Chapter Six #2
“Mr. Axton Fancot, Valora’s brother.” She shrugged her shoulders. “He’s nice and he has taken an interest in me.”
“So, were you ever going to take my return and a relationship between us seriously? Or were you only humoring me in the carriage tonight?”
“If the love of your life returned from the dead, even with no memories of you, would you walk away?”
“Probably, if they were damaged? Broken?” His voice cracked slightly.
Tears pricked at Courtney’s eyes. “Well, I’m not you—”
“But am I a man you want to try again with?” He stepped closer, his expression raw with pain and frustration.
“When you look at me, you see him. When I fail to remember something that was important to us, you look disappointed. When I don’t react the way you expect, you try to remind me of who I used to be.
Everything will be new with Mr. Fancot. No memories of how it used to be, just new memories. It’s hard to compete with that.”
“You aren’t competing—”
“Aren’t I?” The words hung between them. “The Lucien you loved died in Ireland five years ago. I’m what’s left—a farmer who doesn’t know how to be a lord, a man who can’t remember loving you, someone who’s failing every test you never told me I was taking.”
“But we spoke in the carriage on the way here and I said I wanted to try.”
His shoulders slumped and he looked away. “I really want that chance, too. But now I’ve ruined everything with my public proposal.”
He spun to face her and the pain in his eyes broke her heart. “I’d best go and sort this out. Hopefully Rockwell will come to his senses.”
He left her standing in the dark, and that was how she felt about him. He was cloaked in darkness, and she had no idea if he’d ever step into the light so she could get to know the new man he was. He was here, but hiding pieces of himself.
Perhaps second chances were just a dream.
She didn’t even know if she liked this new Lucien.
One minute he wanted to try, and the next he’d ruined everything by making a scene trying to save Farah’s reputation.
Perhaps Axton was a better option for her.
Lucien was right. Axton was new and there was no doppelganger for her to compare him to.
*
Now safely ensconced in a small antechamber off the main ballroom, Courtney allowed herself a moment of weakness. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window, grateful for the momentary relief it provided against her flushed skin.
“At least he realizes he’s created a terrible scandal,” she whispered, her breath fogging the glass. “What’s worse, even if Rockwell does the right thing and Lucien is free to marry, who will believe he’s marrying me for love? They will think he loves Farah and marries me merely for my money.”
Did she care what the ton thought? If Lucien had said he loved her, that would be enough. But he hadn’t said any such thing.
Behind her, the door clicked open. She straightened immediately, schooling her features into a mask of indifference. When she turned, however, her composure faltered at the sight of Lucien standing in the doorway, his face ashen.
“Courtney,” he said, his voice rough. “I need to apologize.”
“I think what you did was wonderful. You were protecting our friend. But I hope you are right, and Rockwell comes to his senses. But was this part of your plan? If so, it’s going to cause a huge scandal.”
Lucien knelt at her feet and took her hand in his. “I’m sorry to make you the subject of more gossip.”
“At least the focus will be on Rockwell and Farah, and it might give us a chance to learn more about us.”
“Rockwell will marry her,” he insisted, as if talking to himself. “Once he realizes he might lose her to me, he’ll come to his senses. This is just… a temporary measure.”
“Farah won’t marry you, Lucien. She knows that would hurt me and Farah is too nice to do that. You seem so sure Rockwell will marry Farah, but my fear is she won’t marry either of you. And if not, she’s ruined. I’m not sure I can live with that on my conscience.”
“What are you saying?”
“I might have to convince her to marry one of you. I won’t see my friend ruined for something that is not her fault.”
Lucien’s jaw tightened. “Are you saying that if Farah declines Rockwell, you’ll expect me to honor my word?”
“Yes.” A tear slid down her face.
“Is this because of Mr. Fancot? You would prefer him?”
Before she could respond, the door opened again, and Tarquin entered, his expression thunderous.
“There you are,” he said, his gaze locking on Lucien. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you both. We need to discuss what happened before the gossips tear my sister’s reputation to shreds.”
Lucien straightened, facing Tarquin with admirable composure. “I was just explaining the situation to Lady Courtney.”
“Were you?” Tarquin’s voice dripped with skepticism. “And what situation might that be? The one where you publicly announce your engagement to Lady Farah mere days after returning to London and reconnecting with my sister—your former fiancée?”
“It’s not what it seems,” Lucien began, but Tarquin cut him off with a sharp gesture.
“Save it. Wolf has informed me of the…circumstances surrounding Lady Farah’s trip to Ireland. While I commend your gallantry in protecting her reputation, I can’t help but wonder if there might have been a less damaging solution. Or did you have an ulterior motive?”
“Such as?” Lucien challenged, his posture stiffening.
“Such as actually marrying Farah rather than allowing Lord Ware to do the honorable thing and offer for her himself,” Tarquin replied smoothly. “After all, he was the one who compromised her in the first place, however accidentally.”
Courtney could see where this conversation was heading—a challenge.
She wanted to defuse the tension between these men.
“What’s done is done,” she continued. “Lord Furoe acted to protect Farah, and I can’t fault him for that.
Now we must decide how to proceed from here with minimal damage to all parties. ”
“You’re being remarkably understanding,” Tarquin observed, his brow furrowed.
“What am I supposed to do? Cause a scene? That would certainly give the gossips something to talk about. Besides, Lucien had already told me of a promise he’d made to protect Farah’s reputation. He is a man of honor. Would you prefer I collapse into hysterics?” she countered, arching an eyebrow.
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Tarquin’s mouth. “No, I suppose not.”
“Good. Then let us be practical.” She turned to Lucien. “You believe Rockwell will come to his senses and offer for Farah, thus rendering your engagement unnecessary?”
Lucien nodded, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “He’s stubborn, but he’s not stupid. He loves her—he’s just afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” Tarquin asked.
