She stared at him, eyes widening in panic. “I can’t do that!”
“Yes, you can. It’s very simple. You put on a pretty gown, you come downstairs, and you tell the maître d’hôtel you are with Lord Somerton’s party. I’ll be sure he knows to expect you. He will escort you to the door, he’ll announce you, and you’ll walk in. All very simple.”
“And then all hell breaks loose,” she mumbled. “Your father will never allow me to sit at your table.”
“It’s not up to him to allow it or not. I am the host, so his only choice is to stay or go. If he doesn’t wish for our company, he’s free to stand up and walk out.”
“Denys—”
He sank down on the edge of the bed, and when she tried to turn away, he grabbed her arms. “You said you love me. Did you mean it? If you did, then prove it. Come down and face them. Run that gauntlet.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“Yes, you can, because you are braver than you think.”
“I’m not brave at all.”
“But you are. Good God, you are, and you don’t even see it. You fought off a man who wanted to assault you. You threw wine in a senator’s face. You went halfway around the world to become a French cancan dancer when you didn’t know French or the cancan. You decided to become an actress when you didn’t know how to act. And after a humiliating failure, you walked out on stage last night to face an audience that fully expected you to fail again, and you proved all of them wrong about you. And you don’t think you’re brave enough to take on my family? Darling, give yourself a little credit.”
“But it wouldn’t just be your family. It would be the world. Your world, Denys.”
“That’s true, and it won’t be all beer and skittles for you if you marry me, I grant you, even if we manage to win over my family. It will take courage and fortitude and a very strong will to face down the ton. Many of them will be cold, hostile, even vicious. They will say unbelievably cruel things about you and to you.”
“And to you!”
“Yes,” he admitted. “And it may very well last the rest of our lives. But I’m asking you to do it anyway. And you won’t be alone, for I will be by your side every step of the way. On the other hand . . .” He paused and stood up. “You could take the easy way out. You could buy a steamship ticket and go somewhere else and change your name and repeat the pattern of your life. It’s your choice, my love.”
He raked a hand through her hair, pulled her head back, and bent down to kiss her. “Dinner is at quarter past eight,” he said. Then he let her go, turned away, and walked to the door. Opening it, he paused and looked back at her over one shoulder. “If you’re coming, don’t be late. Among my set, being late for dinner is just not done. If you’re not coming . . .” He took a deep breath. “Then God help me.”
With that, he walked out and closed the door behind him, but before heading down the corridor to the lift, he paused to say a little prayer, for he knew that right now, he needed all the help he could get.
Lola sat on the bed, staring at the doorway. He’d barely departed, but already, she knew Denys was right.
She had a very clear choice to make: another ticket out of town and another fresh start, or a whole new life that would be unlike anything she’d ever experienced before.
Being Denys’s viscountess would be the hardest thing she’d ever taken on, much harder than learning the cancan or training as an actress—harder, even, than taking off her clothes for randy sailors. She’d be facing an audience harsher than any London critics had ever been, and she’d be more exposed than she’d ever been in any dockside tavern. And she’d never, ever, be able to run away.
And with that thought, as quick as the flare of a match or the snap of one’s fingers, her choice was made.
She didn’t want to run. She wanted to stay. Because she wanted to believe that happy endings did exist. And because she hated walking away from a challenge just because it scared her. But most of all, she wanted to stay because Denys loved her, and she loved him. She’d always loved him. And she was not going to run away from that. Not this time. Hell, no.
She’d go to this dinner party, and she’d walk the ton’s gauntlet, and she’d live with him and be his wife, and if his family didn’t accept them, and society scorned them, that would have to be their loss.
She shoved aside the sheets and stood up, but she’d barely taken one step before a whole new question ran through her mind, a question that was of such importance, it stopped her in her tracks. Tonight might very well be the most important night of her life, and that forced her to face the same awful, agonizing question that had plagued women in this sort of situation throughout history.
What, in heaven’s name, was she going to wear?
