“I just followed her to the park. She fits your description precisely. I’d wager they’re still there—would you like to go see?”
They went on horseback.Perhaps to the casual observer, they looked like nothing more than a pair of gentlemen enjoying the fresh air and exercising their horses. If one had looked more closely, they might have noticed the grim set to Bradford’s jaw, the whiteness of his knuckles where he gripped the loose reins.
Despite his umbrage, it was a beautiful day. London was about to burst into bloom, and it wasn’t just because of the heavy buds atop the trees. The Season was set to begin, and every eligible young lady had returned to the city in hopes of making a fair match.
It was a wonderful time of year to be a single gentleman of fortune with a pair of working eyes. Even Mr. Thornton caught the spirit of things, doffing his hat toward any lady who looked their direction. There were several groupings of them about, but as Mr. Thornton hadn’t yet slowed his canter, Bradford didn’t pay the ladies any notice.
“She’s just ahead. She and her sisters both. And it appears they’re not alone.”
Bradford couldn’t help but crane his neck. They had emerged from a wooded section of the path, and ahead was an open expanse of grass. The tender shoots hadn’t fully woken from their winter nap—the green was patchy and dull in places, but cheerful groupings were making good use of the space anyway. There was very little that could keep a Londoner indoors on one of the first sunny days after a bleak winter.
Bradford saw several groups of ladies and gentlemen, but he didn’t see the only person he was searching for.
“You didn’t do her beauty justice when you described her—the gentlemen were bound to notice her. I’m only surprised there’s not a larger crowd,” Mr. Thornton said.
“You needn’t sound so delighted about it,” Bradford snapped, still looking.
Mr. Thornton grinned. “Forgive me, my lord. It’s just rare that I have a case that has such a charming end as this.” Bradford shot him a quizzical frown and the man answered by saying, “As of late, any case that doesn’t end with a corpse in the Thames is a treat.”
“If that’s true, you might consider a different profession.”
“I suppose I could force myself into that boring oblivion unique to clerical work. But despite the occasional corpse, I find this vastly preferable.” He frowned with some momentary introspection. “My own clerk might argue that I enjoy my jobbecauseof the occasional corpse.”
Bradford was no longer listening to Mr. Thornton because just then, he saw her.
Lily was seated on a dark green velvet coverlet. She wore a sky-blue day dress trimmed in white lace, with a pale pink ribbon woven through to form bows at the edge of her sleeves. A matching pink wrap was draped around her to add warmth.
Bradford took her in at a glance. If he’d been a less experienced horseman, he might have toppled from the saddle with the shock of it. The shock ofher. Was his memory so faulty? Or had he done her a disservice in remembering her as a more muted version of the lady who now sat only yards from him?
When he’d first met her, Bradford had thought Miss Sarah Hughes to be the most beautiful young lady he’d ever seen. But Miss Sarah Hughes couldn’t hold a tapered candle to Miss Lily Preston.
Bradford was perpendicular to her. She hadn’t seen him, nor would she, not when her attention was so fully absorbed by those around her. From his perch atop his horse, Bradford could examine the profile of her face when it wasn’t hidden behind the curve of her fine bonnet. He’d recognize those full lips and that flawless skin anywhere—he’d dined across from them every evening for months.
What a wasted opportunity, he suddenly thought. He’d had her at his table, under his roof, and hadn’t done anything right to keep her there. He couldn’t even rightly call her his friend, not when he didn’t know what she’d been truthful about. And now he’d never have the chance to truly get to know her again.
It was as if the role she’d played as governess were some drab chrysalis she’d since shed. Lily was now radiantly beautiful—a piece properly slotted into her rightful puzzle. Of course she should be dressed finely, servants standing ready at a respectful distance. Of course she should be surrounded by other young ladies and doted upon by fine young gentlemen.
As Bradford watched, Lily tipped back her head and laughed at something one of those fine young gentlemen had said. A new, distinct kind of fury rolled through him, one that had nothing to do with the lies she’d told.
“Well,” Mr. Thornton prompted. “Don’t you wish to speak with her?”
Bradford had thought so. He’d imagined this moment happening a hundred different ways. Even now, he could stomp forward in dramatic fashion, crashing through the various refreshments. He imagined her round, shocked eyes as onlookers stared and gasped. In every prior daydream, he’d savored her downfall.
Yet all of those imaginings were wrong, distasteful now that he was face to face with her. He didn’t want to make a scene. He didn’t want to embarrass her. What he wanted was to know if she truly believed that Handel was more talented than Bach. He wanted to know which of the childhood stories she’d told him were real, and which were fabrication. He wanted answers; he wanted the truth, from her very lips.
The only way he’d have a chance at that was to speak to her privately. It was no good to go to her house—one look at his card and she’d pretend she wasn’t home, indefinitely. And there’d beno sneaking past the butler and the footmen. No, he needed to get to Miss Lily Preston before she realized he was there, in a scenario where she dare not make a scene…
Bradford finally shook his head. “Not here. I have a better idea.”
CHAPTER 10-LILY
“Lord Rigsby is looking at you again,” Margaret murmured, most unhelpfully.
They were only an hour into the first ball of the Season, and Lily already desperately wished to go home. Though the ballroom was decorated in stunning swaths of satin and florals, even they failed to charm her—they only served to add a heavy perfume and take up space.
Lily thought additional space would have been very welcome. Perhaps it was silly of her, but Lily hadn’t realized just how many people would be in attendance. Layers of noise—of laughter, music, and conversation—piled on top of Lily like so many quilts until she felt overwarm and short of breath.
And that wasn’t even counting the multitude of fragrances. Judging by the smell of things, the perfumers on Bond Street were doing a brisk trade. Lily thought it much like being strangled by an English garden. The entire display made her long for one of those quiet, cold Northumberland mornings where the mist muffled the already silent fields.
