A hansom cab swept by, spraying damp grit against her skirts and jolting her sharply enough that she realized she had drifted into the street without looking. Muttering an apology to no one in particular, Nora lifted her head and realized where her wandering had carried her. Iron railings bordered the square; inside, paths wound between trees with lush canopies that shivered in the breeze, and through that living wall, Nora spied the sober stone front of Mr. Lyndon’s club.
It had been years since she had reason to glance at those doors and wonder whether a familiar figure might emerge from them. Yet now her feet had carried her there without conscious permission, and Nora stopped beside the railings, staring at the sight as carriages rolled steadily along the street at her back.
What was she doing? It wasn’t as though she knew he was still a member there; sense may say that gentlemen did not change those associations so easily, but Nora couldn’t trust her sense at present.
Did she expect him to suddenly appear? The notion was absurd enough that under ordinary circumstances Nora would’ve laughed at herself for entertaining it. Yet instead of turning away, she found herself pushing through the square’s gates. Perhaps this new Mr. Lyndon was so enamored with his wife that he hadn’t time to waste at his club, but the man she had known crossed through here at least twice a day.
Though Nora didn’t know if she wanted today to be an exception or not.
The gravel paths curved gently beneath the trees, damp from earlier rain and scattered with fresh leaves and muddy footprints left by morning walkers. A few nursemaids lingered nearby with children chasing hoops along the broader paths whilst several gentlemen occupied a bench at the edge, their attention fixed on their newspapers.
Nora chose a seat that afforded her a clear view of the club and the path Mr. Lyndon had so often frequented, and she sat down carefully, clutching the reticule and the precious cargo within.
The benches in the park emptied and filled around her as the morning wore onward. Nursemaids disappeared with protesting children in tow whilst new walkers arrived to take their place beneath the trees. Somewhere nearby a vendor’s bell rang, announcing to all and sundry that they had fresh roasted chestnuts, and distant church bells marked the hours clearly enough that Nora couldn’t fully ignore the time that was passing.
Yet still she remained.
At times she told herself she merely needed a few moments to gather her thoughts before returning home, but Nora wasn’tso silly as to believe her own lies. Not when her gaze was fixed stubbornly upon the club entrance beyond the branches as words formed and dissolved endlessly in her mind, refusing to settle on anything when so many questions demanded answers.
And then Mr. Lyndon emerged from the stream of passing pedestrians, tall and broad-shouldered. Without so much as a glance in her direction, he strode past her bench, his attention fixed upon his destination, and before Nora knew what she intended to say, she rose to her feet.
“Mr. Lyndon,” she called.
The gentleman halted in place, and she stared at his back for several long moments before he turned to face her at last. The color had drained so completely from his features that against the gray London light Mr. Lyndon looked sickly, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and the sort of wariness of one who had stumbled upon a ghost in a cemetery.
Yet despite that shock, his manners held.
“Miss Eden,” he said with a bow.
The words emerged low and careful, and Nora’s ribs squeezed tight around her heart. She’d imagined this moment for hours now. Years, really. Questions. Accusations. Demands. Yet standing here with his full attention fixed upon her once more, every carefully assembled thought scattered. Not that her mouth could give them voice, for it was far too dry to form words.
Mr. Lyndon remained motionless upon the path, watching her with an expression Nora could not properly untangle. Shock, certainly. Wariness, too. But beneath both lingered something quieter that unsettled her far more because it looked dangerously close to sorrow.
Around them, the park carried on untouched by the strange suspended stillness settling between the pair. Walkers passed farther down the path. Somewhere a child laughed. The distantrumble of carriage wheels drifted faintly through the railings from the street beyond.
“Why wasn’t I enough for you?”
Chapter 29
The question came forth without thought, and all at once Nora was painfully aware of how absurd she must appear: a bewildered creature accosting a former suitor after years of silence, begging him to love her.
“Miss Eden—”
Pressing a hand to her forehead, Nora turned away, but reality halted her in place before she could flee, and she forced herself to face him once more. There were far more important things to discuss.
“I do not understand what game you were playing, Mr. Lyndon,” she said, forcing herself to straighten. “I have tried to comprehend the logic, but I shan’t allow these questions to erode my peace any longer. I demand to know the truth that you denied me all those years ago.”
Mr. Lyndon’s complexion grew ashen as he stood there with all the animation and vitality of a statue.
Digging into her reticule, Nora yanked out the ring box and strode over, shoving it into his hands. “Why did you give me this one moment and then vanish, the next? What did I do or say to change your feelings so completely?”
Mr. Lyndon caught the box automatically, his gaze fixed upon the worn case for a long moment, and when he finallymet her gaze, the color had drained so completely from his face that for one alarming moment Nora wondered whether he might actually be ill.
“Miss Eden,” he said quietly, “this is neither the time nor place for such a conversation.”
“Correct, sir, but you refused to speak to me then,” she said, straightening. “I have spent years trying to understand what happened—”
“And you think I have not?!” Mr. Lyndon dragged one hand across his face before glancing sharply toward the street as though suddenly conscious of every passerby. Lowering his voice, he added, “I am married, and it does no good to dredge up the past.”
