Chapter Thirteen

He chose to go to the ball that Lady Sylvia Evendale was attending because he should at least consider her as a possibility. He trusted his mother’s opinion. But he also trusted Josie’s honest evaluation. So he went with an open mind and apparently caused quite the stir when he entered.

He’d not realized—or possibly he chose to ignore—that people kept tabs on the eligible bachelors, and his absence from the balls was always noted. He understood. Without trying to sound vain, he was rich, richer than his father had been, thanks to his shrewd investments. Most nobles chose to put their head in the sand when they saw change coming. Oliver had chosen to take advantage of it.

His mother swooped in on him the moment he entered, and immediately he understood why. The mothers with eligible daughters were heading toward him en masse. Their avid expressions reminded him of headhunters in far-off places.

He shivered and, not for the first time, wondered why he’d thought this was a good idea.

His gaze roamed the large room, searching for… He didn’t know what he was searching for until his eyes settled on her. She was standing with a group of women, all of their hands waving as they talked over one another.

She was striking tonight, in deep purple.

…

Ellen’s circle of friends had shrunk since she’d started hosting her salons. There had been a time when she and Arthur had been invited to the best balls. But these days, the demand for her presence had waned.

She had known it would happen, but she had been surprised at some of the friends who had turned their backs on her. It had hurt, but at the same time she did not regret it. What she liked most about her salons was meeting new and different people, learning new perspectives, and making new friends. It was a fair trade-off, in her opinion.

But that wasn’t to say that she no longer enjoyed attending the occasional ball, and if invited, she went. The four women surrounding her were friends who had not abandoned her.

It had been a while since they had all been together. Immediately, they congregated to a far corner to catch up on one another’s lives. Lucy had just asked about Philip, the question that Ellen had been dreading, when suddenly Ruth covered her mouth to stifle a gasp. Ellen heard the shocked, whispered, “Oh my goodness” and turned to see what all the excitement was about.

He was descending the stairs to a hushed, reverent silence. Mothers of eligible daughters surged forward as if one big wave, while Lady Armbruster swooped in to save her son.

The hundreds of candles shimmered down on his hair, turning it a golden blond. His black formal coat fit his shoulders perfectly. Beyond that, Ellen couldn’t see anything else, but she didn’t need to. She remembered.

Her body remembered dancing with him at a ball such as this. The way they’d moved perfectly together. The scent of his cologne. The feel of his arms around her. The way his body had swayed toward hers.

She hated that her body betrayed her whenever Oliver was near. She hated that she could never forget and that just looking at her son dredged up all the memories she was desperate to forget.

“…Sylvia Evendale… Heard he’s looking for a wife.”

Ellen’s attention snapped to Victoria, who always seemed to have all the gossip.

“What about Lady Sylvia?” Ellen asked.

“Rumor has it that Lord Armbruster is finally in the market for a wife. Or so Lady Evendale is saying. And she’s saying that her daughter, Sylvia, has caught his eye.”

Ellen looked back at Oliver, but he’d been swallowed up by the crowd, and she could no longer find him.

Lady Sylvia Evendale. She was a good choice. More than likely she was Nora’s choice, but still a good one. Impeccable breeding.

Oh, who was she kidding? Ellen had a lead ball in the pit of her stomach at the thought of Oliver marrying Lady Sylvia. But there was no reason for such a feeling of dread. Marriage for Oliver would be good for her. Then he would no longer be a threat.

“And there she is, Lady Evendale, following him around like a lost puppy.” Lucy giggled and the others covered their smiles.

Ellen tried to smile, but she was sure she failed, and she was relieved that her friends were more interested in discussing Sylvia’s greatest coup, if she could land Lord Armbruster.

She excused herself and wandered away from them, but if she had hoped to escape the discussion of Oliver and Sylvia she had been wrong. He was the topic of conversation, at least among the eligible young ladies and their mothers. Even the eligible bachelors were lamenting Oliver’s sudden appearance at a ball, since he rarely, if ever, attended.

“Lady Fieldhurst.”

She stopped at the sound of his voice and closed her eyes.

With a pasted-on smile she glanced behind her. “Lord Armbruster. I’m surprised to see you here.”

Up close he was even more devastatingly attractive. Age and time had been good to him. Seventeen years ago, he was just beginning to fill out. He’d been tall, his shoulders wide, but without the muscle that roped his body now. Small creases fanned from his eyes, making him look mature and handsome.

“I’m surprised to be here,” he said.

“You were always honest.”

“Only with you.”

She turned her head away, not wanting him to see that his words had touched her.

“Rumor is circulating that you are here for Lady Sylvia.” Why did I bring that up?

“Word travels quickly,” he said.

They were in their own little bubble, the crowd surging around them but giving them room to breathe. Mothers kept a safe distance, watching, but pretending not to watch.

“Oh, come now, Armbruster. You know nothing is a secret in London Society.”

“I would have hoped something would be secret for at least a day. I just decided to attend yesterday.”

“It’s true, then? You’re in the market for a wife?”

“It’s true.” His gaze clashed with hers, chips of blue ice with an honesty she couldn’t meet him with.

“I’m sure Lady Armbruster is happy.”

“It’s been her dream since the day I was born, to see me safely wed.”

