The hour had grown late.
“I know you are excited for the season…I know there are all these new people in London you are dying to meet.” He looked off into the darkness before continuing. “Every man you meet will be eager to put his name upon your dance card. Your home will overflow with flowers and gifts.” He reached up to play with the tendrils of hair that curled around her ear. Such tender skin invited his touch. “But I am giving you notice tonight: I intend to court you. And when you are ready, I will speak with your father.”
He spoke with absolute certainty. His words, a vow.
She stared solemnly into his eyes. “As a debutante, I am supposed to be demure…but…” She seemed to hold her breath. Her silence was suspended as leaves rustled nearby and the murmur of the Willoughby guests floated atop the flowerbeds.
“But…?” he whispered, leaning closer to her. He was going to kiss her.
Her palms rested flat against his chest. With such expressive eyes, she would be horrible at cards. When she tilted her head back, Michael knew exactly what she wanted.
“You are a dream,” she whispered.
Or that was what he thought she’d said.
For just then, a group of revelers interrupted their privacy as they traipsed along on an adjacent path. At their approach, she stepped back abruptly.
Her eyes had grown large. She covered her mouth with one hand, apparently stricken with herself. “What am I doing? Aunt Eleanor and Mama are likely frantic!” She glanced rapidly from left to right as though expecting one of her chaperones to jump out from behind the hedges. “Oh, Lord! I may very well have broken every rule drummed into me!”
She enchanted him, such an innocent temptress.
“Not every rule, Miss Bridge,” he teased, causing her eyes to widen further.
“Captain Redmond!” She spoke before he could finish.
But he merely laughed. “I’m fairly certain you used all the right utensils at supper.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head at him. He laughed softly.
Not willing to push their luck, he escorted her back to Lady Eleanor’s and her mother’s side. As he went to take his leave, he apologized for monopolizing the most beautiful lady present. “I shall be calling tomorrow,” he added, “for that carriage ride in the park, Miss Bridge.”
Lilly smiled and looked him squarely in the eyes. “But of course, Captain.”
DINNER WITH A DUKE
1824
After giving Glenda a brief narrative of her prior association with the Duke of Cortland, Lilly struggled to dismiss him from her mind. She’d known there was always a possibility of seeing him in London, but not in a million years had she imagined running into him along the road! Even seeing him covered in dirt, nearly a decade later, she’d known who he was the very moment she’d caught sight of him. And when he’d spoken, his voice had thrown open the portals of time and swept her into the past.
She’d nearly fainted.
But that would not do. She was the responsible one here, the matron, a guardian. She mustn’t succumb to the momentary urge she’d had to throw herself into his arms tragically. No propriety existed in such wantonness. Nor could she lambaste him for his cruel and heartless desertion years ago.
She’d addressed him as though he’d merely been an old acquaintance—one who’d aged better than a fine scotch.
And now, while Mary assisted Glenda into her gown for dinner, her stepdaughter peppered her with endless questions. Lilly must put an end to this. It was as though Glenda was pouring salt into a festering wound.
No, it was worse.
Lilly had not been prepared for this. She ought not to have mentioned the failed courtship. She should have dissembled, told Glenda she’d had nothing but a passing acquaintance with the duke. It had been foolish to mention anything more than that.
“Cease with these questions.” She spoke harshly. “It was not meant to be. I returned to Plymouth and married your father.” Voicing the details of her and Michael’s affair and remembering the agony of his rejection had resurrected her broken heart. She’d rather not contemplate such anguish again.
“You are lucky Father took pity on you! Otherwise you and Grandmother would not have had a home after Grandfather died.” Lord Beauchamp had never been discreet about his lack of regard for Lilly. It had undermined her relationship with her stepdaughter from the very beginning. It had also eroded her position with the servants.
Lilly glanced into the small looking glass above the bureau and tucked in a few strands of hair that had escaped her chignon. She wondered what Michael had seen when he’d looked at her. Did he see her as the matron she now was? Did he remember what they had shared? Had that long-ago spring meant anything at all? Obviously not, or he would have contacted her. He would have sent her a message. Returning to Plymouth at the end of the season had been the most miserable and humiliating time of her life. Just the thought of it, even nine years later, made her breathing hitch, her chest tight.
Lilly changed into a periwinkle-blue evening gown with amodest neckline and long sleeves. Although somewhat worn, it was the best she had for now. Aunt Eleanor had suggested she invest in a new wardrobe and put herself on the marriage mart as well, but Lilly adamantly refused. She would never again give the caring of her person over to any man. Common wisdom and the law suggested women were better off when they had a man to manage them. Lilly knew better. Although men were stronger, and more powerful, they were also rather idiotic as far as women were concerned. As much as she had loved her father, he had been wrong. Beauchamp had been cruel, and Michael had…well, he had been inconsistent. No, Lilly was free to manage her own life. She would not relinquish this opportunity.
