Page 2 of The Lady of the Lamps (Vows in Vauxhall Gardens #1)

He didn’t generally go to balls or choose to dance at gatherings.

Such places were a hunting ground for matchmaking mamas, and at only twenty years old, Spencer had no intention of finding a wife.

One day he was sure it would happen, as it had for his older brother—but then, his older brother Jack was going to be the next Marquess of Leighton, and so marrying and producing an heir was far more urgent for him than it was for Spencer, a second son.

But that night, in the fragrant gardens, with the orchestra playing in the background and entertainers at every tree-lined corner, he wanted to dance.

James and Timothy made their excuses and left as the set came to an end, and Spencer offered his arm to the lady to escort her to the dance floor for the start of the next song.

“Do you come to the gardens often, Lady Beatrix?” he asked as they began to move to the music.

Despite his lack of regular practice, he had been taught all the common dances until he knew them in his sleep, and Lady Beatrix had clearly been similarly instructed too.

They glided together under the lamps without needing to waste much energy on focusing on the steps.

She shook her head. “This is the first time I have visited,” she said, her voice as melodic as he had imagined it might be.

“And what do you think?” he asked.

“Oh, I think it is the most magical place I have ever seen,” she said, joy overtaking her face. Spencer could not help but smile back. Their hands met and he wanted to hold on, even though the dance did not require it.

On the other side of the gardens, a bell tolled, and he had to ask her, “Have you seen the Cascade yet?”

She shook her head.

“Allow me to escort you, after the dance,” he said. “The way it moves, you would believe it’s enchanted.”

“Do you come here often then?” she asked.

“My father doesn’t really approve,” Spencer admitted. “But I like to come with my friends, when I can.”

“I don’t think mine approves either,” Lady Beatrix said with a giggle. “But I have heard the prince has attended, so it cannot be so terrible!”

Spencer almost told her that Prinny being there was probably one of the reasons her father would not want his innocent daughter at the gardens, but he thought better of it.

It was not a suitable comment to make to a young lady, and he would not want to be caught speaking poorly of the Prince Regent, either.

“Well I am glad he approved of you coming tonight,” Spencer said eventually, and was rewarded with another blush from the young Lady Beatrix.

“I have not been presented yet,” she said. “But once I am, I cannot wait to attend balls and musicales and come back to the gardens…”

“May I call on you?” Spencer asked, the words rather taking him by surprise. There was something about this beautiful, blond lady with her easy smiles and deep blushes that made him want to know her more. “Once you have been presented, I mean.”

Another blush, and then she nodded. “I would like that, Lord Clement,” she said.

*

Beatrix never wanted the moment to end. When the dance finished, Lord Clement escorted her back to her father—but, as he had promised while they danced, he asked if he might show her the Cascade.

Papa frowned, and glanced in the direction the young lord was pointing, as if assessing how far it was, and whether he was willing to let his daughter wander so far.

“I should love to see it, Papa,” Beatrix said, knowing that in spite of his concerns for her safety and reputation, he did always want to see her happy.

“For five minutes, then. But no longer—and stay where it is light. You understand me?”

“Yes, my lord,” Lord Clement said, with a polite bow of his head.

He offered her his arm, and as she threaded hers through it, she thought her heart might explode. Even though his shirt sleeves and her gloves prevented their bare skin from meeting, she could feel how warm he was, how strong he was.

At seventeen years old, she had never felt this way before. She had not known that the touch of a man’s hand to her own could make her whole body feel as though it were alight, nor that her mind could feel so discombobulated by the smile of a handsome gentleman.

He was everything she could have ever dreamed of—and he wanted to call on her.

Perhaps it was foolish, but she felt as though, that evening at Vauxhall Gardens, her life had truly begun.

As they approached the feat of engineering known as the Cascade—an incredible man-made waterfall, which she had heard described but never seen—she gasped.

A crowd had formed around it, but that did not impede her view.

Water gushed down the huge structure, roaring impressively.

The scene behind it would have been eye-catching—a beautiful vista, with a water wheel and miller’s house so expertly painted they might have really been there—if it weren’t for the waterfall, which eclipsed it all.

It really did seem like magic.

“I told you it was worth seeing,” Lord Clement said, keeping a tight hold on her arm as the crowd around them grew.

“Most definitely!”

