Wishes in the Wind

by Andrea Kane

  “We have no relatives in Glasgow.”

  A twinkle. “How would anyone know that? Besides, Mama had a Scottish cousin or two. That’s why Sully and I chose Scotland. It’s a perfectly plausible place for you to visit—and remote enough to keep any potential pursuers at bay. After all, you can do them no harm if you’re away from England and the turf.” Staring at herself in the looking glass, Nicole’s twinkle vanished. “This, on the other hand, is totally implausible. Impossible, in fact.”

  “What is?” her father demanded, still prowling restlessly about.

  “Me. This gown. I look—and feel—like a fool.”

  For the first time, Nick focused on his daughter. Abruptly, his pacing ceased, an odd light dawning in his eyes. “My God, Nickie. I’d forgotten … you look—” He broke off.

  “That bad, is it?” Nicole sighed. “Well, ’tis a choice between this and the beige one. They’re the only gowns I own, thank goodness. Were it not necessary that I blend in with the other women and be unrecognizable as Nicole Aldridge, I wouldn’t even consider donning this absurd thing. Quite frankly, I don’t understand why women submit to wearing them at all.” She raised her pale yellow skirts, glaring down at the offensive layer of petticoats beneath. “It takes an hour to dress, after which you’re too exhausted to move, too constricted to breathe, and too unwieldy to collapse in a chair.” With a disgusted sound, she released the full skirts, letting them fall back into place. “I’ll be grateful when I’m employed, back in the stables—and in breeches—where I belong.”

  Nick shook his head in disbelief. “You’re blind, do you know that, Elf? You’re beautiful. More than beautiful. Dressed like that, you’re the image of your mother.”

  Now it was Nicole’s turn to look incredulous. “Papa, I believe a week in seclusion has affected your vision. Mama was a lady—an elegant, fragile lady.”

  “Which you would be, too, if Alicia were alive to see to it.” He swallowed. “She gave you so much I never could—her quick mind, her love of reading, and that fanciful imagination of hers. Thank God she lived long enough for that. But she died before you finished growing up. You were a girl. Now you’re a woman. And I’m too rough around the edges to teach you anything about manners or social graces. I always assumed Alicia would do that.”

  Hearing her father’s voice quaver with guilt and regret, Nicole went to him at once. “Stop it, Papa,” she said quietly, taking his hands in hers. “You know as well as I do that Mama’s death had nothing to do with the way I turned out. I’ve been in the stables, underfoot, since I could walk. The only time Mama managed to drag me away was for my studies. When she tried to interest me in more feminine pursuits, I fled the instant I could, scooting back to the stables in record time.” A small smile. “Let’s face it. I was hopeless.”

  “You were also a child.”

  “Not when Mama died, I wasn’t. I was nearly thirteen when she contracted her influenza. And she’d long since accepted that I was, to quote her affectionate words, ‘Nick Aldridge to be.’”

  The sadness in Nick’s eyes softened to a whisper of memory. “She was so bloody tolerant. Even though my job meant she could never have the traditional life she wanted.”

  “What she wanted, Papa, was you. She adored you just as you were.” Nicole leaned up to kiss her father’s cheek.

  “She’d be proud of how lovely you’ve turned out. And she’d want me to see to your future.”

  “Fine.” Nicole returned to the looking glass. “And you shall. But first we must see to yours.”

  Nick’s lips twitched. “I think you should unbind your hair, for starters.” He gestured to her thick sable mane, which was twisted into an expedient but less than ladylike braid. “Try to fix it somehow. However it is that women do.”

  Another sigh. “However indeed. It’s nearly dusk. By the time I finish making myself presentable, twilight will have come and gone and all the newsstands will be closed. I wonder if it’s really worth the effort just to fetch a newspaper that will doubtless offer as little in the way of employment as its three predecessors did.”

  “A job will come up, Elf,” Nick soothed.

