Chapter Sixteen
“I’m not sure.” Lanora tried to sit still at her dressing room table, to contain her nervousness.
“I am. You must speak with him. I’ve rarely seen a gentleman so besotted.” Grace stood behind her, making final adjustments to Lanora’s midnight tresses, artfully arranged and dotted with small crystals.
“And you told him about me? About how I’m friends with you, and that in the country we’re all like family, and that I shall not change for a man?”
Grace rolled her eyes. “I said as much.”
“And he didn’t back down? He didn’t rescind his love?” Could it be true? Her heart, a broken-winged bird fluttering in her chest, longed for the balm of William’s love. If he really loved her, she could forgive him the list. He was correct. It mattered not if he’d selected her from a list at the behest of his father. What mattered was the love they’d found after that selection was made.
If he loved her. If any of it was real. He’d charmed Grace, that was clear. That didn’t mean he wasn’t a cad who needed her to marry him to keep his fortune, gaining her father’s in the process. In that case, what difference did it make to him if he pretended to accept her eccentricities? Likely, once they were wed, he’d have her locked away in a mental institute as his father had his mother.
“Why was he in Lethbridge’s office? I know he broke in,” Lanora said, a worry she’d already voiced several times.
“You shall have to ask him. I daresay he’ll answer. He seems forthcoming.”
He often did. Yet, she always felt he was holding back, as well. Sometimes he seemed evasive.
“Besides, you don’t know that he broke in. You suspect. You expect me to believe you can tell the difference between the sound of a key in a lock and the sound of lock picks?”
“I do.” Lanora squared her shoulders.
“You and your lock picks.” Grace smiled at Lanora’s reflection, stepping back. “You look perfect. You’re very striking, even if your behavior is sometimes…trying. It’s a shame we didn’t put more effort into making you a lady.”
“I am as much a lady as I care to be, thank you, and it’s too late, regardless.” Lanora stood. “What am I to do now, then? Go read in the parlor while I wait, and hope, that Lord William will appear at our door?” Like he didn’t at the theater.
“That is exactly what you are to do, as you well know.” Grace’s hands rested on her hips. “Do try to restraint your mistrust.”
“Mistrust is healthy.” Lanora scrutinized her reflection. She smoothed her hands along her skirt. The dress was a light green. She would prefer something that matched her eyes. Pastels were insipid with her pale complexion and black hair. Even with her lack of fashion sense, she could tell a deep green would suit her better.
“If you ever do marry, you’ll be permitted to wear any color you like.” Grace added a knowing smile to her words.
“You must stop recognizing my every facial expression. It’s practically rude.” Lanora tipped her chin in the air and marched from the room.
She entered the front parlor and she took up her place in the window overlooking the front walk. She selected the spot for the light, as usual. It had nothing to do with wanting to see William the moment he appeared. After five minutes, not managing to read a single line, she set her book aside and watched the street.
He didn’t arrive in his open carriage, but a larger closed one. It was magnificent. Lacquered black, with his family crest on the side. A matched team of ebony horses drew it. Lord William’s coachman and tiger were dressed impeccably in Westlock grey and black.
He didn’t wait for the door to be opened, but flung it outward. He stepped down, bouquet in hand, and winced as his foot met the walk. Lanora frowned, but he appeared well enough as he strode forward, resplendent in his black coat and green vest. Under the fine fabric of his outerwear and nestled against the white of his shirt and cravat, his vest was the precise shade of green she wished she could wear.
His firm knock reached the parlor. She swiveled from the window and flipped open her book. Her lips pressed into a firm line, she forced herself to take in the words so her pose of reading wouldn’t be a lie. A moment later, footsteps sounded in the hall. She looked up.
He was alone, his long form framed in the doorway. No one had bothered to escort him to her. No one was there to chaperone them. Grace must have spoken to the others. They were likely all a party to her scheme of seeing Lanora wed to William.
“Lady Lanora.”
At the sound of his rich, deep voice, a thrill went through her. She set aside her book. She used to think chaperones a silly thing, pointless. Now, she desperately wished for one. She wanted to talk, to hear him out and coolly evaluate his words. Left alone, she wasn’t certain that would happen. In Lethbridge’s office, her anger had vanished the moment his mouth met hers. It had taken all her will to call it back.
William held out the bouquet. Not London hothouse blooms. Wildflowers, from the country. Lanora felt another bit of her resolve not to be taken in slip away. She stood, and crossed the room to accept them.
“Thank you. They’re lovely.”
“I thought they might remind you of home.”
They did. How could they not? “I should call for water.”
“I think they will keep.”