Was there accusation in his words? Did he look hurt?

“Wh-what made you decide to do the deed now?” Why was her mouth suddenly dry? Why was it suddenly difficult to speak?

“I decided seventeen years ago, but alas, it didn’t work out.”

Her cheeks heated. There was definitely accusation in those words. She looked down at her hands, unable to meet his gaze again. There was nothing she could say to refute him. Nothing.

“There you are, dear.” Lady Armbruster approached and smiled at Ellen. “Lady Fieldhurst. How nice to see you.”

But something in her cool tone made Ellen think that the dowager countess wasn’t at all happy to see her.

Ellen inclined her head and said to Oliver, “It was nice talking to you again.” And then she mouthed, “Good luck.”

…

He’d forgotten just how much he felt like cattle at these events. Within an hour he was suffocating. His mother tried to keep most of the worst offenders away, but some slipped through, and he’d danced with many young ladies whose names he would never remember, none of whom appealed to him.

Did they not have a single, independent thought in their heads? Were they taught to agree with every man they spoke to? And what was with the simpering and the eye fluttering? He wanted to ask them if they had something in their eyes.

He was far too old for this and decided by the second dance that he didn’t want a wife who was so young she couldn’t think for herself.

And yet the evening lumbered on, and Oliver’s mouth ached from smiling, his brain pounded from inane conversations, his feet hurt in the ridiculous formal shoes, and he was angry at his mother for no other reason than he didn’t know who else to be angry at.

He’d lost sight of Ellen long ago but supposed that was a good thing. He couldn’t find a wife with Ellen lurking about. Never mind that he caught himself searching for her in the crowd more times than he could count.

For a small moment he found himself alone, an island in a sea of sharks. There was no one watching him, no mothers hovering, his own mother was not to be found, so Oliver slipped out onto the terrace and practically dove into the shadows, skirting them until he could lean against the balustrade and breathe his first real breath of the night. He pulled on his tight collar and wished he were at home with a glass of port at his elbow and estate reports in his lap.

Good Lord, but he was old if this was considered an evening of fun.

He realized too late that the secluded spot he had chosen was not unoccupied. A darker shadow shifted and turned to him.

He smiled, his relief enormous, his heart… Well, his heart hammered like a young lad.

“You escaped,” Ellen said.

He could barely see her, the purple gown blending with the shadows, but he would know her anywhere. She even smelled the same as she had all those years ago. Like roses with a hint of vanilla.

“It was perilous, and I had to do a lot of maneuvering, but I escaped.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you. And you? Did you escape as well?”

“I’m not as sought after as you are, but yes, I found a moment to grab some silence and breathe the night air.”

“I’d forgotten what they were like.”

She tilted her head. “Balls in general? Or the matchmaking mamas?”

“Both.”

“And what are they like?”

“Exhausting. Are all women taught to agree with a gentleman? Are none of them taught to think for themselves?”

She leaned back against the balustrade and he breathed out. It was so easy to talk to her. Ellen could always be counted on for engaging conversation. If she didn’t agree with something, then she voiced it.

“It’s quite vexing,” she said. “And you can see it didn’t work well with me. I’m just glad that Arthur didn’t mind that I was a little more outspoken than most wives.”

“That’s what I want in a wife.” The words were out before he could stop them. Talking to her made him forget that he probably shouldn’t say everything that came to his mind.

“You will be hard-pressed to find one with an original thought.”

He grimaced. “The whole ordeal is equivalent to purchasing cattle. Should I ask them to open their mouths so I can inspect their teeth?”

Her amused chuckle floated through the night air. “It is rather unromantic.”

If they had married when he’d wanted, if things had worked out the way they had planned, they would have been married for seventeen years now. They would have attended these balls and looked across the room and just known what the other was thinking. They would have shared jokes without a word spoken.

“Do you ever wonder what it would have been like—?”

“Don’t, Oliver.”

“I used to wonder all the time.”

“Why are you doing this?” She was whispering now, her voice pained. He still couldn’t see her but that made it only easier to reveal confidences.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Seeing you and Philip, it brought back feelings that I thought I had buried. The memories…they’re haunting me now. More so than ever before.”

“Oliver.” She took a step away from him.

“Don’t go,” he said. “Don’t leave me to the wolves.”

“I can hardly save you from them.”

“They’re not like you, the young ladies.”

“Of course not. I’m twice their age.”

And that’s exactly what he didn’t want. He thought of Josie’s idea of him courting Ellen, and suddenly the thought wasn’t as preposterous as his mother had said.

“There is something to be said for maturity,” he said.

“And that is exactly why we would have never made it back then. We were too young. Too…reckless.”

He remembered the gazebo. The frantic lovemaking. They’d been each other’s firsts.

“Do you regret it?” he asked softly, staring at the outline of her shadow. She was completely still. He couldn’t even hear her breathe. “What we did that night? Is that why you never met me under the tree?”

There was a long pause, enough to make him dizzy from holding his breath. “No.”

“I don’t, either. Never would I.”

“But we were too young.”

“I don’t believe that for a moment.”

Her shadow shifted. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s in the past.”

But was it possible to resurrect the past?

What if they could?

What if they did?