  “One hopes before we run out of funds.” Nicole chewed her lip. “If we had moved to the East End as I suggested, we could have saved half of what we’re spending on this room. There’s still time to …”

  “No.” Nick cut her off at once. “As it is, I worry every time you go out alone. But at least we’re in a respectable section of town, not living in a filthy hovel, surrounded by drunks and highwaymen who would do Lord knows what to you the instant you stepped out the door.” He shuddered. “No, Nicole. We stay put until you find a position.”

  Nicole recognized that tone of voice and conceded at once, tugging her hair free and shaking it loose. “Then I’d best finish my chore and fetch today’s Gazette.”

  Two hours later, Nicole was no closer to finding a copy of the newspaper than she’d been at the onset of her excursion. Further, all the newsstands had shut down, as the fashionable world shifted from day to night.

  She halted on the embankment road, her stomach lurching to remind her she’d eaten nothing since breakfast.

  Breakfast.

  A wave of panic accompanied the more dire realization that the lateness of the hour meant all the shops had closed for the evening. Besides the newspaper, she’d intended to purchase food. She and her father were down to a half loaf of bread and a bit of smoked meat—hardly enough to sustain them beyond tonight.

  Beads of perspiration trickled down her back. What was she going to do?

  Think. She had to think.

  Unsteadily, Nicole made her way to the roadside and drew a deep calming breath—one that was instantly thwarted by the stubborn confines of her corset. Dizziness exploded in her head, and she clutched blindly at a nearby lamppost, determined to steady herself. All around her the sounds of night were unfolding at an alarming rate, a profusion of elegantly dressed people leaving their town houses for gala rounds of merrymaking. Originally, Nicole had counted on this very occurrence when she’d planned her jaunt, knowing that the throng of aristocrats would swallow up her presence as she made her way back to the inn. But her plan would backfire if she chose this moment to swoon, for amid this crowd someone was bound to notice a woman lying prone on the roadside.

  The dizziness intensified as her corset stood its ground. In response, the collar of her gown seemed to tighten oppressively about her throat. No, she ordered herself silently, scrutinizing the passing carriages. You will not faint. You can’t risk calling attention to yourself.

  With staunch determination, Nicole pivoted, seeking a private spot, her gaze scanning the banks of the Thames. Unthinking, she darted toward the river walk, which stretched between the embankment road and the river itself.

  Thankfully, there was a secluded, empty bench behind a marble statue and a row of trees. She dropped onto it, forcing her breathing to become slow and shallow until the dizziness receded. Damn this bloody corset, she fumed. Gown or no gown, I’ll never again don one of these lethal stranglers.

  Twenty feet away, couples were milling about, but the lush line of trees acted as a shield between Nicole and the walkway’s patrons. Safe and unseen in her tiny niche, she allowed herself to relax. She needed to plan her strategy, and she would—in a moment. But first her body needed to recoup its strength in order for her mind to function. And, in the absence of food, a brief respite would have to suffice.

  Leaning her head back, she stared up at the sky, watching the twinkling of the stars as they appeared, one by one. This onset of night was magic—not just here, but everywhere. Even amid the chaos at the stables, everything seemed to slow at the spellbinding instant that twilight merged with darkness, as if to acknowledge the reverence of the occurrence.

  A reminiscent smile played about Nicole’s lips. This was also the hour of night when, as a little girl, her mother would tuck her in and tell her stories—wondrous, fairy-tale stories that
made her heart sing and her imagination soar. She’d hang on to every word, awestruck, somehow believing it could all be. But then, her mother had the power to make one believe, and Nicole knew why. It was because Alicia Aldridge herself believed.

  Do you know what stars really are, Nickie? She could almost hear her mother’s voice. They’re bits of light offered to us by the magical sprites of happiness. They’re reserved for special nights and equally special people, because only those who see—truly see them—can reap their magic.

  What is their magic, Mama? she’d ask. And am I one of those special people?

  Her mother would smile that faraway smile. Indeed you are. As for their magic, it’s an offering. A precious offering to seize and to nurture. So remember, darling, every time you see a star, you’re being offered a miracle. Wish on it—wish very, very hard, and that star, and all its enchantment, will be yours.

