Miss Fortune's First Kiss (Fortunes of Fate Book 9)

by Annabelle Anders

  “I can only beg your forgiveness.”

  He raised their arms and twirled her effortlessly, bringing a surprising gasp of laughter to her throat.

  “That’s twice you need to be forgiven, then? Am I correct?” It made sense for her to be lighthearted about this. They were dancing for Heaven’s sake. The time to question him would have been over a decade ago.

  Not here in a ballroom, when anyone could overhear…

  “Why did you not come?” As much as she would have liked to recall the question to her lips, a part of her needed to hear it. Knowing he was nobody special after all might put an end to any regrets she had about gentlemen in general.

  About wondering if she ought to have flirted more? Compromised some of herself in an attempt to pursue love…

  He grimaced. “I was a stupid young fool?”

  She couldn’t help but smile at that. She’d appropriated far too much significance into their meeting than she ought to have.

  “I was quite naïve, myself,” she admitted. But she could tell she’d made him feel guilty.

  “If it matters, my memory of your name, and your face faded, but I never forgot that evening. And after seeing you again, it all came back to me.”

  Ah, but that arrow landed sharply. Why could he not have left it at his stupid young foolishness?

  “I took advantage of your naivete. I owed you an offer.”

  But she was shaking her head. “Only if we’d been caught.”

  Such an offer never would have stuck. He’d gone on to marry the daughter of a duke. The night had been a frivolous one. Her parents had barely lurked within the circle of genteel society. “And you oughtn’t remind me of my own bad behavior.” Heat suffused her cheeks upon making such an admission.

  Throughout their conversation, as they danced, they’d been staring into one another’s eyes.

  It had not been uncomfortable. It had not felt improper.

  “I was the one who behaved poorly.” His smiled disarmed her, just as it had before. “You, my dear Miss Fortune, acted with all required discretion.”

  This time she allowed her laughter to escape.

  “Are all youths so foolish?” She tilted her head as she asked the question. Having this conversation with him, although bittersweet, lent her a sophistication she didn’t own. Dismissing her once true love. Laughing at the foolishness of both their youths.

  He didn’t answer right away.

  “I would hope not.” And then that tender rueful smile.

  Oh, but he had a way. One minute she believed him to be shallow and unfeeling, and the next he reminded her of the man she’d made him out to be in her dreams––a fantasy lover––too good to be true.

  “Are your daughters enjoying London?” She needed to change the subject to something less personal.

  In doing so, she managed to summon deep creases in his forehead as well as a most discouraging scowl.

  “They are… adjusting.”

  He seemed to not wish to discuss the subject. It was sad really. And disappointing. A father ought to be happy to discuss two such lovely girls as he was lucky enough to have.

  Perhaps it had something to do with his recent loss.

  “I’m sorry to hear of your wife’s passing.” That was a sentiment anyone would say, was it not? She could not come right out and ask him if he’d been betrothed already on the night they’d kissed at Vauxhall.

  Could she?

  “How long had you been married?”

  He shook his head at her. “I was not engaged when you and I met.” Oh, but it was happening again. That feeling of knowing, of familiarity and… just knowing. “But we had been married just over ten years.”

  That was a very long time. And he’d come away with two lovely daughters.

  She hoped he’d had love in his marriage. It was sad to lose a loved one, but ten years of unhappiness would have been, perhaps, even sadder.

  Of course, he might disagree with such a sentiment if she allowed herself to utter it.

  She pinched her lips together tightly, having already spoken out of turn.

  “I loved her.” He answered her unasked question. “Marriage can be a difficult endeavor, though.”

  And then he shook his head, wincing, as though he too, had said more than he’d wished.

  She needed another subject. This conversation was becoming all too personal. “Are you going to ask for Lady Elaine? Everyone is speculating, you know.”

  He nearly winced. She could tell by the twitch of his lip before he shuttered his emotions. “My mother is good friends with the duchess.”

  That was no answer at all.

  Tilde held her tongue again, and staring beyond his shoulders and out the door, took on the ennui she’d watched on so many other women’s faces that evening. “Lovely weather we’ve been having.”

  When she returned her gaze to his eyes, he’d narrowed them at her. “I’m not going to ask for Lady Elaine, she’s a child.”

  Tilde laughed and then bit her bottom lip.

  “I’m aware she is the same age you were when we met.”

  Tilde laughed again. “You remembered my age?”

  At that he rolled his eyes. If either of them had been paying attention, they’d have realize several onlookers watched them curiously.

  “Of course. I was a stupid young fool, but I was quite enamored with you that evening.” And simple as that, he set her heart racing again.

  “And you were four and twenty.” She uttered the words without thinking.

  Their feet stopped moving as the music drew to a close. Two more dances in this set. Could she make it through them without breaking into tears?

  Chapter 6

  Second Time around

  Willoughby kept silent as the second dance of the set began.

  She’d asked him why he’d not come to see her the next morning. He remembered planning on it. He remembered thinking he’d buy her flowers. Something bright and big.

  Why hadn’t he gone?

