by Laura Landon
“We…” Elizabeth paused to collect herself. “We need to have a service for Joan, and her close friends must be told, the ones who stayed true to her after the scandal.”
“Quite, yes, quite right,” George murmured, but his mind was a thousand miles away and his heart beating back to the past, fighting hard to grasp onto golden memories, the ones of sunny days when his darling girl danced in the gardens, her little pinafore smudged with dirt and her voice as sweet as any songbird as she sang a lullaby about a nightingale.
“Do you believe, Papa?” the child asked.
He took the small hand she held out and walked with her down the garden path. “Believe what?”
Joan beamed up at him, her cunning mind mixed with an open heart. “That in every bit of the world, there is, in essence, a soul? And they fit together like a grand puzzle.”
How could he not have adored such a child? And how could her growing up not break his heart?
“My dear little girl…” He came back to himself, realizing Archie and Elizabeth had left him alone to his grief. He raised his hands to cover his face and wept bitterly. His pride and his mistakes had taken his child and grandchild from him forever.
. . .
“The red one. And the blue one, of course,” Lawrence said, his eyes sweeping over Zehra from head to foot. She curled her arms around her waist as she stood on the small dais in Madame Ella’s viewing area. Mirrors flanked her, and she caught glimpses of herself gazing back in wide-eyed wonder. The gowns were lovely—no, beyond lovely. They were extravagant in quality, yet not overdone in ornament and style.
Lawrence crossed his arms over his chest as he prowled in a small circle around Zehra. “What do you think, Madame Ella?” The modiste was tapping her chin with a finger, also studying Zehra.
“Any bold colors will do, my lord. Anything pale would not do justice to her coloring. And those eyes… You must buy sapphires. They will reflect the stunning shade quite well.”
“Agreed. I’ll have three carriage dresses, four evening gowns, four day gowns, and several chemises and other underpinnings. Matching gloves, of course. We will stop at the milliner and shoe shops next.”
“Really, Lawrence, I cannot ask—” Zehra began.
“Don’t say another word, or I’ll double the order.” Lawrence winked at the modiste, who started to laugh.
“We can have half the gowns ready in a few hours since we had some ready-made dresses on hand and the rest in a few days. You can take the nightclothes and the gown she’s wearing now if you like.”
“Perfect.” Lawrence waited until Madame Ella had left them alone, and then he approached the dais. It put Zehra at an equal height to him, and she had to admit she rather liked looking at him eye to eye. Yet as he drew near, her stomach fluttered with fresh nerves.
Had she been foolish kissing him earlier that day? She didn’t think so, but it had been wild, scandalous, and entirely inappropriate. Had she done that to anyone back home, her father would have fought the man for her honor, and if he had survived, her father would have forced him to marry her.
She blushed, thinking about marrying Lawrence. She didn’t even know him, not in the way she wanted to know the man she planned to marry. Not that she would marry Lawrence or any man, for that option was lost to her now. It was the true reason why she had kissed him, why such a fierce desperation to live at least a short time on her terms was overpowering. It had been a thank-you kiss, a kiss of passion, and a kiss goodbye all at the same time.
Perhaps I can know pleasure and happiness with him, know the touch of a man of my own choosing before…
Before she was sent back to Persia. Even if the people who had broken up the ring managed to catch Al-Zahrani, she would find no freedom back home. Her parents’ fortunes had been taken, and she would have no claim to them. At best she might find work as a commoner.
At worst, Al-Zahrani was still free and would find her.
“I can’t help but wonder what you are thinking about when you seem so distant.” Lawrence cupped her chin in one hand and curled his other around her waist, his fingers swirling soothing patterns on the rose-red muslin gown she wore.
“You wouldn’t wish to know my thoughts,” she said, sorrow growing inside her so strong for a moment that the bleakness almost consumed her.
