Fortune's Flower (Passport to Romance Book 1)

by Anthea Lawson

  “I’m glad you found some congenial company,” Lord Buckley said, “but we really should join Mother. She was speaking with the Duchess of Carstairs just a moment ago.”

  “As you wish.” Lily raised her glass to her lips. She really would have preferred lemonade. Frowning, she deposited the flute on a tray carried by a passing servant.

  “Good gad, what a crush,” Lord Buckley said as they were forced to detour around a group of giggling young ladies. “I feel as though I’m swimming against a current.” He led her to where the crowd thinned.

  “Lily! Lily Strathmore!” It was Uncle Edward, emerging from the crowd to lift her in a buoyant embrace. “Splendid to see you, my girl.”

  She smiled back at him. “And you, Uncle.” More than she could say.

  “Lily!” Aunt Mary hurried forward. “I hoped you would be here this evening. Wasn’t the news about the baronessa a surprise? How wonderful for her.”

  Lily nodded, her throat tight with emotion. “I’ve missed you all so much. Are you well?”

  “We just arrived in London today. But do introduce us to your escort.” Aunt Mary looked at Lord Buckley.

  Lily turned to him—there was no avoiding it now. “Lord Buckley, allow me to present my aunt, Lady Mary Strathmore, and my uncle, Sir Edward Strathmore.”

  Lord Buckley bowed. “A pleasure to meet you. We were on our way to join my mother, Countess Buckley. There are some people she wants Miss Strathmore to meet, and it wouldn’t do to keep Mother waiting.”

  “But I have exciting news to tell Lily,” Uncle Edward began.

  Lord Buckley cleared his throat. “Miss Strathmore will certainly be able to spend some time with you later this evening. Please excuse us. We really must be going.”

  Glancing back as Lord Buckley led her away, Lily saw her aunt lay a hand on Uncle Edward’s arm. He looked crestfallen. She vowed to find them again as soon as she could escape the countess.

  Countess Buckley was seated on a divan, chatting with a regal, grey-haired lady whose piercing gaze darted around the room.

  “There you are, Gerald,” the countess said, bestowing a smile on her son. “Say hello to the Duchess of Carstairs. And this is Winifred’s daughter, Miss Lily Strathmore. A lovely girl, isn’t she?”

  Lily performed the obligatory curtsy. “A pleasure,” she murmured.

  The countess turned back to Lord Buckley. “I was just telling the duchess about your travels, and what a faithful correspondent you are. Now that you have arrived, perhaps you would relate that little story about the pompous majordomo. He tells it so well,” she assured the duchess.

  Lord Buckley launched into his story, one Lily had already heard more times than she would care to. She glanced back into the crowd, hoping to catch sight of her family. What was Uncle Edward’s news? Had he heard from James?

  Dancers scribed patterns on the floor, colorful gowns contrasting with the formal black evening kit of the gentlemen. On the rose-draped dais a string orchestra played, the music rising over the general hubbub of conversation.

  A figure entering through the ballroom’s grand entrance sent her hand to her mouth.

  James Huntington.

  She would never mistake his broad shoulders or sun-streaked brown hair. His eyes met and locked with hers for an instant, and she was transfixed. The lamplight flared and the crowd seemed to surge around her.

  Then he looked away. He bent his head and smiled warmly at the woman on his arm, a young lady with cascading brown curls and a winsome smile. She laughed at something he said, reached up to brush a lock of hair out of his eyes, then took his arm again, leaning close.

  Lily’s corset felt unbearably tight. Her fingers locked around the turquoise pendant as if to tear it from around her neck. He meant nothing to her! Nothing! She gritted her teeth.

  “… isn’t that so, Miss Strathmore?” Countess Buckley was smiling expectantly at her.

  Lily wrenched her attention back. “Yes, of course,” she guessed, hoping no further response was needed. She had no idea what she had just agreed with.

  The countess nodded with satisfaction. “I knew you were a sensible girl. See, Gerald, it is as I told you. Now go along and have a dance. You young people needn’t spend the whole evening hovering about us.”

