Chapter Thirteen

"I do not like the idea of us giving a ball," Blessing said to her six sisters as they idly strolled along Wigmore Street near Cavendish Square in the heart of Mayfair. Good heavens, with all of them walking together, they looked like a skirted battalion marching off to war.

"It is nearly the end of the Season," Serendipity said. "Chance knows as soon as Parliament recesses everyone will leave for the country to escape the stench of London in the heat of summer."

"It is still too soon." Blessing allowed herself a heavy sigh even though the lovely day was so warm and bright that they all sought the shade of their parasols. "Papa not even gone a year and Mama just six months before him. It just feels wrong."

"Life goes on, Essie," Serendipity gently reminded her. "Mama and Papa would not wish us to mourn them forever."

"And Chance is less than thrilled that you are the only one among us remotely considering the altar," Fortuity said, then whirled about and glared behind her. "Gracie! If you would stop treading on my heels and place a bit of space between us, our parasols would stop tangling. You are ruining their lace edging."

"You are the one who said we all had to come," Grace snapped. "I had better things to do but was informed I had no choice in the matter. Remind me again why each of us had to choose new fabrics for yet another ball gown?" She jerked her parasol shut and swung it at her side like a weapon. "The vastness of our wardrobes is already ridiculous. How can we possibly need more frippery?"

Serendipity glanced back, then abruptly turned and stamped her foot to bring the entire Broadmere herd to a halt. "Open that parasol this very minute, young lady. Do you wish to ruin your complexion? And we are getting new ball gowns because the others have already been seen in the short time since our return to Society. Chance wants us to stun everyone at our own ball."

"You recall how the butcher hangs his prize fowls in the front window to entice customers?" Blessing couldn't resist a wicked grin as she nodded at her sisters. "Chance has seven plump little geese to be rid of. He's ensuring we look our best when he hangs us in the window."

"Six little geese." Fortuity wagged a finger at her. "I know one plump little goose that will soon be fitted for her wedding gown."

A shiver ran through Blessing. An excited, tingly feeling that both thrilled and terrified her. "We are not engaged yet. Only officially courting. Remember? I need to be certain he can leave his old ways behind."

At least five of her sisters rolled their eyes, and it was quite impressive how they executed the gesture as one.

"Have you even kissed the man yet?" Grace huffed a wayward curl out of her face, then tucked it back up into her bonnet. "You should, you know. What if he is horrid at it? You need to discover if he is bearable before you allow your situation to progress."

"As a girl of naught but ten and nine," Serendipity told Grace, "you speak with a remarkable amount of certainty. Is it truly the horses and the hounds that draw you to the stables, or something else?"

"Must we have this conversation in the middle of the street?" Blessing silently lauded herself for being the voice of reason for a change rather than the antagonist. She switched her parasol to the other shoulder and took off at a determined pace. "I am in the mood for a visit to Gunter's Tea Shop. Last one to Berkley Square must treat us all to an ice of our choosing."

Fortuity fell in step beside her. The others hurried to catch up, leaving Serendipity hissing in their wake. "Sisters! It is most unseemly to be seen racing to see who gets the first treat. We are no longer children!"

"We are not racing, per se," Blessing called back to her. She flashed a smile at a trio of older ladies who obviously thought otherwise, if their shocked expressions were any indication. Humoring Serendipity, she slowed her pace. "I shall treat everyone to an ice. Come on, Seri. Don't be fractious."

"You never answered my question," Grace called out, her tone teasing. "Have you kissed the man yet?"

"Gracie!" Serendipity scolded. "Mind your voice—it carries much farther than you realize."

"I will tell you when we get to Gunter's, have our treats in hand, and find a lovely place to enjoy them on the square." Blessing flashed a wink at her younger sister, assuming the rare role of peacemaker. "Seri is right. Some things must not be shouted on the streets."

"Thank you, Essie." Serendipity glowered at her sisters, shooing them along like a mother hen herding her wayward chicks. "We do not wish another mention of our family in the tittle-tattle sheets."

Fortuity caught hold of Blessing's arm and tugged her to a full stop, making the rest of the sisters almost collide with them. "Is that not your Lord Knightwood?" She turned so her parasol shielded their faces. "To the right of Gunter's. On the bench. With a lady."

"With a lady?" Blessing barely shifted her parasol and peeked past its lacy edge. There he was, just as Fortuity had said, laughing and chatting with a young woman whose exquisite ensemble clearly labeled her as a lady of taste and breeding, a member of the aristocracy—a peer. Blessing swallowed hard, her stomach knotting so tightly it was hard to breathe. "Who is she?"

