“Yes, just off of Ravenscroft Lane,” he replied as they strolled down the high street.
Freddie whipped her head to him. “But that’s where I live! Are we neighbors?”
“You could say that.”
Oh, but this wasfartoo fun.
“Well, then you must be coming to the party tonight.”
Lucien nearly stumbled over his feet. He had entirely forgotten. Every September Mr. Atkinson threw his wife an enormous birthday party and invited the entire neighborhood. The whole household was in a tizzy for weeks beforehand, and Lucien always got caught up in the excitement. Then he would watch the festivities from his usual perch on the massive, gnarled oak tree by his bedroom window that conveniently overlooked the back garden, waiting for just a glimpse of Freddie in a beautiful ballgown.
“Are you all right?” she asked as Lucien righted himself.
“Absolutely,” he said and flashed her another smile. “You’re quite the distraction, Miss Atkinson.”
Freddie preened a little and pointed up ahead, where a handsome bay tethered to a shiny black gig waited. “Would you like a ride home?”
He tilted his head. “Please.”
Just days before he left for Paris, he had watched Freddie dance with the handsome heir to an earldom during her mother’s birthday party, while each guest that passed below him chattered about an impending engagement. Lucien didn’t want to believe it—Freddie was barely seventeen at the time and hadn’t even had her first season yet—until she strolled right beneath him in the direction of the summer house with the heir in question. After taking a moment to argue with himself, Lucien slid down from his perch and followed a few paces behind, sticking to the shadows. Then he ducked behind a tree and watched as they disappeared into the darkened structure.
No one else saw them, but Lucien knew what would come next. And that he wouldn’t be able to bear it. He could still recall the bite of the rough tree bark under his fingertips. How he dug his nails in harder and harder until he drew blood. Until he resolved to get as far away from here as possible.
But as the days turned into weeks, no engagement was announced. It was as if the trip to the summer house had been nothing more than a figment of Lucien’s fevered imagination. By then he was across the channel, enrolled in a Parisian culinary school and living with his late mother’s family. Too far to do anything other than make a success of himself.
He cast a discreet look at her left hand, but it was bare. No ring. If the beautiful and vivacious Freddie Atkinson was stillunattached all these years later, then it was only by her own choice. The idea was undoubtedly intriguing.
He handed her up onto the seat and climbed in beside her. Then Freddie took hold of the reins and off they went.
“Now then,” she began as the gig sailed down the tree-lined lane. “Am I ever to learn your name?”
“Certainly,” he replied with a smirk. But he intended to put that off for as long as possible.
Freddie tossed her head back and laughed. “Very well. If you won’t tell me, then will you at least answer some questions?”
“If you’d like.” Now, this would be fun.
“Where were you coming from?”
“London.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Beforehand, I mean.”
He raised his brows in surprise. “What makes you think that?”
She cast a quick but appraising glance over him. “Your shoes. They were made in Paris. I’d say… three seasons ago.”
Lucien didn’t know anything about seasons as it applied to shoes. Only that he had purchased them at one of the city’s famous outdoor markets. “Impressive.”
Freddie shrugged. “The intricacies of fashion occupy a rather large part of my life.”
Lucien sensed that there was more behind that little quip, but before he could ask, Freddie continued.
“So, you came here from Paris.”
“I never said I did.”
“No.” Freddie grinned. “But you haven’t denied it either. Youcame here from Paris,” she began again. “But it was merely the last leg of a journey that originated in the Far East.”
