Chapter 8

It was early hours before Simon pulled Grace away from the ball at last and chaperoned her home, and it had been some time since he'd noted Bella's absence. It seemed to him that, after their conversation in the garden, Bella had left as quickly as she could.

He thought to tell Grace about all that had passed between himself and her friend, but the moments in the garden had been of the strange, ethereal sort that are not easily shared.

He couldn't help thinking of that moment before Bella fled the hedge, when she'd let him take her into his arms and briefly wipe her tears away.

There had been a time, years ago, when Simon had wanted to do that very thing for the rest of his life. He had gone to Bella's father with the request first, nervous and uncertain of himself, and laid out his plan to win her hand. All this, and our only real connection was those letters. But he had fallen in love with her through those letters. The fourteen-year-old girl he'd known all his life had transformed before his eyes into a young woman, bright and kind and compassionate. He had fallen for that young woman, and he'd fallen hard.

He could still remember the look on her father's face when he laid out his desire. The earl did not even seem angry, just mildly amused, as though Simon's proposal of marriage was the ramblings of a boy instead of the legitimate offer of a young man.

"What exactly are your prospects?" he'd asked Simon, that smile lurking on his lips. "No, don't tell me. Aside from business ventures, which do not impress me, you have nothing to your name. I know your family well, and have since you were a wee babe. You are not in line to inherit anything. If my daughter marries you, she will lose everything my title now gives her."

Lord Collingwood said all this slowly and carefully, the way a man might talk to a child. When the interview was over, his desire was clear: Simon was to have nothing more to do with Bella.

Of course, Simon ignored this, writing to Bella almost as soon as he returned home. He asked to visit her, telling her he had something important he wished to discuss. After hearing her telling of events in the garden, however, Simon was certain his letters had been intercepted along the way, just as her letters to him had been intercepted. Someone, likely that aunt who was responsible for her upbringing, had come between them.

The thing that bothered him the most was that it had worked. Lord Collingwood's meddling had derailed Simon's plans to marry Bella, and now she was a sophisticated lady embarking on her first Season in London. She would not look twice at him, not now that suitors of real status stalked her every move.

But think of what she said in the garden, his mind prodded him. How she claimed you were all she had left?

Yes, she had said that, but in the context of James. She was telling him that he was like a brother to her, taking James' place after James' untimely death. She was not confessing undying love or affection for him, as much as the magic of the moonlight might tell him otherwise.

When morning sun broke through his window shades, Simon rose and washed his face, relieved that all pretense of sleeping could be set aside for the time being. He took a walk in the sunny morning, the dew already burned off the cobblestones outside his family home, and returned somewhat refreshed to find a letter for Grace waiting on the inside table. It was written in Bella's hand, a hand he would have recognized anywhere, even after all these years.

He resisted the urge to wake Grace, instead waiting through a late breakfast, his parents' appearance in the drawing room, and an agonizing morning of pacing and pretending to read until his sister appeared below-stairs.

She looked tousled and sleepy still, not yet used to the late nights of society balls, but when he casually handed her Bella's letter she brightened considerably.

"I wonder if this means she is back in town!" she cried, opening the letter and scanning the contents. After a moment, she gave a quick little laugh and explained, "as a matter of fact, she insists she was at Lady Ellory's last night on her parents' command. It is preposterous indeed that she did not track me down, although perhaps she did not know I was in attendance." Her eyes scanned the next few lines and then she called for the butler.

"Please take my reply to Lady Isabella," she told the servant, scribbling a few lines onto a paper and handing the letter over to him. "Tell her I am free all day, and, after not seeing me last night, she absolutely must come over this afternoon."

The butler made off with the note and Grace turned cheerfully to Simon. "Isn't that marvelous?" she beamed. "You must of course stay around to receive her. I'm sure she will be delighted to see you."

Simon lowered his voice so that only Grace could hear. "I've been meaning to ask you, Grace. Did you ever tell Bella something about Miss Lafleche? I know it was many years ago, but…"

Grace frowned, trying to remember. "I remember she asked about all the excitement and I'm sure I told her that all happened before you went to the Continent, but nothing more. Bella never seemed particularly interested in the whole affair, to be honest, and you didn't seem remotely interested in the Frenchwoman. I would have told her more, if I thought Miss Lafleche's obvious affections were returned by yourself." She wrinkled her brow in confusion. "Did you… like her?"

