by Darcy Burke
“Perhaps you’re finally letting down your guard.” His stepmother lifted a shoulder and gave him a sly smile. “Who knows, maybe you’ll even take a wife.”
“Let’s not put the cart before the horse.” He tossed back the rest of his whisky.
She chuckled. “Never. And anyway, I’m quite content playing sponsor to Miss Lockhart. Once I’ve secured her future, I may take on another young lady. It’s quite invigorating.” Her smile was tinged with sadness. “It makes me think of Eliza.”
She was speaking of Titus’s half sister who’d died at the age of three, when Titus had been ten. There had been no other children after that, so it made sense that helping Nora appealed to her. He set his empty glass on the sideboard and took his stepmother’s gloved hand. “I’m sorry this is dredging that up.”
She squeezed his fingers and let him go. “I’m not. And anyway, there is no dredging involved. Eliza is always with me.” She briefly touched her chest above her heart before tugging her glove more snugly over her elbow. “I do worry about you, though. Are you truly happy on your own?”
“As happy as I need to be.” He would’ve said as I deserve to be, but that would have invited unwanted questions and concern. “I shall be happier in a short while when I am away from this ball.” Indeed, why hadn’t he left already?
An image of Nora—the proud angle of her head and the confident jut of her chin as she’d put that woman in her place—rose in his mind, and he silently chided himself. He’d wasted a perfectly good hour—more than that now—that he could’ve spent at his club or in his library. Or better yet, in the arms of his mistress.
His stepmother walked toward the door. “I’m afraid I must return downstairs. I’ve been gone an age.” She paused at the threshold. “Will you come with me, or are you leaving?”
“Leaving.”
“Good night, then.” She blew him a kiss and left.
Titus followed her from the room, but as he escaped down the back stairs, he wondered if he’d really go to his mistress. He hadn’t been to see her since that first night, what, nearly a week ago? The night before he’d met Nora.
Clenching his jaw, he resolved to visit Isabelle. He needed to return to his normal London routine, which included regular appointments with his mistress. But as he climbed into his coach, he wasn’t thinking of his beautiful courtesan. No, he was thinking of tawny eyes and dark pink lips that belonged to a woman he could never have.
Two nights later, Nora attended a soiree with Lady Satterfield at the home of Lord Bunting. It wasn’t a crush, but there was far more of a crowd than Nora had anticipated. She’d forgotten how many people spent their evenings seeking entertainment around London. It made the last nine years of her life seem incredibly sedate and painfully lonely.
But then she hadn’t needed the social whirl of London to underscore that point.
She’d been too aware of her solitude as well as the fact that she’d be alone forever. Until she wasn’t. And now that she wasn’t… Well, it felt strange to be thrust into this madness again.
Madness? Was that how she saw it?
Yes, because anyone would acknowledge that the London Season was overwhelming and terrible and quite, quite mad.
Then why was she here?
Because she didn’t want to go back to the way things were—not that she could, given her father’s failures. Still, she didn’t have to be doing this. She could content herself with working as someone’s companion. Except the temptation of a husband, a family, of a quiet, comfortable life was too great to ignore.
“Nora?” Lady Satterfield interrupted Nora’s woolgathering in the saloon, where the women had moved after dinner.
Nora realized she’d missed whatever conversation had been going on around her and silently chided herself to pay more heed. She didn’t want to embarrass Lady Satterfield. “I was just wondering when the dancing might start,” she said, in an effort to mask her inattention.
Lady Satterfield’s brow made a tiny crease, but only for a fleeting moment. “Lady Bunting just indicated the drawing room is ready. Shall we go?”
As the other women began to rise, Nora inwardly cringed at having been caught fibbing. She stood, and Lady Satterfield leaned close. “It’s quite all right. If you’re tired, we can make an early night of it.”
Nora wanted to hug the countess for her quick and compassionate understanding. But she wasn’t tired. She was just… She didn’t know what she was. Eager to dance, she decided. Yes, that was one thing about London she loved and felt fortunate to take part in once again.
