“Yes. Lady Farah has been attentive too. Then again, she is also friends with my sisters,” he replied, perhaps too quickly. “She’s been very kind, helping me adjust.”
He saw the flash of pain in Courtney’s eyes and hated himself for causing it. This beautiful woman beside him deserved better than an ex-fiancé who couldn’t remember loving her, who found himself increasingly drawn to another woman simply because she didn’t carry the weight of their shared past.
As they approached the opera, he resolved to try harder with Courtney tonight. She deserved that much at least. But he couldn’t quite suppress the leap of anticipation in his chest at the thought of seeing Farah. She was familiar. She’d found him in Ireland and her compassion was one of the reasons he’d decided to come back to England. Farah knew all his secrets and still accepted him and Ava-Marie. Just as he knew hers—that she’d been traveling unescorted in Ireland with Lord Rockwell. If that came out, she’d be ruined.
She was the safe option. Daughter of a duke, with a large dowry. If he didn’t think Farah was in love with Rockwell, she’d be the sensible choice. But if she did love Rockwell, why did she not want to marry him?
Lucien had even made Farah a promise on the return to England. If society learned of her scandalous trip to Ireland with Rockwell to find him, and she really didn’t want to marry Rockwell, he would offer for her to save her reputation. So, until Farah and Rockwell’s situation was sorted, he himself was trapped. He couldn’t offer for another until he knew he wouldn’t have to save Farah.
Looking at Courtney’s profile in the flickering light of the passing streetlamps, he wondered if it was possible to fall in love with the same woman twice, and what it meant that his head seemed to be pulling him in two different directions.
*
Courtney sat likea statue in the Wolfarth box at the Royal Opera House, every muscle tense as she watched Lucien as he sat beside her. The familiar curve of his neck, the way his dark hair curled slightly at the collar… It was all achingly familiar and yet belonged to a stranger. The candlelight caught the gilt edges of the box, casting dancing shadows that matched her tumultuous thoughts.
“Can you remember attending the opera?” Wolf’s gentle question broke through her reverie. She winced, knowing what would come next.
“I wish everyone would stop asking me if I remember anything. Because I don’t,” Lucien snapped, his harsh tone making Courtney’s heart constrict. The silence that followed felt like a physical weight. When he sighed and offered his apology, she managed to smile at him, though her chest ached with the effort of holding back tears.
Wolf’s kind response about living in hope only seemed to agitate Lucien further. “I suggest everyone forgo the idea of a miraculous remembrance. I can’t and won’t remember.”
The words struck Courtney like physical blows. She blinked rapidly, fighting back tears as she felt Farah’s sympathetic gaze. Drawing on every ounce of her strength, she placed her hand on Lucien’s arm, trying to bridge the vast distance between them with that simple touch. She took the victory when he didn’t shake it off.
The opera began, but Courtney barely registered the music. Instead, she found herself watching Lucien, noting every shift in his posture, every subtle movement. Her stomach twisted as she noticed his gaze repeatedly drifting to Farah. The way he leaned forward slightly when she spoke, the intensity in his eyes when he looked at her—it was painfully familiar. He used to look at her that way, before…
When Lucien leaned forward to whisper to Farah during Madame Butterfly’s aria, Courtney thought she might shatter. His warm murmur about beauty, clearly meant for Farah’s ears, drove Courtney to action. She couldn’t sit there anymore, watching the man she loved shower attention on her dearest friend.
“Farah,” she called out as soon as the intermission began, her voice unnaturally bright even to her own ears. “Would you accompany me to the ladies’ retiring room?”
In the privacy of the retiring room, Courtney’s carefully maintained composure crumbled. The questions poured out of her about Lucien, about Farah, about what she was supposed to do with this man who wore her fiancé’s face but looked at her like a stranger. Each word felt like glass in her throat, but she had to know.
Farah’s fierce loyalty and honest answers both comforted and wounded her. Yes, Lucien might be developing feelings for Farah. No, Farah didn’t return them. Yes, there was still hope for Courtney and Lucien to build something new.
As they fixed their hair and returned to the box, Courtney felt simultaneously stronger and more fragile. Farah’s promise that no man would come between them warmed her heart but couldn’t completely ease the ache of watching Lucien—her Lucien—navigate this new world without the memory of their love.
She settled back into her seat for the second act, the tragic notes of Puccini’s opera washing over her. How fitting that they should be watching Madame Butterfly, she thought, a story of love and loss and waiting. But unlike Cio-Cio San, Courtney wouldn’t let her hope destroy her. She would be patient, would give Lucien the time and space he needed, would trust in Farah’s friendship and her own resilience.
Still, as she watched the opera unfold, she couldn’t help but wonder. Was it harder to lose someone to death, as she had thought she had for five years, or to have them sitting right beside you, looking through you as if you were a stranger? How long was she supposed to be hurt by this? How much of a chance could or should she give him?
Farah’s ball to welcome Lucien back to society was in a few days and if things hadn’t improved by then… If she didn’t feel as if Lucien was trying to get to know her, she would… What? What could she do?
Just then, she looked up and across the theatre, and she saw a pair of opera glasses looking their way. Not surprising, really, because everyone was fascinated by Lucien’s return. But her heart gave a leap in her chest. That was Viscount Vale’s box, and if she wasn’t mistaken, that was his younger brother, Mr. Axton Fancourt pointing his glasses this way. She wondered what was holding his attention.
She liked Axton. He was handsome and charming. He came from a good family and most of all, he wasn’t after a wealthy wife. He’d flirted outrageously with her at Lady Skye’s ball last week and she’d enjoyed it. He was the man who made her reconsider her vow to remain a spinster.
Her spine straightened and she sat tall in her seat. If Lucien didn’t want her, she’d find a man who did.
*
Later that night,no sooner had Lucien stepped inside his home, having escorted Courtney home, than Lauren glided onto the landing above him wrapped in a dressing gown.
“Have you been waiting up for me?”
She gave a weak smile. “I wanted to know how the night with Courtney went?”
He trudged up the stairs to where she stood. “It was a nice night.”
“Nice?”
