Chapter Four
Courtney had barely finished breaking her fast when a note from Farah arrived.
She was inviting her to walk in the park with her and Caitria and Ava-Marie.
They would call for her at midday. That was kind of her.
Farah had traveled back from Ireland with Ava-Marie and the little girl knew her more than anyone other than Caitria.
Farah’s presence would help the little girl fit into her new life easier.
“Good morning, dearest,” Tarquin said, striding into the breakfast room just as Courtney was finishing her tea. His cravat was slightly askew, and dark circles shadowed his eyes, suggesting he’d had a late night.
“You look exhausted,” she observed, gesturing for him to join her. “I didn’t hear you come in last night.”
“I was with Lucien.” He helped himself to coffee, watching his sister’s face carefully. “At Crockford’s.”
Courtney’s hand stilled on her teacup. “What happened?”
“His father was gambling again. With Lockwood.” Tarquin’s lip curled in disgust. “That vulture had already taken the earl for five hundred pounds by the time we arrived.”
“Dear God.” Courtney set down her cup, her appetite gone. “Was Lucien able to—”
“He won it all back.” A hint of admiration crept into Tarquin’s voice. “You should have seen him, Court. He’s…different from before. Harder somehow. The way he handled Lockwood…” He shook his head. “The old Lucien was all charm and wit. This one has steel in his spine.”
“Ireland changed him,” Courtney said softly.
“Five years of working the land with his own hands would change any man.” Tarquin studied his sister’s face.
“But there’s something compelling about him now.
He’s lost that aristocratic polish but gained something else.
A sort of…raw authenticity. He sees through society’s masks more clearly than before. ”
Courtney’s heart squeezed. “Did he seem…happy? When you knew him before, was he truly happy in our world?”
Tarquin considered this. “He played his part well—the charming heir, the devoted son. But looking back, I wonder if he ever felt truly at home in it all. Perhaps that’s why he volunteered to go to Ireland—to fight. You never cared for society’s superficial games either.”
Courtney knew why he’d volunteered. Lucien had felt caught between his Irish and English heritage and had wanted to try and bring an end to the conflict.
“And now?”
“Now he moves through our world like a wolf among lapdogs—aware of the rules but not bound by them. When he confronted Lockwood…” Tarquin smiled grimly.
“He didn’t threaten violence or call him out.
He simply promised to tell society exactly what kind of man Lockwood is.
The farmer’s practicality combined with the peer’s understanding of reputation. Quite effective.”
Courtney absorbed this, trying to reconcile her memories of the polished viscount with this new version her brother described. “Do you think he can save his family?”
“If anyone can, it’s him.” Tarquin’s expression grew serious. “Court, I know you still love him—”
“Tarquin—”
“Let me finish. I know you love who he was. But this man…he might be better suited to you now than he was before. The old Lucien would never have confronted Lockwood so directly. He would have maneuvered within society’s rules.
This one…” He smiled slightly. “This one simply cut through the nonsense and called evil by its name. You’d always know where you stand with him. ”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Courtney murmured. “He might come to ask for my hand but tell me that he’s not in love with me. And God help me, I might say yes, because I do still love him.”
“Exactly.” Tarquin reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “I’m not saying you should rush into anything. But don’t dismiss the possibility that this version of him—the one shaped by hard work and simple living—might be a better match for your honest heart than the polished peer ever was.”
Courtney felt tears prick her eyes. “I barely know him anymore.”
“Then get to know him. As he is now, not as he was.” Tarquin’s voice gentled. “You’ve both changed in these five years. Perhaps those changes have brought you closer to who you truly are—and to each other—rather than further apart.”
“He’s so lost, Tarquin. Struggling to find his place between two worlds.”
“Then be his compass, not his anchor to the past.” Tarquin stood, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Just…keep your heart open to the possibility that what you lost might be replaced by something even truer.”
He straightened his cravat. “And now I must get some sleep. Being a good brother and keeping an eye on your former fiancé is exhausting work.”
Courtney managed a watery laugh. “Thank you, Tarquin. For everything.”
“What are brothers for?” He paused at the door. “Oh, and Court? His daughter takes after him. The real him—direct, honest, unbound by society’s pretensions. You’ll see when you meet her.”
“What if she doesn’t like me?”
Her brother smiled. “Who could ever not like you?”