“They only show it for a brief period each night—that’s what the bell was for,” he told her knowledgeably. “And they keep it covered it the day, to make it all the more special when they do reveal it.”

“It’s hard to believe man could have made something so beautiful,” Beatrix said, her eyes transfixed upon the scene. “I could stay here forever.”

“As could I,” Lord Clement said—and when she tore her eyes from the magical scene, she blushed to find he was looking at her.

The look in his eyes made her feel like her whole body might melt into a puddle at his feet, and suddenly she understood why a young couple might disappear down the dark walk, which was only a few feet away…

Why they would wish to be alone, with no prying eyes to judge them.

“I should take you back to your father,” Lord Clement said, sorrow in his voice. “I did promise…”

Beatrix licked her lips, which had suddenly gone very dry, and nodded. “Yes, of course.” He was right—and she had nearly lost her head over a handsome man. A man who quite probably did not feel the same burning through his body as she did through hers.

Papa was waiting with an anxious look on his face, which instantly relaxed at the sight of his daughter, returned safe and sound.

Lord Clement bowed once more, and reached for Beatrix’s hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. She shivered in spite of her gloves blocking any direct contact.

“I will call on you, my lady,” he said softly, low enough that she did not think her father could hear, flashing that heart-stopping smile once more. “Once you are presented. I promise.”

*

“What do you mean, you’ve enlisted?” Spencer asked, blinking rapidly. His older brother Jack stood in the center of the room, his eyes fixed on a spot on the wall behind Spencer’s head.

“Exactly what I said. I’ve bought a commission, and I will be leaving for France next week.”

“But why?” The words coming from his brother’s mouth didn’t make sense.

They’d been discussing the Season, and Spencer had raised the topic of which balls they should probably attend—something which didn’t usually interest Spencer all that much.

He had thought that by now, almost two months after that night in Vauxhall Gardens, the shining imagine of Lady Beatrix in his head would have faded, but if anything, it was brighter.

He knew she would be presented this Season.

And he wanted to be at that ball.

Then his brother had opened his mouth and announced he had enlisted, and all other conversation had fled the room.

“I feel it is my duty.”

Spencer frowned. His brother had never seemed to have much of a patriotic disposition before. “But you’re the son of a marquess. Hell, you’ll be the marquess one day. I cannot see why you would feel it right to go and fight from some awful, water-logged trenches in France…”

“I have heard every argument against this from Father, Spencer. You cannot change my mind, I’m afraid. I am going.”

“No,” Spencer said, shaking his head. “You cannot go. You are to be wed at the end of the Season! What will your bride think?”

“Her opinion does not change things.”

Spencer had never heard his brother speak so coldly. Nor had he ever felt as though something was being kept from him. The two brothers had always been close, and up until this point, Spencer had always believed his brother saw it as his duty to marry well and produce heirs to the marquisate.

This went against everything he knew of his older brother. He had never been a fighter. Never threatened a duel, never taken a fancy to pugilism, never entered into a physical fight.

He was an academic man. The perfect future marquess. Intelligent, thoughtful, and with a strong sense of duty to the name and the title.

He wasn’t a soldier.

Except, apparently, he soon would be.

“Has something happened, Jack?” he asked, walking over to the drinks table to pour himself and Jack a glass of whisky.

“I made a decision, and I’m informing you of it. There is nothing else to it,” Jack said, and he stormed from the room without even acknowledging the glass of amber liquid waiting for him.

Spencer took a deep breath, then sat and sipped his drink, pondering what to do.

His brother had never spoken so harshly, or so bluntly, to him before.

And he had never made a rash decision in his life.

Something had surely happened to make him want to leave, and Spencer needed to know what it was.

And yet, if he chased after him now, he didn’t think he would get any more information.

But time was ticking. If he was truly leaving in a week, then Spencer could not wait for him to return to his normal state of mind.

The image of his brother on the battlefield, alone and in danger and without any experience of fighting, sent shivers down Spencer’s spine.

They had grown up together, gone to school together, attended university together. With less than two years between them, they had always been more like friends than siblings.

He couldn’t let him go alone.

Unlike his brother, Spencer was known for making rash decisions, and so he let this one percolate for a while in his mind, while he drank his whisky and then spent some time pacing the library.

Had they been at their country seat, he would have wandered the gardens, but he did not feel like going out into the London streets, where he would surely see someone he knew, and be forced to talk.

No, he needed to think. And he needed to think quickly.