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“H ow are you doing, today?” Christopher asked Freddie after a brief knock on his door.

Freddie had fought with Christopher for a good quarter of an hour after they’d arrived from the hospital. Christopher had told his former batman he should stay in one of the guest rooms. It had been all Christopher could do not to smile when he “gave in” to allowing Freddie to displace the butler in the basement instead.

Freddie didn’t need to know that he’d worked it out with the butler in advance, and the man had already moved up to the servant’s quarters at the top of the house until Freddie’s leg was healed. Christopher had known Freddie would never agree to such an arrangement if he’d been put in the butler’s room directly, and the fellow had been brilliant at pretending reluctance at moving out of his room. He’d been very kind and understanding about the whole situation, including Freddie’s ideas of his place in the household. Going from footman to batman to valet confused Freddie as to exactly where he stood in the household hierarchy, and the fact that he wasn’t actually on his feet yet just made things even more complicated.

“Not bad, Major,” Freddie said, looking up from a stack of papers he’d been paging through on his lap.

“What are you reading?” Christopher asked, coming over and making himself comfortable at the edge of the bed where Freddie was sitting.

“It’s fashion plates for gentlemen,” he said, showing Christopher the one on top. “Bringing meself up to date. If I’m gonna be yer valet, I need to know how to dress ye right.”

Christopher nodded. “That’s excellent! I certainly know little enough about current fashion, although I did recently have an appointment with my tailor to get a few new coats and a waistcoat made. But I’m very glad to see you taking your new position seriously.”

“O’ course I am! What do ye think? I wouldn’t?” Freddie tsked and shook his head. It was all Christopher could do not to laugh. Freddie moved the top page to the bottom of the stack. “Say, have ye seen Lady Moreton recently?”

“No, I haven’t, but I’ve been thinking about her,” Christopher admitted. He didn’t elaborate on exactly how often he’d been thinking of the lovely lady. That would have been downright embarrassing. He just couldn’t seem to get her out of his mind.

“Still can’t believe ye didn’t go to that party she invited ye to. To make a lady wait in vain! That ain’t right,” Freddie said with a shake of his head.

“No. You are correct. That was badly done of me. I just… I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go in.”

“Why ever not? Ye used to love goin’ ta parties and being with the ladies,” Freddie asked with enthusiasm.

“That was before… before.” Christopher didn’t think he needed to explain before what.

“Yeah, but still.” He paused and then asked straight out, “If ye didn’t plan on goin’, why did ye agree to?”

“I did plan on going. I went!”

“But ye didn’t go in.”

“No.”

Freddie waited for an explanation. Christopher finally sighed and admitted, “I thought she asked me to go because she wants… I don’t know… to heal me or help me get back into society.”

“Yeah? So?”

“So I am not some charity case! I don’t need help. If I want to rejoin society, I’ll do so,” he said with a little more force than necessary.

“Uh-huh.” Freddie didn’t sound convinced. To be honest, Christopher wasn’t entirely convinced either, but he wasn’t about to admit that to anyone—not even himself.

“I don’t need Lady Moreton’s help,” he reiterated. This time it sounded even weaker. He hated that. “What? You want me to prove it?”

Freddie just sat back against his pillows and crossed his arms. He didn’t say a word. No, he was happy for Christopher to dig his own grave all on his own. Well, Freddie and Lady Moreton be damned, so he would!

“I can prove it. I can go to a party. I just don’t want to,” Christopher said, folding his own arms across his chest. Two could play at that game.

“You don’t want to. But don’t ye kind of owe it to her?”

“Owe what?” Christopher felt a little lost.

“Owe Lady Moreton. She invited ye to her party. Don’t ye owe it to her to take her to another since ye didn’t show up to this last one?” Freddie clarified.

“Oh.” Now that he thought about it, he supposed he did.

“And since ye say ye have no problems goin’ to parties if ye want… seems to me like ye should ask her to one,” Freddie elaborated.

Oh, yes, Christopher had definitely dug this hole nice and deep, hadn’t he? “I could do that...” he hedged.

“Good! I’m glad. I’ll help ye dress fer it.” Freddie gave him a big smile.

“No, you will not! You are supposed to stay abed.”

“I can get up! All right, maybe I’ll need a bit o’ Peter’s help, but we’ll get ye dressed nice and fashionable-like.”

“Right.” It was all Christopher could say.

