Page 1 of The Lady
CHAPTER 1
St George’s Parish Church, London, July 1813
Lady Flora Fitzsimmons had only ever been to this one wedding in her life. But she felt lucky as it was in fact, a double wedding, and therefore surely it meant something very good for all concerned—it meant a positive change was a foot in her life. An alteration she fully meant to enjoy. This was a marvellous change from the first seventeen years of her life. Now she was to bear witness to the coming together of not just two people, but four, here today to pledge their troth to their prospective spouses.
What happiness. What joy. It seemed to be embodied in the sunshine, in the feeling of lightness that bounced and shimmered through Flora, and the very parish church she sat in. She knew as she watched the church begin to fill up that this was precisely what she wanted more of in her life. There had been enough doom, sadness, and curses, and going forward, there was going to be lightness, laughter… and love?
Luck had been hers so far, thetonwelcoming her amongst their company for the end of the Season, and Flora had high hopes for the coming year, when she might make her debut, and even possibly fall in love.
Frowning down at her hands, Flora tried to be sensible, but it was hard to cling to this as she realised, despite how unfashionable it might be, that she was a romantic.
The parish church was a beautiful one, high ceiling, white stone, and grand. Light streamed, golden and illuminated through the windows. Summertime was here, and there was a pleasing heat to the yellow rays. Sitting amongst Mayfair, the church seemed as if it was deeply confident of its right to be here. Flora hoped against hope to one day achieve the same level of security as this magnificent church.
She looked at the two grooms who stood beside the vicar. Both of them were handsome in their own right despite the townish quality of Langley and the broodiness of Ashmore.
One was Lord Langley, from what her servants had whispered or simply outright stated, he was London’s most notorious rake, or at least he had been. He was dressed in the most handsome buff suit of golden brown and looked like the most fashionable of gentlemen. This charming amusing rake had met Margot Keating, and he hadn’t cared to look at another woman again. They were a striking pair, Langley all blond, muscular masculine beauty and Margot a tall, handsome brunette with warm flashing eyes, Flora could not help liking the older woman.
The other couple Flora knew better, one was her older brother—starchy, strict and all broody black hair—Kit, or rather Christopher Fitzsimmons, Duke of Ashmore. However, his normal stance was different because he was waiting for his bride—Elsie Keating. Affection and adoration poured off him despite having to stand next to his future brother-in-law, Langley, who Kit was not fond of. He had donned his preferred black, but Flora spotted a buttonhole of a flower, a pinkish pansy, in honour of his bride.
When the brides came down the aisle, the service could begin, but as it was, the vicar was talking to the two grooms as he looked around at the busy church.
Glancing down at her hands, Flora’s own lips formed into a smile. She had escaped the strange, cursed place in Cornwall, a family home no one liked, full of untrustworthy servants, to reach London. It was the best moment of her life, arriving in Town.
In the last few weeks, she had enjoyed meeting Elsie and Margot’s family, seen the warm and bubbling relationship that the sisters shared, and was thrilled her brother would have his own happy ending. The Keatings smiled at her from the other front pew, but Flora was rather enjoying her solo seat in the other pew.
Her normal companion Mrs. Bowley was with the brides keeping an eye on the state of their gowns, and Flora was grateful to be sat quietly on her own.
Stroking the silk material of her dress, she sought comfort from the new faun coloured skirt. It was carefully embroidered with the smallest and most delicate of looping floral branches and twisting leaves. She was enjoying being able to buy beautiful things now she was in Town.
From the back of the church a flurry of voices broke out, which sounded like gossipy whispers. There was talk. Sharp and inquisitive with interest.
“Excuse me, miss.” A low voice broke into Flora’s contented thoughts, unsettling her in her front row seat and causing her to look up. Her gaze fixed on the young man who had just walked down the aisle to come and stand before her.
And this new world which Flora was happily settling into, shifted entirely, and was sent utterly spinning.
A warm reddening blush started at the base of her neck, creeping higher as she stared up at him.
He was a god.
For a good, long moment she froze as she gazed wide eyed up at the man. He looked remarkably similar to one of the bridegrooms—to the rakish earl in fact. He might have been Langley’s twin with just a few subtle differences, and yet there was something more sincere and earnest about his expression, about the intensity of his gaze, around his chin, face, and build—a physical strength of purpose which marked him out as somewhat different from the earl.
The young man saw her quick glance and gave barely a nod of acknowledgement, but his face relaxed into something warmer when Flora shifted, so he could sit down next to her. Bravery flooded through her as the voices continued to flicker on behind them. It could not just be theton’s interest in a duke and rake’s wedding—it had to be directed towards this new man. She had heard whispers about the earl’s baseborn brother, and here he was in the flesh. Sat next to her.
He was a matter of great interest to thebeau monde. But Flora was fascinated to note this young man did not seem to mind, perhaps he was simply used to everyone watching him.
“I thought,” Flora whispered as the young man sank into his seat, “it is not normally acceptable to be late to a wedding.”
The man smiled as he looked sideways at Flora, “I was seeing a patient. My brother will forgive me, and hopefully, my future sister-in-law will as well.”
He was a doctor. Memories from when Elsie had been sick and had been treated by Langley’s doctor came rushing back to her. It had to be this young doctor. The man had been recommended by the earl. Flora, though, had been too busy, delighted with her recent arrival into Town. The Season was going on, and so she had not been remotely interested in meeting a doctor, who she assumed was probably portly, four times her age, with grey hair…
A swell of regret plummeted through her.
This man was better described as an angel. With gleaming, dark-gold hair bronzed light brown at the curled edges, it needed a slight trim to be truly fashionable, but Flora rather liked his bucking of these trends. Flora judged him to be around twenty-six or seven, but she was not certain. He was certainly older than her, but she rather liked this too.
His eyes were bright, a clear green colour that reminded her of lime, or something fresher, that made her stomach tighten. There was a depth and wisdom wrapped in them too. At least, that was what she told herself. He was a touch shorter than the earl but a little more muscular, which Flora suddenly decided she very much liked.
“I am called Philip Caton,” the doctor said, offering his hand to her with a formality that was again uncommon amongst theton. Flora was used to bowing and kissed knuckles, but Caton did not look remotely interested in such gestures.