  Forever, Mama?

  Yes, my love, forever.

  Two tears slid down Nicole’s cheeks, and she wrapped her arms about herself, capturing the memory as she studied the sky. This was the kind of night her mother had alluded to: clear, warm, and fragrant, alive with the blossoming buds of spring.

  And illuminated by a sea of dazzling stars.

  Dreamily, Nicole focused on a star that seemed to call out to her. It wasn’t the largest nor even the brightest of the heavens’ offerings. But there was something extraordinary about the way it glowed, as if trying to compensate for its diminutive size, that drew her to it, held her captive.

  I’m wishing, Mama, Nicole declared silently, as I did on my locket. Only this time I’m wishing for the magic offered by that tiny star. Because, thanks to you, I still believe.

  Her throat constricted, and more tears trickled from the corners of her eyes.

  “May I offer my assistance?”

  Nicole froze at the sound of the deep masculine voice, dreams reverting abruptly to reality. She’d been discovered. Someone knew she was here. She had to escape.

  Inching to the edge of the bench, she mentally gauged her distance to the road, preparing to bolt.

  “Don’t run off. And don’t be frightened. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  A hard hand closed over hers, and the bench shifted as her unexpected companion sat down beside her.

  “I’m not frightened,” she heard herself say, keeping her chin down. “I’m …” She broke off. I’m what? Avoiding detection?

  “I saw you clutching that lamppost. When you fled into the trees, you were white as a sheet. I was concerned you might faint.”

  “I’m fine.” She stared at the tips of his polished evening shoes, feeling the warmth of his palm over hers. “But I’d best be on my way.”

  His grip tightened, and an instant later a handkerchief was pressed into her other hand. “Try this. I’ve been told it works wonders. Guaranteed to dry a lady’s tears.”

  Nicole couldn’t help it; she looked up, drawn to the husky teasing in his tone.

  Her breath suspended—only this time her corset had little to do with it.

  He was perhaps the most classically handsome man she’d ever seen, undoubtedly a nobleman, and not only because of his elegant evening attire. He had a bold straight jawline and patrician nose that screamed aristocrat, and thick black hair over a broad forehead and equally black brows, all set off by penetrating eyes the color of midnight—eyes that now assessed her with the practiced skill of a man who knew women …intimately.

  His perusal was thorough, his approval obvious, even to a novice like herself. She could see it in his smile, his lips curving ever so slightly, and in his eyes, a glint of admiration in their deep blue depths, the dark brows lifting in surprised pleasure.

  For the first time in her life, Nicole was grateful to be wearing a gown, outdated or not.

  “You’re far too beautiful to cry,” he murmured, reclaiming the handkerchief and gently drying her cheeks. “Further, you’re far too beautiful to be racing about London alone at night. Where were you headed?”

  Nicole moistened her lips, her mind totally unable to formulate a suitable lie.

  “What’s your name?”

  She blinked. “Pardon me?”

  “Your name,” he prompted. “You must have one.”

  “Oh. Yes. It’s Nicole.”

  He smiled, and Nicole found herself wondering just how long someone could exist without breathing.

  “Nicole,” he repeated. “It suits you perfectly—beautiful and delicate. Have you a surname as well?”

  That snapped her out of her reverie.

  “I must be going.” She made to rise. “I’ve already been away too long.”

  Those amazing midnight eyes narrowed. “Away? Away from whom?” His gaze fell to her left hand. “A husband?”

  Nicole smiled at the expectant note in his voice. “No. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I have no husband.”

  “Disappointed? Au contraire, my mysterious beauty, I’m elated.” He caught her wrist, stroked it ever so lightly. “Sit. Just for a few minutes. Until the color returns to your cheeks.”

  She found herself complying. “Very well.”

  “Since we’re exchanging only given names this evening, mine is Dustin.”

  “Hello, Dustin.”

  He grinned. “Hello, Nicole.” His thumb traced the pulse in her wrist. “Why were you crying? Is it a man? If so, tell me his name and I’ll beat him senseless.”

