Forgotten Fiancée (London Ladies Book 3) Read online

  Having already been forced to endure more stares and whispers than she cared to count while simply walking down the street and through the park, she was loathe to think of what awaited her at a ball filled with men and women eagerly clamoring to find out if she and Miles had reconciled or not.

  Had she been thinking clearly she would found a reason to avoid London entirely, but on the morning she and Charlotte departed Ashburn her mind had been anything but clear.

  “Well?” Martha persisted. “What do you think? The blue or the green?”

  “I think I am not feeling well,” Dianna demurred. She knew changing her mother’s mind would be the equivalent of turning water into wine, but she could not help but try.

  “I do not see what that has to do with selecting a gown. The ball is six days away. If you are not feeling better by Thursday we will send for the doctor, but I am sure you will be fine,” Martha said with a dismissive wave of her hand before she stood up and lovingly placed the invitation on the mantle above the fireplace.

  A woman who had once been a great beauty in her youth and valued appearance and status above all else, Martha now chose to live vicariously through her daughter - when it suited her. When it did not, she lived her life as though Dianna did not exist, flitting from social function to social function and leaving Dianna in the care of her sister Abigail.

  Growing up, Dianna had never understood why her mother would rather dance until dawn with strangers than stay home and read her only child a bedtime story. Now, being both older and wiser, she understood Martha was a bitter woman at heart who wanted more than she’d been given and would never be capable of being satisfied with what she had. Dianna still loved her nevertheless, and the habit of trying to please her mother was not one easily broken. She’d been trying to win her mother’s favor since she was a little girl and now, some eighteen years later, she was still trying.

  “I will wear the green with the white lace,” she said with a sigh. “It is the more comfortable of the two.”

  “Comfortable?” Martha tilted her head back and laughed. “Darling, who cares for comfort? Beauty is not comfortable. The blue, I think. I do so love the bead work.”

  Why ask my opinion if you never heed it? Dianna wanted to snap. Instead she bit her tongue, choking on the sour taste of silence. Every once in a great while she mustered the courage to disagree with her mother, and every time it ended the same: with her in tears, Martha suffering from a case of the vapors, and nothing changed. “Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “The blue.”

  “Marvelous. Now why don’t you go upstairs and get some rest.” Crossing the drawing room in a brisk swish of dark purple skirts, Martha placed the back of her hand across Dianna’s forehead in a rare display of maternal concern. “I am not surprised you are not feeling well. Ever since you returned from Ashburn you have been looking rather pale and these dark circles beneath your eyes are not at all attractive. I knew you should have returned with your father and I, but you insisted on remaining.” Clucking her tongue, she dropped her hand. “I only hope your appearance resolves itself before the Fancott ball. I don’t know how you are going to catch a husband looking as you are.”

  Were it anyone else Dianna would have taken insult, but she knew her mother meant no genuine harm with her thoughtless remarks. If anything, Martha most likely believed she was helping instead of hurting. Such was her way, and becoming angry with her would be the equivalent of shouting at a bird for chirping or the sun for shining.

  “Mother…” Hesitant to broach the subject, but knowing it would be better to deal with it sooner rather than later, Dianna took a breath and said, “Have you heard anything about Lord Radnor as of late?”

  Martha’s eyes, the same soft blue as her daughter’s, narrowed ever-so-slightly. “I know he has returned to England, and I know he will most likely be accompanying his mother and sister to London for the Season. Other than that I have heard nothing, nor do I care to. ”

  Taken aback by her mother’s cavalier response, Dianna set her cup of tea down with an uncharacteristic clatter. “You… you don’t?”

  All of her life she’d known one thing to be true: her parents expected her to marry Miles Radnor. The betrothal arrangement had been a feather in both of their caps; one they’d worn proudly for it had ensured their daughter an excellent match and their future grandchildren titles of inheritance. When Miles disappeared, they’d been as devastated as she. Perhaps even more so, although for entirely different reasons.

