Page 87 of The Luckiest Lady in London

“I’ve been satisfying my whims my entire adult life. It will not injure me to put aside my self-consideration for a while.”

“I can’t imagine you saying anything like this six months, or even three months ago.”

“I know,” he said simply. “Stay with me tonight.”

“All right.” She’d always meant to, from before she’d opened the connecting door.

“I love you,” he told her, just before he fell asleep.

She remained awake for at least another hour, thinking of him, thinking of their future.

Chapter 20

Louisa considered it a testament to their dedication that they succumbed to “distractions” during lecture only three more times in the four weeks since they were first overcome. She made speedy progress. At this rate, according to Felix, she’d be ready to tackle trigonometry by the beginning of April. And even with all the fuss of a London Season—their first together as a couple—that promised to be unusually busy, he was confident he could give her a taste of calculus by the end of the year.

They also resumed working together in his study. The weather was becoming less wet and they were often up in the middle of the night to carry out observation. The household was accustomed to such shifts in the master’s schedule; breakfast was laid out at ten, instead of eight, and everything else carried on as before.

On this particular morning, he arrived in the breakfast room looking gloriously hale, approached her chair, and whispered in her ear, “I always think I cannot love you more if I tried, but I always do.”

Oddly enough, these late breakfasts became his preferred place for telling her that he loved her. It didn’t happen daily or semiweekly or on any other kind of regular basis, but only as the mood struck him. In this way, he was still unpredictable: Before this day, more than a week had passed since his last avowal of love.

I feel exactly the same, she almost answered, but caught herself just in time.

It was as if she were waiting for something, a sign from above, a final reassurance, before she was ready to admit the nature of her sentiments.

Hundreds of snowdrops had sprung up, seemingly overnight, on the still-dormant lawn. They were admiring those messengers of spring when Sturgess came into the breakfast room and presented a silver salver to Felix.

The latter glanced at the calling card. “I take it the gentleman is not anyone you recognize?”

“No, sir,” said Sturgess.

Felix broke the seal on the note and began reading. His expression changed almost instantly. Dropping the note, he picked up the card and gave it a hard perusal.

“What is it?” she asked, alarmed by his unusual reaction.

“A Mr. Aubrey Lucas, applying to visit the grave of the late marchioness,” he said flatly, handing her everything.

The note was simple. Mr. Lucas identified himself as an old friend of the late Lady Wrenworth. He stated that he had been in the civil service in India for many years and had only now returned to England to retire. He would very much like to pay his last respects to the late marchioness in honor of their friendship. Would the present marquess be so generous as to give permission and have a manservant conduct him to the grave site, where he might lay a wreath?

“Show Mr. Lucas to the green drawing room,” Felix instructed Sturgess. “Look after his comfort, and tell him that Lady Wrenworth and I will be glad to receive him and conduct him to the late marchioness’s final resting place.”

Sturgess bowed and left. Louisa looked up from the note. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Probably. Certainly she didn’t form many friendships after her marriage, male or female. A life of vengeance doesn’t leave much room for finer things.”

“What are you going to do?” She was both curious and worried.

“Meet him, of course.” He took up the card again, and turned it over a few times in his fingers while he finished his coffee.

When he looked up, he said, “I take it you are not hungry anymore, my love?”

Indeed she wasn’t.

* * *

Louisa half expected a dashing young man of Felix’s age. Failing that, she thought she’d see a commanding figure, tall, handsome, and ramrod straight.

Mr. Lucas was of medium height, round, and stooped. His hair might have been golden once, but was now an indistinct shade of grey, his eyes a faded blue. His clothes were a decade behind fashion. He moved somewhat jerkily and spoke a little too fast, giving the impression of someone always on the edge of nervousness.