With that, he left her alone with her thoughts, and the newly arrived note from Farah that would bring her face to face with the child who, in another life, might have been her own.
Walking up to her bedchamber to fetch her cape and gloves and hat, her nerves jumped like a grasshopper. She was going to meet Lucien’s daughter. The daughter she thought she’d have with him.
She almost missed a step; the pain of loss was so great.
As she waited for the carriage to arrive, she pondered her brother’s advice. It would be so easy to save Lucien and his family. She’d love to help Lauren and Madeline too, but the past five years had been lonely. She didn’t want to be lonely—within, or outside of, a marriage.
She’d tried to fill her empty life with meaningful pursuits.
She was patron to a few artists, worked to raise funds for several charities, but she’d made it very clear to society that she wasn’t looking to marry.
And last month, before she learned Lucien was alive, she’d just made up her mind that to spend the rest of her life alone—as a spinster—wasn’t really what she wanted.
She’d seen how happy Tiffany and Wolf were. She wanted that someone special too.
And they’d have to be someone special, because she’d have to confess that she wasn’t a virgin.
She’d given herself to Lucien, neither of them expecting… She was just thankful no child had eventuated. That wasn’t always how she felt. After he’d died, she wished she was carrying his child so she would have something of his.
Even though Lucien wasn’t the man she remembered, her heart didn’t care. It saw him and wanted him.
She heard the carriage approaching and went out to meet it. She could feel a headache coming on, her shoulders tight as a drawn bow. This meeting with Ava-Marie would tell her if she should consider letting Lucien back into her life. If Ava-Marie hated her, she’d have no choice but to walk away.
The carriage drew to a halt before Courtney’s townhouse, and she could barely hear the horses’ hooves above her pounding heartbeat.
Through the window, she could make out three figures: Farah’s distinctive fair curls, a woman with dark hair who must be Caitria, and between them, a smaller figure with dark hair. Ava-Marie.
Courtney smoothed her skirts, grateful she’d chosen her blue walking dress—the color always helped calm her nerves. As she descended the steps, Farah alighted from the carriage, her warm smile doing little to ease the tension in Courtney’s shoulders.
“Dearest Courtney.” Farah embraced her, whispering in her ear, “She’s absolutely lovely. Just breathe.”
Courtney entered the carriage. And Farah introduced her to Caitria and Ava-Marie. Ava-Marie didn’t give her a thought, chatting excitedly about the pond and the ducks.
Farah was talking about the trip to the opera tonight and Caitria sat quietly looking her over. She must have liked what she saw, for Caitria gave her a warm smile.
Soon they reached the park. She alighted and helped Farah down.
Caitria emerged next, offering a reassuring squeeze of Courtney’s hand before turning to help the little girl down from the carriage.
Ava-Marie landed with surprising grace for a child her age, her dark curls bouncing beneath a perfectly tied bonnet.
She wore a dress of spring green that brought out the emerald sparks in her eyes—Lucien’s eyes.
“Miss Ava-Marie,” Farah said warmly, “Say hello to our guest. This is Lady Courtney Montague, a dear friend of ours.”
The girl attempted a wobbly curtsy, then immediately tugged at her bonnet strings. “Do I have to wear this?”
“All the ladies do, so I’d say yes,” Courtney said with a giggle.
“Papa says you’re his friend and you’re Lady Farah’s friend too.”
Courtney’s breath caught. “Did he?” She managed to keep her voice steady, though her pulse thundered in her ears.
“Uh-huh.” Ava-Marie nodded vigorously, making her curls bounce. “He said you knew him from before. Long time ago.”
“I did,” Courtney murmured, unable to look away from this living reminder of what might have been. “Shall we walk? We might see some pretty flowers in the park.”
“Can I pick some?” Ava-Marie asked eagerly, already starting to skip ahead before Caitria gently caught her hand.
“We’ll see, dear,” Farah said. “First, let’s walk nicely together.”
As they made their way through the park, Courtney found herself hanging back slightly, watching as Ava-Marie skipped between Farah and Caitria, occasionally tugging at their hands to hurry them along.
Her movements were quick and restless, like a sparrow’s, but there was something in her direct gaze that was purely Lucien.
As promised, they made their way to the Serpentine and spent some time helping Ava-Marie feed the ducks. Another little girl, Tessa, joined her at the water’s edge, and they played and laughed.