“Truly?”
Nodding, he pulled her into his arms and tenderly kissed the top of her head. “Whatever it takes to convince you to be my wife, I will do it.”
“I—”
Leaning back, he placed his finger to her lips, silencing her. “Do not say anything yet. Just think about it. I would like to make a proper proposal—one that even your aunt will not be able to protest.”
“You plan to meet with her.” She sounded incredulous, which he in turn found mildly amusing. Apparently it wouldn’t be too difficult for him to be her knight in shining armor.
“Of course. I plan to follow every protocol in my quest to make you mine.” Stepping back, he caught her hand in his and raised it to his lips, kissing her knuckles with all the reverence that he felt for her. “Until tomorrow,” he said as he ushered her into the stairwell, lighting the way for her until she reached the top. From there, she blew him a kiss before disappearing into the courtyard beyond and leaving Richard feeling bereft.
When Mary awoke the following morning, she couldn’t recall ever feeling so well rested before, which of course made little sense considering that she’d only slept for about five hours. It had to be Richard and all the wonderful things he’d said to her when they’d last parted ways. Her worries had been lifted from her shoulders, allowing her to hope for a future that she’d never thought would be hers. He was wonderful.
Stretching out upon the sheets while enjoying the plush feel of the pillow cradling her head, Mary allowed her dreamy thoughts of Richard to fill her mind, right until Amy entered her room with a firm knock and a brisk stride. “Good morning, my lady. Your aunt requests your immediate presence in the yellow parlor. I am to help you dress.”
Dismayed by Amy’s tone, Mary brushed a lock of hair from her forehead and sat up. “What is the matter?” she asked her warily.
Rifling through Mary’s wardrobe, Amy sniffed a few times before saying, “I have never seen her look so angry before in my life.” She turned to look at Mary, revealing the tears in her eyes. “She knows about you and... I am certain of it, though I assure you that I have said nothing to her that might give you away. Please. You must believe me.”
“I do,” Mary said as she got out of bed and plodded across the floor to where Amy was standing. She offered her a handkerchief, which she gratefully accepted. “It will be all right, Amy. I am certain of it. In fact, I daresay that by the end of today you may wish me happy.”
“He plans to propose?”
Mary nodded, a bubble of laughter bursting from between her lips. She could no longer contain her happiness. “Indeed, he intends to speak with my aunt directly. Now that I know who he is, I see no obstacle in our way.”
But when Mary entered the yellow parlor a short while later, her confidence wavered in response to the hard glare in her aunt’s eyes which seemed to match the tight set of her mouth to perfection. Lady Foxworth looked visibly terrifying. “Good morning,” Mary said, her hands clasped in front of her as she crossed to the sofa that faced the one on which her aunt was seated. A tea tray stood on a low table between them.
“Hardly,” Lady Foxworth clipped while Mary lowered herself onto the sofa. “In fact, it has come to my attention that you have defied me... lied to me!”
Straight to the point then.
“I suppose you must be referring to Signor Antonio,” Mary said in as calm a tone as she could muster.
“Of course I am!” Her aunt practically exploded, her cheeks reddening with the exertion. “How could you, Mary? I trusted you and rather than prove yourself worthy of that trust, you went behind my back and... and got yourself ruined. This is a disaster! Good God! What am I going to tell your poor parents? They will be devastated!”
“Not if they approve of him.”
Lady Foxworth’s eyes narrowed. “How can they when he has no desire for anyone to know who he is? How can he offer you anything under such circumstances? You cannot hope to marry him, that is for certain, though I have asked Lady Duncaster to fetch him for me. I expect them to arrive at any moment.”
Mary’s pulse quickened with expectation. “In that case, I think that you will find yourself eating your words, Aunt Eugenia. Richard deserves your respect and—”
“Richard?” Lady Foxworth placed her hand against her chest. “How can you make such free use of his Christian name? It is not proper.” She shook her head, her earrings dangling violently from side to side. “Oh dear Lord, Mary. I expected so much better from you. I—”
The door opened and Lady Duncaster entered, followed by Richard who closed the door behind them. He wasn’t wearing the mask or the cape, his face completely visible in the bright daylight that filled the room. It was the first time Mary had seen him like this, his features untouched by shadows or flickering light. A swarm of butterflies batted their wings in the pit of her stomach, her heart skipping happily in response to the smile he was sending her way.
Dressed in a green, beautifully tailored, jacket, with beige-colored breeches and expensive looking boots, he was the very image of a well-bred gentleman. His hair had been neatly combed; his sparkling eyes the focal point of his face—a complete distraction from the pink skin that puckered over his left cheek and down the side of his neck. To Mary, he had never looked more handsome than at that very moment.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, addressing Mary’s aunt as he bowed slightly from the waist. “My name is Richard Heartly. It is an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Foxworth.”
The tension in Lady Foxworth’s expression eased, replaced by something that could only be described as complete and utter surprise. “You are Lord Oakland’s younger son?”
“The very one,” Richard said as he stepped further into the room. Still standing, he waited for Lady Duncaster to considerately claim the seat beside Lady Foxworth so he could sit down next to Mary.
“But you are supposed to be dead!” Lady Foxworth blurted. With a jolt, her eyes widened and she immediately placed her hand over her mouth. “Forgive me, I did not mean... that is to say, I—”
“It is quite all right,” Richard said. “I wanted it that way.” He turned the left side of his face toward her. “As you can probably imagine, I was not very eager to make a public appearance. If news of my return to England had spread, I would have had to do so in order to save my family the embarrassment of having to explain my constant absence from social events.”
“Because of the scars?” Lady Foxworth quietly asked. “They are not really all that bad.”
