The Lady and Her Secret Lover Read online

  Louisa shook her head. She shouldn’t be so cold and bitter. Perhaps she should go over and wish them well. Perhaps her new friend would be in this group…perhaps she would find even more than friendship.

  She shook the thought off once again and inspected each of the girls individually, judging their hair, their dress, their mannerisms. She closed her eyes, admonishing herself. She refused to become one of them, one of the ton, one of those people who thought of the new year of girls simply as the next year’s selection for marriage. As chattel. She wouldn’t. She’d been one of the chattel, still was really.

  A shudder wracked her spine, and she opened her eyes this time, truly looking at them, knowing how nervous they were, set apart from the rest by their virginal white gowns—a cluster of fluffy soft clouds amidst the hardened jewels of society, so easily damaged. She smoothed the fabric of her own blue gown and realized she didn’t want to be counted as one of the hardened jewels either, so she needed to stop the cynicism. She needed to be the woman she’d never had, caught somewhere between matron and innocent, the woman who knew but could still walk amongst the lilies.

  She glanced back up to the group and tried to see them differently. One girl stood with her back facing the room—the ultimate faux pas. Her gown wasn’t quite bright white but more of a blush on a rose, the very hint of flesh trimmed with a pink so subtle even the flower itself wasn’t aware of it. Louisa could tell from the dress this girl was money, for a dress of that style would only be attainable at the finest of shops. Louisa’s eyes followed the neckline down one arm to a reticule dangling and swaying as she fidgeted with the string that bound it to her. She watched that reticule twist and turn, as a leaf on the wind, then followed the line of buttons on the inside of the girl’s wrist up to the edge of the glove near her shoulder. Her skin was so pale, like it wasn’t told it should be separate from her gloves, or her dress. She was so awash with pale, so lacking in any true color, it was as though she were hiding in plain sight.

  Louisa could see the tension ripple across the girl’s back through the shift of muscle and as she turned her head, her chin dropped to her shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered, and Louisa could see from where she stood the only color this subtle wash of a girl carried— and it struck her at the center of her chest like an arrow to the heart. Deepest lavender. Her heart stuttered in her chest as her hand fluttered at her breast, and Louisa attempted to contain her reaction before anyone saw.

  This girl was not hiding within reach of the ton jewels—she was their crown jewel, and they’d yet to figure that out. Someone should tell them before she was lost to some poor sap who wouldn’t worship her as she should be worshipped.

  The girl raised her shoulder a touch as if to remind her spine to hold her body straight and tall—and it did. Then she lifted her chin, and the brilliant color of her eyes was lost to Louisa. She felt the loss like a blow, even as she swayed toward her, wishing to run a finger along the edge of her jaw to lift her gaze. The creep of a warm flush traveled Louisa’s shoulders, arrowed down her spine, loosening her hips.

  The girls’ neck —decorated with the silky spun strands of her pale blond hair— elongated, became regal, held her perfectly. Louisa watched those strands as they shifted across her skin, loosed from the perfect chignon at her nape, and Louisa realized she hadn’t taken a breath in a very long time.

  The girl turned. Looked directly at her. Louisa coughed at the rush of air to her lungs, the lavender gaze held hers curiously, and Louisa fell back between the potted palms, realizing they had one other use Louisa hadn’t conceded—they were good for hiding.

  Ellie

  Ellie gave up trying to find the woman who’d caught her attention and turned back to her friends—group—set—whatever they were. All that held them together was the fact they’d all come out this year. As if they’d been kept away from all good society. Locked away like so many little mice striving for their chance in the sunlight. And wasn’t that the ultimate tease? Such a game…the white dresses announcements as loud as a circus barker: “Wait until you see what we have for you to choose from this year. Sixpence a stocking! Not to your liking? Wait until next year! Next year will be even better…”

  The problem was convincing a man to offer for you the first year, because the following year, the shine would wear thin. The opening of the Season was to put them on display for the gentlemen—one of which would be her husband. Hopefully as quickly as possible so she could be done with it. Her entire life had revolved around this moment—and those that followed—in the service of a husband. She hoped he would be kind.

