by Ava Stone
“And mine,” Lady Patience added.
Then Lady Hope stuck her tongue out at the two, which forced Tilly to bite back a laugh. “You’re just jealous.”
“Hardly.” Lady Grace rolled her eyes. “The last thing I want are baubles from a known reprobate.”
“You’d just better pray Braden doesn’t find out Kilworth gave them to you,” Lady Patience muttered. “Or we’ll all be in for it.”
Tilly wondered briefly at who Lord Kilworth was. She’d not heard the name before, but it was safe to assume he was not a terribly upstanding man.
“Who’s going to tell him?” Lady Hope asked. “Besides, it’s quite unfair that Braden won’t let him court me.”
“Probably because of things like inappropriate gifts,” Lady Patience replied.
“They’re just so Henry can find me during the masquerade.” Lady Hope gave a little sniff. “Heaven forbid he spend all night looking for me to no avail or falling prey to Quent’s angel or something like that.”
“Angel?” Tilly asked, her curiosity piqued. “Lord Quentin has an angel?”
“Who’s to say she even exists?” Lady Grace asked.
“I don’t think I understand what you mean.” This came from Lila, though her voice sounded a bit choked all of a sudden.
Lady Patience sighed and cast a glance at her sisters, before saying, “The whole reason for this year’s masquerade is so Quent can find his angel again.”
His angel? What the devil were they talking about?
“A girl who disappeared on him last year,” Lady Grace continued. “Or so he thinks. I’m not at all certain that anything happened last year, and I think he’d be much better off seeing what’s right in front of him.”
“She disappeared?” Lila’s voice was positively shaking now. Oh, goodness.
“Well…” Lady Hope glanced over her shoulder to where Lord Quentin continued to blister Sidney’s ears. “Quent’s been…Oh, what’s the word?”
“Obsessed?” Lady Patience put in.
“Perfect,” Lady Hope agreed. “Quent’s been obsessed with finding the mysterious girl who kissed him at last year’s masquerade and then vanished.”
“His angel,” Lady Grace added. “Who may very well be a figment of his imagination.”
Lila’s heart began to pound. “His angel kissed him?” she asked softly. Was she his angel? Or had he kissed another girl that night?
Hope nodded. “The girl was dressed as an angel, apparently. All flowing white. And she danced with him, then kissed him before disappearing into the crowd never to be seen again.”
Oh, heavens. Lila had run off right after their kiss, afraid of what she might do if she’d stayed in his arms any longer, and knowing she had to get home before Papa realized she was gone.
Lord Quentin had been obsessed with finding her ever since? He hadn’t realized it was her that he’d danced with? She’d thought for sure he’d known. How could he not know? True, she had worn a mask, like everyone else at the masquerade; but they’d had a conversation while they danced. It had never even crossed her mind until right now that he hadn’t realized she was the girl in his arms.
“All flowing white?” Tilly met her gaze, and Lila knew her sister had figured out who Lord Quentin’s angel was too. She and Tilly did share a room, after all; and Tilly had seen Lila when she’d returned home from Marisdùn that night, wearing Mama’s old shimmery white dress. Lila hadn’t been dressed as an angel though. She wasn’t sure where Lord Quentin had come up with that. Had he been quite deep in his cups? Was that why he didn’t remember things properly?
“Just missing a halo,” Grace replied.
And a set of angel wings. Lila’s mouth had gone dry and she glanced over to where Lord Quentin and Mr. Garrick were still engaged in some deep conversation, not paying the girls any attention at all. Heavens. How did he not know he’d danced with and kissed her? How could he think she was some mysterious angel he’d never met before?
Tilly seemed to realize Lila’s distress so she added, “At Marisdùn, she might very well have been a ghost.”
“That is one theory,” Patience agreed. “He doesn’t seem to care as long as he finds her again.”
“It’s the whole reason he’s even hosting the party this year,” Hope said. “To duplicate the event so he can find his elusive angel.”
