Chapter Five
Grosvenor Square, Mayfair
Lady Cheshire arrived at Simon’s residence swathed in a luxurious forest green velvet cloak.
She handed her white fur hand muff to his butler and shrugged off the garment, revealing a matching forest green gown underneath, the skirt of which was so wide that Simon wondered how she had fit through the doorway.
“Aunt,” he said, striding forward to greet her. “I’m surprised to see you. Why aren’t you getting ready for your party tonight?”
“I am, but I wanted to make certain you had not forgotten about it.” She untied the silk strings to her large bonnet, removed the headpiece, and handed it to Simon’s butler.
“I haven’t forgotten,” Simon said, taking his aunt’s arm and leading her to the drawing room.
Minutes later, they were seated in front of the fire, sipping tea, when Simon’s valet, James, entered carrying a large, rectangular parcel wrapped in brown cloth.
“What is that?” Simon asked, getting to his feet.
“A gift for you, my lord, delivered by Lady Waterford’s footman.”
“Lady Waterford”—Lady Cheshire stood up, and strode forward—“how marvelous! Do open it!”
Simon hesitated. He had been avoiding Miss Waterford since their bizarre encounter at the cemetery. But there’d be no avoiding her tonight at his aunt’s New Year’s Eve ball, and it seemed Lady Waterford knew as much.
“Oh, do come on, Simon!” Lady Cheshire said. “There’s a letter attached to it.” She snatched the small envelope tucked between the string that secured the cloth around the parcel.
“I believe that’s addressed to me,” Simon said.
She pursed her lips and gave Simon the envelope.
He took it reluctantly and opened it. Inside was a card embossed with a gold trim that read:
A reminder of our agreement.
Yours, Lady Waterford.
“Well?” Lady Cheshire tapped her foot impatiently. “What does it say?”
Simon handed the note to his aunt. “Let’s not pretend you don’t already know.”
Lady Cheshire read the note and grinned. “You’re right. Lady Waterford told me that you came to an agreement with her. You are promised to her daughter. So, when do you intend to ask for her hand?”
“I made no such agreement.” Simon turned to his valet. “Take that away.”
“Don’t you dare!” Lady Cheshire stopped the man. “Not without showing me that painting first.”
“So, you know what it is then? And you knew it would be arriving here too, I imagine. That’s the true reason for your visit, is it not?”
“Not at all,” Lady Cheshire said, feigning innocence. “I can tell by the shape of the parcel that it’s a painting. I’ve had more than one delivered to my residence during the years.”
Simon shook his head. That was an understatement. Lady Cheshire’s estate in Maidstone was akin to the National Gallery. He nodded at James, who then promptly removed the covering from the parcel.
Lady Cheshire gasped. “That is marvelous!”
Simon had to admit that the painting was well done.
The picture was gothic and centered on Miss Waterford, who lay, pale and angelic-like, on a slab of grey stone, surrounded by headstones and trees rising out of a mist. The figure leaning over her, tenderly touching her face, was none other than himself.
How had Bonetti captured his likeness so well after their brief meeting?
The man was a genius, indeed. And the painting was breathtaking.
“I believe she had a showing at her house earlier today before sending it to you,” Lady Cheshire said. “It must be the talk of the town by now.”
“Good Lord! How dare she make a spectacle of me like that?”
“A spectacle? You’re a hero. A true knight in shining armor if there ever was one. Every woman in society will want to be your wife. Of course, you will have no choice but to marry Miss Waterford now.”
“What do you mean? I am not betrothed to her yet.”
“This picture tells a different story. Notice the way you are looking at her and your tender touch? As far as society is concerned, the two of you are as good as betrothed.”
Simon stared at the painting. She was right. He looked besotted. Lady Waterford had painted him into a corner. If he did not marry Miss Waterford, he’d look like a cad or a rake.
“Why do you look so perturbed?” Lady Cheshire asked.
“You intend to marry Miss Waterford, don’t you?
If I am not mistaken, your father’s debts are due and accruing interest. Not to mention, your reputation as a gentleman is being tarnished each day they go unpaid.
You will soon have to sell Rodwell Manor. Is that what you want?”
Simon swallowed. Nothing would be more painful than losing his family estate. Yet, he could not stop thinking about the woman in the cemetery.
“Can you not see what a blessing this is?” Lady Cheshire asked.
Simon turned back to the painting. What was he doing dreaming about a woman who might not even exist?
She might be a figment of his imagination.
And even if she was real, he knew nothing about her.
She could be someone’s wife already. What madness had taken hold of him?
He needed a marriage that would save his property.
It was the responsible—nay, the only—choice he could make, so why was he behaving like an infatuated schoolboy?
“You’re right, Aunt. Marrying Miss Waterford is what I need to do.”
*
63 Swain’s Lane, Highgate
“You look beautiful.” Aunt Mildred hovered beside Sophie. “Doesn’t she, Agnes?”
“Indeed, she does.” Aunt Agnes, who was the least sentimental of her two aunts, looked as though she might even shed a tear—if she could still cry, that was.
“I did an excellent job, if I do say so myself. Death has not hindered my ability to sew.”
“No, it certainly has not.” Sophie smiled at her aunt and turned to the mirror.
Her gown, made from the finest pink silk and decorated with tiny white pearls, was magnificent.
Aunt Mildred had even managed to cover a pair of Sophie’s older slippers with the material, making them look delicate and brand new.
Her chestnut locks, also styled by her talented Aunt Mildred, had been placed in a chignon, and delicate curls framed her face.