  “On the contrary, Mother. We could imagine no better company.”

  The duchess smiled at Countess Buckley. “Your son is a rascal.” She turned her sharp gaze on Lily and her escort. “Go on. We have private matters to discuss.”

  Dismissed at last, thank goodness. Lily curtsied and then turned to Lord Buckley. “Please excuse me. I must find my uncle.”

  He patted her arm. “Admirable devotion to your family, I must say. Isn’t that Sir Strathmore there by the refreshment table? I shall take you to him.”

  “It’s really not necessary. I can rejoin you shortly.”

  “But I insist.” Lord Buckley held out his arm. “I am your escort this evening. I shall see you properly escorted. And then, as Mother suggested, we will have our dance.” He sounded resigned.

  Lily’s steps slowed as they approached. There was Uncle Edward, but oh dear, he was speaking with James—the man who despised her. Well, the feeling was entirely mutual.

  “Come along,” Lord Buckley said. “You did say you wanted to speak to your uncle, did you not?” He towed her through the press.

  A wide smile crossed Uncle Edward’s face as he spotted her. “There you are! At last I can tell you my news. And wonderful luck—see who is here.”

  James stood motionless. His hand was folded over his companion’s, his jaw set. His eyes, flaring nearly amber, did not leave her face. Lily’s nerves twitched at his nearness.

  “Miss Strathmore.” His voice was cold as he bowed. He rose, his gaze resting for a moment on the pendant lying against her skin. Did his expression falter? No doubt it reminded him of things he would rather forget. When his eyes went to Lord Buckley, his features hardened again. The young woman at his side gave him a questioning glance.

  Lily forced her voice to remain steady. “Mr. Huntington, have you made Lord Buckley’s acquaintance?”

  “I have not.”

  “Then allow me introduce you.”

  The two men eyed one another. Lord Buckley seemed very pale and round next to James.

  “A pleasure,” James said tersely.

  “Mr. Huntington, is it? Any relation to Lord Rowland Huntington? Why, we were speaking with him not more than a quarter-hour ago. Miss Strathmore promised him a dance.”

  “Did she?” James raked her with his gaze. “Reggie is my cousin. How splendid of Miss Strathmore to indulge him.”

  Lily stiffened. He was despicable. “I think it should make very little difference to you who I dance with.”

  “Quite right,” Lord Buckley said. “Well, I am happy to make your acquaintance.”

  James turned to his companion. “Let me introduce my sister, Miss Caroline Huntington. Caroline, this is Miss Lily Strathmore.”

  “How do you do,” Caroline said.

  “Your sister?” Curiously lightheaded, Lily met the woman’s interested gaze.

  Of course, she could see the resemblance now. “Your sister, Caroline. A pleasure.”

  “Miss Strathmore, I was hoping to meet you. James has told me so much about you.” She glanced quickly at Lord Buckley, as if afraid she might have misspoken.

  What had he told her? Lily doubted it was anything good.

  “My brother says you are a talented botanical artist. I very much admire Miss Anne Pratt’s illustrations. I have a copy of her Flowers and their Associations. Is your work anything like hers?”

  “Lily’s work is much finer,” Uncle Edward said.

  “Do you have an interest in painting?” Lily asked.

  Caroline laughed. “I’m interested in nearly everything, although I have very little time for the arts at the moment.”

  Lord Buckley turned and addressed James. “So, friend of the family, ar
e you?”

  “Yes.” James glanced at Lily, then back to Lord Buckley. “And you? It seems I have seen your face somewhere before.”

  Oh, the odious man! He knew perfectly well where he had seen Lord Buckley’s likeness. How cruel of him to remind her.

  “Huntington is a friend of the family,” Uncle Edward said, clapping James on the shoulder. “A very good friend indeed. He has just returned from Tunisia, and although it seemed our expedition had failed, James has redeemed it. He succeeded in bringing home the previously uncollected flower we had been seeking!”

  Lily felt suddenly rooted to the spot. “He what?” James had abandoned them and ridden off into the wilds of Tunisia… to collect the flower? How could it be? Her gaze flew to him, noting the faint lines of weariness about his eyes and mouth. He returned her look, no hint of warmth in his expression.

