The Earl's Runaway Bride. Sarah Mallory

      Mr Appleby grinned across at his cousin. ‘Not really my line, Mama, but if you insist. What of you, Cos?’

      Nathan shrugged. ‘If I receive an invitation I must go, I suppose.’ His thoughts returned to the veiled figure in the carriage. Something nagged at the back of his mind, a thought that he could not quite grasp. He said, ‘Who was the female with Lady Souden? Miss Brown. Have you met her before, Aunt?’

      ‘Lady Souden said she was her companion,’ replied Lady Charlotte. ‘No doubt she is some penniless relation.’ She turned to address her son. ‘And as such she can have no attraction for you, Gerald.’

      ‘Devil a bit!’ responded Gerald, grinning. ‘Just trying to be friendly, Mama.’

      ‘Better that you should remain aloof, like your cousin,’ retorted Lady Charlotte.

      ‘What, be as grim as Rosthorne?’ Gerald laughed. ‘Impossible! I swear his dark frown could turn the milk sour!’

      Nathan allowed himself a smile at that. ‘Try for something in between, then, Cousin.’

      ‘Precisely.’ Lady Charlotte nodded. ‘You must remember your breeding, my son.’

      As the carriage pulled away Gerald threw a rueful glance across at Nathan. ‘When am I ever allowed to forget it?’

      

      ‘So. It is done. I have met him.’

      Felicity closed the door of her little bedchamber and leaned against it. Her legs felt very unsteady, so much so that she dare not even attempt to walk across the room to her bed. She closed her eyes. Nathan’s image rose before her, so familiar, so dear. She had studied him closely while the two carriages were stopped. In profile she thought him even more handsome than when they had first met, his face leaner, his look more serious. Even when she saw again the scar across the left side of his face she was no longer horrified by it. She was thankful the dreadful disfigurement did not seem to have affected his sight; his eyes were as keen as ever and for a moment she had quailed beneath her thick veil, convinced that he would recognise her. Even worse than the fear of detection was the fierce disappointment she had known when he had addressed her; he was clearly unaware of her identity and his indifference hit her like a physical blow.

      ‘But it is done,’ she said again. ‘Now I have seen him I know what to expect, I am prepared.’

      

      However, being prepared did not prevent her from feeling slightly sick when Sir James announced cheerfully that she would be required to accompany his wife to Lady Somerton’s later that night.

      ‘I know I promised to attend, but I have fallen behind with drawing up my plans for Tsar Alexander’s arrival in London—I gave my word that I would report to Carlton House tomorrow morning.’

      ‘Then you must remain here and finish them,’ replied Lydia calmly. ‘But there is not the slightest need for Felicity to come with me: Lady Somerton is such an old friend…’

      Felicity felt Sir James’s eyes upon her and she said immediately, ‘There is nothing I should like more than to go with you, Lady Souden.’

      Lydia blinked. ‘You would?’

      ‘Of course,’ Felicity lied valiantly. ‘You will recall you showed me Lady Somerton’s invitation and said she hoped that Lord Byron would be there and would read for her.’

      ‘But I thought you disliked Byron,’ objected Lydia.

      ‘His style of living, perhaps,’ Felicity persisted. ‘His poetry is quite—quite impressive.’

      Her friend looked at her in surprise. Felicity maintained her calm, aware that Sir James was also regarding her, but with approval, and she drew some comfort from this as she ran upstairs after dinner to change her gown. And what if Nathan should be there? Felicity knew this question would be on Lydia’s lips as soon as they were alone together. She had no answer, and could only pray that the earl was not a lover of poetry.

      

      Lady Somerton’s tall, narrow town house was crowded and noisy. Felicity followed Lydia as she swept up the stairs to the main reception rooms, ostrich feathers dancing, and was immediately surrounded by her friends and acquaintances. Felicity stayed very close. In her plain grey gown she elicited barely a glance from the gentlemen vying for the beautiful Lady Souden’s attention and no glance at all from the matrons who came up to claim acquaintance with one of the most fashionable personages of the ton.

      Lady Somerton laughingly chided Lydia for arriving so late and ushered them into a large salon where the poetry reading was about to begin. Felicity followed on, but such was the crush that she was unable to secure a seat beside her friend and was obliged to find a space for herself towards the back of the room. This suited her very well, for she was able to observe the crowds from the shadowy recesses.

      Any hopes that Nathan might not attend were soon dashed when she saw him stroll into the room. At first she thought it was her imagination that there was a change in the atmosphere as he entered, but there was a definite murmur of excitement rippling around the salon. A young lady to her right fluttered her fan and muttered, ‘Mama! The Earl of Rosthorne is come.’

      ‘Then stand up straight, Maria,’ retorted her turbaned parent. ‘You will not catch his attention if you slouch. Shoulders back, my love; he is surveying the company.’

      The young lady plied her fan even faster. ‘Oh, Mama, he looks so severe, I vow he frightens me!’

      ‘Nonsense, child, it is merely the effect of that dreadful scar. Smile now…Oh, how vexing, Lady Somerton is carrying him off. Never mind, Maria, while he is in the room there is still hope. Keep your head up. And do not squint, girl! You will need all your wits about you if you wish to become a countess.’

      A cold chill settled around Felicity’s heart. Was that the reason Nathan was in town, to find a wife? Why should he not? she asked herself miserably. She had done her best to disappear, doubtless he had forgotten her in the inevitable confusion of removing the army and its followers from Corunna.

      

      The evening dragged on. Felicity heard very little of the poetry—her attention was fixed on Nathan. At one point he looked around, as if conscious of her gaze, and she was obliged to draw back into the shadows. When there was a break in the recital Felicity noticed that he was immediately surrounded by ladies, all eager for his attention. The turbaned matron lost no time in joining the throng and was soon presenting him to her daughter. Felicity longed for it to be her hand he was carrying to his lips, her words that made him smile. She forced herself to look away. It would do her no good to dwell on what could never be.

      She spotted Lydia at the centre of a laughing, chattering group of ladies and seeing that she was as far from Nathan as the room would allow, Felicity made her way across to her. Lady Souden looked up as she approached, excused herself with her charming smile and stepped away from the group to take Felicity’s arm.

      ‘Well, my dear, what do you think to it?’ Lydia giggled. ‘I have rarely heard such execrable verse, I think.’

      ‘Was it so very bad? I was not really listening…’

      ‘Dreadful, my dear,’ Lydia murmured, smiling across the room at their hostess. ‘Rosthorne is here, have you seen him?’

      Felicity almost laughed at that. She had eyes for no one else!

      ‘Yes. By staying in the shadows he has not noticed me.’

      ‘But you are uneasy.’ Lydia patted her hands. ‘Shall we make our excuses and leave? If Lord Byron had been here I might have made a push to stay and be sociable but as it is, I think I would prefer to be at home with darling James.’

      Felicity nodded. She looked across the room at Nathan. She would have liked to stay and prolong the torture of watching him, but she knew that was senseless, so with a word of acquiescence she turned and followed Lydia out of the room.