The crucial question of Lola’s ensemble for the evening was decided at last, due mainly to the excellent taste and critical honesty of her lady’s maid, and at precisely ten minutes past eight, Lola was presenting herself to the Savoy’s maître d’hôtel dressed in a brilliant, head-turning Worth gown of shimmering, moss green silk. White gloves sheathed her from her fingertips to her elbows, and peridot and diamond jewels sparkled in her hair, at her ears, and around her neck.
The maître d’hôtel, however, was not particularly impressed by Worth, or by jewels, or by any actress who might be wearing them.
“Good evening, Miss Valentine.” The maître d’hôtel greeted her. His tone was polite enough, and he bowed his head a fraction, but contrary to what Denys had led her to expect, the man didn’t move to escort her anywhere.
She tried again. “I am with Lord Somerton’s party.”
“Quite so.” There was now a distinct hint of distaste in the man’s voice, and he still didn’t move. Lola waited, wondering what she was supposed to do now, and as the silence lengthened, she began to see a definite smirk lift the corners of the man’s mouth, reminding her that if she continued to take this path, this daring attempt to rise above her station, she would face many more smirking faces, high and low. This, she appreciated, was just the beginning.
But Lola had no intention of being cowed by a mere maître d’hôtel. The best way to proceed, she decided, was to pretend she was on a stage, and she was playing the part of a viscountess. What would a viscountess do when faced with this sort of behavior from a mere servant?
Despite the nervous apprehension in her stomach, she managed to lift her brows just enough to seem intrigued by this lack of cooperation rather than threatened. “Shall I arrange for Lord Somerton to escort me in to dinner?” she asked, smiling a little. “Or shall I allow you the honor of doing so?”
Reminded that the viscount was on her side, the maître d’hôtel’s manner became slightly less superior. “This way, madam.”
He led her down a long corridor of private reception and dining rooms to one at the very end of the corridor. It was an opulent room of gold and white, where candlelight from crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over perhaps two dozen elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen, while footmen in Savoy livery moved among them with trays of sherry. On the far wall, a set of tall doors had been flung back, revealing a long dining table of white linen, gleaming silver, and sparkling crystal.
She’d been in surroundings like this before, attended parties every bit as elegant as this, but never had she been among the aristocracy in such a setting. Suddenly, she wasn’t just nervous and apprehensive. She was terrified.
“Miss Lola Valentine.”
The maître d’hôtel’s voice seemed to thunder through the room, and all the elegant ladies and gentlemen milling about seemed to go still. Conversation faded to silence, and Lola began to scan the room in a desperate search for Denys’s face, but she got as far as Conyers and stopped, frozen in place by his cold, hostile gaze.
You are braver than you think.
Lola squared her shoulders, jutted up her chin, and returned his cold look with one of completely feigned indifference. He started toward her, but then, another man came
into her line of vision, blocking the earl from her view.
Denys.
Despite all her pretenses, Lola couldn’t help a sigh of relief, but it ended in a gulp of dismay, because instead of coming toward her, he held out his hand.
Panicked, she didn’t move, for she could feel every eye in the room on her, and she was sure that with one exception, the scrutiny was not welcoming. This wasn’t like that day at the flower show, for this time, she could easily escape. All she had to do was turn and walk out. There was nothing to stop her, nothing but Denys, waiting for her at the other end of the room.
Keeping her gaze on his face, on the tender smile that curved his mouth and the steady warmth in his brown eyes, she took a breath and started forward, one step, then another, walking society’s gauntlet.
Even with her gaze fixed on Denys, it was a long journey to that side of the room, and with every step, she could feel society’s disapproving scrutiny. But at last she reached Denys’s side.
“You came,” he said, and laughed a little. “I’m glad.”
“Did you really think I wouldn’t?”
“I can never predict what you’re going to do, Lola,” he confessed as he took her hand and bowed over it. “I do believe that’s part of your charm.”