After shuffling the entirety of the Broadmere herd to a more concealed area behind an arrangement of potted trees, tables, and a waiting carriage with a team of four, Fortuity waved Serendipity forward. "Over there, Seri. Who is she?"

Serendipity squinted, then crept as close as she dared before darting back to their hiding place. "I have no idea."

"Let me go and find out," Merry volunteered, anger flashing in her eyes. "No one makes a fool of our Essie!"

"No." Sick with jealousy over how happy the pair on the bench looked, Blessing just wanted to go home and hide in her observatory but was too infuriated to do so. "We are all going to Gunter's for our treats just as we planned. I refuse to cower and pretend I have seen nothing while my sisters behave like spies for the Crown."

"Essie." Serendipity rested a hand on her arm. "We are with you on whatever you decide, but are you quite certain?"

"I am." Blessing turned, resettled her parasol on her shoulder, and strode forward as if she owned Berkley Square, keeping her gaze locked on Thorne and his lovely, dark-haired lady. She willed him to tear his gaze away from the beauty long enough to notice her, and when he did, she forced a lighthearted laugh as if she had nary a care in the world.

Thorne abruptly took to his feet, shot a nervous glance back at his companion, then resettled his stance as if preparing for battle.

And battle they would. His actions as much as shouted his guilt. Blessing set her jaw and gave him a polite nod. "Enjoying your day, Lord Knightwood?"

"Blessing—" He stopped himself, cleared his throat, and reached for her, his eyes imploring her to take his hand.

She ignored it and gripped the handle of her parasol tighter.

"Allow me to introduce you," he forced through clenched teeth. With a resigned tip of his head, he let his hand drop to his side. "Lady Blessing Abarough, this is Miss Eleanor Sykesbury. Cousin to my closest friend, Viscount Ravenglass."

Miss Sykesbury set aside her dish of molded ices and rose with such grace that Blessing wanted to spit. "A pleasure to meet you, Lady Blessing." She smiled and offered a perfect curtsy. "Do join us." She leaned a bit to one side. "With such a resemblance among you all, you surely must be family. Sisters?"

"Yes. My sisters." Before Blessing could name them, the bell on the door of Gunter's jangled.

"Ravenglass!" Thorne called out, his voice steady but strained. "I had begun to fear that you and Mrs. Sykesbury had deserted us and escaped through Gunter's kitchens."

"Mama, come meet Lord Knightwood's acquaintances." Miss Sykesbury brought the older yet still quite beautiful woman closer. "Lady Blessing, this is my mother, Mrs. Agnus Sykesbury."

Blessing tried not to frown but couldn't help herself. Mrs. Sykesbury wore the solemn garb of deep mourning, and yet here they were, at Gunter's, enjoying sweets. And Miss Sykesbury's attire hinted at no such loss. It made no sense.

She offered the widow a curtsy and said, "A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Sykesbury, and may I offer my condolences?"

The sad shadows filling Widow Sykesbury's kind eyes tempered the jealousy simmering in Blessing's core. "Thank you, my lady." The woman turned and started to rest a hand on Viscount Ravenglass's arm, but then stopped as though suddenly deciding it wouldn't be proper. She turned back to Blessing and bowed her head. "Pray, do not think ill of my daughter. It has been well over two years since my husband's passing, but I still cannot bring myself to dress with the colors of happiness or gaiety."

"We are in London now, cousin," the viscount told her with a gentle smile. "It is my hope that will help you move past your sorrow." He turned his attention to Blessing and offered her a proper bow. "Viscount Matthew Ravenglass at your service, my lady." He angled a sardonic brow at Thorne as though scolding him for bumbling the introductions. "My cousins here have just arrived from India and will be residing in London now—at my home. I am thankful for their company. The townhouse always seemed quite empty at times."

"How very nice." Blessing directed her response more to the viscount and the widow rather than Miss Sykesbury, then immediately felt guilty about doing so. She should not be so petty. After all, the girl had lost her father. They shared that terrible misfortune. "My brother has decided to hold a ball to celebrate our return to Society. I shall see that an invitation is sent to your home. I do hope all of you will consider joining us for an evening of festivities." She continued ignoring Thorne, still annoyed at finding him sharing quite the cozy treat with the beautiful Miss Sykesbury and then obviously feeling guilt about it when he was caught doing so.

