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Chapter Three

November 3, 1812

Life was just as busy as it had been at the very beginning of the Season this year, and Edie was once again disappointed.

Well, it wasn’t as though she were the only one. Pushing through the crowds that teemed in St. James’s Court proved that. The whole of London, it appeared, had hastened to court the moment it was announced that the queen may appear at today’s gathering.

The Royal Family.

Edie had grown up reading about them. Ensconced—or rather, entombed—in the countryside her entire life, never permitted to travel to a town larger than Winchester, the idea of the Royal Family had kept her imagination alive.

Actually meeting them… that had been more than she could ever have hoped for.

Being named the flourishing rose at the beginning of her first ever Season in town… it had been a dream.

A dream that had turned swiftly, thanks to her father, into a nightmare.

“My word, what a crush!” said Mrs. Teagan. “I had no idea it was going to be so busy!”

Edie grinned affectionately at the woman her father had welcomed so recently into their lives. “A chaperone,” Lord Stewart had called her. A nanny, Edie considered her.

But there was nothing unpleasant about the widowed Mrs. Teagan, considering what sort of lady her father could have invited to take on the role of de facto mother. The woman was only about ten years older than her, light of foot when it came to dancing at home, and inclined to indulge Edie in most of her fancies.

Except, that was, her desire to avoid crowds.

“And yet it will all be worth it, naturally,” puffed Mrs. Teagan, pulling herself through a trio of gentlemen who were craning their necks to see where some of their friends had disappeared to. “When the royals appear!”

Edie had thought so too, when they had arrived at St. James’s Court over an hour ago. The imposing brick building had been nothing like what she had imagined when they had first visited at the beginning of this year’s Season, but the interior was far more splendid. Little expense had been spared with gold gilt everywhere, the royal insignia of generations adorning artwork, sculpture, furniture. The very carpet had the royal standard woven into the delicate design, and the mullioned windows held crests of the very best families.

But the splendor of the palace could not overcome her disappointment when it started to become clear that she had been mistaken about the attraction the appearance of the royals would provide.

Oh, she was certain the hundreds of people would look around if Prinny decided to show his face, but Edie had read in Whispers of the Ton that he was in Brighton at present.

And that would explain, perhaps, why every eye in the place appeared to be turning around and looking for a source of entertainment. And why so many of their stares were falling on… her.

Edie’s cheeks burned, but she couldn’t prevent them from looking.

Flourishing rose.

It had felt like an honor at the beginning. A joy, a triumph.

Until she had realized it only meant stares, and pointing, and treating her like a fool because she’d been given a label that was apparently declaring her beauty to the world, one that said nothing about her character.

“There she is—no, not that one—that one!”

“With the pearls? My goodness, she is pretty.”

“—never heard of the Stewarts before. Who’s her father? Is that her mother there?”

Edie froze. She had come here to be entertained, not become the entertainment. Could she convince her chaperone it was best they left? That if the Royal Family was not likely to make an appearance soon, they should instead—

“Everyone does seem to be interested in you, my dear,” the plump-faced Mrs. Teagan said, squeezing her hand.

She meant it, Edie knew, as a compliment. As a wonderful success. As an achievement, something her father would have been proud of.

And he was. Edie knew very well that Lord Stewart would have been delighted to hear the crowds at St. James’s Court were transfixed by her, rather than anyone of bluer blood.

But he’s not the one who has to stand here and take it , Edie could not help but think, her stomach lurching painfully. He was not the one everyone gawped at, and pointed at, and commented on. Comments on her figure, her clothes, her jewels.

Anything, in fact, but actually speaking to her.

“My word, it is hot,” said Mrs. Teagan, fanning her face, drawing attention to its rosy complexion, with her gloved hand. “How, this time of year?”

And Edie jumped on the excuse. “It must be the crowd. It is markedly hot, is it not?” she said brightly. “I believe there is a table over there serving lemonade. Please, Mrs. Teagan, stay here—do not exert yourself, please. Allow me.”

The older woman’s cheeks were pink, and there was a bead of sweat threatening to trickle down her left temple. “Well… well, if you do not mind—I will remain here, by the wall, and you—”

“I won’t be a moment,” Edie called over her shoulder, already striding toward the lemonade table.

She had chosen it purposefully. There were two other tables serving refreshments as far as she could see. One was offering sweetmeats, only likely to increase one’s thirst and overall discomfort. The other was serving rosewater, which Edie would have infinitely preferred—if it had not been for the fact that the table was right in the center of the room, where anyone and everyone could ogle her.