“And now for the final piece.” Aunt Mildred drifted to Sophie’s jewelry box and extracted a stunning pearl necklace that had belonged to Sophie’s mama.
It, along with her mama’s wedding ring, was the last of her jewelry.
Sophie had been forced to sell most of her mother’s jewelry to pay for expenses, but the ring and the necklace, which Papa had gifted Mama the day he’d learned she was with child, were sacred.
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Sophie said. “What if something should happen to it? Papa would be—”
“He would be proud,” Aunt Mildred said, “and so happy to see you now.”
Sophie pressed her lips together, sealing the pain inside. She hoped more than anything that her papa would make his way back to her. But it had been close to five years since the letters stopped coming, and the more time that passed, the more distant that reality seemed.
“Time to go downstairs,” Aunt Agnes said. “Your carriage and driver await.”
“Who did you get to drive me?” Sophie asked.
“A friend. Someone who can only come out at night but is visible to others.” Her aunts floated out of the room.
Sophie picked up her dress and followed them.
“A vampire? You…got a vampire to drive me?” she asked, but they were already halfway down the stairs.
As Sophie descended, she saw an exceedingly tall and pale gentleman with a long, thin face, dirty brown hair, and sunken eyes that were an odd reddish color.
He was dressed in dark livery and wore a black cloak.
“You can call me Alexi,” he said, bowing low.
Sophie swallowed and curtsied. “Good evening, sir.”
“Don’t worry, dear,” Aunt Mildred whispered in her ear, “we will be by your side all evening. You have nothing to fear from Alexi.”
But the knot in Sophie’s stomach told her otherwise.
*
Lady Cheshire’s Residence
Berkeley Square, Mayfair
Simon was reluctantly escorting Miss Waterford to the dance floor when he first spotted her. She wore a light pink ball gown dotted with pearls. Her rich chestnut hair, large green eyes, and flawless skin were even more beautiful than he remembered. He could not move.
“What is it?” Miss Waterford asked. “Who are you looking at?”
He blinked, unwilling to tear his eyes away from his mystery woman.
“Are you…is that Miss Spencer? Do you know her?”
“Miss Spencer,” he said without turning to face Miss Waterford. The name sounded sweet on his lips. “So that’s who she is.”
“Mama says that a few years ago, she fancied herself the treasure of the season. But then her papa abandoned her, and she went mad. Now she lives all alone in his crumbling mansion next to Highgate Cemetery. People have seen her roaming the graveyard and talking to herself.”
“That sounds like malicious gossip.” Simon turned to Miss Waterford in irritation.
“It’s not gossip. She is quite mad. I wonder what she’s doing here. It seems unfathomable that Lady Cheshire would invite a madwoman to her ball. You’d better warn your aunt. Miss Spencer could be dangerous.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Simon said, not willing to believe that a woman with such an angelic face could be insane or dangerous. “It’s likely jealous and cruel people who spread these rumors.” Simon looked back into the crowded room, but Miss Spencer was gone. His heart fell in disappointment.
“The dance will begin any minute now.” Miss Waterford, whose arm was still linked in his, gave him a slight tug.
“Right,” Simon said, still looking out into the crowded room. When he failed to locate Miss Spencer, he turned reluctantly to Miss Waterford and gave her a tight smile. “Very well. Let’s proceed.”
But as soon as they took one step forward, Miss Waterford cried out in pain. “My leg! Someone kicked me!”
“Kicked you?” Simon asked. “Who?”
“I don’t know…ouch!” Miss Waterford’s knees buckled, and Simon steadied her so she would not fall. “They did it again.”
Simon frowned. No one had been near Miss Waterford, and he would certainly have seen if someone had kicked her. But something was obviously wrong. “Let me take you back to your seat,” he said. “It must be a cramp. Perhaps if you rest for a minute.”
“No, I’m fine…ouch, my foot!” She lifted her foot. “Someone stomped on it!”
Simon was beginning to wonder if Miss Waterford was the one suffering from some type of madness. No one had stomped on her foot. He led her back to her seat and said,” Let me fetch you a glass of lemonade.”
He left Miss Waterford with the intention of fetching the lemonade, but all the while kept his eyes peeled for her.
And then he saw her. She stood facing a gentleman who appeared to be asking her to dance.
She must have accepted because he took her arm and started to lead her toward the dance floor.
Just then, the candlelight in the ballroom began to flicker.
A collective gasp sounded from the guests as the room was suddenly plunged into darkness.
Chaos ensued when everyone started moving about in confusion.
Simon felt himself propelled forward—straight into someone. She fell, and he caught her in his arms.
“Light the candelabras!” Lady Cheshire shrieked.
But before her footmen had a chance to fetch their tapers, the fire magically returned, and the room was once again enveloped in the warm, comforting glow of candlelight as though no unexpected darkness had occurred.
It all happened so quickly that Simon would have thought he’d imagined it—had it not been for the woman who was still in his arms.
She blinked up at him. He could hardly believe how beautiful she was.
“I’m terribly sorry, Miss…Spencer, is it?” he said, helping her to her feet.
“Yes,” she said. “Miss Sophie Spencer.”
Her voice, like her face, was that of an angel’s. He bowed. “It’s an honor to meet you, Miss Spencer. I’m Lord Rodwell.”
“I know,” she said, a shy smile playing on her sweet, rosebud lips.
His heart swelled. He had no explanation for his feelings. He did not know this woman, but he knew he did not want to leave her side. “May I have this dance?” he asked.
Miss Spencer smiled and held out her hand, housed in a delicate, pink silk glove. He took her hand and led her to the dance floor, forgetting all about Miss Waterford and her lemonade.