Page 1 of The Lady of the Lamps (Vows in Vauxhall Gardens #1)

L ife had never seemed so full of possibilities for Lady Beatrix Chichester as it did the very first time she saw the lamps illuminated at Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens.

It had taken a lot of begging and pleading to get her father to take her with him.

He argued she was not out in society yet, but she reminded him that no one cared who you were at Vauxhall.

He told her it was an unsuitable place for a proper young lady to go—but how could he claim that, when the Duchess of Tewksbury herself had been seen there only the previous week, with all three of her daughters?

She had seen the glass lamps in the daytime, hanging from every tree and structure, but she had not imagined the beauty of the spectacle when those lamps were lit.

As each lamp sparked into life, one after the other, as if by magic, her heart felt full, and anything seemed possible.

“Is it everything you hoped?” Papa asked as the orchestra began to play.

Beatrix looked up at him and beamed. “It’s so much better, Papa. Oh, thank you so much for bringing me!” she exclaimed, sliding her arm through his and squeezing his forearm in glee.

He smiled back at her and then looked away. He never seemed entirely comfortable with her enthusiasm, although since Mama had died he had gone out of his way to make Beatrix smile.

“Let us have a drink,” Papa said, nodding his head towards the pavilion in the corner of the grove. “And then listen to some music. We can stay until supper, but no later than that…”

“Yes, Papa,” Beatrix said, aware that the best way to assure Papa was likely to bring her back to the gardens again was to not cause a fuss about the time he wished to leave.

Beatrix could not wait until she was out in society properly.

It was mere months until she would be presented at court—something which was necessary, as the daughter of an earl, but which terrified her—and then she would be able to attend balls and musicales and visit the theater and do all of the things that Papa generally said no to.

Because then, she would want to be seen everywhere. That was the point, after all. To be seen, and to find a husband.

Some evenings, when Papa had gone to White’s and her governess was long in bed, Beatrix would sit by the fire and let her mind wander to the sort of man she might marry.

He would be young, and handsome, and titled, of course.

She imagined he would have dark hair and a smile that made her heart race.

Would she meet him at a ball? A house party in the country, like the one at which she knew her father had met her mother? Or maybe right here in London, at an event at Vauxhall Gardens?

She shivered in anticipation. Oh, how marvelous life truly was.

“Are you cold, Bea?” her father asked, frowning.

“No, Papa,” she said. She certainly was not going to share her daydreams aloud. “I am simply in awe…”

She had to remind herself not to stare for too long as she stood at the entrance to the Grand Walk, the tall trees stretching into the distance.

The lamps made every surface shine, and the blond hair of any young lady or gentleman seemed to shimmer.

As she watched young couples taking to the dance floor, she allowed her fingertips to brush her own blond locks for a moment, taking care not to knock any of the pins out.

Did her hair also glimmer in the magical light from the lamps?

Beatrix had read about the patrons of Vauxhall in the gossip columns, and she knew that as long as one could pay the shilling entrance fee, there were no other requirements that needed to be satisfied.

The clothes of her fellow revelers gave some indication as to whether they were lords and ladies, merchants or maids, but it was rather thrilling to not be quite sure who one’s dining companions were.

Or rather inappropriate, in Papa’s mind—but as everyone important was seen at Vauxhall at some point over the summer months, he could hardly avoid it entirely.

“Is that the Earl of Haxbury I spy?” The piercing female voice carried over the sound of the orchestra, and both Beatrix and her father, Lord Haxbury, turned to see who was addressing them.

“The Duchess,” Papa muttered to her, well aware that she recognized very few of the well-known faces in society, since she was not technically out yet.

“Your Grace,” Papa said in his normal tone, bowing his head. “What a pleasure to see you here.”

Beatrix curtsyed, feeling nervous at this social test before her.

The old lady had wiry gray curls and held up a monocle to see her conversation partners more clearly.

“May I present my daughter, Lady Beatrix Chichester, Your Grace. Beatrix, this is the Duchess of Tewksbury.”

Beatrix felt her eyes widen. “An honor to meet you, Your Grace,” she said, curtsying again without meaning to. “I’ve read…” She was about to say she had read all about her in the gossip columns, before realizing that was probably not the done thing.

