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“Is he here?” I asked, suddenly feeling my heartbeat accelerate.
Lady Radcliffe glared at me, but waited with rapt attention for Lady Dalrymple’s answer… as did I.
“He is indeed. Right over there, with the Duke of Cavendish. I’ll admit, he is handsome, but, and forgive me for speaking of such ill topics, ladies,” Lady Dalrymple said conspiratorially, leaning in even closer, “…they say he has several children with mistresses across Europe. Almacks won’t even let him in, he’s been disastrously drunk too many times!”
Lady Radcliffe’s mouth opened in shock and distaste, while Cassandra’s eyes widened with excitement. But I let Lady Dalrymple’s gossip fade into the background. My eyes were wandering the room, searching…
Would I even recognize him now? It had been so long since we’d last seen each other…
And then I saw him.
Lord Marsden – or, how I used to know him, William Thorne. He was standing on the other side of the room, surrounded by a throng of people.
He had the same golden hair he’d had as a child, and in the brilliant candlelight of the ballroom, it looked as if it was glowing. His eyes were the same brilliant blue, and his smile – disarmingly charming – felt like a punch to the gut.
The only thing that was different was his height, which must have towered at over six feet, and the golden tan of his skin. It was the sort of tan I supposed you acquired on a Mediterranean island… certainly not in England.
Cassandra followed my eyes.
“Is that him?” She whispered, eying the Lord.
I nodded.
Cassandra had never met the Lord Marsden. Nor had Lady Radcliffe, I was sure. Indeed, she would never associate with such a rake, even if he was richer and better-connected than she was.
No…Iwas the only one out of the three of us who had had the honor of meeting the notorious William Thorne.
“Do you know the Lord, miss?” Lady Dalrymple said, observing Cassandra and I’s interaction.
She was clearly searching for a bit of gossip.
“My father was the late Lord Marsden’s steward.” I said, my eyes still frozen on the man’s body.
He was laughing, a glass of champagne in one hand, his other hand clapping the Duke of Cavendish’s back.
“Mm.” Lady Dalrymple said, my bit of information not as interesting as she’d hoped for.
She turned back to Lady Radcliffe, continuing to gossip about the Lord’s supposed mistresses and poor behavior.
But I continued to watch him, letting my mind wander back to a time that seemed like an eternity ago.
When my father had been alive, he had served as the steward to Lord Marsden’s late father. It had afforded us a good living, and we had resided in a house nearby the Lord’s house, Rosehill Manor, in Devonshire. My father’s family was from the village located right by the estate.
And somehow, Will and I – no, I had to mentally correct myself, he was theLord Marsdennow – had been allowed to be friends. We’d grown up together, playing in the halls of Rosehill. Every good memory of my childhood, apart from my parents, was in some way associated with him.
We had beenbestfriends.
But that was an eternity ago. When he was thirteen, he had left for Eton. And then my parents passed away, and I left Rosehill forever.
I hadn’t seen him since then.
Watching him from across the room was like entering into a strange dream.
I had to remind myself: he was no longer the boy I remembered him to be. He was someone else entirely… a rake who had traveled the continent, doing who knows what.
And we would likely never be friends again.
Just then, Alfred Pembroke approached Cassandra.