“Thank you, but I’d like to stay. I simply became lost in my thoughts for a few minutes.” Nora left the sitting room at Lady Satterfield’s side.
As soon as they entered the drawing room, Nora was beset by a trio of gentlemen who asked her to dance. She promised to partner all three of them, and they took their leave until the music started.
Lady Satterfield beamed at her. “My goodness, that was wonderful, wasn’t it?”
Nora didn’t know what to say. After dancing with Kendal the other night, she’d danced just twice more. She’d appreciated the attention but had assumed it was because she was the ward of the hostess. Tonight, however, she was simply another guest. And perhaps a sought-after one at that.
After so many years away and because of the manner in which she’d left town, she couldn’t help but feel wary. She turned to Lady Satterfield. “Why do you suppose that happened?”
Lady Satterfield let out a light laugh. “You are attractive, intelligent, and beyond the age of simpering. I imagine that will appeal to a great many gentlemen.”
Nora wondered if the modest dowry, which Lord and Lady Satterfield had insisted on settling on her, had also played a part. Probably, but that was how things worked. One married for a variety of reasons, including financial gain. Wasn’t Nora looking to improve her own station? She wasn’t in search of a title or an excess of money, but she did desire comfort.
Her first partner was Lord Markham, an earl in his middle thirties with a fading hairline and a warm smile. He’d spent the past decade serving the government and was now, according to Lady Satterfield, on the hunt for a wife.
They spoke of London entertainments and outdoor pursuits. He was an affable fellow, and Nora enjoyed their time together. But it was over soon enough, and she went on to her next partner, Mr. Reginald Dawson. As with the first dance, she and Mr. Dawson exchanged pleasantries. A bit younger than Lord Markham, Dawson was a widower with two small children. He made no secret of saying he was looking for a new wife—one who wouldn’t shrink from stepping into the role of mother.
“I suspect I’m in for a challenge,” he said. “Trying to find a lady who won’t mind an immediate family.” He glanced at Nora as the dance drew to an end.
Nora thought about that—an instant family—and decided it didn’t frighten her. She had next to no experience with children, but she wasn’t afraid of the prospect, not when she heartily wanted a family of her own. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, taking his arm so that he could lead her from the dance floor. “You might be surprised, Mr. Dawson.”
He shot her a glance that was, in fact, surprised, his dark brown eyes sparkling. “Indeed? That is excellent to hear.”
Dawson guided her to the refreshment table, where Nora accepted a glass of ratafia.
“Thank you again for the dance,” Dawson said, his lips curving into a smile. “I shall look forward to our next encounter.” He presented a gallant bow, to which Nora responded with a curtsey.
As soon as he left, a woman approached, and Nora nearly choked on her drink. It was Lady Kipp-Landon, with whom she’d become reacquainted at Lady Satterfield’s tea.
Nora eyed the other woman with a healthy sense of caution and glanced around for her companion, the supercilious Lady Abercrombie. Thankfully, she was nowhere to be seen.
Lady Kipp-Landon stretched her lips into a ghastly smile. Or at least it looked ghastly to Nora. Somethin
g about it didn’t ring quite true. Maybe it was because of what she said. “How delightful to see you here, Miss Lockhart. What a lovely gown.” Her gaze dipped to Nora’s costume, which was a paler shade of the gold she’d worn to Lady Satterfield’s ball—a color Lady Abercrombie had mocked.
The devil nestled close on Nora’s shoulder. “You’re sure the color isn’t too outdated?” she asked and almost instantly regretted it. She mustn’t sink to their level.
Lady Kipp-Landon’s eyes widened briefly. “Oh no, not at all! It’s quite fetching on you. I see you danced with Lord Markham.” She sidled closer to Nora as if they were friends. “Does he plan to call on you?”
For a moment, Nora simply stood there and tried to make sense of what was happening. Did Lady Kipp-Landon think they were friends?
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Nora murmured. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to find the retiring room.”