She smiled at that, but when she moved to pull her hand away, he didn’t let her go. Instead, he gripped her fingers hard in his and dropped to one knee.
“What are you doing?” She cast a frantic sideways glance at the earl, noted the purple flush of his face, and looked at Denys again, dismayed. Proposing to her in front of his entire family was like waving a flag in the face of a bull. “Stand up,” she whispered. “For God’s sake, stand up.”
He ignored her plea. “Miss Charlotte Valinsky,” he said, loudly enough for everyone to hear, “will you marry me?”
There were several shocked gasps, and somewhere behind her, a wail was heard. Lola could only assume that was Denys’s mother.
Heat flooded her face, and she took another quick glance around, but though all the faces seemed a blur, the hot breath of hostility seemed palpable. “Oh, Denys,” she berated him softly. “What have you done?”
He gazed up at her, that tender smile still curving his mouth. “Do you intend to give me an answer, or do you intend to keep me in suspense?”
She opened her mouth, but before she could reply, another voice entered the conversation.
“I have had enough of this!” The earl’s voice was low, but in the quiet room, its icy disdain seemed as loud as a dynamite explosion. He set his sherry on a footman’s tray and strode over to them. “Denys, stand up, for God’s sake, and stop making a fool out of yourself.”
Denys ignored him. He kept his gaze on her. “Answer my question, Lola.”
“If you marry this woman, I’ll disown you,” Conyers told him. “You will be dead to me.”
Denys turned his head to look at his father, but he didn’t rise. “If that’s so, I’m sorry for it, for your opinion and your affection are very dear to me. But some things—” He broke off and looked at Lola again, squeezing her hand tight. “Some things are even more important than the esteem and affection of my family. This is one of those things. Well, Lola?” he prompted, holding her gaze with his. “Will you?”
“Without my support for this marriage, you’ll be cast out of good society,” his father went on. “Beyond the pale, shunned by everyone.”
“He’s right, Denys,” she choked. “You know he’s right. Maybe you should think it over. Everyone will forsake you if you marry me. Your family, all your friends—”
“I won’t,” another male voice rang out, and Lola turned to find Jack coming toward them through the crowd. He paused beside Denys and looked at her. “I never forsake my friends, Lola. I won’t forsake either of you.”
“Neither will I.” Another male voice had Lola looking past Jack’s shoulder to find James also coming forward. “Miss Valentine,” he greeted her with a bow before moving to stand on Denys’s other side. “It’s lovely to see you again.”
“Lovely?” Jack echoed with a scoffing sound. “It’s more than that. It’s absolutely ripping.” He grabbed her hand out of Denys’s grip and bent to kiss it. “Shocking the aristocracy all out of countenance again, aren’t we, Lola?” he added with a wink. “That’s twice in less than a month. What will people say?”
She glanced from one man to the other, so stunned by their stalwart support that she didn’t know what to reply. She supposed she ought to assume a dignified, ladylike demeanor, just to demonstrate to Denys’s family that she wasn’t the guttersnipe they thought her to be.
“Gentlemen,” she began, but her voice wavered at once, her throat clogged up, and any pretense of dignity was lost when she gave a most unladylike sob.
Jack, thankfully, stepped into the breach. He looked down at Denys, who was still on one knee and waiting for an answer. “Do you need a bit of help with this proposal, old chap? You don’t seem to be getting on very well on your own.”
“I have the situation well in hand, Jack. Thank you.” He once again grasped Lola’s hand, but before he could continue, Jack spoke again.
“Of course, of course, but in cases such as this, a man needs all the help he can get. Speaking of help,” he added, glancing left and right, “where the devil are Nick and Stuart? They were milling about beside me a few minutes ago.”
“I don’t know about Stuart, but I’m right behind you.”
Lola looked past Jack’s shoulder, and when she saw Nick coming forward, she wasn’t quite so shocked as she’d been to see Jack and James. But what did shock her was the beautiful, black-haired woman on Nick’s arm, the same woman Lola had seen with Denys at the opera. Nick’s wife.
