Page 41

“The gentlemen will know. Would that one of them would kiss me so.” Joan grinned and dropped her hand. “Perhaps he’s here today.”

Mariah looked around. Lady Plympton was an old friend of her grandmother’s, and Mama had come because of that connection. The guests were mainly older, with hardly any young men present, but there were some. “Perhaps,” she said, “but it seems unlikely.”

“Well! That bodes well for discovering him. It always seems people turn up in the most unexpected locations.”

Mariah laughed and had to agree, even though she privately doubted it. Joan’s mother was beckoning to her, so Joan squeezed her hand and promised to look for any men who might be Harry before hurrying off.

Mariah slowly wound her way through the gathering. Just telling Joan about Harry’s kiss had made her stomach fluttery and her breath short. Could he be here? She and Joan were probably the youngest guests in attendance, but there were a few gentlemen, standing near the sideboard talking. Most of the guests had gone outside. Aimless without her cousin, Mariah drifted through the open doors to join them.

It was a glorious day, bright and fresh after the recent rain. Beautifully decorated tables and chairs had been set out at various points, each surrounded by a profusion of greenery and color. In the middle of the garden a tall fountain gurgled away, the spray sparkling like diamonds in the sunlight. A large white tent was erected near the house, over a buffet laden with enough delicacies to feed half of London.

Mariah’s eyes caught on the trays of sweet buns and platters of cold meats. Would Harry think this wicked, she wondered, this sumptuous spread of food for people who had never gone hungry in their lives? She thought of the girl in Whitechapel. Would Lady Plympton donate any excess food to the poor? Would lobster patties and Bath buns be welcome, or insulting? Funny how he had made her think about such things for the first time.

Not really hungry, she was walking past the buffet when someone spoke behind her. She didn’t even hear what he said, just caught the tenor of his voice, but it was enough; she jerked to a halt in disbelief. That voice. She knew that voice—it was his voice. She’d been searching all London for it, and here it was, right in Lady Plympton’s garden. She whirled around, her eyes flying about in search of the speaker.

He had his back to her, a broad expanse of dark cloth, and was bent over the buffet table. He spoke again, the familiar rumble that sent her heart straight into her throat and completely emptied her mind. Harry.

Good heavens, what was she to say to him? In all the time she had been looking for him, she still hadn’t worked that out. A triumphant I found you! seemed out of order at a garden party. She didn’t want to seem rude or impolite or, worse, silly. She touched her hair nervously, wishing there were a glass nearby. Oh, where was Joan? With a friend at her side for support, she would be much more confident and composed.

The man turned, a laden tray in his hands. Mariah stepped back, yet stayed on the path he was taking. She gripped her trembling fingers together. Almost here—five steps—now three—now one⁠—

“Good day, sir,” she said airily. “What a surprise to meet you here.”

He paused, glancing at her from behind plain round spectacles with calm hazel eyes. He was tall, with brown hair neatly combed flat. He could not have been more than thirty, a modestly handsome but unexceptional man. “Ma’am.” He bowed politely, as well as he could with his tray. “May I assist you?”

“Wh-why,” she stammered, thrown completely off stride by his lack of recognition, “do you not know me?” She lowered her voice to a whisper and added, “Harry!”

He blinked as if surprised. “Pardon?”

She shifted her weight uncertainly. It was his voice, she would swear it—but he wasn’t responding as he ought to. She tried to smile. “Surely you’ve not forgotten me.”

“Indeed, I should not say that...” He trailed off. There was something terrible in his face—a shade of deferential pity that made Mariah shrink with horror. And yet, the one sentence he spoke crystallized her conviction that it was Harry. She wet her lips and plunged ahead, ignoring the doubts and misgivings multiplying in her mind. There couldn’t possibly be two gentlemen in London with the same voice... could there be?

“Then you must recall—you can hardly have forgotten our conversations! Nor the place where we met.” She watched closely, desperately, for any flicker of recognition, even as she began to wish she had never spoken to him yet; how humiliating to have to quiz him on this. Better to have maneuvered into a formal introduction, or a walk in the garden where she might speak to him in private. But there was no sign of comprehension in his face. The horrible silence dragged on. “But I know you,” she said helplessly.

“Towne!” Mr. Crane appeared at her side. “My uncle is waiting for his tea.” He turned to Mariah. “How lovely to see you today, Lady Mariah.” He bowed, beaming at her.

Her stunned gaze veered back to Harry, still standing mute and passive.

“Yes, sir. I beg your pardon, my lady.” He bowed politely and moved past her.

Mariah could say nothing, struck dumb with shock and heartsick confusion as she watched him walk away without a backward glance. It was Harry, it really was, and he was either pretending not to know her or... or he didn’t want to know her.

“I hope the fellow didn’t bother you,” Mr. Crane was saying. “My uncle’s secretary. Uncle depends on him, particularly of late.”

He paused, but she couldn’t have spoken to him if she wanted to. That was Harry? A secretary? A common secretary. She had invited him into her bedroom and let him kiss her.

“You look rather pale, Lady Mariah,” said Mr. Crane. “May I fetch you a glass of wine?”

She nodded faintly, anything to get him to leave. Just a secretary...

“Or perhaps lemonade?” Mr. Crane pressed on in oblivion. “I could send for a cup of tea, if you wish, I’m sure it wouldn’t take but a moment. Or coffee?”

“Yes, tea,” she said desperately. Go, she willed him.

He beamed at her. “Tea at once. I shall return in a moment, Lady Mariah.”

The instant he was gone, she pushed her way through the guests to an open space, where she could see him. Harry was well away, crossing the grass toward old Lord Crane. Her chest felt tight, and her stomach heaved. A servant. No wonder he wouldn’t tell her his name...