Page 37 of The Duke Steals a Bride (Stolen by the Duke #5)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“Y our Grace!” Lady Ava’s voice was filled with genuine delight. “It is so wonderful to see you! I did not realize you were in London!”

Christine turned, smiling widely at the lady, filled with relief to see a friendly face in this hostile crowd. The earl had insisted that Violet attend this afternoon tea party in Mayfair, in order to find suitors for her sister’s hand as soon as possible, and Christine had only trailed along to give Violet moral support.

This is the last place I want to be. I wish I never had to attend a high society event again in my life.

She glanced at her family. Their father was dragging Violet around the room, making her speak to every eligible gentleman. Her sister’s face was a mask of controlled suffering. Christine’s heart bled for her…and for Grace, and their lost, illicit love.

It isn’t fair. They make each other so happy. How can it be wrong when they love each other so very much?

“Lady Ava,” she said, after the lady curtseyed, embracing her. “You look so lovely.”

The lady smiled. “You are as gracious as ever, Your Grace!” She looked around the room. “But where is His Grace and the little ladies? Georgina will be so happy to see Lady Isabella and Lady Beatrice again!”

Christine’s smile faded. “They…they are not here.” She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. “They returned to Ironstone after the ball at my father’s house last Saturday night. And I-I decided to remain behind, to spend some time with my sister.”

Her throat was so tight she could barely speak. She felt like she was about to burst into tears. Lady Ava frowned, drawing her away from the crowd. They sat down in a window alcove.

“What is wrong, Christine?” she asked, in a gentle voice. “I can see you are upset.”

“Oh, Ava,” she breathed, biting her lip. “I-I am upset…and I feel I can confide in you.” She took a deep, ragged breath. “I am staying in London indefinitely. The duke and I are at loggerheads.” She blinked away tears. “He can never love me, Ava. We became so close, but he pushed me away again. And I love him. So very much…”

“I know that you do,” said Ava, in the same gentle voice. “It is obvious to me. And he loves you, as well. I can see it.”

“Does he?” Christine’s voice ended with a sob. “I think you are wrong, Ava. I do not think he can ever love again.” She hesitated. “I was told his heart is buried with his late wife. I cannot compete with a dead lady. He has always wanted a marriage of convenience…”

“Everyone can see how deeply you both have fallen in love with each other,” insisted Ava, in a fierce voice. “Whatever the discord between you, that is the truth. He just needs to realize it…”

“I hope I am not interrupting?”

They both jumped, turning around. Oliver Fortescue, the Marquee of Browning, was standing there, gazing at them…or rather, at the beautiful Lady Ava. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Ava blushed hard, to the roots of her hair. “Lord Browning!”

Hastily, they stood up, facing him. Oliver dragged his eyes away from Ava, smiling at Christine.

“Where is Ironstone?” he asked, in a curious voice, his eyes flickering around the room. “I do not see him here.”

“He returned to the castle with the girls,” replied Christine, trying desperately to compose herself. “I-I decided to stay in London to catch up with Violet.”

There was a strained silence. Christine blushed, trying to ignore the knowing look that passed between Oliver and Ava.

“Is everything quite alright, Your Grace?” asked Oliver, in a kindly voice. “You seem upset. I do hope my old friend is treating you well?”

“He does not want me to be his true wife, Lord Browning,” said Christine, her voice filled with pain, shrugging her shoulders. “He wants to keep his distance from me.” She took a deep breath. “So, that is what I am doing. Keeping my distance.”

Oliver looked angry. And annoyed.

“Ironstone is as stubborn as a mule,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Anyone can see you are made for each other. When will he ever let the past go?”

Christine didn’t answer. She turned away, tears blurring her eyes, so they couldn’t see how upset she was.

He cannot let the past go. He never will. And I just have to accept it.

“You are looking very lovely today, my lady,” said Oliver, turning to Ava, his eyes filled with warm appreciation. “Have you done something new to your hair?”

“Nothing at all, my lord,” said Ava, blushing hard. “But I do appreciate you noticing.”

“I notice everything about you, my lady,” he drawled. “It is very hard not to notice you.”

They stared at each other. The air was filled with sudden tension.

Christine took another deep breath. “I think I will get some refreshment,” she murmured, smiling at them. “I will be back presently.”

