Page 65 of Regency in Color

She had only brought it up seven times, as if the most imperative requirement for a duchess was that she be able to play a decent composition.

“I do not recall,” Stephen lied.

“Perhaps you might call upon us next week so that she can play for you. Oh, and you simply must see Amelia’s brilliant work with watercolors! She’s quite the artist.”

The woman was shameless, but Stephen suspected she knew that. He wanted to laugh at her aggressive attempts at matchmaking and make some witty quip about being overcome by so much feminine accomplishment—but then, his gaze settled on a woman coming down the Grand Walk, and all power of speech fled him.

She was set aglow by the lamps like some heavenly vision—the flames that cut through prisms of colored glass painting her in rainbow hues. Despite that, Stephen could see that she wore a dusky shade of pink. The gown was by no means fashionable, but fit the woman well and complimented the dark, gleaming hue of her skin. The bodice was just low enough to display the soft swell of a small but pert bosom beneath a graceful neck. She held a silver lorgnette mask over her eyes, and one large spiral curl slid along her collarbone as she turned her head this way and that to take in her surroundings.

There was something familiar about her, yet Stephen couldn’t quite place her. She walked with a brisk, determined stride—nothing like the sedate mimic of a gliding motion so many fine ladies aspired to.

Stephen couldn’t understand why she would draw and hold his eye, but he found himself following her progress as she paused to take in a painted screen illuminated by the lamps. The restlessness within him calmed, and he didn’t realize he’d come to a stop until the baroness tightened her hand on his arm.

“Your Grace?”

Stephen blinked, opening his eyes to find the vision still before him. It was unpardonably rude, but he couldn’t seem to turn away from the mysterious lady to give the baroness his attention.

“Yes … fine … very good,” he murmured, slowly disengaging himself from the woman. He patted her hand and murmured something else about paying a call before striding away from her without a look back.

“Looking forward to it, Your Grace!” the baroness called to his retreating back.

Stephen fought the urgency pushing him to rush toward the lady in pink, deciding that it was best to observe her from a distance for a little while. Perhaps she had come to meet a lover, or maybe her husband had slipped away to procure her a drink. Of course, he hoped neither would turn out to be the case.

The lady had moved on from the painting and was simply gazing upward, turning in a slow circle as she took in the lamps hanging from the trees. A wide smile enlivened her face beneath the mask. Stephen knew the look on her face. It was the wonder-filled expression of one who had never taken in the gardens before. He couldn’t help but smile to notice how enchanted she seemed as she spun about, waiting for the next consuming feature to catch her eye.

Stephen took slow steps along the path, watching as she veered toward one of the many pavilions. Stepping up smooth stone steps, she stood among a display of fine paintings in gilt frames. When she turned to view the one closest to her, Stephen caught a glimpse of something behind her mask. Something that reflected light and appeared to rest over the one ear that he could see.

Spectacles.

Furrowing his brow, he approached, lips parting as he realized why this woman had felt so familiar to him. The closer Stephen drew, the more he began to feel like a complete dolt for having not recognized her.

But then, he had never seen her outside of Ramsey’s bookshop, and certainly not dressed like this.

His foot found the bottom step to the pavilion, then the second. By the time he entered the circle of pillars and archways, she had registered his footsteps and whirled to face him.

He had startled her, and in reaction she had dropped the arm holding up her mask. Wide brown eyes met his, and lips turned pink by rogue stretched into a little ‘o’ of surprise.

“Your Grace?” she blurted.

Stephen stepped farther into the pavilion and offered her a bow. “Miss Ramsey. I thought you weren’t planning to attend this evening.”

Fiddling with her lorgnette with both hands, she shrugged one shoulder. “I changed my mind.”

Stephen extended a hand toward her before he could think better of it. He wasn’t wearing gloves, and neither was she. They had never touched save for the moment he had helped her back into her slipper this afternoon.

But then, he’d never seen her wearing pink or standing beneath the pale glow of the moon and the dazzling array of Vauxhall’s lanterns. He’d never seen her without the surroundings of musty books and dusty shelves.

She gave him his hand and he dipped his head over it—though Stephen merely kissed the air above her knuckles. He did not dare press for more. When he glanced up, she was looking at him as if he’d gone completely mad.

“I’m glad you did,” he replied.