After leaving Freddie to his fashion plates, Christopher went up to his study. On his desk was a teetering stack of invitations which had come in over the past few weeks. He had no idea how anyone knew he was in Town. He’d made it a point to avoid anyone who might actually know him. And it was clear to him that those who’d sent the invitations hadn’t any idea why he was returned or in what condition.

He picked up a handful of the cards and skimmed through them as he paced slowly back and forth across the room. There were balls, soirées, and garden parties to choose from. All the amusements the ton so enjoyed. All that he would have enjoyed himself without reservation had he been whole.

He passed by the glass-fronted bookshelves—the ones containing the oldest volumes in his father’s collection—and caught a glimpse of his reflection. His eyes immediately went to his left cheek, mangled and puckered.

When he’d come to London, it had been for one reason and one reason only—to see to Freddie. He’d planned on living a quiet life here, not participating in but enjoying the energy of the city. But in these few short weeks, he’d met an old friend and made a new one—and he’d met Lady Moreton. Did he still want to lead that quiet life? Could he?

Being in the city had reminded him of all that he’d loved before he’d joined the army—going to parties, being social, enjoying himself. He hadn’t done that in… well, it had certainly been well over a year, more likely two or more. He’d had some good times amongst his fellow officers and had made friends there. And, of course, there had always been the camp followers to relieve a man’s needs, but true, thoughtless amusement? It had been too long. He wasn’t entirely certain he even had it in him to behave like the carefree boy he’d been before joining the army.

An image of Lady Moreton laughing and smiling at him came to mind. Within a moment, Christopher knew that he did, in fact, want to discover if he could still be unabashedly happy. And he knew exactly who he wanted to be with when he gave it a try.

He looked down at the stack of invitations in his hands and imagined that Lady Moreton had a stack just like his, if not even more. She would know where she would like an escort. Wherever that was, he would be there for her. Not only did he owe it to her, she deserved it.

Christopher began to wonder if he really was crazy enough to do this as he lifted the knocker on Lady Moreton’s door later that afternoon.

He was sorry he’d missed her expression when his presence was announced. He was certain it had been one of absolute shock, considering how flustered she looked when he actually came into her drawing room. Her cheeks were a rosy hue, and she nearly toppled when she dipped into a little curtsy too soon after standing.

“Lord Pennyston! I certainly didn’t expect you—”

“At least, not that fast,” Mrs. Rutledge said. Lady Moreton had almost forgotten to introduce her aunt, but the woman had elbowed her hard enough to make her niece squeak.

“I do beg your pardon for descending on you like this, unannounced or invited, but I was feeling awful about not showing up for Lady Ayres’ party the other night. Please, my lady, say you will forgive my horrid manners?” The charm oozed from him as if he hadn’t just spent the past year hiding away at his father’s estate.

The lady tittered, and Christopher knew he hadn’t lost his charm. She sobered much too quickly for his liking, however. “It was very bad of you, my lord, but because you are so sincere, I couldn’t possibly hold a grudge.”

“You are much too kind. And to reward your patience and kindness of heart, I’ve come to ask that you choose a party—any gathering, really—and allow me to escort you to it.” A small piece of his mind screamed out in pain even as the words left his mouth. Doing this was going to be—but no, he could do this. Hadn’t he just told Freddie he could? He could . He had to. He simply hoped Lady Moreton would be able to deal with the reaction he was sure to produce when people saw his mangled face.

“Oh! Did you not like my suggestion of Lady Mortensen’s ball next Tuesday?” Lady Moreton asked, looking a little confused.

But it was Christopher who was perplexed. “I beg your pardon, but when did you make that suggestion? I feel as if I’ve missed something.”

“In her note,” Mrs. Rutledge said, as if it was obvious. “You did send it, didn’t you?” she asked her niece.

“I did… but it wasn’t ten minutes between the time the footman left with it and the time his lordship was on our doorstep!” she said, as if in dawning realization of something. “You didn’t get it, did you?”

“Get what? A note? From—” Christopher said, trying to piece things together.

“Me, yes. Oh, good gracious! How embarrassing!” Lady Moreton turned toward Mrs. Rutledge. “I should never have sent it. How could I have been so—”

“I have to admit that I did not, in fact, receive a note from you, but if I’m understanding things correctly… Did you write to ask me to escort you to a ball?” He was making assumptions, parsing out what had been said, but immediately he knew he had hit the mark.