  She was uncomfortably aware of the heat his touch evoked, making her wrist tingle and burn. “No, it isn’t a man. It’s many things. Memories, mostly.”

  “Sad memories?”

  “No, actually happy ones.” She swallowed. “I was thinking about my mother.”

  “You lost her.” It was a statement, not a question, and Nicole’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “Don’t look so shocked,” Dustin answered her unspoken thought. “I’ve worn that particular look myself.”

  “I see.” Nicole inclined her head. “Why are you here?” she blurted.

  A corner of his mouth lifted. “Is that a philosophical question or a specific one?”

  “A specific one. Not ‘here’ meaning on this bench, but ‘here’ meaning on the river walk—alone.”

  “Is going for a solitary stroll so astonishing?”

  “For a man like you? Yes.”

  “A man like me,” he repeated. “What does that mean?”

  “It means you’re handsome, well bred, and devastatingly charming. Add to that the fact that it’s the height of the London season and countless parties are in progress. So why aren’t you there, surrounded by eager, adoring women rather than walking along the Thames by yourself?”

  One dark brow arched. “I’m flattered. And dumbfounded. Are you always so honest?”

  Nicole considered his question. “I think so, yes.”

  “Very well then, I’ll be equally honest. I was invited to all those parties to which you refer, where I would mingle with all those women you just alluded to. And the very thought of spending another evening like that left me cold—cold and empty. So, instead I’m here, taking a solitary walk along the Thames. Now, have I shocked you?”

  She studied his face, then shook her head. “As a matter of fact, no.”

  He leaned forward, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “What nearly caused you to faint?”

  “Exhaustion, I suppose. I haven’t slept in several nights. I have a great deal on my mind.”

  “Obviously.” His gaze intensified. “Would you like to talk about it? Perhaps I can ease your distress.”

  Nicole sighed. “Not unless you can undo events that have already occurred, or right life’s wrongs and balance its inequities.”

  “Only that?”

  He was teasing again, in that disarming way of his, and Nicole found herself responding by speaking the emotional truth that had gnawed at her all week. “Sometimes it all seems like too much. Sometimes I don’t think I’m strong enough to overcome life’s ob
stacles.”

  Dustin’s smile vanished. “But you are. And it’s not,” he replied, somehow not needing to ask for clarification of her veiled declaration. “I have it on the finest authority that when a problem becomes unbearable, a solution appears. Therefore, the very fact that you’re reaching your limit means your answer is near.”

  She started, taken aback by his profound assertion. “Is that a promise?”

  “So I’ve been told.” His forefinger traced the fine line of her jaw. “Let me help you.”

  “I can’t.” She eased away, knowing she must.

  “At least let me see you home.”

  “No. It’s … far.”

  “My carriage is parked just beyond these trees. My driver will take you anywhere you want to go.”

  “No.”

  “Very well, forget the carriage. I’ll walk you home.” He pressed a silencing forefinger to her lips. “I don’t care if it’s ten miles away.”

  “Dustin—please. I appreciate the offer, but I can’t accept it.”

  His fingers captured her chin, those midnight eyes delving deep inside her. “I have one final request, then. A goodnight kiss.”

  “What?”

  His glance fell to her mouth, but he made no move to draw her near. “You don’t have much experience with men, do you?”

  “If you mean romantically, no. None.”

  “I thought not. You’re too honest, too damned refreshing for it to be otherwise.” His hand slid around to cup her nape. “If I promise to let you go immediately thereafter—no questions asked—may I kiss you, Nicole?”

  She searched his face bewilderedly.

  “I realize it’s an outrageous request—outrageous and thoroughly improper—a request I have no right to make. But I’m making it nonetheless. And I want you to say yes.”

  “Yes,” she heard herself whisper.

  Tenderness flashed in his searing, midnight gaze. He framed her face between his palms, lowering his head until his lips brushed hers, once, twice, then settled on them for a slow, warm, exquisitely gentle exploration.