The table proffering lemonade, however, was tucked back away from the busyness of the place. It was almost ignored, the guests at court today obviously preferring to see and be seen.

And that was why when Edie reached the lemonade table, she was delighted to find the crowd thinned, the footman uninterested in her, and space behind the table to stand out of the way.

Edie forced air into her lungs, grateful for the moment to halt. It was most ungrateful of her, she knew. Her father had brought her to London to find a husband, and being named the flourishing rose of the Season had been a stroke of luck neither of them could have predicted.

Yet here she was, hiding from the world, hoping no one noticed her. As she had done for months—for far too long this year. God forbid anyone actually speak to—

“Do you hide here often?” came a teasing, low voice.

Edie turned around and saw… Frederick.

Frederick, whom she did not know. He could not have been “Mr. Frederick.” She had been bold enough to give him only her first name upon their introduction, and he seemed to have responded in kind. She had sought only to avoid any recognition from him at the time, if only for a short while. But he had proven more skilled at seeking the same from Edie. Despite her gentle and hopefully not suspicious questions put to Mrs. Teagan, the woman had been unable to help Edie discern who the man could be.

Frederick was a common enough name. She had no hints, no details with which to feed Mrs. Teagan to help her narrow down the many choices of Frederick in Society.

It was definitely the same man. The same tall languor, the same teasing smile, the same hazel-brown eyes as warm as sunshine and sweet as honey.

Edie swallowed. Not that she should have been thinking such things about a gentleman to whom she had still not yet been introduced. That was ridiculous.

Which did not explain why her stomach had lurched so delightfully when she had heard his voice. Why her pulse had skipped a beat when she had turned to see him, leaning against the wall there, as equally out of sight of the court as she wished to be. How delighted her soul was to have another opportunity to speak with him.

An opportunity that, this time, would not be interrupted by a well-meaning Lord Stewart…

“I-I have never hidden here before, no,” Edie said, her voice trembling. She sipped her tepid lemonade to strengthen herself. “Have you?”

“Frequently,” said Frederick with a grin. “One has to be seen at such things, but I’m not always… welcome, I suppose you would say.”

There it was again—that hint of mischief, of danger, of scandal. Edie stepped forward, only two or three feet from the gentleman who proved to be such a mystery.

He had dropped hints when she had first spoken to him at Lady Romeril’s ball.

“It’s not a secret, as such. It’s… It’s just that—”

Yet there did not appear to be anything uncouth about him. Frederick was dressed well, his silk-green cravat matching his waistcoat. His hair was wild, to be sure, but Edie was not certain about the fashions of gentlemen in London. They were all so… so different from those in Woodhurst.

“So,” said Frederick, glancing about with a grin. “Are you allowed to talk to me today?”

Edie could not stop the heat from blossoming across her cheeks and she did not wish to. Her father had always told her that she was most becoming when pink.

Not that I want Frederick to admire me , she thought hastily. Not at all. It was only… Well. He may as well admire her, if he was going to see her. And he was a handsome man. There was a seriousness underneath the teasing that spoke of a trustworthy character.

“‘Allowed to talk to you’?” Edie replied, as lightly as she could manage while simultaneously thanking her stars it was Mrs. Teagan, and not Lord Stewart, accompanying her today. “I suppose not.”

Her father had made himself perfectly clear, as the two of them had waited in the alcove at Lady Romeril’s ball.

“I never want to see you with that man again,” Lord Stewart had muttered in a low hiss. “To think, you’d found yourself—but you didn’t know who he is.”

“I still don’t know who he is,” Edie had been unable to prevent herself from saying. “Who is he, Father?”

“Never you mind,” her father had said grimly.

His response had only piqued her interest and made it more difficult to forget the charming gentleman who had so swiftly vanished from her sight. When Edie had returned to the ball, hopeful to catch a glimpse of the mysterious Frederick and be formally introduced, he had been nowhere to be found.

Gone. Just like that.

“You suppose not?” A low voice brought Edie back to the present. Frederick’s eyes were glittering. “Well, all the more reason to speak to me, I would say.”

Edie laughed, despite herself, despite knowing this was precisely the sort of man her father had warned her about.

Rakehells. Rogues. Blaggards. Seducers. Philanderers.

When Lord Stewart had given her the list in the carriage ride from Woodhurst to London, Edie had memorized it. After all, what would she want to do with a man like that? An association with such a creature would be abhorrent!

Or at least, so she had thought.

Now she was taking another step closer to the painfully magnetic Frederick, starting to realize just how ladies lost their reputation in a place like London. Why, this man could suggest they slip out of St. James’s Court and find somewhere quieter to talk, and she…

Edie swallowed. She would go with him.