  For a long time they both held out hope Miles would return and all would be as it had been; only in the past twelve months had Martha begun discussing other suitors of marriageable age. Dianna assumed with Miles’ reemergence her mother would be eager to rekindle their courtship.

  She never imagined Martha would want nothing to do with him.

  “Why would I? That man is no longer our concern.” Perching on the wooden arm of a sofa, Martha pursed her lips. “He humiliated us, Dianna. And he broke his word. Do you honestly think I would want a man like that married to my daughter? No,” she said before Dianna could answer. “Absolutely not. We shall find you a titled gentleman with an upstanding reputation who is willing to overlook a bit of scandal and that horrendously short hair of yours. You deserve nothing less.”

  It was, without a doubt, the nicest thing her mother had ever said to her.

  Feeling a bit dazed, Dianna stood up. “I… I believe I will go take a nap down.”

  “See that you do. Oh, and darling?”

  “Yes?”

  “I will have one of the maids bring up a cool compress for your face. Those smudges really do look dreadful.”

  Dianna bit back a smile. “Thank you, Mother. That would be very nice.”

  Rain fell from the heavens without cease for the next five days. On the morning of Farcott Ball, however, as though by some divine intervention, the skies parted and the sun finally emerged, chasing away the gloomy gray storm clouds that had been threatening to take up permanent residence over London.

  Waking to the sound of sparrows chirping, Dianna blinked sleepily, a smile curving her mouth as she opened her eyes to the sight of fresh sunlight spilling through the gossamer curtains.

  It is a sign, she decided as she got out of bed and washed her face in a basin of warm water a maid had set out on the dressing table while she still slept. A sign that things were going to be better. That she was going to be better.

  Dabbing at her neck and chest with a towel, she smiled at her reflection in the round looking glass, pleased to note her cheeks held a rosy flush and her eyes boasted their old familiar sparkle.

  Having been kept busy with endless fitting appointments in preparation of the ball and a steady stream of social calls that yielded surprisingly pleasant company without any hint of the gossip she had been dreading, Dianna thought of Miles not at all.

  Well, she corrected after meeting her own rueful gaze in the mirror, almost not at all.

  The truth of it was he would always be a part of her. But a part of her past, not her present, and certainly not her future. As her mother insisted on pointing out - once a day every day - there were countless other eligible suitors to be charmed, and when Dianna put her mind to it she was nothing if not charming.

  To be honest, it was all a bit exciting. For the first time in her life she would be experiencing a true London Season; not as a girl engaged to be married or one recently spurned, but as a woman ready (and finally willing) to find love. Picking up a fine toothed comb, she began to run it gently through her tousled curls, a bit awed by the newfound determination she saw gleaming in her eyes.

  She could finally admit, to herself if no one else, that the broken engagement had destroyed her confidence. Not only had she been abandoned by the man she’d grown up thinking would one day become her husband, but she’d done nothing discernible to earn such a rejection, giving her cause to believe it had been her fault Miles left.

  Following several long days of cont
emplation, she’d come to realize it hadn’t been her fault at all. There was nothing wrong with her. She’d done nothing bad. For four long years she’d sat in the shadows, bewildered and hurt, blaming herself for something she’d had no control over. At long last she was ready for a new beginning. At long last she was ready to step out into the light.

  Beginning with the Farcott Ball.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Do you think I look alright?” Turning in an anxious circle, Harper held up the lace hem of the ball gown that had been delivered just that morning and wrinkled her nose. “Everything is so white. Even the dance slippers Mother picked out are white! I look like a ghost.”

  Miles glanced at his sister. “You do not look like a ghost.”

  Dressed in a gown the color of cream with her ebony hair done up in a fanciful twist and elegant pearls dangling from her ears, Harper looked far more grown up than he would have liked. He’d already caught two chaps looking in her direction since their arrival at the Farcott estate, and sent them both scampering away with a dark glower that promised pain and agony if they dared do anything more than look.

