Page 13 of Lyon of Least Resistance

She forced a smile and turned toward him, taking his hand.

“I’ll always have a fondness for my darling James,” she said. Then she gestured to the door. “But somewhere out there, your future bride awaits. You must love her, and only her. And treat her with tenderness.”

She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it. “And you will,” she said. “You’re capable of so much love, and will make her the happiest woman in the world.”

“Do you say that to every unmarried man who visits you?”

Almost as soon as he’d spoken the words, he winced.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I-I just wish…” He shook his head. “No matter. There’s little point in wishing, if that wish can never come true.”

“Aye,” she whispered, a knot of pain tightening in her stomach. “But you’ll have the pick of London’s debutantes, James. One of them will make you happy.”

“There’s little to recommend me to London’s debutantes,” he said. “All I have is my title. Due to my lack of fortune, I must debase myself and hunt a dowry. But it seems that the larger the dowry, the more undesirable the girl. None of them are like you, my Dahlia. They only want me to flatter the cut of their gown, or listen to them discredit their rivals in an attempt to make themselves look more attractive.”

“Have you been introduced to many young ladies?”

“I’ve been to three parties this week,” he replied. “The young ladies are all the same. The moment they realize I’m unattached, they turn into huntresses and choose their words carefully to say what they believe will elicit a compliment or an offer of marriage. They only want to ingratiate themselves with my title. None of them actually want to talk to me.”

He took her hand and interlaced their fingers.

“None of them are like you, my Dahlia.”

Cordelia suppressed the yearning in her soul at the expression in his eyes.

“Your ideal mate cannot be found after only a few parties,” she said. “Give it time.”

“I’m beginning to fear I’ll not find her anywhere,” he replied, an undertone of sorrow in his voice. “Not this year, nor any other. I’m a poor judge of a person’s character. Those whom I thought I could trust have betrayed me. Ever since—”

“Hush, my James,” she whispered, placing a finger on his lips. Her heart almost broke at the despair in his voice. So many times he’d spoken of the boys who bullied him at Harrow—schoolfellows who pretended to befriend him and gained his trust, only to torment and betray him.

Children could be cruel, but in the world in which James lived, such cruelty was viewed as a sign of a man’s prowess. The world in which Society resided had little room for a man who possessed a sensitive, caring soul.

“You’ll find her,” Cordelia said. “It may take time, for it will be a rare woman who deserves you.” She patted his hand. “Do not look at the glittering, triumphant debutantes who are declared to be the jewels of the ton. They’re like orchids from the hothouse. Their perfect blooms might draw you in at first, but they’ll not weather the world outside the orangery. Instead…” She allowed herself a smile. “Instead, consider the flowers that are overlooked, whose petals might have withered and frayed, but they hide their beauty within.”

“Like the dahlias,” he said. “They can thrive outside the hothouse if given a little love.”

“Yes,” she whispered, “like a dahlia. And, when you find her, you must love her. Husbands in Society are known for not being kind to their wives. But I know you will be.”

He nodded, then reached for his breeches.

“No, let me,” she said. “One final time.”

She dressed him, fingering each garment as if to bid it farewell until, as the finishing touch, she tied his cravat.

“Better than my valet,” he said, smiling.

“Perhaps your bride might like him to teach her how to tie it for you.”

Pain flickered in his eyes and he nodded. Then he shuffled from one foot to another, shyness filling his expression.

“James? Is something wrong?”

“M-might I make a final request before we part forever?” He gestured to her blonde curls. “Will you remove your mask? And the wig? I would like to see your face.”

“I-I have no wish to deny you, James, but we both know there’s nothing to gain from that.”

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, they shimmered with moisture. Then he nodded.