Chapter 22
Livy
Livy descended from Lord Dunmore’s carriage and surveyed the park with a smile.
Puffy clouds adorned the vast blue sky. The kind perfect for lying in the grass and imagining what shapes they formed.
Her heart gave a pang. It was lovely to be somewhere that remotely resembled the country—even if the air still held an acrid tinge of coal smoke.
It wasn’t home, though. It didn’t have Bonny or a rumpled, studious Papa.
But she at least was surrounded by the beauty of spring, lush green leaves, light pastels still clinging to the branches of the trees still in bloom, garden beds popping with color.
Birds chirped overhead, and the hum of conversation mingled with the rhythmic plod of hooves, bringing the park to life.
A glorious early May day, the perfect day to see and be seen.
Her belly fluttered. This was it, her first day being seen alongside a prominent figure in society.
And in a dress fitting of his standing. Hopefully, this would be the start of things turning around for her.
“Thank you for escorting me and my aunt today, my lord,” Livy said to Lord Dunmore once he returned from speaking with the driver of his carriage.
He looked dangerously handsome in his inky-black topper, roguish waves escaping just beneath the brim.
He’d angled it just so, slightly shading his brow, adding an air of arrogant mystery.
Of course he had. Somehow it made his cheekbones even more prominent, his jaw even sharper.
Blast it all, the man looked handsome like that. It was extremely vexing.
“Yes, we are most appreciative, my lord,” Aunt Mellie chimed in, smiling widely while she scanned the park. “Oh, I see Lady Monteith just over there! I have been meaning to catch up with her.” She shot Livy a meaningful look. “You two carry on. I will keep an eye on you both from just over there.”
Livy released a soft laugh as Aunt Mellie wandered over to her friend, white parasol spinning over her shoulder. She was sure her aunt was going to try to work her own magic to increase their connections.
“You know very well I was coerced into doing this.” Lord Dunmore’s deep voice danced around Livy.
Much too close. Much too hushed. Much too intimate.
“If I remember correctly, some slip of a miss stole my clothes and threatened to make me appear in front of a ballroom full of guests in nothing but my smalls.”
Livy bit back her smile. That truly had been one of her finer moments.
“If I remember correctly, I also rose to your challenge the other night. I earned this.” She lifted her nose and stared down at him with mock haughtiness.
“So, I agree, I won’t thank you.” She set off down the grassy knoll beside Rotten Row, then turned, walking backwards.
She lifted her eyebrows and grinned. “I’ll thank myself. ”
His grin flashed for a heart-stopping moment before his serious demeanor slid firmly back in place. A genuine smile, soft and boyish, without any ulterior motive of seduction or scorn. Just like the one she’d seen briefly at the gaming hell. Her heart strummed a soft warning against her breast.
With long strides, he caught up to her. “I see you received my gift. You look stunning, by the way,” he said quietly. “There is something incredibly alluring about the fact that the soft muslin covering your naked skin was purchased by me.”
Livy shivered as the breeze kicked up, bringing with it the perfume of magnolia blooms and the faint smell of grass and earth. She most definitely shivered due to the breeze. Not from his words. Words she would choose to ignore.
She inhaled deeply, letting the fresh floral scent of spring fill her senses. She paused and lifted her head to the sun, relishing the warm beams of sunlight. But then an all-too-familiar tickle started in her nose. Livy scrunched her nose and desperately searched herself for a handkerchief.
“Are you well?” Lord Dunmore asked, his words pitched with alarm.
Aha! There’s one. The tickling sensation intensified, and she hastily pulled out a handkerchief, inhaled on a stuttered gasp, and—
“Achoo!” she squeaked.
She gazed up at Lord Dunmore through the folds of her handkerchief. Another hint of a genuine smile grazed his lips.
“You sneeze like a mouse.”
Livy forced her smile down and let out a beleaguered sigh. “It appears your flirtation makes me ill, my lord.”
Amusement flared in Lord Dunmore’s eyes, and his lips tugged up in a half-smile. “I will strive to do better.”
Her smile broke free then. It was odd. The austere Marquess of Dunmore seemed to be lacking in the austere department the few times she’d been in his company.
“It’s unfortunate—the sneezing, that is—as I adore spring, but most flowers make me puffy-eyed and bring on an onslaught of sneezing.
I’ve learned to carry many handkerchiefs. ”
“A lady who cannot tolerate flowers,” he mused. “That does pose a challenge for suitors. A pity, really, as I was considering a dinner at my box in Ranelagh Gardens for our next foray into elevating your standing.”
Livy nearly forgot herself and latched onto Lord Dunmore’s arm in her excitement—nearly, but not quite. Which had her falling off balance. And tripping. Oh dear, that was the ground approaching.
Lord Dunmore’s hands were there, catching her, firm, fleeting. “Easy there, minx,” he whispered, laughter curling around his words.
“Apologies,” she said breathlessly, her heart fluttering at her near tumble.
“But please, can we still go? I’ve always wanted to see the Ranelagh Gardens.
And Vauxhall. I don’t mind the sneezing or puffiness—truly.
As long as you don’t mind having dinner with a squeaky mouse, of course.