His charm and good looks did not hurt, but there was something more. Something she could not explain, not even to herself.

Perhaps it was the fact that he was so evidently forbidden. The sweetest treats were those stolen from behind the backs of others and enjoyed completely alone.

Edie cleared her throat. Not that she was about to do such a thing.

“Do you read the scandal sheets, Edie ?”

I am not delighted he had remembered my name , she told herself firmly as an unbidden smile crept across her lips. Not delighted at all.

Still, she could not prevent her eagerness from containing some of that delight. “I admit I do like them. In fact, I think it probably fair to say that I love them.”

Frederick nodded. “I prefer newspapers myself, but having perused them both this morning, they concurred. The flourishing rose is here.”

Edie’s gasp caught in her lungs.

Did… Did he not… Was it possible he did not know?

“I thought I’d come here and take a look,” Frederick was saying, completely unaware of the thoughts rapidly firing through her mind. “Though the place is packed and that makes it difficult to see anyone properly.”

Edie glanced distractedly to her right. It was becoming a crush rather than a gathering, he was right. She could just about see Mrs. Teagan, almost pinned to the wall on the opposite side of the room.

She should be concerned, she knew. She should be conscious she was alone, unchaperoned for all intents and purposes, and with a gentleman whom her father…

But all she felt was exhilaration. Mrs. Teagan would not be able to interrupt them, not for a good few minutes.

“Though in truth,” Frederick said in a low voice, almost a caress. Edie turned to him, unable to stop herself, flushing at the intensity of his look. “In truth, I cannot believe there could be a woman here more beautiful than you.”

And she was flattered. Edie could not help but be flattered, of course. Who did not want a handsome gentleman declaring that you were the most beautiful woman to be found?

And yet…

Edie pushed aside the rebellious thought that she knew was most unbecoming of a lady. She had to be grateful. She had to be flattered. To be anything else was… was unruly. Ungracious.

Not becoming of a flourishing rose at all.

“You have a very discerning eye, Frederick,” Edie said aloud. Was that a spark of delight in his eyes, that she had recalled his name? “Are you a florist?”

The man blinked. “Am I a—my lady, I am a gentleman.”

Oh, bother . She had offended him with her quip.

Blushing furiously at the mistake her attempt at flirtation had caused, Edie said hurriedly, “No, I know that—it was a jest. A bad one. I only meant—well. I am the flourishing rose.”

It felt so ridiculous saying it like that. Her father gained great enjoyment declaring such a thing, but it was not something to which Edie had grown accustomed yet.

She was not certain she ever would.

The noise in the place was growing swiftly, so Frederick could speak naturally. That did not prevent him, however, from leaning forward. Closer. He was now merely inches away.

“You are Miss Edith Stewart?” he asked.

She nodded. It did not feel fair he knew her full name and she still did not know his.

“And what does that mean, Ed—Miss Stewart? What does being the flourishing rose mean?”

Edie swallowed the answer she wished to give. It meant a loss of control and a need to always look perfect. It meant everyone saw her and painted what they wanted to see upon her, then acted surprised when she had her own ideas, her own tongue. It meant her father had this ridiculous idea of her marrying a duke. A duke!

She looked into the open expression, the curious gaze, and realized the man was actually waiting for a reply.

A man, waiting to hear what she had to say?

Edie had never known the like. But then, she had never encountered a gentleman quite like Frederick… Frederick who?

Why was she so hesitant to end the mystery and come right out and ask?

“I suppose it means I am the most eligible woman in the ton ,” Edie heard herself say.

Frederick jerked his head at the crowd of people on the other side of the lemonade table. “More than all of them?”

It was the perfect opportunity, and Edie knew her father would never forgive her if she did not take it. Even if it was talking to a man her father clearly did not like. What reason he could have for disliking a man she was sure neither of them had ever met, she did not know.

And so despite her instincts, despite her wishes, Edie performed as she knew the flourishing rose should have. “Oh, yes,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes. “I am more eligible than any other woman you meet, Mr. Frederick.”

It would have worked on any other gentleman. Edie had seen the way they had looked at her. Possessive, as if she truly had turned into the rare flower her title purported her to be.

But Frederick was different. He took a step back, a furrow creasing his forehead. “I see.”

Edie did not understand. All gentlemen who saw her desired her. She had not been mistaken in the hungry look Frederick had given her at Lady Romeril’s ball. If they had not been interrupted…

Her imagination had given her plenty of different options in the succeeding two days, most of them ending in Frederick giving her such a kiss that her toes curled just picturing it.

Yet for some reason, he was now examining her… almost coolly.

