Page 5 of The Lady of the Lamps (Vows in Vauxhall Gardens #1)

S urely this had to be a dream.

Beatrix had imagined seeing him a thousand times before. Often her imaginings had been in this place, where they had danced under the light of a thousand lamps… But she had never actually expected to see him here again.

Not now, seven years after that magical night.

He bowed his head, and his smile was just as heart-stopping now as it had been then.

“I am Lord Leighton, now, but I’m honored you remember me, Lady Beatrix.” Beatrix could not stop the blush that spread across his cheeks as he said her name.

He remembers me.

The hurt when he did not call had faded over the years—especially when she had realized he had gone to France to fight.

The relief at knowing he had not perished on the battlefield, as so many young men had, that he was here, alive and well and smiling at her…

“May I have the next dance?”

She already felt shocked that he was here, in the flesh, not in her imagination. But surely she was dreaming that he was asking her to dance?

Father looked up at her with that faraway smile he often got now.

He was no longer so concerned about whom she danced with; perhaps he had given up hope of her ever getting married.

It had certainly been a while since anyone had asked to escort her onto the dance floor.

At almost five-and-twenty, she did not think anyone expected her to suddenly make a fine match. Not anymore.

“Go and have fun, Bea. I’ll take a seat over there.” Papa’s arm slipped from hers, and she watched him walk away, suddenly feeling rather shy.

She didn’t know Lord Clement—or Lord Leighton, as he now was.

She tried to remember what they had discussed.

Had she known he was in line for a different title?

She had pored over every detail of their conversation in her mind over the years and she did not think that piece of information was part of it.

The musicians began to play the next song, and Lord Leighton offered his hand. Butterflies filled Beatrix’s stomach as she accepted, feeling the years and her weariness of society shedding as she took to the dance floor.

“I heard you were in France,” she said, when there was a moment for conversation. Because what did one say to a man one had danced with once and then thought about for years after?

Lord Leighton nodded. “Yes. When we last met… I did not know that I would end up enlisting. So I can only apologize for not following through and calling on you, like I promised.”

“Of course,” Beatrix said, trying to pretend that it had been of no consequence. “Have you been back long?” She wanted to ask how he was now Lord Leighton, but she did not wish to be rude, or to bring up some painful event that had presumably led to him inheriting the title.

“It has been two months, I believe,” he said, faltering in the steps slightly. It was a newer dance, and she wondered if he had ever danced it before. She was certain there was not much call for dancing on the battlefield.

“I haven’t seen you at any of the functions this Season…” She wished she could take the words back as soon as she had uttered them. He would think she spent every ball and musicale looking for him, like some pining wallflower.

The slight truth to that notion only made it more pathetic.

“I don’t much care for society,” he said shortly.

His tone cut off Beatrix’s next question. He had clearly changed in the seven years since they had last met. Then he’d had a real joie de vivre , and she’d gotten the impression that he would attend any event as long as there was a chance of a good time.

He had asked her to dance, but he didn’t really seem to want to be there.

Maybe he had changed… Or maybe she had never really known him at all. Which, of course, she had not. But she’d felt like she had…

*

Even though he found it hard to make light conversation, which had once been something he had enjoyed partaking in, the dance with Lady Beatrix was the happiest moment he’d had in years.

He’d noticed that she did not correct him when he called her Lady Beatrix, which gave him hope that somehow she was not yet wed—even though such an idea was ridiculous.

And really, why did it matter? He wasn’t in any fit state to marry.

He wouldn’t shackle anyone to such a miserable husk of a man—let alone a woman as bright and effervescent as Lady Beatrix.

But still, it made him happy, for a moment. And that was longer than he’d been happy in quite some time.

When their hands met, he felt a spark ignite something within him that he’d thought was long dead.

Hope, perhaps.

“The lamps are as beautiful as ever, are they not?” Just as you are. He couldn’t say what he was thinking; it would be too scandalous. She was a well-bred lady, and he was a marquess.

But she was just as beautiful as she had been that night. The years had only enhanced her beauty.

Lady Beatrix sighed and glanced up at them, not missing a step in the dance. Spencer only hoped she hadn’t noticed the number of times he had misstepped. He really ought to have made sure it was a dance he was confident in before taking to the floor.

“Yes. I confess I have not visited often, but I have always remembered the magic of the lamps on that night we met.”

When the dance came to an end, he escorted her back to her father, but found he was not keen to rejoin his friends. He wanted to enjoy the warmth he felt just being in Lady Beatrix’s presence for a little longer.

“Do you plan to stay in London for the Season?” Lady Beatrix asked.

“I believe so. And perhaps afterwards, too. I do not wish to retire to the countryside just yet…”

She nodded as though she understood, but there was no way she could—and Spencer did not wish to mar the evening with his misery over the death of both his brother and his father, so he did not explain any further. “And you?”

“Oh yes. Although we may go to Bath to take the waters at some point.” She glanced at her father, who had remained seated and certainly looked frail. He felt sorry for the man, but was glad that it wasn’t Beatrix whose health required the waters.

The sight of Timothy and James approaching made his heart drop a little. He didn’t want this moment to end—but he didn’t seem to be able to make polite conversation anymore.

They both stopped and bowed, looking to Spencer for an introduction. They clearly did not remember meeting Lord Haxbury and his daughter. But then, why should they? They hadn’t been so affected by the meeting as Spencer, although they had teased him about it back then.

“Lord Haxbury, and his daughter Lady Beatrix,” Spencer said. “May I present Lord Fount and Lord Linton, old friends of mine.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Lady Beatrix said with a curtsy. Spencer couldn’t help but wonder if she remembered them from that night, since she clearly remembered him. A sizzle from a torch caught their attention then, and they turned to see what it was.

“Oh good, the fireworks are about to start,” Lady Beatrix exclaimed, clapping her hands together and beaming.

Her joy distracted Spencer from what was about to occur; he was too busy looking at the beautiful smile on her face to think about what was about to happen next.

But then, the first flash of light and crash of an explosion made Spencer’s heart seize up as panic filled him.

Take cover! screamed in his head, along with the echoes of men’s shouts and the whinnies of panicked horses. Get out of here!

The sound of gunshots filled his mind, and fear filled his body, making his only options fight or flight.

And he had no weapon, no way to protect himself, no way to avoid joining the mound of groaning, dying bodies that would surely be present once the explosions had subsided.

He was in the world of his nightmares. So he ran.