Page 6

R oland was in his bedchamber, sitting on the bench that ran along the long windows that overlooked Grosvenor Square.

The sun was dipping below the rooftops, and a heavy, wet snow had begun to fall.

He hoped it would go on long into the night.

Snow was to London a balm of white silence, hushing the constant clip-clop of horses, covering over the dirt and grime of the town, and wiping clean the smell of the air.

Snow was a velvety white cloak that made London beautiful.

If he had the ability to dictate the weather, he would direct snow through all the cold months and bright sunshine through the warm months. If there must be a heavy fog or a chill rain, then it could be done when all were sleeping.

As it was, English weather seemed determined to favor a heavy fog and a chill rain at every opportunity. Not at this moment, though. The square was quiet, as all the town would be, shops closed and people having hurried to their destinations to shut their doors against the weather.

Just then, an extraordinary sight came into view below him.

Down on the street, a young lady accompanied by a matron and a distinctly odd-looking dog raised her face to the sky.

She was positively lovely, her light brown hair escaping in soft waves from her bonnet.

What a pretty smile she had. She seemed to be delighted to be out in the weather.

The lady laughed and caught at snowflakes to the delight of her canine companion. He danced round her in a peculiar and awkward manner.

Upon having a closer look at the dog, it seemed the poor mite was missing a leg.

That knowledge did give Roland the familiar pang, as visions of what must have happened to cause it raced through his mind, which prompted him to think of the long-ago pony he’d once had who’d broken a leg and had to be shot.

He forcefully stopped his racing thoughts from continuing in that direction and put his attention back on what was before him. Whatever the dog currently lacked in appendages, he made up for in enthusiasm. He was just as joyful as the lovely lady he accompanied.

Roland pushed the window open as the threesome passed underneath. The cold air rushed against his face and snowflakes drifted in.

“Mrs. Right, it is glorious! Has there ever been such a snow in all the world?”

“Aye, it’s very nice. A bit chill, though, so we ought not stay out long. You should not like to catch cold before you’ve even set foot in Almack’s.”

“Not stay long?” the lady said, laughing. “I would stay out here all night. It is so different from the Dales—look how the lights of the houses show the snow to good effect.”

“All very charming, I’m sure.”

“And then look how it is covering the rooftops! It is like they’ve been transformed into marzipan.”

“Serenity Nicolet, I understand your enthusiasm, but I must be firm about it,” the matron said. “The duke would not thank me for bringing home a frozen daughter.”

The lady laughed. “Very well. Come, Nelson, we will go inside and dry you off and give you your dinner, and then we will watch the snow out the windows. We would not like to miss nature’s glory at such a moment.”

Nelson, as that seemed to be the dog’s name, seemed agreeable to whatever the plan was to be. He loped after his mistress, leaving three-legged prints in the snow.

The lady turned round, as if to take in one more view of the snowy scene. She looked all round her, then she looked up. Her gaze stopped at his window and he realized that with candles blazing in the room, he must be very visible. He held his hand up in a wave to see what she would do.

She laughed and waved back. The matron, seeing her charge waving at a strange man in a window, took her hand and hurried her to her house.

Roland quietly closed the window against the gathering dusk and blowing snow. The matron had named her Serenity Nicolet. She would be one of the Duke of Pelham’s daughters, just two doors down. She would attend Almack’s.

For once, he was anxious to meet a particular lady.

He was interested to know this young woman who recognized the majesty of nature.

Not everybody could see it. He supposed there were just now complaints all over London about the inconvenience of the snow.

There would be speculation as to the messy roads come the morrow.

The complainers could not perceive the wonder of the moment.

As well, she had a three-legged dog. He could not articulate why that said something well about her, but it seemed it must. He would have kept his pony as a three-legged horse all those years ago, had that been possible.

And then, when she’d seen that she was observed and he’d waved, she’d laughed and waved back. A small thing on its face, but it said a rather large thing. She had not pretended to be affronted over being stared at. There was no false modesty in the lady.