And then his lips were on hers. Though it started much like her own kiss earlier that day, something more soon crept into it. A heat and hunger stirred in her until she lost all thoughts of the past. There was only him, his kiss, his touch, his arms around her. She pressed against him, craving anything he could give her. He held her, keeping her from falling off the dais as their lips parted. His silly grin was an echo of the happiness that was filling her, making her a little dizzy.
“What was that for?” she asked, smiling as she bit her lip.
“My father used to say a good kiss could cure anything. Especially a fit of the blue devils.” He stroked a playful fingertip down her nose. His hazel eyes were merry, like firelight reflecting on honey.
“Blue devils?” She’d never heard such a silly turn of phrase.
“It’s when you feel a bit down. Did it work?”
“Oh!” She giggled. “Yes, it certainly did.” All it had taken was one good kiss and she’d almost forgotten what distressed her.
“Good.” He stroked the pad of his thumb over her lips, his eyes fixed on her as though he was thinking about kissing her again. She would not have minded, except the dressmaker cleared her throat from behind Lawrence.
“The gown and other clothes are all packed. I can have them delivered to your residence this afternoon if you wish.” Madame Ella lifted a hand to brush a strand of her dark silvery hair back into place.
“Thank you, that would be preferable,” Lawrence said without bothering to look toward the modiste. Zehra blushed as he caught her by the waist and lowered her down off the dais. He held on a moment too long, long enough to let her breathe in his scent and feel the heat of his tall, strong form so close to hers.
“On to shoes, hats, and jewelry?” he asked with an impish grin.
“Truly, Lawrence, we mustn’t,” she protested.
“Nonsense, Zehra. Madame Ella is quite right. Your lovely neck requires sapphires.” She let him escort her from the dress shop, her arm tucked through his. Although she wore a lovely red-and-white-striped muslin gown, she felt strangely exposed as they stepped onto the street.
At home she had lived a fairly cloistered life. She’d been kept apart from most men except from her father and friends of her parents. But at the same time, she’d had the freedom to take her horse and ride off into the hills behind her father’s palace and spend hours reading in the sun or studying as she lay stretched out on a blanket.
There was no such freedom here. London was full of people, couples, servants, men riding by on horseback, and carriages rumbling past. It was busy and noisy and all a little overwhelming. By the time they had finished with the shoes, jewelry, and hats, Zehra’s head ached from all the sounds of chaos around her.
“Are you feeling all right?” Lawrence asked as he got back into the coach with her.
“Yes, I’m not used to such…activity.” She touched her temples with the tips of her fingers.
“Why don’t we get you home to rest? We can have a quiet dinner before I have to go.”
She sat up straight, worry filling her. “Go?” She didn’t want to cling to him, but he was the only person she knew and trusted in this overwhelming new country.
Lawrence’s happy countenance fell. “I fear I have to attend a ball tonight. I won’t be gone long, I hope. Perhaps two hours.”
“A ball?” She couldn’t hide the hope in her voice. Her mother used to tell the most wonderful stories about the nights she’d attended balls, the exquisite gowns she’d worn, the dances, the handsome gentlemen and the music…
“Yes, I promised my mother I would go.” His sour tone made him sound boyish, and she laughed.
“Like balls?” He scoffed. “What on earth is there to like about them?”
Zehra flushed. “Well, I’ve been told they are both beautiful and enjoyable. The candlelight, the dancing, the music…” She trailed off when she noticed him watching her closely. Lawrence leaned forward in his seat.
“Have you ever been to one?”
She shook her head. “I’ve heard about them and have longed to go to one since I was a child, but they aren’t a part of my country’s customs. It isn’t done, for men and women to dance and hold each other close or to touch.”
Lawrence was silent for a moment, and then he laughed softly. The rich, deep sound of it sent delicious shivers through her.
“We aren’t supposed to be close either, except during waltzes, of course.” As he said this, he leaned closer to her, reaching across the space of the coach to grasp her hands in his. “Tomorrow, we can go to Richmond and have a proper picnic. They have some lovely hills with pleasant views. We can enjoy ourselves away from the bustle of the city. What do you think?”
