, pale fourteen-year-old girl in a brown pelisse and a bonnet that covered most of her face. She could have touched him if she had stretched out her hand, but he never noticed her. He disappeared in a house, followed by his friends.
She craned her neck to catch a last glimpse of him before the door closed.
“A most distinguished young lord,” Martha said. “And so very handsome! How fortunate you are, my lady.”