He attempted to think of knowing another lady who would take such joy in the snowfall or joy in a dog of such indifferent appearance or laugh over being stared at.

He could not think of a single one. He guessed that there were in fact many, but they’d been trained out of displaying such things.

They hid those inclinations so they might appear in a modest, ton -approved manner.

Roland was not so unaware of his own circumstances as to miss the irony of it. He had done precisely what all those ladies had done. He’d fallen to the same pressure to be regular or usual or expected. He’d put on a mask to appear acceptable to the ton .

This lady, Lady Serenity Nicolet, had seemed to leave her mask at home. Or perhaps she did not have one at all. The Duke of Pelham was well-known for his eccentricity, and while Roland did not know the daughters who were since married particularly well, there certainly had been stories.

Perhaps the duke did not go in for producing ladies like loaves of bread—all identical in their appearance and just as bland.

Roland suddenly laughed. He supposed he’d find out more about her at Almack’s.

He also would not forget that she lived so nearby and seemed in the habit of taking her dog to walk in the square.

Perhaps his own dog, Havoc, would like to be introduced to Nelson one of these days.

He’d been in the habit of letting out his lumbering canine into the small back garden, but perhaps Havoc would appreciate a change of view.

*

The night prior, Serenity had come tumbling into the house from the snow-covered pavement.

What a scene it had been on the square! The snow coming down in fat flakes and Nelson prancing around and biting at the air.

And then, just when Mrs. Right was making her come inside, she’d looked up.

A glorious gentleman had been smiling down at her and he’d waved.

She’d waved back and seen him smile.

Very naturally, this encounter had been looked at backwards and forwards over dinner. Though her father was so very terrible about remembering who anybody was and claimed he had not the first idea of who it could be, it finally came to him.

“Wait a minute,” he said, his brow clearing. “I suppose if I cannot recall the names of my fellow dukes that would be a rather sad case. You said two doors down?”

“Yes, Papa,” Serenity said, leaning forward and willing him to remember.

“Mariton. The Duke of Mariton,” the duke said. “I remember the fellow from my school days—he’s always had the house two doors down and we’ve always been in this one. He’s got two sons as far as I know it, maybe more. No telling which one it was. Family name is Garner.”

Serenity did not give a toss for which son it was. “Do you suppose he will go to Almack’s?”

“Of course he must go,” Verity said. “It is such a usual thing for a duke’s son to go.”

“You do not know that,” Winsome said, “though it is probably true.”

Valor heaved a sigh. “Every year I get aloner and aloner and aloner. Soon it will be just me and Papa and Mrs. Right. Don’t worry, Papa, I will never leave you.”

The duke did not look particularly relieved to hear it, as it flew in the face of his claim that he wished them all gone.

Though Valor had begun to grow out of her most childish habits, and Mrs. Wendover, her stuffed rabbit, spent more time left behind in her room, she’d seemed to cement her feelings about her sisters getting married.

She did not wish for the family to do any more changing.

“Well, let us just hope you have not waived at a valet,” the duke said. “It could have been anybody at that window.”

Serenity had not considered that possibility, but she really did not think so. There had been something in the way he’d carried himself, though he was just sitting. She knew very well that was a ridiculous estimation and therefore kept it to herself.

Valor was still muttering, “Aloner, and aloner, and aloner.”

“Valor,” Serenity said, “It was only a wave from a window, not a proposal of marriage.”

“But it always starts somewhere, doesn’t it?” Valor said, pushing around her cake with a fork.

Serenity did not argue the point. It was true, things always did start somewhere.

Now, the carriage rattled along, getting ever closer to King Street. This was the moment she would be introduced to society. She felt nerves and excitement and dread and an urge to direct the carriage faster and at the same time make it turn back. It was every feeling all at once.

She took a deep breath.

The duke patted her hand. “Do not let your nerves get ahead of you. I make the same speech every year at this moment—you are a duke’s daughter and need not impress anybody.”