Lila thought she might be ill. “I, um, forgot I’d promised Papa I’d call on Mrs. Macon with him this afternoon.” She started to inch away from the group.
Tilly looked at her as though she’d lost her mind, which was a distinct possibility. Visiting Mrs. Macon wouldn’t ever be on the top of her list, but Lila couldn’t stay with the Posts and Mr. Garrick at the ruins. Not right now, not when her whole world had just been turned upside down.
“Um,” Tilly began as slid closer to her sister. “I completely forgot too. We’d best be on our way.”
She truly was the best sister anyone could ever hope to have.
“Oh.” Grace frowned. “Well, I hope you’ll come visit us once we arrive at Braewood.”
Lila would most definitely visit when they were in residence at Braewood. After all, Callie would be there and it had been entirely too long since she’d seen her dearest friend. “Of course. Of course.” Besides, she wouldn’t have to worry about running into Lord Quentin at Braewood. She wasn’t certain she could face seeing him again.
Watching the play of emotions across Anna Southward’s face was almost as enjoyable as speaking with her and making her blush. What a delightful young woman, David couldn’t be happier that he’d decided to look for her once again. Not that he’d been given a choice. She’d practically haunted his dreams after he left Marisdùn, as if one of the ghosts had decided to follow him to London, and beyond. She’s the reason none of the ladies had held any interest for him the past year. Not even a mistress, whom he’d released shortly upon returning home.
He’d told himself he was ridiculous to be drawn to a woman he didn’t even know, and so he’d set out to find a respectable lady to court. Although, if he were being honest, it had been a half-hearted effort, and only because he thought to eradicate the Italian fairy from his mind.
“Have you chosen a costume?” He wanted to make sure he recognized her the moment she stepped into Marisdùn.
“I thought I’d wear the same as last year.”
There was that blush again. “Perfect.”
“Really?” her eyes were alit with hope.
“It’ll take the guess work out of finding you. I’d much rather spend the evening dancing with you instead of searching for you.”
Once again her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink. All he’d done was flirt a bit. She’d be a flaming crimson if she had any idea of the other thoughts that had crossed his mind over the past year. Though he’d be better off not thinking about at this moment.
She was sketching him, paying far too close attention to his body and these wet trousers were not likely to hide a single twitch of a muscle, or any other part of him that might happen to stiffen. Thank God his body was still cold or this could turn out to be a rather uncomfortable predicament for both of them.
“Tell me, Miss Southward, are your talents limited to sketching and watercolors?”
“No. I also enjoy working with oils, and…” Miss Southward stopped and bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes tightly.
What could be so uncomfortable to say? “And?”
“Clay,” she blurted out. “I want to sculpt. A statue.”
Her face did indeed turn crimson at that. “There are a number of statues in the gardens of Marisdùn. Have you had a chance to view them?”
With a sigh, she tilted her head and continued drawing. “I’ve spent more hours than I can count in those gardens, painting and sketching everything. What I lack, Mr. Thorn, is my own model.”
At those words, his mouth went dry. Surely, she did not mean to actually sculpt a human, dressed in near nothing, or worse, completely n
ude. That was almost more scandalous than some of the things he’d done in the past.
“Have you ever been to Florence, Mr. Thorn?”
“Italy?” Why the change of subject?
“Yes, Florence, Italy?”
“No, I have not had the pleasure.”
With another sigh, Miss Southward did a thorough study of him, though her eyes were not on his face. No female had ever appraised him in this manner. Well, women had, but not innocent women. He cleared his throat. “What is in Florence?”
“David.”
“David?” Was there a gentleman in her life that she’d been separated from? Had he lived here and moved away? Though he hardly knew Miss Southward, the thought that her heart belonged to another was rather distressing.
Perhaps Garrick was right. Perhaps he was losing his touch.
Her eyes meet his. “Michelangelo’s David. He’s magnificent.”
That David. His mood lightened instantly. While he hadn’t seen the piece of work, he’d seen a drawing of it. He could certainly compete with a man made of stone. Or was it marble? Not that it mattered, he wasn’t flesh and certainly not warm, and David was growing warmer by the moment under her study of him.