“Of course. It’s upstairs—you can’t miss it.” Her face brightened. “Lovely to chat with you. Mayhap we’ll see each other in the park tomorrow!”
Nora couldn’t help but look at the woman as if she’d sprouted a third ear. She’d seen Lady Kipp-Landon and Lady Abercrombie in the park the day after Lady Satterfield’s ball and they hadn’t said a word to her. What had changed?
She went to the retiring room and was fortunate to run into Lady Satterfield, who pulled her aside. “How is your evening?”
“Fine, thank you. I just danced with Mr. Dawson.”
“Ah yes. How was it?”
“Quite pleasant.” Nora had hesitated in her answer, but not because of her dance with Dawson. She was still thinking of Lady Kipp-Landon’s peculiar behavior.
Lady Satterfield looked at Nora intently, perhaps detecting her lingering unease. She lowered her voice and turned her back to the retiring room. “Is there something else?”
Nora glanced around the room. Aside from an older woman seated on a chaise near the corner, it was empty. “Lady Kipp-Landon spoke with me…as if we were friends.”
Lady Satterfield frowned. “What did she say?”
“She asked about Lord Markham, complimented my gown, and said she looked forward to seeing me in the park.”
Lady Satterfield was aware of how she and Lady Abercrombie had behaved toward Nora, especially the latter at Lady Satterfield’s ball. As promised, Kendal had mentioned something to his stepmother, and now Lady Abercrombie was forever banned from the countess’s invitation list.
Lady Satterfield’s gray eyes lit. “I see what’s happening. Lady Kipp-Landon recognizes that you are becoming popular. You’ve attracted the notice of several gentlemen, including an earl. She’d do better to have you as an ally than an enemy.”
Nora shook her head in disgust. “But it’s all so affected. She doesn’t actually want to be my friend.”
“Perhaps not,” Lady Satterfield said gently. “And you needn’t befriend her, of course. However, I would urge you to be pleasant, as it will only help your cause.”
So Nora would have to resort to deceit as well if she wanted to achieve her goal of finding a husband. She’d known, even in her youth, that one must put on a performance of sorts to gain acceptance and attract suitors. But now that she was older, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to do those things. Her feelings of unease didn’t dissipate.
Lady Satterfield frowned slightly. “You still seem diffident. Is there anything I can do?”
Nora didn’t want to concern her. “No, I’m just out of practice.”
The countess brightened. “Of course you are. It’s quite a change of pace. You mustn’t worry about feeling overwhelmed or unsure. You’ll find your footing again, you’ll see.” Lady Satterfield touched her arm. “But if you want to leave any event ever, you need only say the word. Your well-being is my priority, dear.”
Nora smiled at her kind benefactress. “You are surely heaven-sent.”
Lady Satterfield laughed. “I’m not certain my husband or stepson would agree with you.”
“Nonsense. They both adore you.” Or so it seemed to Nora.
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t try their patience from time to time.” She winked at Nora. “Come, I’ll wait for you while you tidy up, and we’ll head back down. You’ve another dance scheduled, do you not?”
Nora nodded. She conducted a brief toilette, then they returned to the party. As Nora began her next dance, she hoped that what Lady Satterfield said was true—that she’d become comfortable soon. However, the alternative, that she simply didn’t like this life, loomed in the forefront of her mind.
Maybe she’d be fortunate enough to find a husband who would provide a quieter country life as she’d become accustomed to. Perhaps someone like Mr. Dawson. Definitely not an Untouchable like the Duke of Kendal. That had been her ambition during her first Seasons, the sparkling dream that she’d foolishly thought was in her grasp.
This time she understood the possibilities, as well as the stakes. And she didn’t plan to fall victim to Society’s vagaries again.
Chapter 6
Brexham Hall, the London residence of Lord Fitzgibbon, was a century-old country house of Palladian design set upon some five hundred acres. Its grandeur and proximity to town made it a favorite haven of the ton. As such, Titus had been here only a handful of times, and never for Lady Fitzgibbon’s annual picnic.
