She didn’t need clarification regarding the nature of the gift, nor did she like the way her heart softened toward him with the word he’d applied to Arianna. She had been a gift. From the moment Regina had realized she was with child, she’d felt immeasurable happiness. A bit afraid, but never burdened. She wondered if her own mother had felt the same, had been delighted at the prospect of having a child. She also wondered how she might have felt seeing history repeat itself with her own daughter. There were times when Regina certainly would have welcomed the advice of someone who’d had a similar experience, although in some ways Regina was traversing uncharted ground because her mother had at least had the support of the man she loved. “He was overjoyed.”
She remembered his elation and the light that had sparked within his eyes. He’d been ill for a while by then, and the sight of Arianna had seemed to revitalize him. But only for a short time. His illness was such that nothing could prevent it from having its way with his body. “My father believed every child was to be treasured, whether born within the bounds of a marriage or out of it. He spoiled her while he could—just as he did me. I wish only that he’d had more time with her, with both of us. But then I don’t think we’re ever ready for someone we love to be taken from us. You lost your mother at an early age, as I recall.”
“Life is seldom fair or without challenges. I do admire how well you face them.”
“I don’t want your admiration. I want your absence. I already regret agreeing to this waltz.”
That damned dimple appeared again. “I shall strive to lessen the regret. When did Chidding first approach you?”
She supposed no harm would come from telling him. “Shortly after my father passed, Chidding came to the residence and offered his condolences. Then six weeks ago, when my official mourning period ended, he returned and brought me a book of poems. Read me some. In the garden.” It had been a lovely day, heralding the completion of spring, the start of summer. Flowers had been in bloom. Birds had been twittering in the trees. A slight breeze had cooled the air and toyed with her hair, working a few strands free of their pins. Chidding had slowly, cautiously tucked them behind her ear. And then blushed.
She couldn’t imagine Knightly’s cheeks turning pink with embarrassment. Certainly, she’d never seen them do so.
“So he was counting down the days to be with you.”
That assessment seemed rather melodramatic, and yet it gave her a great bit of satisfaction to be able to reply, “It would seem so.”He fancies me, has an interest in me.Only then did she realize she wanted Knightly jealous, to fully comprehend that another gentleman desired her.
“Since then?”
“We met at Hyde Park one afternoon and strolled along the grounds.”
“You didn’t tell him you prefer riding through the park?”
Riding was something she’d done with Knightly, and she hadn’t wanted to replace the memory, a memory she didn’t want to remember. Nor had she wanted the opportunity to compare the two men, because she’d known her heart would find Chidding lacking. But on this matter of what was best for her and Arianna, her heart had no say. “I’ve discovered strolls are more conducive to carrying on a discourse. I enjoy conversations with him. He is well versed on many topics.”
“A reader no doubt, then. I wonder if he’s read your book.”
Her cheeks warmed. She’d never given thought to a particular person, especially one of her acquaintance—other than Knightly—perusing the words she’d written. “The subject has not come up.”
Nor would it. At least not through her prompting. She wasn’t ashamed of what she’d committed to paper, but she suddenly realized books created a rather intimate exchange between author and reader. How could any writer not put a portion of herself into the work? Unexpectedly she felt a sense of vulnerability. “You never told me what you thought of it.”
Could she have not bit off her tongue before voicing those words? She didn’t give a fig regarding his opini—
“You were born to be a writer.” His eyes reflected complete honesty. “You made mefeelwhat those characters were experiencing. The fact that I had actually lived through the moments had no bearing on thesensations that swept through me. I was enthralled. You write with an honesty few have the courage to emulate. Although you did change the conclusion of our tale.”
“I wanted you identifiable, not myself. And who is to say that you never abandoned a lady at a railway station after promising to run off with her?”
He studied her for a long moment. “I felt every crack running through her heart as it was crushed by his betrayal. You should have put your name on the book.”
“Considering the reception it has received from some, it’s probably best I didn’t.” Especially as she didn’t know how Chidding might feel about it. “Besides, you once told me you were an anonymous partner in some of your investments. Where’s the harm in a bit of mystery? It might have added to the book’s popularity as people strive to determine the identity of the author... or Lord K. If I may be honest, they seem more interested in knowing exactly who that character is than anything.”
“You made him an extremely appealing fellow. Until the end, when the truth of him—as you saw it—bears out.”
“I don’t think the truth of him could be viewed in any other way. He showed no honor or decency when forsaking her on a cold winter’s night.” She’d also altered the months during which the story occurred, so they didn’t match their time together exactly. “I’ve begun penning a sequel in which I will reveal his demise.”
He grinned broadly, and she remembered how she’donce lived for those smiles. “Something horrible, I wager. Painful and slow. You’ll want him to have ample time to experience true and deep remorse, to recognize the error of his ways, and to know he hasn’t time to right his mistakes.”
“Is that what you’re doing now? Attempting to right your mistakes?”
He grew somber. “Sometimes, we’re faced with an impossible choice.”
As if she didn’t half know that. Chidding would be such a decision. Giving up the chance to experience another grand love in favor of ensuring her daughter would be more accepted by Society than she. “Do you ever regret the choice you made?”
“Only in that it hurt you. But if I were faced with the same dilemma at this moment, I couldn’t choose otherwise.”
“What did you choose, Arthur?”
The music drifted into silence and their movements ceased. His hand still wrapped around hers, he brought it to his lips, his gaze never leaving hers. “Good night, Reggie.”