“It sounds wonderful.”
“Excellent.” Lawrence grinned, but she saw his happy gaze was tempered with a hint of melancholy.
Seven days lay between them. It was all she had.
I must make the most of them.
Chapter Seven
Bloody balls.
Lawrence despised wearing the obligatory knee breeches required for balls and dancing. He much preferred the cut of a good pair of trousers. He was no foppish dandy, but he did like to look like a gentleman, even if his behavior suggested he wasn’t.
“She knows I don’t want to be here,” Lawrence muttered to his brother, Lucien, who was leaning against the back wall next to him. Side by side they could have been mistaken for twins if one didn’t know they were four years apart in age.
Lucien chuckled. “None of us want to be here. But you know how Mother is. The woman knows precisely what to say to get us to do as she wishes.”
“What did she say to make you come?” Lawrence asked. Even at three and thirty, Lucien still bowed to their mother’s dictates, just as they all did.
“She reminded me that Horatia won’t have the chance to dance during the late summer or fall because of her pregnancy. I have no intention of cloistering my wife away, but Mother’s right that she won’t be able to dance. Ergo, I am accepting any and all social engagements Horatia wishes to attend while she is able.”
He nodded toward a distant figure, a lovely brunette who was dancing with their youngest brother, Linus. She was beaming, her face alight with the sheer pleasure of the dance. Lawrence’s heart gave a little jerk. He wished he could’ve brought Zehra here tonight, but Avery was right. She had no connections, no way to be included in society properly. She would be viewed as his mistress, or worse, and could not be introduced to gentle-bred ladies. All she wished for was to attend a ball, and he couldn’t even give her that.
Or could he? A plan caught him by surprise. One that made him almost giddy with its possibilities.
As the dance ended, Horatia and Linus came over to them.
“Horatia, I wonder if I might speak to you for a moment?” Lawrence asked.
His sister-in-law’s eyes widened in surprise. The last time Lawrence had been alone with Horatia, he’d tried to kiss her to make Lucien jealous, and his good-faith attempt to bring the lovebirds together had not been welcome. Still, all had been explained and forgiven. He hoped.
“I suppose so.” Her cheeks were still flushed with color from the dance, and she nodded at Lucien, who narrowed his gaze but reluctantly let her go.
Lawrence took Horatia over to an alcove in the Raleighs’ ballroom, where they would not be overheard by anyone standing close by.
“Horatia, I’m afraid I have a very important favor to ask of you.”
“Yes?” Her brown eyes were warm and welcoming. She was so opposite his brother in nature. Lucien was a natural brooder, yet it seemed that together they worked.
As Zehra and I seem to. The dangerous thought floated through his head before he could stop it.
“I…was assisting Avery in his duties the other day. There was an auction at the White House.”
He waited to see if she understood what he was hinting at.
“An auction,” she repeated, her face growing redder.
“Yes, and he was hoping to find men who purchase certain wares. I tried to save one of those wares, which is currently in my house, under my protection.”
“I think I am following,” she said, her tone as quiet as his now.
“This item is very lonely and honestly quite lovely, not just in face and form, but in the mind. And…” He paused, dropping all pretenses and steeling himself for rejection. “Could you help me to please her? She’s not going to be in England long, and she’d love to attend a ball before she leaves. I want to make her happy. After everything she’s been through, she deserves that much.”
“And you want me to help? How exactly?”
She had not rejected his idea outright. That was promising.
“Perhaps you, Lucien, and a few others could come to dinner sometime this week and we could have a bit of dancing? I have a decent-sized drawing room. We could push back chairs, and someone can play the pianoforte.” He sounded hopelessly foolish, but still she didn’t reject his idea. “I know it sounds terrible, but I swear to you, she isn’t what you expect, and she is certainly not a…” He swallowed down the word prostitute. “She was taken from her home against her will. That’s why Avery was involved. I…” He raked a hand through his hair. “Please, I am begging you.” He reached out to grasp her hands, ready to get down on his knees in the middle of the Raleighs’ ball, scandal be damned.