A receiving line of sorts had been established along the path as people made their way toward the picnic, and the Satterfields—and Nora—were just concluding a short exchange with their hosts. Titus had ridden his horse to the picnic and gone directly to the stables, and now avoided the receiving line.
Nora cocked her head to the side, a wide-brimmed bonnet shading her face from both the bright sunlight and him. No matter, for he could recall the slope of her nose, the generous sweep of her lower lip, and the warm sparkle in her tawny eyes. Those very features had haunted his dreams. When he considered the cause, he blamed the guilt he felt. Hopefully today’s errand would set him free.
As they departed the line and continued along the path, Titus made his way in their direction. He was vaguely aware of people staring at him as he passed. He hadn’t attended this many Society events—the tea, the ball, and now this—in such quick succession, since before his father had died.
His stepfather caught sight of him first and inclined his head as he bent to say something to Titus’s stepmother.
She turned to greet him. “Ah, Kendal, I’m delighted to see you here.” She angled her head toward Nora. “Look who’s come, Nora.”
Nora turned and tipped her head up. Her warm brown eyes, so bold and expressive, charmed him. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”
He took her hand and pressed his lips to the back of her glove. The garment offended him because he would rather have kissed her bare flesh. “Good afternoon. It’s a nice day for a picnic.”
The inane comment sounded absurd to his ears. He hadn’t tried to make such nonsensical chitchat in ages.
His stepmother smiled widely. “It’s especially fine today. I don’t remember the last time Lady Fitzgibbon’s annual picnic was blessed with such lovely weather. Kendal, come and join us at our blanket.” She took her husband’s arm and led the way.
Titus held his arm for Nora. She curled her hand around his sleeve, and Titus’s body came alive with awareness. Damn.
He strove to keep his mind away from her charms. “I understand you’re keeping my stepmother busy.”
Nora cast him an enigmatic look—it was almost inquisitive, and yet she didn’t ask a question. “We’ve been adding to my wardrobe. She’s been incredibly generous. She says it gives her pleasure to have a young woman to support and shepherd.” She shook her head, her lips curving in a self-deprecating half smile. “I only wonder what I did to earn such kindness.” Ah, that was her question: why her?
Because she deserved it.
“Does it have to be something that you did?” Titus asked. “My stepmother is an exceptionall
y benevolent person by nature. I’m not the least bit surprised that she wanted to sponsor you.”
They crested a small hill, and the picnic lay before them. Dozens of colorful blankets set as elegantly as a Society dinner dotted the verdant lawn. The thought of sharing Nora with a blanketful of people annoyed him nearly as much as the glove on her hand. Which was ridiculous. He was here to ensure her acceptance and success. He had no personal interest or stake other than righting the wrong he’d done her.
He sought to keep the conversation benign. He’d once been very good at charming young ladies with his conversational wit. In retrospect, that seemed like another life. “Have you been to Brexham Hall before?”
She looked at him askance, and her expression was tinged with disbelief. “Goodness no. I wasn’t in a high enough position during my Seasons. Brexham Hall is a destination for the Untouchables.”
“What the devil are the Untouchables?”
She laughed, and he loved the dark, throaty sound of it. “Spoken like a true Untouchable.” She looked at him again, this time studying him at length. “Shall I explain?”
“No, I think I comprehend the meaning.” He tried not to scowl. This sharp division even among the upper class was another reason he’d come to loathe Society. He didn’t care for other people dictating whom he ought to befriend or associate with. Or dance with. Or fall in love with.
Not that he was in danger of that.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” she said softly.
She hadn’t, but he acknowledged he wasn’t exhibiting his best side to her. Hell, did he even have a good side? He’d long ago abandoned comporting himself in the manner necessary to win smiles and affection, and back when he had, the skill had come effortlessly. What had happened to him in the intervening years? He knew: a persistent feeling of disgust from his youthful behavior and a heavy dose of cynicism engendered by the very people he’d once called “friends.”