Thorne took a step closer, his jaw set at a hard, determined angle. "Pray, forgive my ineptitude at the introductions. But I quite lose my head when in the presence of my precious Lady Blessing. She and I are officially courting." He kept his gaze locked with hers as though daring her to deny it.

"Officially courting," Miss Sykesbury repeated, then pressed her gloved fingers to her mouth as though attempting to hide a snicker. She softly cleared her throat, dropped her hand, and smiled. "How lovely." She gave Blessing a tip of her head, which came across as a bit insulting. "Congratulations on courting , my lady."

"Thank you," Blessing said, barely resisting the urge to growl at the chit's faintly mocking tone. She turned to her sisters and urged them toward the shop. "Since there are so many of us, perhaps you should all go ahead and order your treats. After all, we wouldn't wish to overwhelm Mr. Gunter." As they reluctantly filed past her and went inside, she handed her reticule to Serendipity. "I mean to keep my word even though my taste for an ice has left me. Do not place an order for me."

Serendipity scowled at Thorne, then gave Blessing a gracious nod. "Thank you, Essie, and I am sure the girls will thank you as well."

With a tight-lipped glare, Thorne watched the ladies disappear into the shop. "It would be my honor to take care of their treats," he informed Blessing in a wounded tone, then charged inside before she could stop him.

Ravenglass and Widow Sykesbury looked away and shifted uncomfortably, but Miss Sykesbury made no effort to hide her amusement.

I do not like her, Blessing decided with no further qualms about the woman's loss of a parent. Miss Eleanor Sykesbury warranted watching—not only because of her obvious interest in Thorne but for whatever other mischief she might decide to stir that might affect Blessing's sisters. After all, the last thing the ton needed right now was yet another beauty willing to snare a husband and using any method necessary to successfully leg-shackle him.

*

"For someone who complained as loudly as Gracie about not needing a new ball gown, you look stunning in Madame Couire's latest creation for you."

Blessing fluttered her hands through the delicate layer of gossamer that gleamed with iridescent beading and silvery threads. The pristine white silk beneath the filmy material reflected the light with an even richer shimmer. It was almost as though she was lit from within. She arched a brow at Serendipity's reflection in the mirror. "Do not be waspish. It does not suit you." She turned and faced her. "You are just as stunning, if not more so, in that golden confection. You could be queen of the fae or a goddess descended from Mount Olympus."

Serendipity eyed her, her brow puckered in a worried frown. "Have you spoken to him since Gunter's? Cleared the air between you?"

"I have not."

"Then have you decided to withdraw from your official courting ?"

"I have not done that either—yet." Blessing turned away, wishing her middle would cease its churning. Her insides had been a storm of emotions for the past two weeks. Why in heaven's name could she not decide what to do? Ever since she had seen Thorne laughing with the lovely Miss Sykesbury, she had lost all faith in his word—a faith that she could not possibly be without when it came to marrying. She would rather spend the rest of her life alone than marry an unfaithful man.

"Did you read any of the letters he sent?" Serendipity picked up a white fan off the dressing table. It was shot through with silver and bits of feathers. "Walters informed me you received two a day for the past fortnight."

"I burned them—and you need to cease spying on me." Blessing attempted to calm herself with a deep breath as she pulled on the white, elbow-length gloves that perfectly set off the puffiness of her short, lacy sleeves that gave the impression of bare shoulders but kept them modestly covered. "Viscount Ravenglass and the Sykesburys confirmed their attendance this evening. We shall see what comes of that if Thorne chooses to come as well."

"He and his mother confirmed," Serendipity said as she set the fan back down on the table. "He was not there alone with Miss Sykesbury, Essie." She shook her head, then stared upward as though seeking divine guidance. "I cannot believe I am defending the man, but he is quite besotted with you and determined to make a good husband. Inside Gunter's, he begged me to intercede on his behalf and swore that the entire situation was an innocent misunderstanding."

"Then why did he twitch with such nervousness and guilt as soon as he set eyes on me?" Blessing fiddled with the delicate necklace of pearls at her throat that had been one of Mama's favorites. It perfectly matched the intricate band of pearls and silver woven through her upswept curls, then wound atop them like a fragile crown. "You saw how he jumped up and kept glancing back at Miss Sykesbury. The man was as shamefaced as one of Gracie's hounds caught piddling in the parlor."