  “A snowman, perhaps,” he added with a grin. “But not a ghost.”

  “You’re a wretch,” Harper said, but his teasing comment achieved the desired effect. Seeming to forget about her appearance, she held out gloved arm and smiled. “Shall we?”

  Bending at the waist, Miles dipped into a mocking bow. “We certainly shall.”

  Side by side they joined the long line of men and women waiting to be received by Lady Farcott before they descended into the glittering ballroom. Given his height Miles was able to see easily over the dark crowd of heads to the top of the grand staircase where their hostess for the evening greeted each and every guest, her smile unwavering. Music filled the air, helping to muffle the din of excited voices as people called out to friends and acquaintances they hadn’t seen since the end of the last Season. Jostled from behind by an eager young woman intent on furthering her position in line, Miles held fast to Harper’s arm and gritted his teeth.

  He’d hoped balls might have changed during the past four years, but now he saw they were worse than ever; a mad crush of noblemen and women fighting to be recognized and acknowledged as they used dining and dancing as an excuse to further their own social means. Were Harper not in need of a chaperone - especially after their mother decided to remain ensconced at Winfield - he wouldn’t have stepped foot inside, but he’d made himself a promise, and he was determined to fulfill it.

  “Do I have to dance?” she asked in a loud whisper, tugging on his coat sleeve to gain his attention as they advanced further in the line one step at a time.

  “Only if you want to.” A scowl darkened Miles’ countenance when he caught a young man who could not have been more than twenty years of age boldly staring down at the décolletage of an older woman. Unconsciously his grip on Harper’s arm tightened. “And only if the man is a gentleman of upstanding moral character.” And happily married, he added silently.

  “Well in that case I might as well find a chair and make myself comfortable,” she said dryly.

  Miles cast his sister an amused glance. The protective fatherly urge inside of him was new, but that did not make it any less potent. He felt as responsible for Harper as though she were his own daughter and in some ways he supposed she might as well have been. With their father dead and their mother in a place both literally and figuratively not easily reached for reasons Miles could not completely understand, he and Harper were very much on their own.

  Four years ago he would have run from the responsibility, but now he accepted it as his due. Without him Harper had no one, and he refused to disappoint her a second time.

  Noting they’d nearly reached the front of the line and only six people stood between them and Lady Farcott, Miles absently smoothed a wrinkle from his cravat and adjusted the lapel pin so the tiny sapphire faced outwards instead of in.

  “Do you expect her to be here?” Harper asked.

  “Who?” Miles said evasively, even though he had a very good idea to whom his sister was referring.

  “Dianna.” Harper’s lifted brow indicated she wasn’t fooled for a minute by his feigned air of nonchalance. “Do you expect Dianna to be here?”

  “Where Miss Foxcroft is concerned I have learned to have no expectations,” he said in a tone that very much implied Dianna was not a subject he was interested in discussing. “Do you have your dance card?”

  “Tucked away in here.” She held her right arm aloft where a small satin reticule dangled from her wrist. “Not that I plan on using it very much. Are you going to dance?”

  “I might,” he said absently, attention wandering as he glimpsed a woman with blonde hair cut close to the nape of her neck descending the staircase into the ballroom. His muscles tensed, breath catching in his throat.

  “Are you going to dance with Dianna?”

  His gaze cut back to Harper, eyes narrowing in a glare that threatened all sorts of ominous things if she didn’t change her line of questioning. “No,” he said curtly, looking back at the staircase… but the woman was gone, swallowed up by the crowd.

  “Lord Radnor and Lady Harper, what a pleasure to have you both in attendance tonight.” Lady Farcott’s smooth voice caught Miles unawares, and belatedly he realized they’d reached the head of the receiving line.