  She felt another chill and turned again hoping to see her again, but this time she met the eyes of a striking man. Tall and blond. He smiled perfunctorily at her, then turned away. She filed the memory for later since he seemed interesting, not here for the wares, as it were.

  She’d have to find out who he was, if he were worthy, and whether to set her cap for him. For while the cats circled, the mice plotted. They were much more well-trained than any mouse had a right to be, and for the most part were no simpering misses—at least not on the inside. As the pickings for good husbands had waned over the years, the mamas had upped their game, hiring professional matchmakers to train the girls what to look for in a man and how to catch them. So while those cats thought they were in control…truly they weren’t. The machinations of many decades of practiced matchmaking held everyone in its sway.

  The season is on, the game afoot—once more unto the breach, dear friends! She smiled to herself.

  Ellie attempted to listen to the conversation of the other girls but became overly bored. Couldn’t they, for one single minute, discuss something other than the men? She turned to Georgianna. “I believe I’ll take a moment in the retiring room, Georgianna. Would you like to accompany me?” she asked, for they were never to go anywhere alone. Wolves and all. But Georgianna was obliviously batting her eyes at that blond who was perfectly terrified.

  Ellie laughed behind her glove, then turned. She could manage one trip to the retiring room, heaven’s sake. There were matrons everywhere tonight. She pushed her way through the crowds, occasionally pinching some immoveable person from her path.

  “Maitland.”

  She turned at the voice and dipped a quick curtsey. “Mama.”

  “Viscount Mayjoy and his daughter are here tonight. Find her. She’s well on the shelf but she’s still invited because of her father so she’d be the perfect companion. Entry to all the biggest events without competition.”

  “Yes, Mother. If you could point her out I’ll try, but for now I must go. I was with Georgianna and we mustn’t separate.”

  “Of course,” her mother said then shooed her on her way. Ellie wasn’t of a mood for this.

  She pushed her way into the retiring room and flumped herself into a chair, allowing her skirts to float around her as they wished. She watched the silk flutter to the floor. She’d no wish to return to the ball. It was the loneliest crowd she’d ever been in. Somehow in her mind it had all seemed so much more glamourous.

  Water rushed in the attached water closet, and she straightened herself. She positioned herself coyly, knees together, feet to the left, tilting her knees demurely, her hands clasped on the reticule in her lap. She cocked her chin and gazed at the door to the main house as though she were awaiting someone.

  She heard a gasp—not much more than an inhale—and turned to find the girl, that girl, the beautiful brunette from the potted palms. A shiver rushed her spine, sending her to her feet. “It’s you,” she whispered, then glanced behind the girl and waited to see if she were alone.

  When her gaze returned, the girl was staring at the floor, straightening her skirts and her posture. Ellie knew this action well, as they were all constantly straightening, pulling, pushing, and arranging themselves to their best advantage. But the girl never looked up—and she wanted her to.

  “I saw—” Ellie stopped; she shouldn’t call her out. It was already obvi
ous they both knew who the other was from that moment in the ballroom. “My name is Miss Rigsby, Maitland…Rigsby. Eliot. Maitland Eliot Rigsby.” She shook her head, as though it would help un-jumble her thoughts. “My friends, should I have them someday, will call me Ellie.” She shook her head again—she was making a mockery of herself, and the girl still wouldn’t meet her eyes. Ellie walked closer and put her hand out in greeting then as a chill rushed her skin from the door opening, she snatched it back.

  A gaggle of women entered the room, their chattering filling the small space as they pushed between her and the girl in blue. The women walked to the wall with the mirrors, speaking amongst themselves as if she and the girl weren’t even in the room. The girl seemed to make no notice of it, and Ellie took the chance to inspect her. If she would only look up. Her dress was sapphire, not the deep blue of the crystal, but somewhere close to it, where the light refracted and tossed about its bright happiness, somewhere between midnight and the dusky summer sky.