  And out of the corner of his eyes he met his mother’s steely gaze watching him from her vantage point beside the Duchess of Marvelle.

  Hell and damnation. Yes. His mother had stopped him that morning. She’d asked after his destination and he’d told her. She’d wrinkled her nose when he’d mentioned who Matilda’s parents were.

  “You oughtn’t visit her so soon. You’re apt to give rise to expectations that you’ll never meet.” She’d advised. “Furthermore, I have need of an escort…”

  He’d had every intention of making a call to Miss Fortune’s home the following day…

  He’d accompanied his mother to Estelle’s parents garden party instead.

  He vaguely remembered hearing of a couple being killed on their way to Brighton but hadn’t realized they had been Matilda’s parents.

  Would he have made the time to go to her had he realized? He’d lain in bed recalling how he’d felt to touch her. His recollections had perhaps not been as innocent as hers. He’d remembered her eager kisses, her fingers threading through his hair, down his neck…

  “It was a most memorable evening,” he admitted aloud.

  She’d been staring off over his shoulder, as lost in thought as he had been, but upon hearing his words, slid her glance back to his face.

  “I think that perhaps, not everyone is so lucky.” Her smile wound itself around his chest.

  It was what he’d thought before, in the carriage, when he’d first remembered.

  “A very special moment in time,” he agreed.

  He pulled her slightly closer. Not so much as to raise eyebrows but because…

  He did not know why.

  He’d not intended to dance with her. He’d asked impulsively, as soon as he’d realized the set was to be a waltz. And he’d not intended to tell her so much of his memories.

  The two of them had been ill fated. Jasper maneuvered them around a cluster of couples near the edge of the floor.

  Now was
n’t the time to lose himself in recollections of the past.

  The last governess would be coming tomorrow and hopefully he could approve of her. He might even return to Warwick Creek ahead of schedule. He wasn’t prepared to negotiate the bait and subsequent traps he’d inevitably come upon in town. Melancholy made him careless. If he wasn’t watchful, he’d find himself leg-shackled to a wide-eyed debutante and his mother would be turning the key.

  “You’re troubled.”

  Her words floated up like a pleasant scent.

  “And there you have it. The third time I must beg your forgiveness.”

  She did not laugh this time, at his self-deprecating comment. Rather she watched him with those eyes of hers. “Hazel.” He stared into them. “And tonight, they appear more green than brown.”

  She didn’t fall for his change of subject.

  “Your girls will be fine.”

  And they would be. If only… “Althea hardly talks at all. I fear Eloise removes all incentive.”

  “They are five? Six? And they’ve lost their mother.” Her voice sounded with some authority. “But they have their father. And one another. I remember how close my sisters and I became after my parents passing. And we had my aunt. Children are resilient Jas– my lord.”

  “One never ceases to worry.” He admitted. “But I find some comfort in your words.”

  A sad smile tipped up her lips. “I’m glad.”

  “But you never gave me what I asked.” She tilted her head questioningly. “Will you grant me your forgiveness, please, Miss Fortune?”

  That sad smile stretched into something more comforting. “Of course. How could I not?”

  And once again the music slowed to a halt. One more dance in the set, and then he’d bid her farewell. They could go their separate ways and with no regrets to muddy their magical memory. He did not relinquish his hold on her as they awaited the next song. And then he flicked his glance to the terrace.

  “Would you care to take a turn in the garden?”

  Chapter 7

  She’d Wondered

  Without warning, the urge to make an escape became all too powerful for Jasper to ignore. It must be the overwhelming scent of the flower arrangements, combined with all the ladies’ perfumes.

  And the heat. Both from perspiring bodies and hundreds of burning candles.

  Because he didn’t wait for Miss Fortune to answer, taking her by the arm instead, and practically dragging her off the shining floor.

  Cool air hit him immediately as he opened the door.

  “But my sister––“ She began to protest with only the slightest resistance. Then she seemed to change her mind and closed the door behind them.

  A handful of gentlemen stood near the edged pavement, smoking cigars and chatting. Jasper recognized most of them. They were escaping their wives and the banal conversations inside.

  He acknowledged them with a curt nod but then turned in the opposite direction. He had no wish to introduce Matilda Fortune to them in that moment.

  He was whisking a young woman away from the protection of the ballroom. He wanted to be alone with her.

  Best no one know her identity.

  Once out of earshot he exhaled a relieved sigh. “I’m not ready for any of this.” Had he really admitted that out loud?

  She reached up with her free hand and squeezed his wrist. He appreciated that she didn’t deign to offer encouragement, or probe as to why. Instead, his words simply hung in the air for both of them to examine. He hated how self–pitying they sounded.

  As the path narrowed, he drew her closer so she wouldn’t be scratched by encroaching branches.

  “After Mama and Papa’s funerals, I tried to go on with my life as though nothing had changed, as though their death was just another obstacle for me to get over… And it seemed to work for a while. I threw myself into my schooling and admonished Betsy and Chloe for failing to do likewise.