"No," Simon said, rushing to explain himself. "Not in the least. Only…" he couldn't say more without uncovering all that Bella had shared with him the night before. "I just wondered what Bella knew."

"Simon," Grace said with a little laugh, "you are my older brother. I doubt very much that Bella cares what you do with your life and love, unless of course it involves myself." She winked at him and flounced from the room in search of something to break her morning fast.

***

Simon had all but determined to make himself scarce before Bella's arrival later that day when, walking outside to inform the stableman of his intentions to take a ride, he ran into Bella walking up the steps to his family home.

She took his breath away, and for a moment it was all he could do to stand quietly at the top of the marble stairs and wait for her to reach him.

There was nothing of the midnight nymph about her today. Her blond waves were tidily arranged beneath a stylish hat, her white day dress trimmed with pale yellow ribbon that coordinated with a yellow jacket buttoned up to her neck, and she had delicate lace gloves buttoned at the wrist. When she saw him, she curtsied perfectly, raising her eyes to his only after she'd completed the proper murmur of introduction.

"Mr. Lyndon, are you going out?" she asked.

"I was thinking of taking a ride," he said, suddenly unable to remember why it was he wished to avoid her.

"Oh, do stay," she blurted, then, reddening, added, "if it isn't too much of a bother. It will be just like old times, seeing Grace with you hanging about in the background."

He smiled despite himself. "If I remember correctly, it was always you girls hanging on in the background of my escapades with James, not the other way around."

For a moment, he feared he had overstepped by mentioning her brother, but her face gentled at the sound of his name.

"I enjoy that," she said simply.

"What?"

"That you talk about James without fear or apology. I have hardly heard his name since he passed. People are so careful to steer clear of the subject whenever it arises naturally in conversation," she confessed.

Her transparency won him over in a flash, as it always had. He offered her his arm. "Allow me to walk with you into the parlor," he said. "Grace will be waiting for you with bated breath."

"Does this mean you are going to forgo your ride?" she asked, tipping her head up to look at him with something like mischief sparkling in her eyes. "You seemed so set on it earlier."

"I would rather see Grace's response to your arrival," he answered. I would rather be with you, the truer part of him whispered inwardly.

"She must be furious at me for keeping my identity from her at the ball," Bella said as they climbed the stairs together.

"She was surprised, to be certain, but not angry. Grace is so rarely angry," Simon assured her. "I am surprised you did not find her, though, after we met in the garden. I would have thought my presence confirmation of hers."

She was quiet for a moment as they entered the main hall of the townhouse, and then said in a low voice, "I was indisposed after our meeting in the garden. I did not think myself particularly able to engage in further social interactions."

Her words were so carefully chosen, and her manner so suddenly cool and removed, that Simon felt for an instant that it was not Bella at all on his arm but some other girl of the ton instead. One of the scripted maidens who had been trained in precisely what to say and what to avoid.

He looked down at her, trying to catch her gaze, to regain a shred of the mysterious tension that had stretched between them in the garden the night before, but her face was placid and calm. If her heart was beating as fast as his own, she did not show it.

"This way," he said, respecting her reserve and leading her into the parlor.

Grace was already on her feet when they stepped in and flew to Bella with arms outstretched. She hurled herself around Bella's neck as though the two were still children and embraced her. "I thought that was you I heard in the hall outside!" she cried, falling back and holding Bella at arms' length. She sucked in her breath with an impressed smile. "My, my, Bella. You look absolutely divine. I would never guess you are the same girl who climbed trees in Hyde park and terrorized the passersby behind our family gardens."

Bella smiled and nodded her head into a curtsy. "I believe my parents would be happy to hear as much."

"But you are not too changed, are you?" Grace asked, almost wistfully, pulling Bella away to sit on one of the settees. "I would not like to think I'd lost you, in all your time over in that Irish wasteland."

"It was not such a wasteland," Bella said. Simon noticed that she was conspicuously silent about whether or not she was "too changed." Instead, she handily directed Grace to a safer topic. "Ireland is gloomy, to be sure, but England is no paradise where weather is concerned. I enjoyed the moors, I confess."

Grace sighed. "But I missed you dreadfully, dear. It was too long that you were away."

"On that we can agree."

For a moment, Bella raised her eyes to Simon, and there was an undercurrent of something unspoken in the shimmering blue depths. But then she drew the curtain of mystery over her expression again and turned back to Grace. It was such a brief moment, Simon convinced himself he imagined it.