Lady Moreton’s cheeks turned an even deeper shade of crimson. “I… I…” she stammered.

“There is no need for you to be embarrassed, my lady,” Christopher said quickly, trying to relieve her.

“It was horribly forward of me,” she said almost too quietly to be heard.

“Well… perhaps. Or perhaps it was a bold, strong woman reaching out for what she wanted. You did say you were trying to be more outgoing, did you not?” Christopher asked.

He imagined he should have been shocked at her behavior, but he was too busy admiring it. He was beginning to realize he liked a woman who knew her mind—even though it might have been in an attempt to heal him. But here he was proving that he had no need for her pity or for her to take care of him. He was willing and capable of going out into public—he hoped.

“You are much too kind,” she demurred.

“Not at all. Now, do tell me when this ball is, and I shall ensure to put it on my calendar—and I will be here well in time beforehand to pick you up and escort you there. It will be my pleasure.” He stood in awe of himself for sounding so confident when inside his stomach had turned into a rock of terror.

She gave him a grateful smile. “Tuesday. Could you be here by eight? It is some distance away.”

“I will be honored. Mrs. Rutledge, I would be happy to escort you as well if you will be attending?” he offered the older lady.

She let out a burst of laughter that was not at all lady-like, but it sounded honest. “Oh no, I thank you, Lord Pennyston. I already have an escort for the ball. Mr. Sherman will be taking me.”

“I don’t believe I know the gentleman, but I look forward to meeting him,” Christopher said. He’d look forward to meeting everyone at this ball, so long as he was masked and hooded. Sadly, Lady Moreton would have mentioned if it were a masquerade, and she had not done so.

~May 1~

Ellen kicked herself for not inviting Lord Pennyston to Lady Gorling’s wedding. That would have been the perfect event for him to attend. It was small and intimate. Only the ladies of the Wagering Whist Society were there, along with a handful of Lord Gorling’s family members. And most importantly, Ellen was alone—completely unchaperoned, unescorted.

It had been so embarrassing to have to ask Diana if she could sit with her and her husband, but she had no one else to sit with. Of course both Diana and Lord Colburne were exceedingly kind about it, but Ellen felt the awkwardness all the same.

She was standing off to one side of Lady Gorling’s drawing room afterward, debating whether to join a group of people exclaiming over the beauty of the wedding when Lady Sorrell and her sister, Miss Benton, came over to her.

“Do you mind if we join you? My sister is tired of hearing me talk,” Lady Sorrell said with a little laugh.

Miss Benton’s vigorous nod of agreement had Ellen giggling into her glass of champagne. “I don’t mind at all,” she said, after swallowing the tiny sip she’d taken.

“You are too kind, Lady Moreton,” Miss Benton said. “And I am extremely grateful. My sister has now given me the life histories of both Lady Gorling and Duchess Bolton. I don’t know who she was going to come up with next, but I don’t believe I would be able to take any more.”

“They have had interesting lives!” Lady Sorrell defended herself.

“They have and you’ve told me all about them in your letters. I didn’t need them retold to me this afternoon,” the young lady protested.

“Miss Benton, tell me how you are enjoying your first season,” Ellen asked, deliberately changing the topic.

Lady Sorrell gave her a grateful smile.

“It has been quite fascinating,” Miss Benton answered. “I am discovering new things about myself.”

“Really? What sort of things, if I may ask?” Ellen was truly curious.

“Well, I have discovered that I truly don’t like being in a large crowd of people for very long before I feel the need to escape into a garden,” the young woman said.

“Going to parties can be difficult,” Ellen agreed. Her own difficulties sifted through her mind. “At least you always have someone to escort you.”

“That’s true. Cynthia has been very patient with me and has gone to so many parties,” Miss Benton said.

“Well, I probably would have gone anyway, but I agree with you, Lady Moreton. It is so much more pleasant to go with someone than alone.” Lady Sorrell’s eyes suddenly widened as she probably realized that Ellen, herself, always attended parties on her own. “Oh, dear, Lady Moreton, I didn’t mean to say—”

“No, no,” Ellen said quickly. “You are absolutely right. It is always much more pleasant to attend a party with someone else. I have to admit... well, it has driven me to doing something quite… out of the ordinary.”

“Good afternoon, ladies,” Lady Blakemore said, joining them.