  “He found the valley and collected the plant,” Uncle Edward said. “Brought back two living specimens. It’s extraordinary, makes everything worth the trouble, even that little bump to the head.”

  James gave a mirthless grin. “It was the least I could do.”

  “You went back to the valley?” He had not abandoned the expedition. He had become it, single-handedly accomplishing what the rest of the party, with their equipment, and sketchbooks, and folding bathtubs, had not.

  He had done it—without telling her a thing.

  Lily’s anger flared. James had ridden off after that last dreadful scene and let her think he was running away. He could have at least said something! But rather than staying to exchange a few simple explanations, he had galloped off.

  Uncle Edward glowed with enthusiasm. “You must come to our townhouse, Lily, and paint the specimen. I have nearly finished the final version of the monograph, and your illustrations are vital. Wait until you see it. An entirely new subspecies!”

  Lord Buckley frowned. “Surely there are better-qualified men who can draw the thing? Miss Strathmore has other important matters to concern her at this time.”

  “Such as?” James spoke with such deadly quiet that they all turned.

  “Such as assuming her place in Society,” Lord Buckley said. “I suppose expeditions and such are very well for some people, but the ton has obligations, and Miss Strathmore is well aware of the fact.”

  Uncle Edward blinked at him. “Lily is one of the finest illustrators in the country. She has always drawn my specimens.”

  She spoke quickly, ignoring Lord Buckley’s frown. “Of course I’ll come, Uncle. In the next day or two, I promise. And Isabelle is here also? Is she well?”

  “It would do her good to see you, my girl. And Mrs. Hodges has been asking after your welfare.”

  Lord Buckley cleared his throat. “Yes, well, it’s been a pleasure meeting all of you. But speaking of dances, I believe ours is about to commence. Come along, Miss Strathmore.”

  She hung back a moment. “I will visit as soon as I can. Give my love to Isabelle and Richard.”

  “I will. And your specimen awaits you, my girl. Extraordinary, I must say.”

  Lily let Lord Buckley lead her back into the crowd. She could not help glancing at James. He was watching her, his brown eyes unreadable. It was beyond time to remove herself from his presence. Things could never be easy between them now. A pity—his sister seemed quite likeable.

  The floor was terribly overcrowded, and Lord Buckley was forced to hold her closer than usual to avoid contact with the other couples. It took nearly the entire dance to traverse to the opposite side of the ballroom.

  He released her as soon as the music reached its end, and dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief. “Thank goodness that is finished. You have several more dances promised, do you not? You are welcome to them, I must say. Would you care to take the air on the terrace?”

  The warm June night carried the scent of roses and an underlying hint of London’s soot. Lily walked beside Lord Buckley, keeping her gaze resolutely on the flagstones.

  “Miss Strathmore, I know this is hardly the place, but I have an important question to ask you.” There was something in his voice that made her glance sharply up into his pale blue eyes.

  She froze. He could not possibly be thinking of proposing? Dear heaven, not now. She looked around at the other guests strolling the terrace. Not here.

  “I would like,” he continued, “to ask if I may call upon you Wednesday afternoon. I have a serious matter I would like to discuss with you.”

  Lily let out a breath. Of course he wouldn’t propose here. Thank goodness. “Certainly. I shall look forward to it. Please, let us return to the ballroom.” Only four days!

  He guided her back inside. “There is Lord Rowland now. I will leave you to the pleasure of his company. I’m certain Mother has been wondering what’s become of me.” He bowed, exchanged greetings with Lord Rowland, and was gone.

  “Your paramour seemed in a hurry to depart,” Lord Rowland said, “though I am happy to have you to myself for a moment. And what luck, I believe the next dance is a waltz.” He held his arms out, and Lily stepped reluctantly into his embrace.

  Once the music began, she went directly to the point. “Tell me, Lord Rowland. What were you doing in Tunisia?”

  He regarded her, his expression calculating. “I take it my cousin did not see fit to enlighten you as to our mutual purpose in traveling to Africa?”