“Truth be told, it’s a tad irritating,” Edie said in a rush, unable to hide the truth any longer. “I wouldn’t say I’m half as charming as Miss Eaton, or as intriguing as the widow Lady Dalmerlington. Yet here I am. With a title I did not earn, or even seek to receive.”

Something flickered across Frederick’s face. Not darkness, exactly. It wasn’t a shadow. If anything, it was the opposite of a shadow. It was a skimming light that shone in the man’s eyes, as though he had seen something that sparkled just behind her. His expression changed so utterly that Edie gasped.

It had been—well, something she had never seen before.

Frederick smiled. “I admire your honesty.”

“It is a quality I typically attempt to hide,” Edie admitted.

Why she had done so, she was not sure. It was not good manners to admit to one’s faults in public, particularly not when at St. James’s Court and attempting, in her father’s words, to “hook a husband.”

But this man drew the truth from her in a way Edie could not explain. It was not just his good looks. There were plenty of good-looking men in Society, though she couldn’t think of any in this moment.

It was more than that. There was a softness, a gentleness she had never encountered in another. This was a man, she felt, with whom she could be completely herself.

Utterly open.

Vulnerable.

“I understand what you mean about titles unearned,” he said quietly. “It is a strange sort of burden, being asked to live up to a title you would not have necessarily chosen for yourself.”

Edie stared. “You… You understand me perfectly.”

It was the wrong thing to say, but it was how she felt. Never before had she been able to articulate just why being declared this Season’s flourishing rose had felt so… so utterly wrong.

But he understood. Living up to a title you would not have necessarily chosen for yourself—that was precisely what it was.

Edie tried not to lean closer to the man, but it was difficult. There was a warmth radiating from him and she wanted to be washed in its waves. To be close to him. To know what it was to—

“As you are the flourishing rose, however,” Frederick continued, “I don’t think you would wish to be talking to me, then.”

There it was again—that hint of a scandal in his past her father had been unable, or unwilling, to explain.

Edie found herself within mere inches of the man’s face. She stepped backward hurriedly. She could not permit herself to give into that particular desire. The very idea!

“You know, my father clearly knows who you are,” she said quietly. “He has evidently formed his opinion of you.”

Frederick’s jaw inexplicably tightened. “He thinks he knows me.”

Now that did that mean? “But I do not even know your surname,” Edie persisted, knowing just by thinking of him by his first name, she was going far beyond the bounds of polite society, but she ignored the tug in her stomach signaling she had gone too far. “Or anything about you. My father—he wouldn’t explain why I shouldn’t be speaking to you.”

His smile was brittle, somehow. All the cordiality had gone from it. “A lady should not be speaking to a gentleman unchaperoned.”

“Like I am now?” Edie shot back.

Some tenderness seeped into Frederick’s expression. “Just so.”

“So tell me, Mr. Frederick. Why should I not be speaking to you?”

It was the question she wished more than anything to be answered.

Here they were, amidst the very core of the ton . The rules, regulations, and restrictions of what a lady could and could not do were determined here, by the Royal Family. It trickled down with painful speed, fashions changing so rapidly that Edie had already been forced to visit the modiste twice since her entrance into Society.

And here she was, standing beside a man to whom she had still not been introduced, talking as though…

As though there was something between them.

Frederick was grinning softly, his head tilted to one side. “If I tell you, then you’ll feel sorry for me.”

The idea of feeling sorry for such a powerfully built, enigmatic, attractive man was entirely alien to Edie. The very idea!

“I’m willing to take that risk,” Edie said.

Then she did something utterly outrageous. She reached out and took the man’s hand in hers.

“I’m willing to take a few risks,” she said, heart in her mouth, gaze locked on the honey-brown eyes of Frederick. “Just tell me. I want to know—I need to know. Who are you, and why—”

“There you are! My goodness, the crush!” said Mrs. Teagan just behind her.

Edie and Frederick sprang apart. She had released his hand the moment she had heard the first syllable behind her, her chaperone’s voice almost as familiar to her now as that of her father.

Heat burned through her. To think, she had almost been caught by—

“I think we should leave, Miss Stewart,” Mrs. Teagan said decidedly, somehow ignoring Frederick’s presence. “It’s altogether too much here. Your father would never forgive me if you were injured. Come on.”

There was no point in arguing with her. Edie had never been able to out-argue Mrs. Teagan.

Letting herself be pulled away, Edie glanced over her shoulder for one last look at the man who was starting to distract her far too much.

Her stomach jolted most pleasantly. He was looking at her, watching her leave—and with a possessive need that shot right to her core.

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