Page 11 of The Lady of the Lamps (Vows in Vauxhall Gardens #1)

S pencer didn’t know what he had been thinking, saying yes to attending a public ball at the Assembly Rooms. One of the reasons he had come to Bath was to get away from society’s expectations—and now he had asked Lady Beatrix to save him a dance.

Yet, there was something about her that made it impossible for him to think sensibly.

So many times he wished that he had never gone to war—or more precisely, that Jack had never signed up, and therefore he had not followed his big brother.

Because in that scenario, his brother would still be alive, and everything would be as it was.

But there was no way to turn back time, and he had come to terms with the fact that he was now the Marquess of Leighton, and that his life would never be like it was before.

He’d thought that locking himself away from the world was the answer—but that didn’t seem to work. And neither did he wish to attend society’s functions and make a fool of himself running away every time someone dropped a glass or set off fireworks.

And although it made no sense, and he didn’t really know what to say to her, and seeing her often put him in situations he’d been trying to avoid, he did want to see more of Lady Beatrix. Perhaps, he mused, familiarity would bring resolution.

So maybe…if he could fix himself, if the waters worked, if a doctor could come up with some remedy to the night terrors and the overreaction to loud noises and the horrors that haunted him…then maybe he could have a future.

A future with Lady Beatrix.

Once upon a time, he had imagined her as his wife. It was a time when he did not think much of marriage, and the dream had seemed so far in the future. But she was the only woman he had ever considered marrying, and she was the only woman he had smiled around since he had been home.

The only woman—the only person—whom he had told that he did not know his place in the world. Amazingly she hadn’t responded with the disdain he’d expected, nor with contempt, or any of the various feelings he had already heaped upon himself. “I know how you feel,” she had said.

How could that be, he wondered. Was she just being polite? That was a possibility, but deep in his heart, he thought there was more to what she’d said than just niceties.

Still, she didn’t deserve to be tied to a broken man. He didn’t understand why she was not yet wed; it wasn’t something he could just ask her, either. That would be presuming far too much.

So he would go to the ball, and dance with her, and hope he could find a way to fix himself so that he didn’t have to fight the temptation to see her, to take her hand, to kiss her…

*

It had been a long time since Lady Beatrix Chichester had felt excited about a ball.

When she had first come out in society, each ball had been the highlight of her week.

Even after the disappointment of the then-Lord Clement not calling on her, she had still been thrilled to dress up and accompany her father to the balls thrown by the highest in society.

She had accepted every dance opportunity and thrilled at getting to show off the skills she had honed, thanks to years with a dance tutor.

It had still been exciting in her second Season.

She loved to see the way the ballrooms were decorated, to marvel at the inventive ways society found to stand out from the common crowd.

Papa had never hosted a ball—with Mama gone, he never seemed to have the desire.

He never did remarry, and so there was no new Lady Haxbury to take her mother’s place in society.

Still, he’d dutifully escorted her to every single one, and right up until Ambrose’s death, in that foolish duel, Beatrix had looked forward to them.

But once she was out of mourning, they became a chore. She had been forgotten by society, a wallflower disappearing into the fringes, rarely asked to dance, rarely even noticed.

With her father’s worsening health, it was not difficult to start declining the majority of the invitations.

And yet on that Wednesday night in Bath, as Jemima helped her to dress for the ball at the Assembly Rooms, excitement filled her stomach.

Lord Leighton had asked her to save him a dance.

Surely that suggested that he had some interest in her?

She did not want to start picturing a wedding, not when she had so foolishly daydreamed about this man for so many years…

But it had to mean something, surely, that he wanted to attend the ball when he usually did not, and that he had specifically said he would dance with her.

They arrived at the Assembly Rooms early. Beatrix had been too excited to wait around once she was ready, and when they entered, there was only a handful of people milling around. None of them were Lord Leighton.

Ever the optimist, she hid her disappointment and told herself it was early. She settled her father in a chair with a drink and sat beside him to watch the door like a hawk.

When the ballroom was full to bursting with the rich and important of Bath society, Beatrix began to wonder whether he truly was coming.

She watched couples take to the dance floor—mainly young men and women who looked to be entering into courtship, but sometimes couples who were already married, or widows and widowers finding a second or even third chance at happiness.

Her heart sank lower with the start of every dance as her disappointment grew. He had said he would call on her once before and had never appeared. Instead, he’d gone to war. Then he had run away at Vauxhall Gardens, and then, promptly departed St James’s Park.

Had she been foolish to expect him to come? She thought things would be different here. And it was true that he seemed more at ease with her in the Pump Rooms. But perhaps that had all been a facade. Or a mistake, which now he realized he was keen to rectify by staying away from her…

*

“Milord, if you do not wish to be late…”

“Thank you, Allan.” Spencer sat back in his armchair, downed a glass of whisky, and poured another one. His valet was right; if he was going to actually attend this ball, as he had said he would, he needed to leave.

He hadn’t been forced into agreeing to attend. All it had taken was a pretty young lady asking if he would attend, and he had said “yes”.

Asked her to save a dance, even.

And yet here he was, sitting in the library drinking whisky, unable to force himself out of the door.

Why had he agreed to go? She’d be expecting him, and he did not want to let her down again. But the thought of a packed ballroom, eyes on him, the risk of someone realizing how broken he really was…

It didn’t help that he’d been plagued with nightmares the previous night.

Worse than usual, too; these had started as they usually did, with him in France, his musket pointed at some helpless Frenchman, the smell of gunpowder, the pounding of cannons, the boom of musket fire, and the whizzing sound of musket balls flying through the air.

The feeling of the ground rocking beneath his feet with each concussion, and the screams.

And then he pressed the trigger, and it wasn’t just a nameless, faceless Frenchman who was lying dead before him. No, it was Jack, his beloved older brother, dead in the grass at his feet and by Spencer’s own hand. As real as if it had really happened that way, even though it had not.

He had awoken in a cold sweat. He was sure he’d been shouting out, too, but his valet knew by now not to disturb him. When he’d first come home, Allan had run in every time…but there was no need. No point. No one could help him.

He had struggled to get back to sleep, the image of Jack, dead, filling his mind whenever he closed his eyes—and now here he was, tired and irritable and two glasses of whisky down, trying to decide if he really ought to attend the ball.

“You’re being pathetic,” he told himself. “Pull yourself together.”

But his mind rallied back: Maybe you’re doing her a favor.

He wanted to be whole again. And he had no idea how he was going to achieve that.

The waters certainly hadn’t dispelled the nightmares, even though he had drunk them every day.

There hadn’t been a loud noise to test his nerves as of yet, but he didn’t feel any different.

Other than the fact that he wanted to see Lady Beatrix, and dance with her again, and be the one to make her smile.

And so he forced himself out of his chair, finished his drink and strode to the doorway, calling out that he was leaving to a surprised Allan as he did so.