Page 37 of The Lady of the Lamps (Vows in Vauxhall Gardens #1)

Six Months Later

B eatrix had not known that life could hold so much joy.

Her household was calm and happy; her husband attentive and kind; and her reputation in society had not been greatly damaged by the broken engagement and hurried wedding.

Thomas had rather quickly disgraced the Haxbury name by ruining a young lady with a band of very powerful brothers, and then refusing to turn up to the duel that they demanded—and so he was currently hiding out in the country.

Society seemed to think that Beatrix was well rid of him; a sentiment she wholly agreed with.

Some even whispered that she and Spencer were a great love match.

Her only regret was that he had never spoken of love again.

Not since that morning at Haxbury House, where he had spoken of love moving in mysterious ways.

Oh, when they lay together he spoke words of adoration, and he never left the house without a kiss and a promise to see her soon.

But he had not declared any feelings of love, and even though she knew she loved him—even more than she had thought possible when her youthful infatuation with him had begun—she did not feel she could say the words first.

Perhaps they would come. His nightmares had improved with her sleeping beside him, by his own admission, and they had not spent a night apart since they had wed. Even when she bled, they spent the nights curled up together, not wishing to be separated.

Although that had not been an issue of late.

She smiled as their boat docked and a footman helped them out.

Vauxhall Gardens. They couldn’t fail to make her believe in magic.

After all, she had married the man whom she had danced with in those very gardens so many years earlier.

The man she had dreamed about for so long.

The man she had thought would never be hers.

“Would you like some refreshment, before they light the lamps?” Spencer offered.

“Thank you, yes.”

On their way to the refreshment table, they were waylaid by two gentlemen who Beatrix now knew very well: James and Timothy, her husband’s closest friends, along with James’s wife, Louisa. The girl seemed sweet enough, although she was always very timid around them—and around Spencer, especially.

“We did not expect you two to be here,” Timothy said. “We thought you enjoyed one another’s company above all else!”

Beatrix blushed and could not help but smile at the fact that they had noticed how much time she and her husband spent together. It was surely more than was fashionable, but she did not care.

She loved her husband. If only he felt so strongly.

“It is good to see the world every now and then. And we must hear your news. Is a wedding date finally set, Timothy?” Spencer asked.

Timothy groaned. “You sound like my mother.”

“Well, you have been betrothed for what, a year? It is past high time to name a date.”

“Not all of us propose matrimony and march down the aisle within forty-eight hours,” Timothy said with a roll of his eyes. “Or within a month, like James here.” His glance turned to James and Louisa, whose arms were linked. They simply smiled.

Beatrix laughed. “The poor lady will think you have changed your mind.”

Timothy sighed. “In truth, I rather think I have. And that she has, too—she has been no hastier about setting a date than I.”

“Perhaps it would be better to cry off,” James suggested. “Before there is no escape.”

“Perhaps. But let us not ruin this lovely evening with talk of such matters. They will be lighting the lamps soon.”

Beatrix rubbed her hands in glee. “I do love the lamps.”

“I believe there will be fireworks after supper, too,” Timothy said, with a cautious glance to Spencer.

Beatrix’s eyes also flitted to her husband. His jaw was set, but he did not look like he wished to bolt. Instead he said, “I had heard they were likely.”

The lamps were lit to gasps and applause, and no matter how many times Beatrix saw them, she did not cease to be amazed. She took her husband’s hand and decided that she would be brave.

“Spencer,” she said, turning to him beneath the glow of orbs above. “I must tell you something.” She swallowed and took a deep breath. He might not have said it, but he needed to know how she felt.

It was only right.

His brow arched as if to encourage her to continue.

“I do not expect you to feel the same, but I cannot keep this in any longer. Spencer, I am in love with you. I think I may have been since the day I first danced with you, but I have fallen ever deeper in love since we wed. And I thought you ought to know.”

His eyes widened in shock, and he took her hand and pressed it to his lips.

“My love,” he said, his voice a little husky. “I believed I was too broken to be a husband. Too damaged by the war to feel love. To know what it was. But I know that I love you. You should know it too. I love you. And that I will spend my life making sure you feel as loved as you deserve to be.”

*

He had known the words to be true for a long time, and yet had not been brave enough to say them.

But, when she opened up her heart to him, he had only one answer: that he loved her too.

Desperately. And that while he was not sure he would ever deserve her, he would do in everything in his power to make her as happy as she had made him.

Because with her by his side, he felt almost whole again.

When they had first wed, he had woken her most nights with his terrors, and she had held him, and he had drifted back off to sleep.

And slowly the nights had become easier.

She had encouraged him to talk about his brother Jack, and although it hurt, it helped to keep his memory alive.

No longer did he dream of his brother’s lifeless body, and beg for his own life to be taken in his place.

He would always miss his brother. But he was also grateful that his own life had been spared on the battlefields of France—because if it had not, he would not be there, in Vauxhall Gardens or anywhere, telling his beautiful wife that he loved her.

And he refused to feel guilty for surviving any longer. He did not think Jack would want him to be miserable for the rest of his life.

“Shall we dance, wife?” he asked as the musicians took up their instruments.

Beatrix beamed and offered her hand, and they swept onto the dance floor.

If others stared because of rumors about their hasty marriage, or because they were so obviously, sickeningly, in love, Spencer did not notice nor care.

Beatrix was his everything.

“I was thinking,” Beatrix said as they danced to the thankfully fairly sedate tune. “Perhaps we could think about going to the countryside for a while.”

Spencer raised his eyebrows. They had not discussed leaving their London home, and had stayed through the Season without discussing departing.

Was she bored of London life? He had not returned to his seat in Wiltshire since Jack’s death…

and while he thought he might finally be ready to, he was intrigued as to what had prompted this desire.

“I would do anything to make you happy,” he said. “But may I ask why?”

She smiled, that warming grin that made his heart feel full, and took his hands as the dance ended. “I feel that it’s better to raise children in the countryside.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in. The musicians started up again, and they still stood on the dance floor, frozen in the moment.

“Do you mean…”

She nodded and her smile became a beam that transformed her face from beautiful to radiant. “I wanted to be sure, before I told you.”

Finally having the sense to lead her from the dance floor, he cut through the dancers with his hand grasped tightly around hers.

“Do you feel well?”

She nodded. “Well enough. A little queasy here and there, but nothing to really complain about.”

“Of course we can move to the country,” he said, finally remembering to answer her question. “We need not return to London ever, if you do not wish to.”

“And you are happy?”

He did not have to think before he answered. He had thought he would never have an heir; that the title would go to some nameless, faceless male in his family tree. He had thought that was what he deserved, having usurped his brother’s place after failing to save him in that bloody war.

But he could look at things differently now. Beatrix had changed him—and no doubt this child of theirs, whether a beautiful little girl like her mama, or a boy who would one day take on the title of Marquess of Leighton, would change him further still.

“Happier than I could possibly deserve to be.”

Beatrix shook her head, and stood up on tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips, despite the crowd around them.

“You deserve all the happiness in the world, my love. And we will have it—together.”

When the fireworks began, he did not jump out of his skin. A shiver went down his spine, and then Beatrix took his hand, and pulled him close, and he watched the colorful lights fill the sky without thinking of the horrors that the loud bangs had always brought to the forefront of his mind.

The war was in the past, and he would endeavor to leave it there. Beatrix, and their babe, were his future—and it was a future he was excited to embrace.