Page 6 of The Lady of the Lamps (Vows in Vauxhall Gardens #1)

P apa hadn’t even noticed Lord Leighton running off, but Beatrix was sure everyone else had.

She had no idea what she had done or said wrong.

One moment, she’d felt as though she was walking on air—dancing with the man she’d thought she would never see again, and then watching the incredible firework display light up the sky.

The next, he had bolted. She had called out to him—something which probably drew even more attention to his hasty departure—but it was like he hadn’t heard her.

Or hadn’t wanted to.

Was it something I said? she wondered all the way home. Once in the carriage, Papa had fallen asleep, and the ensuing quiet had only given her more time to think about the embarrassing end to what had been a magical night.

For a brief moment, she’d thought that her dreams had come true. It was a foolish daydream, she could see that now. But when he had appeared as if by magic and they had danced under the glow of the lamps, it had seemed like time had been turned back.

Like she had another chance at the happiness she had always expected her life would be full of.

And then he ran away.

Perhaps he was married, and felt awkward telling her.

Perhaps he was just being polite by dancing with her. And yet he had remembered her, after all those years…

Maybe it had suddenly dawned on him that she was a spinster, not a woman he wanted to be courting.

Sadness settled over her as she went to bed that evening. Her maid Jemima commented on how quiet she was, but Beatrix did not explain why.

Jemima was her closest confidante, and yet she did not want to share how foolish she had been, imagining a man like Lord Leighton would still be interested in her after seven long years, and dreaming of some perfect future based on one dance.

She had thought she had grown out of such nonsense. And so she had—until the handsome man she had kept in her mind for so long suddenly reappeared.

And then promptly disappeared.

Rather, he had run. Without saying good night, even. He had just turned tail as if being chased by demons.

It was a rather extreme reaction to whatever she had done wrong, she thought as she lay in bed, unable to sleep.

But he surely had his reasons.

And since there was no way she was going to call on a gentleman, even if she had a clue where he was residing, she resolved to forget him.

Instead she needed to focus on building a future for herself. If she wanted a husband and children, and not to be a spinster for the rest of her days, she could not spend her life wishing for a fairytale.

*

A week after the ill-fated trip to Vauxhall Gardens, Beatrix received a startling visit which forced any romantic notions from her mind.

“A caller to see you, Lady Beatrix,” their butler Samson announced as he opened the door to the drawing room. Both Beatrix and her father sat up a little straighter; it had been a long time since young men had called upon Beatrix during the visiting hour.

Foolishly, Beatrix allowed her heart to hope, just for a moment, that it was Lord Leighton.

But the gentleman shown in was no young man, and he was very definitely not Lord Leighton.

He took off his top hat, revealing a balding head with scattered gray hairs across it, and bowed.

“Lord Haxbury, Lady Beatrix. It is a pleasure to see you again.”

Beatrix had to rack her brains to try to remember seeing this man before. He had to be older than her father, and no name came springing to her mind.

“Lord Filton,” Papa said, more alert than he normally was. “What brings you into town during the Season? I thought you avoided it like the plague!”

Both men guffawed, and Beatrix was left none the wiser as to who the guest was.

“I shall call for some tea and cake, my lord,” she said, curtsying politely before reaching for the bell cord.

“Excellent. My, you have grown up, Lady Beatrix.”

His eyes raked up and down her body and she fought the urge to shiver in discomfort.

“Beatrix,” Papa said, as though suddenly remembering her existence. “You remember the Earl of Filton, do you not? We used to visit him at his country estate in Wiltshire.”

“Oh yes, of course,” Beatrix lied. She didn’t remember the earl or his estate—but she didn’t want to be rude, or force her father to go into some long trip down memory lane to explain the connection to her.

This gentleman was clearly there to see her father, and so Beatrix would smile politely, drink her tea, and work on her needlework while the two men conversed.

“It’s been years,” Papa said as the tea was poured before him.

“Why, Bea must have been a little girl when you last saw her. And my Emily still alive…” Sadness passed across his face, as it always did when Mama was mentioned, and Beatrix decided to move the conversation along before he could become morose.

These days, it wasn’t easy to pull him out of a maudlin mood once he had sunk into it.

“Do you not care for Town during the Season, Lord Filton?” she asked, pausing in her embroidery of a delicate flower in the corner of a handkerchief to address him.

His blue eyes looked as though they had paled with age, and she found herself wondering how he and her father had become friends, since he clearly was too old to be a school chum.

“No. Too many people, too much noise…give me free reign of my estate any day!”

Beatrix smiled and nodded. While she liked the countryside, she couldn’t agree with him; the hustle and bustle of town when everyone descended upon it was the most exciting part of the year.

“But something’s changed?” Papa asked.

“Well. You may have heard that Lady Filton passed away last year?”

Beatrix had, of course, not heard, for she hadn’t remembered of the existence of Lord Filton until that very morning—but Papa nodded sadly as though it were not news to him.

She was surprised, however, at how coolly the Earl mentioned the death of his late wife. Referring to her as “Lady Filton”, even to a supposed close friend, did not endear him to Beatrix.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Beatrix murmured, wondering why her death had led to his arrival in town. She presumed it had been more than a year since her passing, since he was not wearing a mourning arm band—but then perhaps he did not feel the need to follow the custom.

“It’s naturally time for me to find a new wife, and so I must endure the social Season!” Lord Filton laughed, and her father did too, and Beatrix felt sick to her stomach.

Did marriage really mean so little to men that when a wife died, the only importance was to find another one as soon as was socially acceptable?

Was this the world that her future happiness depended on?

She had seen how deeply her father mourned her mother, and still did—and yet he laughed along with this earl all the same.

She knew she needed to look at the world less romantically, but one hoped for a little romance in marriage, surely…

“Perhaps we will see you at the Pollark ball next week then?” Papa said. Beatrix hadn’t even known he planned to attend the ball, but she supposed it was important they still went to as many functions as possible during the Season. If she wanted a husband, that was.

Although right now, she wasn’t entirely sure that she did.

“I’ll be there. I believe my daughter and her husband will be in attendance too.”

“Oh goodness. In my head, Natasha is still a little girl!”

The earl laughed. “She is quite grown, and married too—but I actually meant Charlotte. Natasha is still in the countryside, after her confinement. Her second child, and a son this time, thank goodness!”

With every minute that passed, Beatrix disliked this man more.

“I am very much looking forward to marrying a young woman who will present me with a son,” Lord Filton said, a leering smile upon his face. “After all, I don’t need to be young myself to become a father again!”

Beatrix could only stand, horrified, as her father laughed along with the vile man.