Chapter 18

The morning sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow across Elizabeth's room as she woke. Her eyes darted around, half-expecting to see James still there, half-believing the previous night had been a dream woven by her own longing. But the indentation on the pillow next to hers was unmistakably real, tangible proof of his presence. She let herself fall back onto the bed with a thump, a silly grin spreading across her face as she stared up at the ceiling. The memory of James holding her until she drifted off was vivid and comforting.

She remembered waking briefly in the middle of the night, and there he was—still by her side.

"You are still here," she had gasped.

"I could not leave; you fell asleep with my body as your pillow. How could I wake you?" James had replied, his voice low and tender.

In response, she had kissed him, and he had groaned, a sound mingled with longing and restraint. "I did not come here to ravish you. I just needed to hold you."

"I know," she had whispered back, a thrill bursting inside her heart. She had pressed her lips to his again, losing herself in the moment before curling back into the crook of his arm and falling into a deep sleep.

Now, as Elizabeth rolled over, her hand brushed against something under her pillow. Curious, she reached under and pulled out a piece of paper. Unfolding it, she read.

You are an atrocious sleeper. I will forever remember nodding off and waking with your finger in my nose. I will be leaving town for a few days to visit my sister and nieces in Hertfordshire. I do hope to see you at the ball upon my return.

"I did not," she gasped, the humor of the situation washing over her as she laughed aloud. "What ball?"

Her thoughts already flitting to the next time she would see him, Elizabeth rang for the lady's maid she shared with her mother. After a soothing bath, she dressed in a lovely dark yellow day gown, arranging her hair in a simple, elegant chignon. She decided to write another letter to Cassie and her father, perhaps even planning a visit to the Royal Museum with Brandon.

With a sense of contentment and anticipation, she descended the stairs to the breakfast room. She enjoyed a simple meal of toast with strawberry preserves and thin slices of ham. Afterward, she joined her mother and aunt in the drawing room, ready to share the morning and discuss the plans for the day.

"Bette," her mother said with a warm smile. "How are you feeling?"

"I am quite well, Mama. My shoulder no longer hurts. The liniment Dr. Parchman gave worked rather well," she said, sitting on the smaller sofa opposite her mother and aunt.

"You can help me sort out these invitations," Aunt Sally invited. "I am astonished at the amount we have received in recent weeks."

Elizabeth reached for a few envelopes, looking through them to see if any letter was from New York.

"Gracious," Aunt Sally cried, excitement gleaming in her eyes. "We have received an invitation from the Duchess of Basil!"

Elizabeth's heart lurched. Is this the ball James mentioned?

Her aunt wilted against the cushions. "I am completely overwhelmed."

"Is this not a good thing? Why are you overwhelmed?" her mother asked, setting aside the delicate embroidery she was stitching.

"I have never been lucky enough to be invited to one of the duchess's yearly midnight balls. Only the top echelon of the ton is usually favored." Her aunt continued to fan herself slowly, clearly trying to recover from her initial shock. "I just cannot believe our good fortune. The Duchess of Basil's invitations are like golden tickets, and here we are, suddenly among the chosen."

Her mother looked on with delight, clearly pleased with the unexpected social elevation. "It's all thanks to you, Bette."

"Mama, please, it's just an invitation. The duke is simply being courteous," Elizabeth tried to temper her mother's excitement with reality, though her own heart fluttered.

Her mother and aunt exchanged a look that Elizabeth had come to recognize—one full of plans and hopes, the kind that usually led to incessant talks of potential suitors and matrimonial strategies. She internally groaned at the prospect of enduring another round of their matchmaking efforts. Just then, her eyes caught sight of a letter bearing her father's familiar handwriting. A surge of excitement replaced her frustration. "It's a letter from Papa!"

"I see you are eager to read it," her mother said, her voice warm with understanding. "Go ahead to your room or the smaller parlor. Your aunt and I need to discuss something important."

Elizabeth quickly agreed. "I shall return in a few minutes."

She gingerly picked up the letter, her heart quivering with anticipation. She swiftly left the drawing room, her thoughts already racing with the possibilities of the news her father might have sent. Upon reaching the solace of her own room, she could hardly wait to sit before breaking the seal of the letter. Elizabeth unfolded the paper eagerly, her eyes darting across the lines, searching for news of her family's well-being, her father's business, or perhaps some updates about Cassandra and William.

My dearest Bette,

It seems scarcely a day has passed since your departure, yet I find myself deeply missing your presence and the many questions you would ask me about work at the end of the day. I am eagerly awaiting your first letter, which I hope will be as expansive and detailed as our usual conversations. I am keen to hear about every aspect of your six-week journey to England. I trust you found wonder in each day and that the seas were kind to you.

Tell me everything about the places you have visited. I unashamedly confess I want to live vicariously through your adventures in England. And what of your brother? How is Brandon faring? Has he managed to keep healthy? Does he seem content? His letters are so focused on business that he forgets his father is more interested in his son's happiness than his commercial success. Please let me know about his well-being, as he seldom gives away much in his correspondence.

Bette, I must also express a father's concern. If you find that life in England does not bring you joy, do not feel obliged to stay. Remember, your happiness is paramount, and if that means returning to New York, do so without a second thought. Though your mother has grand plans for matchmaking, I trust that you will follow your heart in these matters. I hope, sincerely, that if you do find someone, he is a gentleman worthy of your love and one who cherishes you deeply in return.

Should circumstances lead you back home, know that a place awaits you in our family business. Your insights have always been invaluable to me, and I would be delighted to teach you more about our operations. Whether working closely with me or from the comfort of your home, I am confident in your abilities and would relish the opportunity to have you by my side professionally. Do not think about what your mother will say or feel. She will eventually come around.

