Chapter Twenty-Three
Nineteen months later
God, she’d changed.
That was Cedric’s first thought as he made his achingly slow progress into Almack’s. He was ill, weak and defeated, but he needed to see Lucy one final time. And so he’d donned clothing that did not fit anymore, spent his last coins getting a hackney and he’d blustered his way inside.
He’d heard the gasps at his entrance. He doubted anyone recognised him. Honestly, he didn’t even recognise the man in the mirror. But she did. And as her eyes widened in shock, he looked at her and wondered if she had changed or if his memory of her had grown dim until this moment when the reality of her was so overwhelming.
Strong. Beautiful. Standing tall in a way she’d never done before except when they were together. He swallowed. During his absence, she’d truly adapted to English society. And here he was feeling as un-English as it was possible to be. Future earls are supposed to swagger when they enter a room. They are meant to have refined clothing and a perfumed scent.
He’d long since lost the knack of a swagger, and his clothing had been stored for the last nineteen months without anyone tocare for it. As for perfume, his scent was that of the ocean and the lye soap he’d used. But he’d gotten into Almack’s, and so that meant something. He was still accepted into polite society.
He was supposed to be returning buried in wealth with the wordsI told you so!on his lips. He’d held on to that thought with the grip of a drowning man.
But as the months wore on, as storms raged against their tiny ship, and as his body ached from constant work, his thoughts had changed to fantasies. Hot and erotic ones, but also quiet, soothing caresses. As the return trip had gone on interminably, she became an angel in his thoughts. He threw all his feelings, both good and bad, at her. His rage burned her. His pain flowed like a river to her. And when those were depleted, he sent her his tears and his regrets.
But now that she was here across from him, old patterns kicked in. He bowed to her and requested a dance as if he were again the spoiled peer he’d once been. A man who had never faced starvation, death or even true disease.
She gaped at him. That was no surprise. He was a pale shadow of who he’d once been. But then, he saw her rally. She straightened to her full height and smiled. The expression was tentative, and her shoulders were pulled in from tension, but it was a smile nonetheless.
Then she spoke.
‘L-lord Domac. Welcome back to England. I had no idea you had returned.’
‘Just docked. I barely had time to dress before coming to see you.’
‘You came to Almack’s straightaway?’ He heard the incredulity in her voice.
‘I knew you’d be here.’ Then he held out his hand to lead her into the next dance. She had already stepped to his side, but then a damned coughing fit gripped him. He tried to suppress it, butthat never worked. Indeed, it made it worse. All too soon, he was pressing a handkerchief to his mouth and praying he could remain upright.
He was excruciatingly aware of the people who drew back from him in horror. No one wanted to be exposed to disease. But unlike them, Lucy came closer. She set a hand on his shoulder, riding out the spasms like a flower atop the waves. And when he was done, she said something. He had no idea what. He heard her polite tone more than the words. And when he looked up, he saw her expression tighten.
Did she fear him? Or fear for him? Hard to tell.
Finally, he sorted through her sounds to remember a word. Lemonade.
‘Lemonade would be welcome,’ he said as he straightened to his full height.
He held out his arm, cursing it for shaking. She set her fingertips on it, then she gently steered him towards the refreshment, pausing only to apologise to Mr. Somebody. He couldn’t remember the boy’s name.
‘I am sorry I shall have to forego our dance,’ she said to the interloper. ‘Lord Domac and I have some mutual interests that I am impatient to discuss.’
Mr. Whomever didn’t take the rejection politely. He grimaced in distaste and then squared his soft shoulders as if for battle. ‘Then I shall escort you to Hyde Park tomorrow,’ he said. ‘As recompense.’
Upstart puppy. She didn’t need to do anything he demanded. Cedric opened his mouth to say something derisive, only to feel his lungs tighten up again. Damn it, if he forced words out now, he would cough instead. He held his tongue, and to his shock, he discovered that Miss Richards did not need him to defend her at all.
‘Goodness,’ she drawled. ‘I don’t believe I’ve ever received a ruder invitation. And believe me, I have received many. Sir, you are dismissed.’
The fop openly gaped at her, as did several others who were listening. Cedric, too, was momentarily stunned. He couldn’t remember Lucy ever speaking so pointedly to anyone. Good God, it set him back on his heels. This was not the woman he remembered, and the dissonance was jarring. And yet a moment later, she was grace personified as she allowed him to move them—at his pace—to the refreshment table.
They said nothing. She was likely waiting for him to speak, but he did not trust his throat yet. He refused to descend into another coughing fit, but as usual, his refusal meant nothing.
He began coughing as the footman poured the lemonade.
She gathered their cups and gestured to a pair of chairs. The seats were occupied, but at her harsh look, the ladies jumped to their feet and placed themselves two steps away. Close enough to hear everything.
She sat quickly, still balancing the cups in her hands, then smiled politely as he all but collapsed beside her. It took him a moment to catch his breath. He tried to smile as she passed him his lemonade, but he doubted the expression looked anything like normal.