Her sister made a moue of frustration. "From all I have been able to discover, the viscount is Lord Knightwood's oldest and dearest friend. The Sykesburys are Ravenglass's desperate cousins from his mother's side who have taken refuge with him after losing everything to the late Mr. Sykesbury's relatives in India." Serendipity shrugged. "They had no money and nowhere else to go. I can only assume the viscount wished to make them feel truly welcome, so he took them on an outing, and Knightwood came along."

"Assumptions are for fools," Blessing said, then pressed a hand to her middle and willed the weak tea she'd forced down earlier to stay put. "If Thorne truly was concerned about our situation, he would have shown up here to explain himself rather than send notes."

And that was what bothered Blessing most. Thorne had not tried to smooth things over at Gunter's, nor had he followed her home to attempt to have a word in private. No. He had done nothing, simply stood there and stared at her until she and her sisters left. Then he started sending notes. So many notes over the past fortnight.

She didn't need notes. A written lie was too easily crafted and passed off as the truth because she couldn't look him in the eye and see what his heart and soul told her. So she had burned every last one of them without reading them. She swallowed hard and blinked back the tears she refused to cry. "When do we make our grand entrance that Chance insisted on?"

"As soon as the clock strikes nine, he wants us to descend the stairs—in birth order, of course." Serendipity shifted with a resigned sigh. "The proverbial geese taking their place in the butcher's window." She moved closer and adjusted Blessing's curls that were allowed to drape down from the upswept bundle and teasingly rest beside her throat. "I just want us all happy, Essie. It seems ages since we were all happy."

"We will be, Seri," Blessing promised her, even though she didn't believe it herself. She had never handled change well, and now, just as she had believed herself ready to risk her heart, she'd been rudely made aware that perhaps Thorne's past could not be so easily forgotten after all.

She swallowed hard, her throat aching with the need to weep. Time to turn her mind to something else before she dissolved into a puddle of frustrated tears and made her face all red and blotchy. "Are the other girls ready?"

Serendipity laughed. "Somewhat. Tutie is excited to observe and take notes. Gracie has her hounds settled in her room with scraps from the kitchen. Joy has ensured the tables are set and ready for cards. Felicity is excited about the menu that Cook helped her plan, and Merry is as happy as Merry always is unless someone she loves is upset—because she is concerned about you."

Blessing lifted her chin, determined to make the best of things no matter how the evening turned out. "I am fine—and will remain fine, because no matter what, I have the love of my family."

"Yes." The tension appeared to melt from Serendipity. "We always have the love of our family—even Chance, when he is not being such a brother. "

"Indeed." Blessing grinned. She and Serendipity had long ago decided that the word brother should be considered an insult rather than a mere description of a male sibling.

The white clock with gold edging on the sitting room mantel chimed the nine o'clock hour.

"Lead the way, sister," Blessing told Serendipity, then sent up a silent prayer that the evening would go well, and that her poor heart could find the strength to survive it.

*

As Blessing gracefully descended the curved staircase into the ballroom, Thorne lost the ability to breathe. He stood there staring, every sense focused on her. The way her hand lightly trailed along the banister. Her subtle smile—shy, yet somehow still confident. Those eyes of hers, sparkling and bright like the finest of gemstones.

She was an exquisite vision. A goddess. A priceless treasure he could not bear to lose.

Ravenglass nudged him and whispered, "Close your mouth."

Thorne snapped his mouth shut, swallowed hard, and fought the urge to rush to her and drop to his knees. She had answered none of his letters that had started out as explanations, then gradually turned into entreaties for forgiveness. He had a fair idea that they had all been tossed into the fire unopened. Mother had told him to call on Blessing in person, but he had truly felt she needed distance from him, that she needed time to calm herself and realize what she had seen was not what she feared. But in all truth, that had only been cowardice on his part, dread that she would send him away—permanently—over something that had not happened as she perceived it, because she had looked at it through the dark lens of his history. Her eyes had shouted the betrayal she felt that day, and he understood why. With his reputation, why wouldn't she think the worst and leap to the wrong conclusion when presented with such a scene?

Something bumped into his other side, knocking him out of his tortured musings. He looked to his left.

Mother glared up at him. "Go to her. Or do you intend to let that delightful young woman end up in the arms of a lesser man?"

The words inflamed him. "Blessing is mine." He pushed through the crowd, shoving aside any who dared stand between him and his treasure. When he reached her, he bowed, then caught her up and swept her out onto the floor without even asking her consent to the first waltz of the evening.

"I am dying without you," he whispered against her ear, not giving a damn that everyone stared at how close he held her.