“Of disappointing her. Of not being the husband she deserves.” Lucien’s expression softened. “He believes his desire to travel the world would make him a poor husband, leaving her alone for months at a time.”
“Perhaps that’s a decision Farah should make for herself,” Courtney suggested. “Rather than having it made for her.”
Something flickered in Lucien’s eyes—realization, perhaps, or regret. “You’re right. Just as you should have the opportunity to decide for yourself whether you want to continue our…association, rather than having it decided for you by my circumstances.”
Hope flickered again in Courtney’s chest, stronger this time. “What are you saying, Lucien?”
“You are a beautiful woman, and you deserve a man who loves you,” he replied, his voice low and earnest. “I can’t offer you much of anything.”
Tarquin cleared his throat pointedly. “As touching as this is, might I remind you both that Lord Furoe is currently engaged to Lady Farah before all of society? We need a plan to extricate him from this situation without further damage to anyone’s reputation.”
“Which leaves us with one question,” Lucien said, turning to Courtney. “Will you wait for me to resolve this situation? Or have I finally tested your patience beyond endurance? Do you want to get to know me? Not my ghost but me? The man returned from Ireland with nothing?”
The question hung between them, weighted with significance.
Courtney searched Lucien’s face, looking for any hint of the man she had once loved so desperately.
He was different now—harder, more direct, less constrained by society’s expectations.
But there was still that same intensity in his gaze, that same unwavering focus that had drawn her to him from the first.
“I’ve waited five years,” she said finally. “I suppose I can manage a few more days. But Lucien—” She met his gaze steadily. “I won’t wait forever. Not again. Mr. Fancot deserves better from me, too.”
Relief washed over his features. “Thank you. I promise, this will be resolved quickly.”
“See that it is,” Tarquin said, his tone making it clear the words were as much a threat as agreement. “Now, shall we return to the ballroom? Your absence has already been noted, and continued seclusion will only fuel the gossips further.”
Courtney nodded, smoothing her skirts and checking her reflection in a small mirror on the wall. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed, but she looked composed—a woman in command of herself and her situation.
“Lead on, brother,” she said, taking Tarquin’s offered arm.
As they moved toward the door, Lucien caught her free hand, pressing a swift kiss to her knuckles. “I will fix this,” he murmured, his eyes intense. “I promise.”
She nodded, unable to speak past the sudden tightness in her throat. As they reentered the ballroom, she held her head high, ignoring the curious stares and hushed whispers that followed their progress.
Let them talk, she thought defiantly. The story was far from over.
The orchestra struck up a waltz, and to her surprise, Lucien appeared at her side, hand extended in invitation.
“May I have this dance, Lady Courtney?” he asked, his voice carrying just far enough for those nearby to hear.
A hush fell over their immediate vicinity, all eyes turning to witness her response. She knew what they expected—for her to rebuff him publicly, to display her wounded pride through a cutting rejection.
“You do like causing scandal,” she replied. She placed her hand in his, her smile serene. “You may, Lord Furoe.”
The shocked murmurs that rippled through the crowd brought a certain satisfaction. Let them wonder. Let them speculate. The truth would reveal itself in time.
As Lucien led her onto the dance floor, his hand warm and steady at her waist, she leaned in and whispered, “You realize what you’ve done? By dancing with me so soon after announcing your engagement to Farah, you’ve set the ton abuzz with new speculation.”
“The ton is talking about me no matter what I do. I intend to be myself. They will learn I’m not the same man who left to fight in the Irish rebellion. I am a man who follows my own path.”
Despite everything, Courtney found herself laughing. “How very…direct of you.”
“I’ve found directness has its advantages,” he replied, his expression sobering. “If I’d been more direct with you from the beginning about my promise to Farah, perhaps we could have avoided some of this evening’s drama.”
“Perhaps,” she agreed. “Though I’m beginning to think drama follows you wherever you go, Lord Furoe.”
“An unfortunate side effect of returning from the dead, I’m afraid.” His eyes glinted with humor, but it quickly faded. “In all seriousness, Courtney…thank you for understanding. And for giving me another chance to prove myself worthy of you.”
The simple sincerity in his voice touched her deeply. “You don’t need to prove yourself worthy, Lucien. You need to decide what you want. Who you want. The man I loved was never uncertain about that.”
A shadow crossed his face. “I’m not him anymore.”
“No,” she agreed softly. “You’re not. But perhaps the man you’ve become is someone I could love just as deeply, if given the chance. I need to know that as much as you. I have a choice to make as well.”
The music swelled around them, and for a moment, it was as if they were alone on the dance floor, cocooned in a bubble of possibility. Lucien’s hand tightened slightly at her waist, drawing her a fraction closer than propriety allowed.
“I don’t know if I can ever love again,” he murmured.
“I don’t believe that,” she replied with a hint of her old spirit and a cheeky smile. “I’m very lovable, or so I’ve been told.”
As the waltz ended, Lucien reluctantly released her, though his eyes remained fixed on her face. “I will fix this mess,” he promised again. “And then, if you’ll allow it, I’d like to court you properly. No schemes, no pretenses. Just us, discovering who we are together now.”
Courtney felt a curious lightness in her chest, a fragile hope taking root. “I’d like that,” she said simply.
Around them, the ball continued, the musicians striking up another lively tune. Gossips huddled in corners, speculating on the evening’s dramatic events, while couples whirled across the dance floor, blissfully ignorant of the drama unfolding in their midst.
“If it’s any consolation,” she said as they made their way off the dance floor, “I’ve always believed you think better in a crisis.”
He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Let’s hope that holds true. Because this, my dear Courtney, is most definitely a crisis.”
Her smile in response was both challenge and promise. “Then by all means, Lord Furoe, show me how well you can think.”