She wandered away, glancing back at them. They were already deeply engrossed in conversation, unable to take their eyes off each other. She felt a stab of pain as she reached the refreshment table, taking a cucumber sandwich, and eating it absently. It tasted like ashes in her mouth.

Edwin and I looked at each other like that once. But no more.

“Your Grace. What an unexpected, pleasant surprise!”

Christine turned around, trying to mask her shock. Lady Canterfield was standing there, dressed in a frilly dove gray afternoon gown, staring at her avidly, and clutching a cup of tea.

What a dreadful coincidence that the lady is in London at the same time as me. And at the same event.

“Lady Canterfield,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Have you been in London long?”

“I am here for a few days,” said the lady, with a dazzling smile. “We have a townhouse on St. James’s Square. I often like to come here to attend the opera, go shopping on Bond Street, and the like. The shopping is far superior to the local village in Kent. But then you would already know that.” She gazed around the room, sipping her tea. “Is the duke with you? I do not see him here.”

“I am here alone, my lady,” said Christine, flushing hard. “The duke and his daughters are presently at Ironstone.”

“Ah,” said the lady, tilting her head to the side, gazing at her quizzically. “Are you staying with your own family, then? On account of the sudden return of your sister?” Her smile broadened. “I heard there was a miscommunication, and she was simply staying with your aunt in Wales?”

Christine’s color deepened. “Yes. That is correct.”

She hated lying, even to this awful woman, but she didn’t have a choice. She wasn’t at liberty to tell the truth. For the first time, she vividly saw how the truth would be made sordid and tawdry in the hands of this lady… and all of the ton. She could almost hear the terrible whispers.

Did you hear about Lady Violet Andrews? She ran away to Italy with her maid, who is also her lover… and became an opera singer! What an utter disgrace.

“How wonderful,” Nora murmured, taking her arm. “But we must take advantage of being in London at the same time and spend some time together! Would you like to go riding with me through Hyde Park tomorrow? Please say that you will!”

Christine hesitated. “I am not sure, my lady. My sister…”

“Oh, please do,” entreated the lady, looking wounded. “I am sure your sister can spare you for a short while. And the weather is utterly gorgeous—perfect for riding. It will be fun!”

Christine took a deep breath, feeling trapped. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

Nora squealed with delight, gripping her arm tightly. Christine forced a smile onto her face. She didn’t want to go riding with the lady at all. But she was trapped now, well and truly. She supposed she must simply make the best of it.

* * *

The next day, the sun was shining high in a very blue sky as Christine cantered toward Lady Canterfield.

She took a deep breath, gazing at the Serpentine River, which was snaking lazily through the large park, and the ladies and gentlemen promenading around it, children laughing as they threw balls or skipped hoops, watched by their parents and nannies. Her heart contorted with pain.

How wonderful it would be if the duke and the girls were here. How wonderful to be here with them… instead of this lady.

“I thought we could take the path through the trees,” stated the lady, with a broad smile. “It is good riding and not crowded on that trail at all.” Her smile widened. “Why, it is like an oasis in the middle of Hyde Park!”

Christine frowned, then nodded. She wasn’t familiar with that path. “I suppose so. I will follow you.”

They set off, trotting through the trees. The branches overhead were interlaced, making a thick canopy, not letting in much light at all. Christine squinted. It was much darker than she anticipated—she was having a hard time seeing the trail properly.

The path twisted. Now, she had lost sight of Lady Canterfield entirely. The lady must have ridden away. Christine sighed heavily, increasing her pace, leaning low over the horse’s neck.

Suddenly, Lady Canterfield, on top of her horse, appeared in front of her, so abruptly that her own horse reared up in alarm. Christine cried out, desperately trying to keep control, gripping the reins tightly.

“It is alright, girl,” she cried, wrestling with the reins. “It is alright!”

But the horse wasn’t listening to her. It was utterly spooked. It reared again, higher this time, neighing in distress.

In one swift movement, it threw her. Her hands let go of the reins, and suddenly, she was flying through the air at a dizzying speed, hurtling towards the ground. She braced herself for the inevitable impact.

Oh, dear Lord. Please, let it be alright…

She cried out, hitting the ground with a sickening thud. She clawed against the dirt and leaves as excruciating pain overwhelmed her.

And then, everything went black.