Her father glared at her and the duchess appeared to be waiting for her to come out with the end of the sentence. “I have read…much about Vauxhall,” she ended lamely.

The duchess nodded her head whilst narrowing her eyes. “Anything can happen in Vauxhall Gardens, or so they say!” she said with a cackle that reminded Beatrix very much of the tales of witches her mother used to tell her at bedtime. “It is your first visit, Lady Beatrix?”

“Indeed, Your Grace.”

“And how do you find the gardens?”

Beatrix could not stop the smile from growing on her face. “They are wonderful, Your Grace. It feels like there is magic in the air…”

“I am afraid that magic rather fades when you grow up,” the duchess said, and Beatrix did not know how to respond. Was the duchess mocking her youthful attitude? Ought she take back her comment?

She glanced up at her father, but he seemed distracted by a flame thrower on the other side of the grove, and so Beatrix was forced to make the decision herself.

“That does seem a shame,” she said, hoping that she was not making a terrible social faux pas, before she had even been properly introduced to society.

“But you are right. The gardens are wonderful. My own daughters beg me to bring them here…” The woman glanced around, as though looking for her children, but instead her eyes alighted on three young men who were making their way through the crowds towards them, laughing loud enough that they could be heard above the din.

Beatrix knew it was rude to stare, but she could not help herself.

All three men were handsome and full of joy, but the light from the lamps seemed to illuminate the tall, dark-haired gentleman in the center.

His full lips were turned up in a smile that Beatrix found herself wanting him to direct at her.

The gold buttons on his velvet waistcoat caught the light, and she noticed that he wasn’t wearing a jacket, and that his shirt clung tightly to well-defined muscles in his arms.

These were not things she ought to be noticing—and definitely not things that should be taking her attention away from one of the greatest peers in the land.

“Lord Clement,” the duchess said, her voice once more ringing out across the space. “And Lord Fount and Lord Linton, unless I am much mistaken.”

*

Spencer stopped in his tracks at the sound of his name. He had not exactly told his father where he intended to go, and so being spotted immediately was not ideal.

But then it was so fashionable to be seen at Vauxhall Gardens, he was hardly surprised that someone, especially the Duchess of Tewksbury, knew him.

“Your Grace,” he said, removing his top hat and bowing deeply when he realized who had called his name. “What an honor.” His companions, James and Timothy, also bowed, although as usual they let him take the lead in the conversation.

“I did not know your family were in the city,” the duchess said.

“We only returned recently,” Spencer said. “My brother is to wed a lady who lives close to our seat in Berkshire, and so we stayed there later than we usually would.”

“Oh yes, I had read that Jack was to wed. I do love a wedding. Will it be in the city?”

“I am afraid not,” Spencer said with a tight smile. He was very pleased that his brother was happy, but the constant talk of weddings was rather dull. And he did not quite trust the lady he was to marry. He did not believe she loved his brother in the way she claimed to.

“Such a shame.” She glanced to her side, seeming to remember she had companions, and Spencer turned to face them.

His eye was immediately caught by the shimmering of the light from the lamps upon the golden hair of the young lady who smiled at him, and blushed.

He felt his mouth go dry and his skin grow warm.

“Allow me to introduce you to Lord Haxbury and his daughter, Lady Beatrix,” the Duchess said, gesturing to the young lady and her father. “And these gentlemen are Lord Clement, Lord Fount and Lord Linton—all sons of friends of mine.”

There was much bowing and curtsying and exchanges of greetings.

Spencer was sure James and Timothy were itching to fetch a drink, and to procure a good spot before the fireworks began, but he could not walk away without asking the beautiful Lady Beatrix to dance.

The exquisite lamps in the gardens eclipsed the gowns and hairstyles of nearly everyone present, but somehow they just seemed to enhance this young lady. She was practically aglow.

And he wanted a moment to bathe in that light.

“May I have the next dance, Lady Beatrix?” he asked, his tongue tripping over the words.

She blushed a deep shade of pink and looked up at her father, who frowned but then nodded his assent.