towards the edge of the balcony and sank down. Felicity knew from experience that visitors rarely raised their eyes beyond the ornately decorated first floor. Her dark-grey gown blended well with the shadows and through the balusters she had an excellent view of the front door and entrance hall as well as the first rise of the staircase. The long-case clock on the landing below chimed the hour. It was followed almost immediately by the sounds of an arrival. Felicity knew a sudden, irrational desire to laugh—trust Nathan to be so punctual, it was the soldier in him.
Then he was there. They were in the same house, the same space. She leaned forward, straining to see him. Her heart turned over as he walked into the hall, but his curlybrimmed beaver hat obscured her view of his face. She had never seen him in anything but his scarlet regimentals and thought him handsome in uniform but now, seeing his tall, athletic figure in the plain black swallowtailed coat, she almost fainted with a wild yearning to run down the stairs and throw herself into his arms. She stifled it, reminding herself of how he had betrayed her. She hated him, did she not? She had vowed she was done with him for ever. Yet here she was, hiding in the shadows, desperate to see the man who had broken her heart.
He spoke to the footman as he handed over his hat; she could not make out the words but his warm, deep voice awoke a memory and sent a tingle down her spine. She noticed that his brown hair was no longer tied back but cut short so that it just curled over his collar. He turned to ascend the stair and she was momentarily dazzled by his snowy white neckcloth and waistcoat. As he lifted his head she put her hand to her mouth, stifling a cry. A disfiguring scar cut through his left eyebrow and down across his cheek. His face was leaner and his mouth, which she remembered as almost constantly smiling, was turned down, the lines at each side more pronounced. She had expected him to look a little older, but the severity of his countenance shocked her.
Felicity had followed his career as closely as she could. She knew Nathan’s regiment had been involved in several bloody battles so she should not have been surprised to see he had been wounded, but the scar made it suddenly very real.
Do not be so foolish, she told herself. You should rejoice that he has been punished for the way he treated you! She closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. It had been her uncle’s way to call down fury and retribution upon the heads of those that had offended him. But she was not like her uncle and the thought of Nathan’s suffering sliced into her heart. She stared again at the tall figure ascending the stairs.
Look up, she pleaded silently. Look at me.
As Nathan reached the top of the first flight of stairs he paused. Felicity’s heart was thudding against her ribs: if he raised his head now he would see her! For one joyous, frightening, panic-filled moment she thought he would do just that, but then he was turning to greet his host and Sir James’s bluff good-humoured voice was heard welcoming him.
‘Come along up, my lord, do not hesitate out there! Here is my lady wife waiting to make your acquaintance…’
The drawing room door was closed, the voices became nothing more than a low drone. Felicity slumped down, her head bowed. She had seen him. He was alive and apart from that scar on his face he looked well. A burst of laughter reached her: he even sounded happy.
And he was not aware of her existence.
Hot tears pricked her eyelids and she berated herself for her stupidity. It had been foolish to come to London, knowing he would be here. She should have known it would only bring pain. She dragged herself back to her room. It was senseless to think of him, laughing and talking with Lydia and Sir James in the gilded splendour of the dining room below. She would be best to put him out of her mind and go to sleep. That was the sensible thing to do.
But when the Earl of Rosthorne left the house several hours later, the silent grey figure was again watching from the upper balcony.
Having lost his first wife in childbirth, Sir James was morbidly anxious for Lydia. Felicity was aware of this and resolutely stifled her own misgivings as she offered to accompany Lady Souden about the town. Lydia’s delighted acceptance of her company was at least some comfort.
‘Oh, I am so pleased! I knew how it would be, once you saw how exciting it is going to be in town this summer. I only wish we could have been here for the procession in honour of King Louis last month, but there is so much to look forward to; it will be so entertaining.’
‘I am sure it will,’ said Felicity bravely.
Lydia gave her a long look. ‘And Lord Rosthorne?’
Felicity hesitated. ‘I must do my best to avoid him. If I dress very plainly I shall not attract attention. It is possible that he would not even recognise me now. Perhaps, when we go out during the day, I might be veiled.’
Lydia clapped her hands. ‘How exciting! But people will be so curious! We could say you are a grieving widow…’
‘No, no, Lydia, that will not do at all.’
But Lady Souden was not listening.
‘Smallpox,’ she declared. ‘You have been hideously scarred—or mayhap your head was misshapen at birth.’
In spite of her anxieties, Felicity laughed.
‘Shall I pad my shoulder and give myself a hunchback as well? That is quite enough, Lydia. We will say nothing.’
‘But people will think it very odd!’
‘I would rather they think me eccentric than deformed!’
Glancing at her reflection in the mirror the following day, Felicity could see nothing in her appearance to cause the least comment. Lydia had informed her that they were going to drive out in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour. Felicity’s russet-brown walking dress was not quite as fashionable as Lady Souden’s dashing blue velvet with its military-style jacket but it looked well enough, and the double veil that covered her face was perfectly acceptable for any lady wishing to protect her complexion from the dust kicked up by the carriage horses.
The drive started well, but there was such a number of carriages in the park and so many people claiming acquaintance with the fashionable Lady Souden that it was impossible to make much progress. Lydia was enjoying herself hugely. She introduced ‘my companion, Miss Brown’ with just the right amount of indifference that very few bothered to spare more than a glance for the plainly dressed female with her modest bonnet and heavy veil. Felicity was beginning to relax and enjoy the sunshine when she spotted yet another carriage approaching, but this one was flanked by two riders, one of them the unmistakably upright figure of Lord Rosthorne.
She gripped Lydia’s arm and directed her attention to the coach.
‘Heaven and earth, Lady Charlotte Appleby! I had no idea she was in town.’
‘But Rosthorne is with her,’ exclaimed Felicity. ‘Can we not drive past?’
‘Too late,’ muttered Lydia, pinning on her smile. ‘They have seen us.’
She was obliged to order her driver to stop. Felicity held her breath and sat very still, praying she would not be noticed.
With the two carriages side by side, Nathan brought his horse to a stand and raised his hat to Lady Souden.
‘Good day to you, ma’am. You know my aunt, of course.’
‘Yes indeed.’ Lydia Souden turned her wide, friendly