They eased between Conyers and his son, and given Nick’s higher rank, the earl was forced to give way. He stepped back, leaving Nick and his wife to become part of Lola’s growing circle of support, and her shock began to fade, replaced by something deeper and far more profound.
Hope.
“Miss Valentine,” Nick said with a bow, “you must forgive me for interrupting this romantic moment, but I simply cannot wait a moment longer before I introduce you to my wife, Lady Trubridge.”
Of all Denys’s acquaintances, Lady Trubridge would be the most damaged if scandal of any sort were attached to her name, for she was one of the powerful ladies in British society. But Lady Trubridge didn’t seem to care about the risk to her social position. “Miss Valentine,” she said gravely, and Lola watched in amazement as one of the most influential women in London bowed to her.
“I am very pleased to make your acquaintance,” she went on, her voice cutting through the hushed room like the elegant slice of a duelist’s sword. “And I should like you to know that I would never forsake Denys.” She met Lola’s gaze. “Or any other friend.”
“None of us would.”
By now, Lola was beyond being surprised, so the Duke of Margrave’s entrance into the conversation did not rattle her. She looked up, laughing a little as she watched Stuart come forward, moving past Conyers. On Stuart’s arm was a tall, slim redhead Lola knew must be his duchess, and together, they moved to her other side, joining the growing, protective wall that surrounded Denys and her.
But the circle was evidently not complete, for Jack glanced around, and when she followed his gaze, Lola spied the stunning blonde who had been on Jack’s arm at the flower show. She was standing beside Lady Conyers, but she wasn’t moving forward, and Lola’s rising hopes stilled, caught in the scrutiny of a pair of stunning blue eyes.
“Linnet?” Jack said. “You’re the last, my love.”
The woman glanced around, noting the faces looking at her, and then she heaved a sigh. “All right, all right,” she said in the unmistakable accent of Knickerbocker New York as she came toward their group. “You win, all of you. I’ll accept her. But—”
She halted beside her husband, those magnificent cornflower blue eyes giving Lola a look of un
mistakable warning as she took Jack’s arm. “But if you so much as wink at my husband, Miss Valentine,” she murmured in a low voice, “I’ll claw your eyes out.”
Jack laughed, flashing Lola a grin. “My lioness,” he explained, “is the jealous type.”
“Lady Featherstone,” Lola said, feeling horribly awkward as she proffered a bow, for it was painfully obvious the other woman knew Jack had once held a torch for her.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” the countess grumbled, and thrust out her hand in the uniquely American fashion. “You’d better get used to calling me Linnet, or we’ll never become friends.”
Lola looked down at Lady Featherstone’s gloved hand, held out to her in friendship, and the countess’s slim, bejeweled fingers began to blur before her eyes. Blinking hard, she took that hand in her own and shook it with heartfelt gratitude.
“Linnet,” she managed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. All of you,” she added. “I’m . . . I’m overwhelmed. I truly am. I—” Her voice broke as she glanced around, looking into the faces of the people who had just put their own social position in jeopardy, and though she wanted to say more, she just couldn’t manage it.
Denys came to her rescue. “Now that the introductions have been made,” he said, his fingers again capturing hers, “can we return to the matter at hand? I am still down on one knee here, Lola, in case you’ve forgotten.”
She studied him, down on his knee, proposing to her in front of some of the most influential people of British society, and joy rose within her, so much joy, she thought her heart would burst in her chest. “You did this,” she choked. “All of this.”
“I did.”
“Oh, Denys,” Lady Conyers wailed from across the room. “How could you?”
She burst into tears, but Denys ignored her.
“I had to show you that you are not alone in this, my darling. Others may cast us out or refuse to receive us, but my friends—our friends—won’t.”
But Lola could hear his mother sobbing quietly nearby. “Are you sure?” she choked. “Are you absolutely sure? I couldn’t bear it if you ever came to regret marrying me.”
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