  A woman who took great pride in her appearance despite her advancing years, Lady Farcott wore a puce colored ball gown tailored perfectly to fit her short, plump frame and enough diamonds to fill the coffers of a small country. She gazed up at Miles expectantly, a questioning smile lingering in the corners of her mouth. “Lord Radnor?” she queried, “are you quite all right?”

  More than aware of the curious stares accumulating at his back as well as those rising up from below, Miles was quick to form a response. “Thank you for having us,” he said politely, folding into a bow. Beside him, Harper executed a neat curtsy.

  “If I am not mistaken, this is the first social event you have attended in quite some time, is it not?” Lady Farcott asked.

  Miles struggled to withhold a grimace. He’d known the questions would come sooner rather than later. He simply hadn’t anticipated them coming quite so soon as this. Given that his leaving the country - not to mention a fiancée - had caused one of the greatest scandals the ton had seen in over a decade, he should have known better. High society was fueled by the flames of gossip, and if the excited light in Lady Farcott’s eyes was any indication, the fire was burning hot tonight.

  “It is,” he said, hoping to leave it at that. Unfortunately, Lady Farcott’s curiosity was far from sated. Seeming indifferent to the fact that she was holding up an entire line of guests, she placed one gloved hand on his forearm, bejeweled fingers lightly restraining.

  “You must tell me what adventures you have been up to!”

  “Later,” he said with a charming smile even as he took hold of Lady Farcott’s wrist and gently, albeit firmly, lifted her clawing fingers from his arm. “I fear I will need more time than your duties as a hostess will permit to tell you everything.”

  Her mouth set in a pout. “Surely you can spare one tantalizing detail. After all, I will need something to tell my friends when they ask what you have been doing these past… why, I am afraid I do not even know how long you have been gone from us!”

  “Four years,” Harper interceded, earning a light trod on her instep courtesy of Miles’ boot. “What?” she asked innocently. “That is how long you were away.”

  “Four years,” Lady Farcott marveled. “My goodness! And have you by chance spoken to Miss Foxcroft? You were engaged to be married, if memory serves. No one has seen much of the poor girl since your disappearance. No doubt nursing a bit of a broken heart, but who could blame her?” Leaning towards him, she whispered conspiratorially, “I believe you will be quite the catch this season, Lord Radnor.”

  At the first mention of Dianna, Miles’ smile ha
d turned to steel. Now it faded altogether. Were it not for Harper needing to make a good first impression he would have told Lady Farcott to go to hell, but he knew whatever rash actions he made would reflect upon his sister, and so with great difficulty he managed to restrain himself enough to say, “I am not in the market for a wife, Lady Farcott. If you feel the need to share something about me, share that.”

  Seeming to realize she’d pushed a bit too far, Lady Farcott quickly attempted to make amends. “I fear I have monopolized your time far more than I should have,” she said with a tittering laugh, “but that is one of the advantages of being the hostess, after all. Do enjoy yourself tonight, Lord Radnor. You as well, Lady Harper.”

  “I shall endeavor to do my best,” Harper said.

  The corners of Lady Farcott’s eyes tightened. “See that you do, dear.”

  “Interfering old biddy,” Harper muttered under her breath as they finally descended the staircase, staying towards the outside railing in a vain attempt to avoid detection, something Miles knew would be impossible once they were announced.

  They’d nearly reached the bottom of the stairs when the caller’s voice rang about above the crowd, delivering a name that caused dozens of people to gasp and twice as many heads to swivel.

  “Lady Harper, accompanied by her brother Lord Radnor, Earl of Winfield!”

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered, ducking his head to the side. Eyes wide, Harper clung fast to his arm as a crush of women rapidly descended on them like a pack of hungry wolves.

  “What on earth,” she breathed, her mouth dropping open in shock.

  “Go,” he urged grimly, giving her a little push. “They are not here for you.”

  “But what are you-”

  “Go.”

  For once she listened to him, and scampered away in the direction of the refreshments mere seconds before the first group of ladies clambered to a halt in front of him. They all began speaking at once, their high pitched voices merging into one.