Until we meet again, remember that you are never far from my thoughts. Take care, my dear daughter, and write soon.

With all my love, your father,

Archibald Armstrong

"Oh, Papa, I miss you too, and dare you speak to Mama about me working?" she asked, wincing at imagining her mother's reaction. She glanced back at the line that had wrenched emotions she did not want to break apart through her heart.

I hope, sincerely, that if you do find someone, he is a gentleman worthy of your love and one who cherishes you deeply in return.

"How I wish I could give you the happy news that I found a man I love …"

James's silver eyes and a sensual smile rose in her thoughts. Wild flutters went off in her belly, and an almost agonizing ache rose in her heart. Pushing aside her longing, knowing the futility of sliding too deep, Elizabeth folded her father's letter and placed it in her hatbox. Today, she would visit Kensington Gardens and perhaps the bookstore again. What she would not do is yearn for impossible things, muddling her heart more than it already was.

* * *

A few daysafter receiving the duchess's invitation, Elizabeth, along with her aunt and mother, stepped into the opulent townhouse in Berkeley Square. The grandeur of the ballroom immediately captivated her. It was a vision in white, gold, and touches of blue, all set against the backdrop of richly draped velvet curtains adorned with golden tassels that framed the massive front windows. The room was alive with a harmonious blend of music, laughter, and spirited conversation. At the far end, the ballroom extended to meet the glazed doors that opened onto the small, meticulously curated gardens, leaving the drapes unclosed to integrate the lush greenery into the evening's ambiance.

"I wonder if the duke will be here tonight," Aunt Sally murmured softly, her voice tinged with curiosity.

"The duchess is his mother," Elizabeth reminded her, a hint of amusement in her tone.

Her mother and aunt exchanged a knowing glance, causing Elizabeth to frown slightly in apprehension. "Mama … please do not read too much into our receiving an invitation."

"The duchess has hosted this ball annually for the last six years. This is the first time we have ever been invited," her aunt noted, fanning herself lightly while hiding a sly smile behind her fan. "I can say with confidence that we received it because of the duke's regard for you, Bette."

Just then, a ripple of excitement swept through the crowd. Aunt Sally's eyes sparkled with delight. Elizabeth turned, her cheeks warming with a blush, as she saw James approaching directly toward her. While she was thrilled to see him, she knew she would now have to navigate the evening carefully to keep her mother and aunt's matchmaking ambitions at bay. She caught the brief look of surprise in his mother, the duchess's, eyes before she composed her features into a polite mask.

"Miss Armstrong," James greeted her with a low, slightly teasing tone, wicked deviltry gleaming in his eyes. "Would you honor me with the next dance? I have it on the highest authority that a waltz is the next set."

Elizabeth knew without a doubt that he had arranged for a waltz to be played next. She gracefully curtsied and placed her hand in his, letting him lead her onto the dance floor. Being held in his arms felt sinfully delightful. As they danced, James smiled and drew her closer, guiding her through the steps with masculine grace. They moved in perfect sync, the world around them blurring into a swirl of colors and sounds.

"Within the next hour, meet me in the library."

Her heart skipped a beat. "James!" she said softly, half in protest, half in anticipation.

He winked. "It's the fifth door on the left. Worry not, I will not ravish you."

As their dance concluded, he escorted her back to her mother, engaging in a few minutes of polite conversation with them. Gratefully, he then turned his attention to other ladies, dancing with them and thereby deflecting the speculative gazes from Elizabeth.

During the next hour, she engaged in polite conversation with her aunt and mother, who introduced her to several ladies whom she had not met before. Though she tried to find a moment to slip away and meet James as planned, extricating herself proved challenging. She noticed James discreetly leaving the ballroom and realized, with a hint of disappointment, that nearly another hour had passed without an opportunity to see him.

As her mother continued to monopolize her time, Elizabeth resigned herself to the likelihood that she wouldn't meet him that evening. Her aunt approached, a hand pressed to her forehead. "I have the most dreadful migraine coming on," she lamented. "The noise is not helping."

"We shall leave," her mother decided swiftly.

Very well," her aunt agreed. "It is so dreadful to come now. I am sorely vexed."

Elizabeth said, "Aunt, once we reach home, you will need a tisane."

Aunt Sally squeezed her arm. "Oh, no, my dear, I would never forgive myself if you had to leave too. This is a great opportunity."

"No, Aunt, it is not," Elizabeth responded, her voice tinged with exasperation. "It does not mean anything that our family received an invitation. The duke has no intention of marrying, and the most our family can claim is a friendship."

"I still will not forgive myself if you have to leave as well," her aunt insisted, her tone firm. "The night is young, not yet midnight. Enjoy yourself and dance the night away. We will send back the carriage for you."

"Are you certain?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes," her aunt confirmed with a nod.

"Are you not worried I shall be alone without a chaperone?"

"Pish," her mother dismissed lightly. "You are a young lady of three and twenty and with good sense."

If only they knew the scandalous nature of her planned meeting with the duke, Elizabeth thought wryly, her mother might indeed expire from shock. With a mix of relief and anticipation, she watched as her mother and aunt departed from the ball. She waited a few more discreet moments before slipping away, her heart beating with excitement and nerves.

She hurried down the hallway and knocked softly on the library door before entering. Inside, James was lounging casually on a large oak desk, a glass of whisky in his hand. At her entrance, he set the glass down and stood up, his eyes lighting up with amusement and something warmer. Elizabeth closed the door and locked it.. Laughing, she rushed toward him and leaped into his arms.