She smiled. “Lawrence, please. You mustn’t worry. I shall be glad to help. I am merely trying to decide how best to go about it. I ought to speak with Emily and—”
“No. Not Emily. I could not have her involved,” he cut in. If it ever got out that the Duchess of Essex had come to a private ball with a bought woman… He didn’t want to taint the pretty young lady by association with Zehra’s situation. Not to mention her husband, the Duke of Essex, would beat him to a bloody pulp if Emily’s reputation was harmed.
Horatia’s eyes twinkled. “Lawrence, you should know by now that Emily does as she pleases. Besides, she is no stranger to having been taken and held against her will. If anything, they would have much to talk about.”
Lawrence relaxed a little, surprising himself by smiling. “If she wishes to help, then I would gladly accept it. But you must explain to her the situation in full. I do not want to be facing Lord Essex on the field at dawn over a misunderstanding.”
She giggled. “Rest assured, the Society of Rebellious Ladies is on the case.”
At that moment Lucien walked over, scowling. “Society of Rebellious Ladies? Darling, don’t tell me you’re indulging in something that will get you into trouble.” Lucien’s eyes were locked on Lawrence, the warning clearly intended for him.
“You have no need to worry—it is not your concern.” She tucked her arm in Lucien’s and leaned against his side. “Now come, you promised the next waltz to me.”
Lucien’s gaze softened as he looked down at Horatia. “I did.” With a reassuring smile at Lawrence, Horatia led Lucien away to the dance floor.
Lawrence watched the pair waltz as he tried to fight off a wave of melancholy. Zehra and I will never dance like this. But perhaps she can have some small measure of joy before she must leave me forever.
He gave himself a little shake. Since when had he become a romantic fool?
“Ah, Lawrence! There you are!” His mother elbowed her way through a group of young men as she found him. “You really must stop hiding like this. I am too old to be playing hide-and-seek.”
“Hello, Mother.” He sighed as Jane reached him. For the better part of an hour, he’d managed to stay out of sight. His moth
er held a fan, which she collapsed in one hand and soundly whacked him with on the shoulder.
“You haven’t danced with Miss Hunt yet. I know you signed her card for the next dance, so go make yourself ready.”
“Yes, Mother,” he said with a growl and stepped past her toward a crowd of young ladies. Miss Hunt, a fair-haired woman, was speaking animatedly to two of her friends as he approached. They all went silent, one stopping mid-titter, like a startled starling.
“Miss Hunt.” He made an elegant bow. “The next dance is mine, I believe.” The young woman’s friends scattered, leaving her alone. She blushed and accepted his hand. They walked to the edge of the crowd, waiting for the waltz to finish.
“I know why you are here, Mr. Russell,” she said in a hushed voice.
He raised a brow as they both clapped as the waltz ended. “Do you?”
Miss Hunt chuckled. “Your mother and my father have convinced themselves we make a good match. My father is desperate to get me married.” She glanced his way, and he saw a speculative gleam in her eyes.
“That isn’t so very surprising. Isn’t marriage the goal of all ladies?” he teased.
“Most, I’m sure, but not me,” she replied with startling honestly.
“Oh?” Now he was curious. “And what is your goal, Miss Hunt?”
This time, his dance partner was less forthcoming and her response much quieter. “To be free.” The amusement in her eyes faded to melancholy
Lawrence couldn’t help but feel an echo of Zehra’s dream in this woman. She was a sweet woman, more than pretty enough, and ought to be enjoying herself. A bit more teasing, perhaps, to win a smile from her? He didn’t wish to dance with a woman who looked so forlorn.
“So I’m not up to scratch, eh? Too tall and good looking, I suppose?” He puffed up his chest in a mocking display of pride as he faced her for the dance. She giggled but quickly stifled the sound when the ladies next to them stared at her. As the dance began, they darted around the other couples and came back together again, allowing Miss Hunt time to respond.