“That would be lovely. Perhaps the day after tomorrow. I feel as if I require a full day to recover from tonight’s adventure.”
Bowing his departure, Dorset deposited Maeve with Ginny, and within minutes Lady Ingleby had made a beeline for her. “Where have you been, young woman? You didn’t dance the second waltz.”
“Calm down, Mother. I spent the time conversing with Dorset. He was very pleasant. And, as it turns out, he was fine with talking over dancing.”
Her eyes took on a calculating glint. “Oxford wishes to take you driving tomorrow afternoon. I told him he could pick you up tomorrow at Ingleby House at four.”
“Ah. Good, then perhaps you can go with him. I have a previous engagement.”
“You will go.”
“I will not. Excuse me, Mother. It’s time for me to depart.”
“So nice to see you, Lady Ingleby,” Ginny said. Ginny took Maeve’s arm and they strolled away. Once they were out of earshot, Ginny leaned in. “We’ll find Brock and take you home. I vow, your mother is worse than mine when it comes to charting your course. And, I assure you, that is not an easy feat to pull off.”
Maeve squeezed her hand. “I feel as if I should somehow be defending her, but at the moment, no argument comes to mind.”
Harlowe sat in the formal dining room of Kimpton Manor with four lit candles surrounding a painting of a young lady wearing a large ruby on her left hand. It was a simple country scene of the girl sipping her tea, her pretty smile coy, her velvet-brown eyes full of dreams and hope. The building behind sat on an expansive lawn and was blurred, to focus on the girl in the forefront. It was... sweet.He vaguely recalled the oversized hat she wore that covered part of her face.
He’d obviously painted the girl with a loving hand, but why couldn’t he remember her?
The lavish background should have pricked his memory, and it did seem familiar, but defeat roared through him with brutal reality. He must have fallen in love with her. While it was a frequent enough occurrence where artists and models were concerned, this went further. He’d married her for God’s sake. Yet why couldn’t he remember her?
No answer came forth.
He felt sick all over again. He pushed away a plate of food Mrs. Woods had placed before him, despite his protestations at not being hungry. He wanted to smash something. He shoved away from the table, went to the wall and drew back his fist, trembling with frustration and fury—
“Lord Harlowe?”
He froze. “Lady Alymer.” He lowered his arm to his side. Her dress, the color of a rich cabernet and square neckline, drew his gaze to the swells of small enticing breasts. The most shocking aspect was that the dark red shade did not contrast violently with her bright hair.
“Are you well, sir?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, swallowing back bile at the utter irrationality of the situation.
“What is this?” she asked in that seductive, captivating sonance that was now haunting his nights.
Harlowe dropped his hand, and with a wary gaze, watched her move into the room. “What is that in your hand?”
She grinned and held up a pair of tattered slippers.
The sight stole his breath. “Good God. You danced your slippers off.” In an instant, his tension lifted.
She let out a long-winded sigh and dropped into the nearest chair. “All my mother’s doing, I assure you.” Her eyes lighted on the plate of scones and finger meats. “Do you mind?” she said, fingers poised above. “I missed the late supper.”
Shaking his head, he lowered in the chair at the end of the table which put him within touching distance of her.
Her gaze sharpened on him, her brows meeting in a concerned frown. “You’re trembling.” She reached over and clasped her hand over his. “What is it?” Her gaze moved around the chamber as if searching for the source of his discontentment. It stopped on the painting, framed by the four candles. She inclined her head to the picture. “Corinne. She was a lovely girl.”
He jerked his hand from her, flinching. “Was she?”
“You don’t remember.” She stated it as fact.
“No,” he said harshly. “I don’t remember. I have no memory of where I met her or if I loved her. Was she a model and I desired her? Why would I marry her? It makes no sense, she was not of my class.”
Those full lips of hers curved into a small smile. “Ah, but she was.”
That took him aback. He stared at her, speechless.