"My lord—" She pushed against him, but he only tightened his arm around her and kept her close as they whirled across the floor. "You are causing a scene," she said, hissing like an infuriated kitten.

Unwilling to anger her any more than he already had, he relented and placed a more respectable distance between them. "I am dying without you," he repeated, locking his gaze with hers. Her eyes were as stormy as an untamable sea. "What you thought you saw the other day was a cruel illusion created by my reputation."

"It was not an illusion, my lord," she said coldly, shifting her glare to some vague point off in the distance. "You were quite enjoying your visit with Miss Sykesbury. I heard your laughter."

"Blessing—please." He gently squeezed her hand, willing her to feel how much he needed her. "I was not unfaithful to you. Nor would I ever be. I know that now."

She didn't answer, just held herself stiffly in his arms as they moved across the dance floor.

He couldn't bear her silence, nor the cruelty of her aloofness. His past would rule them no longer. He refused to allow it. Since she needed proof that he meant what he said, he would give it to her. "We are no longer officially courting , my love. We are engaged and will marry with the greatest of haste. Special license. Gretna Green. I care not. As long as you are my wife before this week is out."

"I cannot marry a man I do not trust." The quiver of her lips as she spoke, the unshed tears welling in her eyes, the way she trembled in his arms—everything knifed through him and twisted, rebuking him for hurting her. "I thought I could ignore your past." She clamped her mouth tightly shut and jerked with a rapid shake of her head. "I was wrong. I cannot put it out of my mind." She wrenched herself free and fled the room.

He stared after her, unable to bear the reality of what she had just told him. "I do not accept your refusal," he bellowed, triggering a wave of shocked gasps through the crowded room.

Broadmere charged toward him with a pair of footmen flanking him. "Escort Lord Knightwood out," he ordered his men.

"This way, my lord," one of them said as he hooked an arm through Thorne's. The second man grabbed his other arm in the same manner and started pulling.

"I must speak with her." Thorne yanked free, then halted as he saw his mother turn away and melt into the shadows with her head bowed. Damn everything to hell and back. He had shamed her as well.

Ravenglass rushed over, shoved one of the footmen aside, then took hold of Thorne's arm. "Lord Knightwood and I shall step outside peaceably. Such mauling is quite unnecessary."

"Let them go," Broadmere said to his men, but remained watchful.

The servants hovered close, following them out of the room and down the hall.

As soon as the front door closed behind them, Ravenglass caught hold of Thorne by the lapels of his coat and shook him. "What the devil is wrong with you, causing such a scene? Neither the duke nor the lady will allow you across that threshold ever again. Are you mad?"

"She refused to marry me." Nothing mattered other than that. Thorne raked a hand through his hair. "She said she could not marry a man she could not trust." He stared at the Broadmere front door, then tore his gaze away and fixed it on his friend. "My past." He slowly shook his head. "She cannot forget or set aside my past."

The viscount stepped back, his grim look extinguishing any remaining flicker of hope Thorne possessed. "There is naught to be done, then, but collect your mother and leave. I shall fetch her along with my cousins."

As he started for the door, Thorne stopped him. "No! I will not relinquish her. Blessing is mine."

Ravenglass slowly shook his head. "She is not yours, old friend, because you cannot erase that which you have already done. And forgive me for saying so, but perhaps the lady is right. If she cannot forget your reputation, how could the two of you ever be happy? Even I noticed how overset she became when she discovered you and my cousin outside of Gunter's." His expression soured even more. "That said, I will admit that Eleanor did not help matters. That minx would trap you in a marriage of convenience at the drop of a hat. But rest assured, her mother and I spoke to her at great length about her behavior. She may have been subtle that day, but her wicked game did not go unnoticed."

"I will not relinquish Blessing." Thorne stormed up and down the walkway in front of the townhouse. "I will find a way to convince her that we can overcome my past. I will spend every day of the rest of my life proving my faithfulness to her."

"And just how do you intend to do that?"

Thorne stared at the Broadmere house yet again, squinting up at the second-floor windows, praying that Blessing would appear in one of them. "I do not know how I will do it, but I will do it." He thumped his fist to his chest. "She possesses my heart. I belong to her. She and I belong together."

"Give me your word that you will wait here while I go back inside and fetch the ladies."

Thorne turned away and bowed his head, his heart crumbling with a pain that threatened to suffocate him. "I will not follow. To do so would only cause my precious Blessing more pain." He lifted his head and fixed a hard glare back on the house. "But this is not the end. I refuse to give her up without a fight."