Page 1 of If You Were the Only Girl in the World
PROLOGUE
October 1906
London
Nathaniel Gruffyd Langston, the Earl of Carbury, had attended so many similar balls that he was inured to all the attending social rigors but the charm of the music. He liked to waltz. Odd, perhaps. Most men his age thought it an obligation to be quickly endured and abandoned. But he, along with his innumerable Hanniford cousins, had been taught to waltz by his Aunt Lily in her grand ballroom and anything she did had always been a boon to his life.
But tonight, he left the floor and his fiancée and his favorite Viennese waltzes to wend toward the terrace. A few would notice his departure, but for that he was old enough not to care. Plus he was disciplined enough not to dwell on the reason. His fiancée was behaving badly and prudence said he should overlook it.
One did not marry easily in this new century in Britain.
Did one ever? But that was irrelevant, wasn’t it?
His problem that made him cringe was the very essence of which he thought her incapable. True, Felicity Northcote liked dancing as much as he. Liked it as much as waltzing, it appeared, with other men. Tonight more than ever. And her favored partner seemed to be James Erlander, Lord Carterham, a baron of some landed wealth and little more to his credit except bad debts.
One cannot account for poor taste, eh?
Nate strode out the garden doors and headed for the wrought iron bench among the roses. He sat, swirling the glass of whiskey he’d taken from the footman’s station and inhaling the crisp night air. The night was still young and no one else had sought the solemnity of the gardens. Solitude afforded him the chance to ponder what his options were. Ignore Felicity’s penchant for dancing. Speak to her about it. End the negotiations for the marriage, her dowry and all the heinous money-changing that denoted the merger of an earl and the daughter of a viscount. Then call off the wedding.
He took another swallow of his host’s excellent Scotch.
The far door opened and the woman who emerged fled to the railing.
Fled seemed like an odd term. But then, he’d witnessed many young women seek peace amid the garden maze at grand events.
This girl—one hand to the balustrade and one to her ribs—gasped.
He sat forward.
Was she hurt? Crying?
“No,” she said as if it were a vow. “I won’t.”
In the silver rays of moonlight, her fair hair shone pale gold. Her dark eyes stared straight out upon the parterre and in her expression lived despair. She was lithe, petite, and in the extravagant white lace and peach silk gown she shimmered like a fairy of the night.
Did he know her?
No matter. He stood, better to announce himself than scare her half to death later. “Pardon me.”
“Oh!” She whirled toward him and clapped a hand to her generous décolleté. “Who…? Oh, Lord Carbury!”
He put a hand out. “Forgive me, I did not wish to frighten you.”
“You…you didn’t.” She tried to smile but couldn’t quite bring herself to the fullness of it.
“Miss Schubert, is it?” He strolled forward, his gait casual so as not to alarm her further. Indeed, he was surer of her identity as he approached her. She was the American heiress from Chicago, her father the owner of department stores. Lovely as the ripe summer peach of her gown, she was a bright young thing whom many an impoverished young swain had taken to enchanting this season.
“Yes, pardon me.” She turned for the doors.
“Don’t go.” He stretched out a hand. “I came out here for some silence. I wouldn’t want to rob you of the pleasure of it.”
She straightened her spine. In the effort, she stretched to perhaps another one quarter of an inch taller so that the tip of her towering coiffed hair, white gardenias included, reached his jaw line.
“Thank you. I do like the night. Oddly, I feel safe at night. I know most don’t.”
Such revelations were rare to hear, especially at grand balls in London in the midst of the fall season. So close, he could appreciate the length of her lashes and the almond shape of her large dark eyes. Were they brown? Green? “Safety among the stars. I understand.”
“It feels safe to confess to them.”
