After endless time tortured with questions about her lover from Lord and Lady Rutland’s, after all the long-ago daydreaming and sleepless nights, Fleur would have a name.
His name.
Or she was about to. Just as soon as she borrowed her family’s carriage, she headed to the popular shop. The moment she visited Mr. Rundell.
At last!
Even as she reminded herself of her purpose, Fleur could not summon joy. The emotions she had rushed to assemble—anticipation, determination—rang false, leaving her with emptiness instead. Did she even any longer want to know? She wasn’t the same girl she had been at the masquerade. She had been swept away by the night of flowery works and passion. That night seemed hollow compared to now.
No one noticed as Fleur left the parlor. The carriage was readied with surprising haste. The moment a footman helped Fleur inside, she understood why.
Her stalwart, greying maid sat on one of the pink-upholstered benches. “Since a servant from Rundell and Bridge’s arrived with a note for you, I took the liberty of summoning your carriage,” Mary explained.
Fighting through a sudden queasiness in her belly, Fleur mustered a smile. “Thank you, Mary.”
The older woman had been with the household since the children were little, first as a young nanny and then as the girls’ maid and confidante. Mary was more family than society allowed. Many times, she anticipated Fleur’s actions, even before Fleur herself did.
As the carriage rocked into motion, Fleur sank her neck into the scalloped headrest. Exhausted from too much crying last evening, a welcome sleep tugged her under. And as Fleur drifted off to a quick, dark slumber, she welcomed a short escape from all her greatest regrets and longings.
Her sleep came to an all-too-quick end. Fleur forced herself to open unbearably heavy lashes. Through a veil of confusion, she tried to process where she was. Then she found Mary silently waiting and patiently knitting as Fleur came to.
She covered a yawn. “How long have I been sleeping?”
Mary set down her bone knitting needles. “Perhaps an hour, my lady. Maybe somewhat more?”
“An hour?” Fleur sat up too quickly. The muscles along her lower back pulled and cried out in protest. “Why didn’t you—”
“I knew you needed your rest.”
There was something odd in both the way Mary spoke and the way she looked at her. That queer sensation returned to Fleur’s stomach. She inhaled slowly through her nose, willing itto pass. When it didn’t, she lay her head back and closed her eyes.
Last evening, she stunned Henry with her disclosure. Not just stunned—she knew she must have horrified him. What would one expect from a gentleman as honorable and impeccable as the Duke of Hartwell? Despite his lovely words, deep down she knew he must judge her. As she, despite her words to the contrary, was coming to judge herself.
The tightness around the corners of his eyes and white, drawn lines at the sides of his hard mouth bespoke his contempt. He might as well have shouted,You blasted harlot! Giving your virtue away. But he hadn’t shouted. He had composed himself and quietly pledged his support and friendship.
Henry had offered to help her learn her lover’s identity. Even though he had signified with those two dances the serious nature of his intentions for Lady Angela, he would give time to Fleur.
But now he needn’t do that. Now, she didn’t require his assistance. Now, she wouldn’t even have these final moments with Henry before his official courting turned into a betrothal. Fleur would do whatever came next with LordSomeone.
Because it did not matter what Rundell revealed. There was but one gentleman whom she wanted it to be.
Henry.
Henry, who had Lady Angela, and Fleur, who had…no certainty the gentleman she had spent those exquisite hours with truly wanted anything with her beyond the carnal.
She drew the curtain back a fraction and peeked outside the back of Rundell and Bridge’s private courtyard. Her family had an engagement tonight with the Tremaines. There would be questions about her absence. She would need to get ready.
“You can just say you were purchasing a piece of jewelry, Lady Fleur.”
Once again, Mary thought of everything.
It was time—
“Lady Fleur?”
Fleur was granted a stay. “Yes…” Her heart stopped. She noted Mary’s bone-white complexion, her haunted stare. “I am the worst friend, Mary. What is it?”
“Oh, Lady Fleur.” The older woman’s voice caught.
