Page 33

“I’ll have you know I’m twelve, and everything’s complicated with grown-ups,” she declared dramatically, leaning back until her head dangled upside-down over the arm of the chair.

“Why has it taken you this long to fulfill the duties of your engagement? You know that my sister has been out in society for decades. The common lady would almost be considered firmly on the shelf.”

“Decades?” Alex stifled a laugh. Miss Lyndon was three years his junior, so there weren’t decades passing yet. “Are you supposed to know these things at your age?”

“What do you suppose they teach little girls if not all the things to catch husbands?”

“Catch?” Alex coughed. “I stand corrected.” This conversation started to feel like a duel.

But having grown up with an impertinent sister like Thea, he knew his best course of action was to agree with whatever the girl said.

“Forgive my ignorance.” Her expression turned suspicious. “Let me ask you, do you even know what my sister looks like? Have you ever seen her likeness? If you want, I can show you her miniature? Everyone always gawks when I do.”

Alex blinked—a portrait. He’d never even thought to ask for one.

In his mind, it didn’t matter what she looked like.

The deal had been made and needed to be severed.

Even now, it didn’t matter. However, looking at this little brat, would she stop unless she got her way?

It might save him from more of this absurd interrogation.

“Do you have one?”

She grinned. “Oh, we’ve got a little one. But why should I show it to you now? It’s clear you haven’t had any interest before.” Clever girl.

“I only thought since you offered—” Before he could finish his sentence, the child dragged a small oval picture framed in gilded swirls, with a chain and tassel hanging from it, and thrust it under his nose.

Alex glanced down at the face staring back at him and blinked.

A slow scowl formed across his brow. Was she serious?

He glanced back at the girl—she was—then back at the portrait.

It was a delightful rendering of… a four-year-old child. Three, perhaps.

“Is this your sister?” he asked after a stunned silence, adding, “This isn’t her current age, right?” He grimaced at his own foolish question.

“Mm-hmm. She was adorable, wasn’t she? I looked the same at that age.”

Alex leaned back slightly, staring at the sweet-faced child in the picture before nodding. “Certainly,” he said slowly. Regardless of whether she was adorable, he still had to end things with Miss Lyndon.

Alex cleared his throat and cast a desperate glance toward the doorway. Waiting here was proving more perilous than any battlefield. “Is your father at home?”

“He isn’t. Neither is my mother. I’m not sure when they will return.”

Alex rose to his feet. “Well, then I won’t take up any more of your time, Miss Lyndon.”

It seemed he would have to hunt down his fiancée.

And before the ball.

*

Sera slumped against the soft velvet pillows as her carriage rattled down the streets of London, listening to merchants calling from booths as they passed.

She peeked out of the window. A flower girl darted between pedestrians, her basket bursting with blooms that she waved imploringly at a passerby.

She looks free.

Unblemished by any worry.

Her earlier conversation with Ashley replayed in her mind; Ashley’s bluntness about everything—everything—set her cheeks aflame once more.

Where had Ashley been in Cornwall? Some things had been thought-provoking, yes, but also…

illuminating. Now, with the heat of London making the carriage stifling despite its fine design, the most persistent thought that came to her wasn’t Ashley’s advice but Alex.

Always Alex.

Sera clutched her stomach. What if there was more of Alex already within her than she’d thought?

She closed her eyes, allowing a soft sigh to escape as the carriage lurched over a pothole. Her eyes shot open as her head hit the glass.

Confound it!

If only she had something to anchor herself to him, some direction, some absurdly simple way to find him again.

She’d thought—no, she hadn’t thought clearly at all since that day, had she?

Every detail of him was etched into her being, from his attentive gaze to the curve of his lips when he smiled.

It had been just days, but they felt like an eternity of wondering.

Still, her heart tugged at her, an invisible tether she couldn’t sever.

It whispered nonsense, like the ridiculous notion that he might somehow be within reach.

She scolded herself for this silliness but found it hard to resist.

She wanted to see him.

But London was so vast, the largest city in Europe; how could she expect to find her Alex among millions of people?

The roar of London faded as the carriage turned onto a quieter lane, trees rising in orderly rows as they neared her family’s townhouse.

Sera shifted, her gaze fixed on the road ahead.

Just as the carriage slowed to a halt, another vehicle caught her eye.

A sleek black coach rolled away from her home, its wheels spinning lazily, as if it had all the leisure in the world.

She leaned slightly forward to look more closely.

The crest on the door gleamed in the light, unfamiliar yet undeniably elegant.

Her fingers brushed absently against the seat, curiosity flaring within her.

It seemed to have come from her home. Who had just left?

And why did something about its sudden departure tug at her in a way she couldn’t quite explain?

Could it be…

The footman opened the door after they came to a stop, and Sera stepped down, her soft leather slippers meeting the pavement as the black carriage disappeared around the bend.

“You had a caller, Miss Lyndon,” the butler announced flatly.

She narrowed her eyes at him. Why did he make it sound like she had missed a chance of a lifetime—or was that merely her sinking heart?

She shook off her unease and moved toward the entrance.

Inside, the house was everything she expected—cool air, the faint scent of lavender, and the persistent hum of domestic life—but as she handed off her bonnet and gloves, her sister’s voice rang out like an explosion of bubbling champagne.

“Sera!” Isabella nearly skidded into view, her skirts swirling from the effort. Her twelve-year-old enthusiasm filled the hall as completely as music. “You’ll never guess! Your prince was here!”

Sera blinked, startled. “My what?”

“Your prince,” Isabella repeated, already spinning back toward the drawing room. “He was here! Just a moment ago!”

“Explain this,” Sera said, following her wildly excitable sister.

She couldn’t keep the faint touch of irritation from her tone, even though her chest had abruptly tightened.

“Why was he here?” Had he come to meet her?

Had she just missed him at the tea party only to miss him here too?

How unlucky! This must be the universe conspiring against her.

Isabella tilted her head as if considering whether Sera could grasp her brilliance. “A very handsome man,” she declared finally, with the authority of one who had thoroughly assessed the whole matter. “Tall. Blond hair. He brought flowers. Didn’t wear a crown as I had pictured.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

“Who said I’m not?” Isabella shot back.

Right.

“Did you—did he give his address, by chance?”

“Oh, no,” Isabella said breezily, as though she hadn’t committed a grave offense against curiosity. “But he was terribly sweet. Oh, and the best part,” she added, beaming with delight, “he asked to see a portrait of you.”

Sera’s brow furrowed. “The miniature?”

“Well, I practically goaded him with it. But he said yes, so I showed him the one Mama had.” Isabella clapped her hands together, her eyes sparkling. “From when you were four!” Isabella giggled triumphantly.

It took every scrap of dignity Sera possessed not to groan. She should have known. “And what,” she asked, folding her arms, “did the prince think of that?”

“Oh, he didn’t say, but he looked…” Isabella pursed her lips, miming consideration. “Utterly baffled. It was brilliant.”

Sera closed her eyes briefly. The joke was completely lost on her, though Isabella’s laughter soared unchecked through the room.

“And you’re sure it was the prince and not another man?”

“Of course!” Her sister sent her a suspicious glance.

“Who else could it be? The man introduced himself as such, too.” Sera drew in a steadying breath, trying to quell the strange mixture of frustration and longing that formed a knot just beneath her ribs.

It couldn’t have been him. It could not.

And yet, her fingers curled slightly, aching to hold the smallest thread of certainty.

Well, she might be out of luck today, but so was he.

She didn’t want a prince; she wanted Alex.

And yet her freedom remained just out of reach. Again.