  “What I failed to realize was that my refusal to grieve created an even greater pain for them. When I came home from school for the holidays, the magnitude of our loss finally hit home. We sat down to dine, my sisters and my aunt. And I turned to the head of the table where my father had always sat… And he wasn’t there.”

  “It was Christmas and my Mama and Papa would not be a part of it.” She made a small laughing sound as though to dismiss her sentimentality. “It was the first time I’d cried since their death. And then Betsy broke down, and Chloe… and poor little Charlotte. She was practically still a baby.”

  “With our tears, though, we realized we had one another. It was a horrid Christmas, but as long as we had each other, we could endure almost anything…” Another disparaging laugh. “I’m sorry to go on so… My point is… You lost your wife. You mustn’t force yourself to move on if you aren’t yet prepared.”

  Jasper contemplated her sad tale. Was it possible he yet grieved for Estelle?

  He and Miss Fortune had been walking toward the center of the garden and the sounds of gushing water grew louder as they approached the large fountain. The moon reflected off the rippling pool and a gentle breeze stirred the leaves and branches like a gentle caress.

  The setting could not have been more romantic in any way.

  Miss Fortune dropped his arm and stepped forward to gaze up at the cascading spray.

  He couldn’t help but study her closely, hoping to understand what about this woman attracted him so.

  Her chestnut hair had been styled in a flattering manner, and her gown showed off her rounded figure to advantage.

  “Tell me something of your life.” He wanted to know more about her. In many ways, she was practically a complete stranger to him. “Is your home in Rotter’s Corner?”

  “Excuse me?” She’d glanced back at him with raised eyebrows.

  “The village, where the festival…”

  “Oh, Heaven’s no! I was simply travelling through… the same as you.”

  And then their eyes held, almost as though they were both imagining the same thing: That but for such an ironic twist of fate, they might never have become reacquainted. They might have been lost to one another forever…

  The secret to finding your future lies in the fortune you lost in your past. Madame Zeta’s words stole their way into his mind.

  Folly. Ridiculousness. And yet…

  “My aunt lives here, in London. I’m between positions and it seemed as good a time as any to come home for a visit.” Her face glowed and her gaze seemed to soften as she spoke of her family.

  His gaze fell on her lips. She was doing it again… mesmerizing him.

  And like a moth to the flame, he couldn’t help but step closer, not quite touching, but if he reached out…

  She did not step away from him.

  “Your aunt lives in Mayfair?”

  “Number thirty-six Wigmore Street.” She spoke the address as though reciting it for school, and then laughed. He rather enjoyed the sound. It wasn’t an annoying titter, feigned for deliberate effect, but a melodic expression of mirth.

  He couldn’t help but match her grin. “Number twelve Brooks.”

  He’d returned to London many times and she’d resided within less than a mile of his townhome. A strand of her hair caught on her lips and he lifted his hand to brush it away.

  At his touch, she blushed and dropped her head, then turned back to stare into the fountain. “Will you remain in London for the season?” Her voice came out sounding wistful.

  He did not know. In that moment, all he knew was that he wanted to pull her up against him. Taste her lips again.

  That enchanted feeling had not been real, it couldn’t have been, and yet some defiant need demanded he find out.

  “Matilda.” His voice came out gravelly sounding. He cleared his throat. She turned to face him.

  Her chin lifted and she gazed back at him boldly. Did she wonder as well?

  When he’d kissed her before, he remembered, he’d braced his hands above her on the
bark of the tree. This time he wound them around her waist, drawing her close.

  She exhaled sharply, still gazing into his eyes.

  She wondered too. He knew it.

  She was not a stranger to him. After all these years. He didn’t know how, or why. But…

  He knew her.

  She trembled beneath his hands and the pulse in her neck fluttered like a trapped butterfly.

  When her lashes dropped, he swept in and claimed her lips.

  She’d wondered.

  When he’d led her onto the terrace, she’d known this would happen. And she’d given in to him––to it.

  Because she’d wondered.

  From the moment he took her hand to assist her out of that blasted tent.

  She’d wondered.

  When he’d placed her hand in his and led her around the dance floor.

  She’d wondered.

  But now, a roaring filled her ears, lights flashed behind her eyes, and she melted her body into his. He tasted just as magical as before. She had not imagined it—the excitement, the effervescent wonder, the building need as heat coursed to her center.

  None of it was familiar and yet a part of her was convinced she’d finally come home.

  He turned his head and delved his mouth deeper into hers.

  Jasper.

  The urge to rejoice warred with an equally strong urge to weep. But she did neither, choosing instead to wind her arms around his neck and cling for all that she was worth.

  Because she knew how this would turn out––the same as it had before. It would end. She would return to her world, and he to his. And she’d never feel these emotions again. Because these were once in a lifetime sensations.

  Willing time to stand still, she pushed all thought away and without any hesitation, kissed him back.

  And kissed him some more.

  He adjusted his stance, spreading his legs wide so that their faces were level with one another. His hands drifted curiously up and down her back, eventually coming to rest upon the flare of her buttocks.

  His hold tightened and she met him with equal force.