‘Me? Oh no, my lord, I am here en chaperone. I do not dance.’
‘No?’ He fell silent, watching as the music stopped and Sophie was claimed by yet another young man. They were falling at her feet, helpless. Thea knew she should be stricter, but memory and regret made her heart soft and her judgements indulgent. Soon enough for duty and decorum and to put dreams away in lavender.
‘Were you happy?’ They both spoke at once, the same words.
‘You answer, my lord,’ Thea insisted, fluttering her fan. ‘Were you happy so far from home for so long?’
‘Not at first, no,’ Lucas said. ‘But I would not have been so anywhere in England, so better to go away from the source of my discontent. I learnt fulfilment and satisfaction in time. I taught myself to be happy again at last.’
‘Why were you unhappy here?’ The noise of the room was far away now, the dancers blurred, the music a faint murmur on the edge of hearing.
‘Because my heart had been broken,’ he said with that smile, challenging her to take his words seriously, defying her to feel sorry for him. ‘Now, your turn.’
‘I was… content.’ Thea chose the word with care despite the turmoil into which he had thrown her thoughts. ‘Lord Wilmott was kind to me, my father was no doubt right about the benefits of an older husband. He died two years ago, of a heart condition, poor man.’
‘Poor man indeed. But he had the felicity of a happy marriage and a lovely daughter. How like her mother she is.’
There was no answer to that. He had fancied himself in love with her once then, when they were hardly older than Sophie, and had believed his heart broken when she married Arthur. What had she believed? Nothing, she had convinced herself. Felt nothing, believed nothing. She had not dared to imagine what might have been, shy little innocent that she was. Not like Sophie, that bold, confident, golden girl.
And now Lucas had come back, prosperous, titled, eligible and desirable. Oh, so very desirable. And there was the image of the girl he had fancied himself in love with so long ago, ripe for his plucking. He had only to stand amongst those callow youths and hold out his hand to her. How could she resist?
Thea watched him out of the corner of her eye, saw the boy inside the man, felt the ache begin and knew the yearning had always been there, never acknowledged. Now she must put it back in that dark closet again where it had stayed so safely all these years.
‘Mama!’ So soon. The dances had passed as they had sat there silently together and here was Sophie. ‘Oh, I think I have danced holes in my slippers!’
Sophie paused as Lucas stood up, her eyes widening at his height, the darkly handsome looks, his air of confidence. ‘Sir.’ Her curtsey was everything a mother could hope for, her modestly lowered lashes a chaperone’s delight.
‘Sophie, this is Lord Randall.’
He bowed. Sophie blushed.
‘Lord Randall is waiting to ask you for a dance.’
The orchestra struck up for the waltz. Couples began to make their way onto the floor.
‘Yes, Miss Wilmott, I was hoping you could spare me a country dance a little later?’
‘A country…’
He turned and held out his hand to Thea as she stammered out the words. ‘Yes, when you and I return from dancing this waltz.’
‘Me?’ Thea stared into the hazel eyes, finding again the gold flecks, the long lashes, the humour and the tenderness as he looked at her. Her, aged thirty six. Her with the curves of a mature woman, a mother. Her, with the threads of silver in hair that would never be the gold of guineas again. Her.
‘Yes, Thea. You. I have waited eighteen years for this dance.’ Lucas held out his hand. ‘Will you?’
The mother said no. The chaperone said no. The woman put her hand in Lucas’s strong brown clasp.
‘Oh yes, Lucas. Oh yes.’
Chapter One - Where A Lost Duke Reappears
‘Mama is a positive menace to impressionable young ladies.’ Sophie Wilmott leaned on the balcony rail and sighed. Below her the ballroom floor swirled with colour and movement and, right in the centre, a handsome middle-aged couple gazed into each other’s eyes as they danced far too close for decency.