  “No, he did not. Unless you, too, are interested in botanical discoveries?”

  Lord Rowland gave a bark of laughter. “Not I—unless they are immediately profitable. And certainly less so than my grandfather, who left a substantial fortune to the descendant who returned to a certain valley in Tunisia and recovered his damnable journals. James and I were after a fortune, not a flower. Your uncle, your entire family, were the means to that end. In short, Miss Strathmore, he used you for his own purposes.” His look suggested he knew what other uses James had made of her. Black eyes glinting, he guided her through a turn.

  Lily followed, barely paying attention to the dance. Fury kindled inside her. So that had been the game. And James’s heroic act of retrieving the flower? Just another excuse to make for the valley, this time without the awkward encumbrance of the expedition to hinder him.

  “Did he find what he was seeking?” she asked.

  Lord Rowland shrugged, but the movement lacked his usual nonchalance. “I don’t believe he did. A fitting end, if you ask me. You should have heeded my earlier warnings about him, for I can see that you and your family did not escape entirely unscathed.”

  No, they had not—even though Uncle Edward seemed quite recovered.

  “You said you shared the purpose of finding the journals. You didn’t stay in Tunis, then, did you?” The peculiar, threatening incidents that had beset the expedition began to form a picture she did not like at all.

  “I headed for the valley, but since James had taken my grandfather’s letters and did not see fit to share, I was at a considerable disadvantage.”

  “So that’s why you followed us.”

  “Me? I merely wanted to ensure the earl’s estate remained intact, not parceled out to poor relations right and left. I am the heir, after all, and I am not above protecting what is mine by right.”

  “I see.” Memory rose—she was picking her careful way down the hillside, clutching a length of turquoise cloth around her, her heart hammering in her throat, the only light to guide her cast by a tent engulfed in flame. “To what lengths would you go, Lord Rowland? Would you raid a defenseless camp? Strike down an innocent man?” She could hear the sharp edge in her voice, the rising inflection.

  He stepped back, his expression going flat and hard. “Miss Strathmore. Are you accusing me of something nefarious, in the middle of Lord Severn’s ballroom? Before you take that dangerous path, consider how much attention you wish to draw to your recent travels with my cousin.”

  They had given up any pretense of waltzing now. An odd stillness began to spread out from where she and Lord Rowla
nd stood. Glancing about, Lily saw the curious stares, quickly averted, heard the sudden whispers. He was right, blast him. This was not the time or place to make accusations. Frustrated, she glared back.

  Lord Rowland gave her a thin smile, sharp as a blade. He took a step forward, arms raised to resume dancing. Then his eyes focused past her, his gaze sharpening.

  “Speak of the devil.” An incongruous smile curved his lips. “I regret I will not be able to complete our dance. Good evening, Miss Strathmore.” He slipped away, leaving hardly a ripple in his wake.

  Hands balled at her sides, Lily could only stare. She felt certain that somehow he had been behind the raid on the camp, possibly even the one who had struck down her uncle. Certain, but without proof.

  The dancers swirled past, giving her a wide berth. She had to leave the floor immediately or become the talk of the evening—if it wasn’t already too late. Lily turned hastily and took a step, only to collide with a tall man who could have been granite for all he yielded. Strong arms encircled her, and before she could draw breath, she was waltzing again.

  With James—and he looked furious.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “What the devil were you doing with Reggie?” James had been ready to launch himself at his cousin, but that snake had slipped away again, leaving Lily the object of whispers and stares.

  He bared his teeth and swept her into another turn. If only she didn’t feel so damnably good in his arms.

  “I was dancing with your odious cousin—before he rudely abandoned me. I suppose I ought to thank you for coming to my aid, though I assure you it is not necessary for us to finish the dance. Escorting me to the edge of the floor will be quite sufficient.”

  That had been his intention before he had taken her into his arms. His gaze traveled over her face and snagged once more on the pendant she wore. The one he had given her the night they had lain together under the stars.

  “Lily, what did Reggie want? And what did you say to him?” His cousin’s interest in the Strathmores should have ended with the ill-fated expedition.