I suppose I could see that being a nuisance.
” She stared up at him earnestly. Please.
Something flickered over those vivid green irises.
Something unreadable. Almost like he was dissecting her, not with judgment, but with curiosity.
It reminded her of the way society studied her, yet it wasn’t the same.
She didn’t feel as though her worth was being measured.
No, it felt more like when she was facing an unfamiliar equation.
The moment, the focused pause, before she knew how to solve it.
As though he were studying her, trying to make sense of her variable by variable.
“Monday next. Dinner. I’ll send my carriage for you and your aunt. Perhaps if you…play your cards right…I’ll even escort you to Vauxhall once it opens.”
Amusement bubbled up inside her at his pun, and she nodded her agreement, albeit a bit overenthusiastically. Which earned her a twitch at the corner of his mouth.
He cleared his throat, turning to gaze out across the park. “Today, I will introduce you to those acquaintances I mentioned. Ones who appear in optimal places in your little tree of the ton.”
She looked out across the park, loose tendrils of her hair dancing over her face in the breeze.
It was bustling with promenading ladies in elegant gowns and gentlemen in their finely tailored walking coats and toppers.
She sent a silent thank you to Lord Dunmore.
She couldn’t imagine how deflating it would’ve been to show up in the dresses she’d brought from home.
She tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth.
The gesture had been awfully thoughtful.
Yes, an attempt to sway her, a part of his seduction.
But a thoughtful one. Blast, the man was good.
Her gaze clashed with a pair of misty blue eyes, and the breath caught in her chest. Warren. His eyes were wide, his attention flicking back and forth between her and Lord Dunmore.
Lord Dunmore bumped into her arm, and her stare shot to his.
Her stomach flipped over. Mossy green irises consumed her.
He leaned closer, and she froze, couldn’t even blink.
There were so many shades of green in his eyes.
Jades and sages, some deep-forest striations.
All the shades nature could take on. Livy had always loved nature.
With maddening slowness, he reached out until there was a delicate prodding on her bonnet. His gaze never wavered from hers, and she couldn’t look away, wasn’t sure she was physically capable of doing so.
“Wh-What are you doing?” she managed faintly. To her. Right now. She couldn’t unmuddle her thoughts.
He displayed a soft Hawthorn blossom, gently rubbing the ivory petal between his white, glove-clad fingers.
“With your sensitivity to flowers, we cannot have them in your bonnet, can we?” He released the petal, and it slowly drifted away on the breeze.
“A lesson about men, Miss Forester. They covet nothing more than what they perceive another man seeks.” He straightened and stepped away from her before giving a subtle jerk of his chin in Mr. Thorton’s direction.
Livy stole a glance at Warren and nearly stepped back at the searing intensity of his stare.
Not once in the five years they had been in each other’s company had he looked at her like that.
Even from the distance between them across the park, amidst the throngs of revelers, she could discern the hard set of his jaw.
His look turned sunshine into a storm, thunder rolling in her chest. It struck like a storm: jealousy.
She shot a look at Lord Dunmore, eyebrows aloft.
The rogue was onto something. His lips kicked up in a cynical, knowing smile.
She started to turn back, but Lord Dunmore shifted, cutting off her view.
One dark brow lifted infinitesimally. That small movement spoke volumes. Her attention belonged to him.
He inclined his head toward two gentlemen engaged in conversation, each with a lady at their side. “The acquaintances I believe you will be most pleased to meet. And some you won’t be so pleased to…see again.”
Livy frowned at that but followed the line of his attention. And found the reason why.
“Lord and Lady Pennington,” he murmured.
The thin middle-aged man from the gaming hell stood with a young woman with flaming red hair hiding beneath a striking black hat decorated with tulle and lace.
Even from this distance, Livy could see the stiffness of the woman’s smile.
And Livy could fully understand why. To be married to a man like that?
An uncomfortable, jittery sensation took up in her chest. Without thought, her gloved fingers went to her cheeks, tracing the outline of her mask from the other night. “You don’t think he’ll…” she whispered. Heavens. Would he recognize her?
Lord Dunmore caught her gaze. “Not a chance, Miss Forester. Trust me, he wasn’t studying your face. Unless you’re hiding black silk stockings underneath that dress and planning to put them on display, you have nothing to worry over.”
Heat slapped her cheeks at that. But the rogue had a point.
“Who I really wanted to introduce you to are those two. Lord and Lady Rutledge.” Lord Dunmore indicated the handsome couple on the left.
The man’s clothes were pressed and perfectly styled, not a wrinkle in sight, which was in stark contrast to his curls flopping out of control beneath his hat as he laughed at something his wife said.
She had hair as black as Lord Dunmore’s, swept up into a loose coiffure, tendrils cascading around her face.
She wore a look of mischief as she conversed with her husband, her jade-green skirts drifting lazily around his fawn breeches.
Livy clenched her hands on her shawl to prevent herself from clapping in delight. Lord and Lady Rutledge were known for having the most exclusive dinner parties, ones she knew the Dowager Duchess of Ironcrest attended. It would do her cause very well if she made an impression on them today.
All right, Livy. Do not make a fool of yourself.
She could totally do this.