“I could sculpt my own statue on what I think a man should look like, or copy one of the statues at Marisdùn, but it isn’t the same as having my own model to study.”
This miss really wished for a man to pose for her? That David was nude. Surely she wasn’t suggesting…
“You must think me terribly wicked.”
David couldn’t help laugh. Yet, he didn’t answer. It was terribly wicked what she was suggesting and why was he, of all people shocked? Why wasn’t he stripping down to his skin and granting her wish. What the bloody hell was wrong with him?
She couldn’t believe she’d told Mr. Thorn what she wished for, more than anything. Goodness, what had come over her to admit such a thing?
Oh, she knew the blasted answer. It was in her sketch, in the very lines of his body. From the slight laughter lines at the corner of his brown eyes, to the strong jaw, taut neck, fine dark hair peeking out from the neck of his shirt, to the definition of muscles of his chest and abdomen. Though, in truth, she couldn’t see those nearly as well now that his shirt was beginning to dry.
With each swipe of her pencils she’d wished it was her fingers, molding the clay. He’d be magnificent once she finished. She would have her own David, and he’d return to London and undoubtedly forget about her.
It was ridiculous of course. What woman kept a sculpture of a man? She certainly couldn’t display it even if she were able to realize her dream. Uncle Walter would destroy it, but only after he recovered from his apoplexy. If he recovered.
“I am sure I must have shocked you terribly.”
“I’m certainly intrigued, Miss Southward.”
He was only being kind. The man would probably avoid her from this day forward. She could put attending the masquerade from her mind, and certainly forget about dancing with him. He probably thought her no better than a bawdy actress. Or a lady of ill repute, even!
As much as she wished to have his attention, Anna now feared it wouldn’t be with honorable intentions. Oh, why hadn’t she kept her own counsel?
Mr. Thorn’s horse whinnied and caused him to sit straighter as Anna turned. Another rider approached, whom she soon recognized at Blake Chetwey.
“Ah, here you are,” he finally said as he stopped before them and dismounted. “Brighid was becoming concerned when you did not return.” He turned and bowed to her. “Good day, Miss Southward. I hope you are having an enjoyable day.”
That she was, until a few moments ago. “Yes, I am. How is Brighid?”
“Doing well, though concerned.”
“Oh?”
“Thorn rode out hours ago and when he didn’t return, she sent me after him. She wanted to make sure her, um, premonition was correct.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to argue with Mr. Chetwey about his wife’s premonition, but she held it instead.
Had Mr. Chetwey said hours? Anna fished the small watch from her satchel and checked the time. Goodness, it was well past noon. She’d been gone six hours. Her uncle may have allowed her to come to the coast today, but she was certain he had not intended for her to be gone this long, no matter how much she wanted to be away for the entire day.
“I must go.”
She gathered her belongings and shoved them into the satchel, then folded her easel into its case. She placed her things on the small stone wall and attempted to lift herself up.
“Allow me, Miss Southward.”
Before she could object, Mr. Thorn placed his hands about her waist and lifted her in the same manner he’d helped her down. His hands burning her skin through her gown.
Goodness, she was much too aware of this man. He affected her unlike no one else she’d ever met. Not only did his touch affect her in the most inappropriate manner, he’d managed to make her spill her deepest secret.
“Thank you, Mr. Thorn.”
Anna bent and gathered her items again to begin her trek home when she realized the canvas of the sunrise was still sitting on the beach.
“Oh dear, could you please hand me the painting?”
“With pleasure.” In a few strides, Mr. Thorn was at the painting and plucked it up off the sand. He then stopped to study it. “Are you very much attached to this painting, Miss Southward?”
“Not particularly. Why, Mr. Thorn?”
“Because I’d very much like to keep it.”
He wanted her painting?
“Not only is it quite good, but I’d like it as a reminder of the most pleasant day ever spent in Ravenglass.”