  The neck was higher than it ought be, if Ellie were being honest about their purpose here tonight, and certainly her purpose must be one and the same. She should be teasing, and yet the edge of this girl’s dress wasn’t one to tease, even as her unsteady breath pushed her chest against her stays and rose a flush to her neck. She wondered why she would wear it. She was young, clearly unmarried, and all the young, unmarried ladies had a singular purpose…

  Her breath stopped suddenly, and Ellie tried again to catch her gaze. Her eyelashes, thick and black against her flushed cheeks, were the most beautiful things Ellie had ever seen. Like pieces of mink, perfectly placed and begging for her to run a finger against the tips. They would be so soft. Ellie closed her eyes and took a deep breath to slow her racing heart because surely, surely, this girl was beyond her somehow. Her beauty, her poise. Ellie should allow her to go about her business.

  When she opened them, the girl was still holding her hands before her, and Ellie was certain she’d never once looked up. If she could only— A cackle from one of the women at the mirrors stopped Ellie from moving, and she saw the girl tense. Please stay, Ellie thought as she waited patiently, fervently praying the girl didn’t take the opportunity to flee.

  The gaggle turned, their chatter unceasing. Please, please don’t join that crowd. Please, please don’t disappear from me now. The crowd moved again, like a murder of crows, and Ellie held her breath as they moved between them and returned from whence they came, and the girl in blue waited still.

  Ellie breathed. She watched as the girl closed her eyes, then opened them. She seemed to be composing herself, and Ellie was happy to allow it if it meant she would finally speak to her, because for some reason Ellie felt her entire future would hang on whatever this girl had to say.

  When she caught her gaze, Ellie’s breath was stolen from her—eyes she never would have expected shimmered like sapphires from beneath those lashes, and the dress suddenly made perfect sense. This girl’s eyes were wide and wise and the deepest blue. Neither of them moved. “You’ll call me Ellie,” she said, and realized it was the most ridiculous moment of her life, but that it called forth a smile from this girl—oh, how she would give her life away right now to hear her speak, to know her name. Or to hear her own name on the girl’s breath. Ellie stilled and waited once again.

  It seemed too long a wait but she finally approached, feeling completely out of control of her own actions. She lifted one hand and took hers in greeting and leaned forward their cheeks were a breath apart, her skin warm. She lingered, closing her eyes and breathing of her. This was no girl, this was a woman, and didn’t Ellie know it.

  Louisa

  You’ll call me Ellie. Louisa had been so frightened at first that she’d smiled without looking. She hadn’t been yet ready to meet those wondrous eyes, but the assumption Ellie’d made in that simple phrase was the most beautiful sentence in the history of speech.

  She’d been terrified to meet her eyes, because this thing—it wasn’t like anything she’d ever experienced in all her life. It’s how she expected to feel when she met a husband. Explained time and again by happy wives everywhere before they bid their goodbyes and disappeared from her life because she was yet unwed…no longer of their set.

  She was constantly losing friends. It was exhausting to begin again, year after year. She just wanted one friend who wouldn’t abandon her because of her circumstance.

  Louisa paused her maundering, closing her eyes and taking a deep, steadying breath. It wasn’t the time for this.

  She believed herself composed enough to be able to gaze into Ellie’s eyes and not give away how incredibly flustered she was. And so she did. But she’d been wrong, so wrong, so very, very, wrong. It seemed forever before she could speak. She was trying so hard to find words, her name, a vowel…anything with which she could greet the angel before her. For she was an angel, haloed in the blondest hair, the only depth of color those eyes, those deep, mesmerizing lavender eyes. She blinked as though to clear whatever fog created the illusion.

  She opened her mouth and willed herself to speak but “Lou—” was all that came out. She looked away again, a pinch of tension between her shoulder blades.

  Ellie took her hand and said, “Lou is a beautiful name.”

