Page 11 of The Lady
Caton bent closer, his breath warm against her skin. “You smell of coconut, my lady. Normally it is jasmine.”
She laughed, the tension still tight within her. The mask was giving her a greater level of confidence. “I imagine the oil of the sweetmeat has caught and rubbed on my skin.”
Caton did not seem to catch these words because he was bending closer to her hand, his lips hovering above the skin before his mouth dropped, and he pressed a relevant kiss to the palm of her hand. Sensation, of the kind that Flora only associated with Philip Caton, bound through her, spiralling deliciously, uncontrollably, until she had to use her other handto grip the bench. She sat on top of it to keep from throwing herself back into his arms.
He looked up, and their eyes met, a query lingering there as he gazed at her. Confusion wrought within his expression, as if he was unsure of what he should do next.
There was a burst of voices from close by. The shouted excitement of younger revellers hurrying out of the maze and back towards the fireworks.
“Come, come,” one young matron called. “They’re about to start.”
“The fireworks: They are meant to have been imported.”
“Can you imagine?” There was an answering reply as someone crashed into the grove. “Such a sight. Such a scene they will cause.”
The cacophony of voices drowned out whatever Caton was saying, but Flora could have sworn she heard him mutter, “It’s already started.”
Outside of the maze, in the busy, thrilling world of Vauxhall Gardens, Lady Flora was delighted to see Lord Gilbert had vanished. She was spotted by Lady Briers, who waved in a welcoming manner. As a young widow with a supposed spy for a brother, Lady Briers was a good match for Doctor Caton. She was a little melodramatic, Lady Flora reasoned, trying to think up negatives about the attractive widow, and despite her appeal, she had already had five children, so might not wish for more.
“We are off to the country,” Lady Briers said, smiling at both Caton and Lady Flora when the introductions had been made. “Next week I would estimate. It is hard to know precisely when to quit Town, I do enjoy the sights so much.”
From Lady Briers, they met the widow’s friends as well. An engaging mixture of matrons and ladies, acquaintances with striking looks, curious eyes, and enough possibilities that if LadyBriers would not suit, one of her numerous friends might well answer for Caton.
“Lord Langley’s half-brother, isn’t he?” Lady Briers asked as Caton chatted a distance away to one of her dark-haired friends.
“That is right.” Flora was too busy to watch the handsome brunette smile winningly up at the doctor and cursed herself for suggesting Vauxhall.
“I’ve heard so much about the poor man. I fear his name is quite blackened by his brother’s and mother’s actions. I, for one, do not believe half of it.”
“Not even Lady Wheeler?” Flora asked despite herself.
“Lud no, that woman is a known liar. She even claimed my brother Verne had once seduced her.” Lady Briers shook her head with distaste.
“So, you think it merely rumours?”
“Does it matter? I find, in matters of the heart, all that is of import are the choices one makes going forward. He’s quite as charming as that one-time rake Langley, although…” Lady Briers laughed. “You need not fear, I suspect you will not have to suffer long. He could so easily be yours for the taking.”
“No indeed,” Flora protested. “I have no interest in matrimony.”
Lady Briers raised a perfectly formed eyebrow, “Who said anything about matrimony, I spoke of love.”
With such a declaration, the widow drifted off to collect her glass of warmed wine. Flora felt the ground beneath her rumble as all around her the air split wide from the shuddering of the exploding fireworks high above her. A bright, wondrous explosion of gold, then silver, followed by scarlet and green.
She turned and looked at Caton, the colours dancing across his face. Their eyes met again, and he smiled, and Lady Briers’s words came back to her, painful and immediate as her eyes smarted.
Love.
It should have come as no great surprise. She had fancied herself in love with Philip Caton since she was seventeen. It didn’t matter that he had numerous affairs, or that she had tried to wed another. None of those things felt as true or as real as Caton. Now at twenty-seven, she realised she was in love again. And all of her denials had been a vain effort to stop the inevitable. Perhaps she had always been so. That’s all there was to it.
Yet this time it was different. She knew him. Knew of his apology. Of his gentle touch. Of his sweet tooth. Knew what it was like to be held and have her hand kissed by him. She also knew what he wanted—to leave the hustle and bustle of London, to find the cool, calm countryside retreat that she too dreamt of, and have a family. She could so easily picture their children—golden haired, bright eyed, and curious. With grazed knees that they might kiss better, sweet cakes they might share, or books that they might read to their children.
Flora blinked. She had been so preoccupied picturing that little boy with soft curls,their dreamt of son, that she did not realise Caton was standing in front of her. He was watching her most expectantly. If only she knew what to say to him.
CHAPTER 6
It had been a shocking evening, full of surprises. He had been glad to go. It was not merely that Lady Flora’s suggestion did indeed introduce him to a host of eligible and suitable matrons who might fit his brief. Flora herself had been the lure.
She had been a revelation. His intention had been to put them on a friendly footing by confessing his prior judgement, but instead it had introduced an air of intimacy which shocked him.
