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Her butler quietly let himself into the parlor. “A visitor, Milady.”
“Oh?” She took in the nervous air around him, and the way his eyes strayed to Candice.
“Yes,” the butler replied. “Lord Dalton calls and humbly requests an audience.”
**
James paced the sidewalk in front of Lady Aircourt’s immaculate townhome, following a path he’d been trotting for a good half hour now. He was utterly insane. There was no other reason he would dare show himself at this door after the horrid mess he’d made of her ball two years ago. But he was desperate for help in this newest endeavor of his. Because of the war, it had taken far longer than he would have liked to get to England from Italy, and by the time he’d reached the shores of his home, the social season was well underway. Having only lived under the example of his horrid parents and spending relatively little time mingling amongst the Ton in his youth due to a lack of funds, James had no clue how to go about rehabilitating his image. After reluctantly attempting to call on his sister, only to find that she and her husband were not yet in London for the season, James had lost hope that he’d be able to return this year. And then he recalled Lady Aircourt, a woman known for her magnanimous nature and whose ball he had made a spectacle of with his failed elopement. While at a loss for how to rehabilitate himself at large, James knew that apologizing to everyone he had hurt was an important fist step to making amends. The young widow would be a good, tentative first step towards that aim, and might also be amenable towards helping him.
If he gathered the courage to knock on her door, that was.
James took a long exhale before squaring his shoulders. If he couldn’t even apologize to Lady Aircourt, then how in the world would he be able to approach those he had injured far more grievously? With that thought in mind, he walked across the street and trotted up the stairs. After rapping on the door, he waited, shivering in the chilly wind as memories assailed him. The last time he’d stood upon this porch, Lady Francesca had been on his arm, smiling up at him with a becoming blush as they made their way to the carriage that had been bound for Scotland. The cold sweat that had broken upon his brow felt much the same as it did now. After another few painful moments, the door swung open, a stone-faced butler standing at attention beyond the threshold.
“May I help you?” The elderly man stared down at him as if he were a mere fleck of dust rather than a peer of the realm, and James wondered if the servant recognized him.
Refusing to be deterred by the frosty reception, he put on his most winning smile and presented his card. “Viscount Dalton to call on Her Ladyship.”
The butler looked at the card but made no move to take it. “I am aware, Milord.”
Well, that answered that question. The smile stayed on James’s face, even as it strained. “Is Her Ladyship receiving callers?”
“I have been instructed not to allow you on the premises.”
He hadn’t been prepared for that one. Though, it shouldn’t have been such a surprise, considering his ghastly behavior. But he wouldn’t be deterred. Far too much was on the line to give up now. “Could you perhaps ask her again? I will get on my knees and beg if I must.” That last statement had been more playful than serious, but he was willing to lower himself to such a degree if necessary.
Whether from a desire to see him gone quicker or perhaps sensing his rather pitiful desperation, the butler took his card with a poorly hidden sigh. “I will tell Her Ladyship that you insisted on the matter.” The man backed away to allow James through. “If you would wait in the hall, My Lord.”
James took off his hat, twiddling it in his hands as he watched the butler make his way to an adjacent set of doors and disappear behind them after a quiet knock. He heard the shocked, lilting voice of Lady Aircourt a moment later, though could not make out what was being said. That the woman sounded irritated was not in question, and James took a long swallow to suppress his nerves. Just when he thought he might have to resort to prostrating himself after all, the butler reemerged and gave him a cordial nod. “Lady Aircourt awaits you in the parlor.”
Relief swept through him, though the pleasant feeling did nothing to diminish his nerves and the scene before him after handing his things to the butler and entering the parlor did nothing to ease that discomfort. He first spied an unfamiliar woman making her way up from the sofa with a mild smile, obviously uncomfortable with his presence. “I will be off, Eliza.” She gave James a cordial nod of her own. “Good day, Lord Dalton.”
Before he could even open his mouth in reply, another voice sounded amongst the awkward tension in the room. “Please, do not leave on account of our unwanted visitor, Candice. I am sure he will not be here long.” Lady Aircourt perched on the edge of an adjacent sofa, her back straighter than even the most regal of queens. After two years, the young woman was still a sight to behold with her elegant, well-proportioned features and beautifully styled blond hair. He remembered being enraptured by her forest green eyes upon their first meeting, and he found them no less captivating despite the naked hostility of her gaze. Those delicate pink lips, once curved in gentle greeting, were now bent with a frown. He remained frozen on the spot, much of what remained of his confidence wilting under her cold appraisal.
“Perhaps you should hear him out?” Her companion said with a pitying glance in his direction. “I must go, regardless.”
Bless the woman, whoever she was, for James was certain he’d been about to be kicked out on his arse in the street.
“Very well,” Lady Aircourt proclaimed, not even trying to disguise the beleaguered tone of her voice. “I will see you soon, Candice.”
“Of course.” With once last awkward glance at his person, Lady Aircourt’s friend strode quickly from the room and closed the parlor door.
Now alone in the proverbial lion’s den, James attempted a pleasant smile. “Good afternoon, My Lady. It has been too long.”
“Why are you here?” she asked bluntly, setting her half eaten teacake down with an audible clatter. “You should have known you would never be welcome here again after what you did.”
“I wish to apologize.”
“You wish to apologize?” The incredulous expression on her face, while not unexpected, made him feel like ever more the fool for coming here.
But he pressed on. “Yes. That is why I have returned to London, you see.”
Lady Aircourt rose an elegant eyebrow. “You came all the way to England to apologize to me?”
She was mocking him, and though he had no right, irritation simmered regardless. “Not just you, of course.”
“Of course,” she replied dryly. “I suppose you think you’ll just walk right up to Clifton’s club and receive the countess’s magnanimous forgiveness. Or perhaps you could give Haverston house a try and see if Ashford's butler will be as lax as mine in his orders to hurl you down the front steps the moment you present yourself?”
He’d heard that Kitty Highbridge, former neighbor and his sister’s best friend, had snagged the Duke of Ashford shortly after being publicly abandoned by himself. James had been courting Kitty for some time before that hideous season, hoping that her dowry would be enough to stave off their father’s debts and save Sophie. He’d been sick with guilt the entire time and hadn’t had the courage to admit his falsehood after finding out her dowry was nonexistent. He hadn’t meant for Kitty to catch him eloping with Lady Francesca, and neither had he meant to impulsively plant a facer on the Duke of Ashford when the man had attempted to stop their carriage. Her tear-stained face as she slumped on the dirt road still haunted him to this day. He was glad she had done so well for herself and was almost tempted to do just as Lady Aircourt suggested, if only to give the duchess the satisfaction of seeing him so publicly humiliated.