  And Louisa melted, let the feel of it embrace her. Ellie pulled her to the settee as she attempted to speak again. “Louisa,” she said, “Present. Louisa Present.” And they sat together. She had so many questions but all she could manage was to gaze in those eyes and try to stutter some sort of explanation as to why she was behaving so terribly. “I… Your eyes,” she said.

  Ellie looked down as if to hide them, but Louisa ducked her head and fought for them because they were stunning…there were no other words and now that she’d braved meeting them, she refused to relent. “My grandmother, she said I was born a ghost. You know, all this pale skin…hair,” Ellie said, “but a fairy kissed my eyelids, giving me these eyes as a gift to balance it out.”

  “Were I a fairy,” Louisa whispered and Ellie smiled and it filled her tip to toe with a lemony sunshine she couldn’t contain. “It’s your first season?” Louisa asked more out of politesse than anything else.

  “Yes… not yours though,” Ellie said with a soft smile.

  “No… no.”

  “Are you here with… anyone?”

  “No, I—” Louisa realized she’d have to tell Ellie whose daughter she was—a viscount with a terrible reputation. “My father is here. Viscount Mayjoy.” Then she held her breath, hoping she still had a friend.

  “Mayjoy?” Ellie replied and though she stifled it, Louisa noticed the slightest sadness before Ellie caught herself. Louisa looked away, pulling her hands to her lap and threading her fingers together.

  Ellie

  “Mayjoy, I—I’m not familiar. You must not have an eligible heir in your midst,” Ellie said with a smile, hoping Louisa understood her jest, and she did seem to relax a bit. She should tell say something but she wanted to know everything about this girl and she was afraid if she said something, anything, the wrong thing, that she’d be gone. She was like a butterfly shuddering on a leaf ready to take off at any moment, and Ellie didn’t want to spook her.

  Quite honestly, Ellie wasn’t sure how to behave because Louisa was stunning in a way she’d never considered. Beyond knowing whose gown was made by which maker and such, she hadn’t ever paid any mind to any other girls. But right now, with her…she’d never seen a woman with such blue eyes and such dark hair. It was intoxicating, and she could not stop staring. She’d never thought much of her own violet eyes. They were unique for being a shade different from the rest, but to have blue eyes with such depth and variation—Ellie believed that to be truly unique. Like the sky and the sea had been painted there and only now fought for control. Or perhaps it was the way she felt weightless when searching the depths of them.

  Her etiquette training demanded Ellie turn away, but she couldn’t. Ellie knew it must be awkward; she k
new she should be saying something.

  Louisa spoke. “Are you enjoying your coming out?”

  “I— Well, as I’ve only just… I suppose.”

  “I find it all rather tedious. Months of studying the news sheets and Debrett’s coupled with years of lessons for proper etiquette and behavior. I honestly see no point in all this tradition. What’s a woman to do with all these skills except to manage a man’s household? Women are trained up with the sole purpose of finding and tending a man and his wishes.” Louisa picked at a thread on her skirts.

  “You’ve no interest in finding a husband?” Ellie asked then, holding her breath.

  “I didn’t say that, exactly…or at all, really. Though I suppose you could take it that way, and I… I don’t believe this atmosphere is terribly conducive to finding someone with whom you’d be able to spend the balance of your life. That’s all.” Louisa smiled.

  “Well, having a husband is quite different from having a companion is it not?”

  “Is that what you’re looking for? A companion?”

  “Yes, I think, more than anything.”

  “A lady after my own heart,” Louisa said. “I want the same.”

  Ellie let out the breath that had caught. Suddenly this felt like so much more than simple friendship. “Oh, I’m no lady, not like you.”

  “It’s but a word, isn’t it? I was lucky enough to be born of the right man, who was married to the woman, who birthed me. I’m not sure how much I hold to the God’s hand interpretation of the peerage but—” She stopped and looked away.

  “You have no interest in this?” Ellie waved her hand about as she gave up on finding the proper word for whatever this ridiculous event and all of its madding attendees should be called.