Her heart skipped a bit. He really wanted the painting? He had complimented it? “Of course.” It was all she could manage, too flustered to say anything further. “Well, good day, Mr. Thorn, Mr. Chetwey.”
Before he could say anything further, she rushed up the hill, not sure she wished to decipher her emotions at the moment and afraid of what she’d discover once she did.
“You’re his angel. I know you are,” Tilly accused as she tugged Lila at a hurried pace back towards the vicarage. “Really, Lila! You kissed him?”
“Shh!” Lila looked back towards the Post sisters, hoping they were too far away to overhear Tilly’s words. Her sister did appear to be in a temper, though there was no reason for her to be upset. She hadn’t just had her heart broken into a million pieces. Lila yanked free of her sister’s hold and held her ground.
Tilly turned around and looked her up and down. “Does Callie know?”
No one knew, not even, apparently, Lord Quentin. Lila held in a sob as she shook her head. “I didn’t tell anyone.” She’d been so embarrassed by her wantonness, she certainly hadn’t even dreamt of telling her sister what she’d done.
“Why not?” her sister narrowed her eyes slightly.
She’d been so elated by that kiss and then he’d left Ravenglass and…Well, she hadn’t wanted to tell her sister what a wanton she obviously was. She hadn’t wanted to tell anyone that. She shrugged in response. “I wasn’t quite certain if it had actually happened.”
“Silly Lila.” Her sister slid her arm around Lila’s shoulders. “It must have happened. And he’s come back for you.”
“He didn’t come back for me.” Lila couldn’t help but wince. “He came back to find someone who doesn’t even exist.”
“But you do exist,” her sister laughed, oblivious to how Lila’s heart was littered around the ground at their feet.
Trying to explain this to Tilly would be difficult. It would be easier, of course, if her heart wasn’t in shatters. She was in love with Lord Quentin. She had been since the first moment she’d met him. But…he wasn’t in love with her. He was obsessed with a girl who didn’t even exist. It didn’t matter that the girl he was looking for was Lila. If there was really something between them, he’d have returned for Lila not some mysterious ang
el, even if they were one in the same. Odd, it was odd to be jealous of herself, but that’s exactly what Lila was experiencing. “Not like that, I don’t.”
“You’re not making any sense at all.”
Lila heaved a sigh and tried her best to make Tilly understand. “If he didn’t know me,” she began,” I suppose it would be different. Romantic, even. But he does know me. And he didn’t return to Ravenglass for me, Tilly. He returned to Ravenglass for someone else entirely, even if she is me; but she’s not, if that makes any sense at all.”
“I think you should tell him.” Tilly frowned.
That was ridiculous. Lila snorted even though it wasn’t ladylike. “Should I show up at Marisdùn and say ‘Lord Quentin, I am your vanished angel. I thought you should know?’”
“Well.” Tilly shrugged, “I’d probably put more thought into it than that. Something more romantic.” Then her face lit up. “I’d show up at the masquerade wearing Mama’s old gown again and then I’d let him find me and then I’d take off my mask and say, ‘You’ve been looking for me, my lord?’”
Lila was not about to do that. The entire suggestion was ludicrous. Show up in the same mask and gown and let him find her? Then what? Watch his face fall when he realized his angel wasn’t who he’d hoped for? Lila was not about to let him break her heart like that. She wouldn’t be able to take it.
There was nothing more heartbreaking than the feeling of unrequited love, and Lila did not want to feel the emptiness in the pit of her stomach or the ache in her heart, not if she could help it. Therefore, she silently vowed, she would do her very best to keep from encountering Lord Quentin Post while he was in Ravenglass. And with any luck, he’d return to London as soon as he realized his angel truly had disappeared forever.
Quent didn’t care about any of Garrick’s excuses. Honestly, he didn’t even let his friend get a word in edgewise. He just didn’t want the man giving his attention to Miss Southward, not if he… Where was Miss Southward? And Miss Matilda for that matter?
He ignored whatever ramblings his friend uttered and turned back to where his sisters were gathered in a fairly suspicious huddle. “Where is Miss Southward?”
