Page 68 of Regency in Color

By the end of the night, she was destined to fall head over heels in love with the Duke of Westerfield.

She had told herself it couldn’t happen, but he was simply too much. He was too kind and attentive, too handsome and charming. Too perfect.

Thalia stood no chance.

* * *

Stephen spentthe entirety of his evening delighting in Miss Ramsey’s enjoyment of the gardens. In her eyes, he saw the wonderment and awe that he himself had felt his first time walking these paths. She was so different from every other lady of his acquaintance—but then, they were from two very disparate worlds.

In his circles, women were coy and demure and never smiled with all their teeth. They didn’t laugh as freely or walk with such an ambling, purposeful stride. They were like porcelain marionette dolls, their strings manipulated by the teachings of their mothers and society at large. Thalia was the antithesis of everything he’d been taught a lady ought to be, and yet she was the most dignified, regal creature he’d ever laid eyes upon.

She had been captivated by the Rotunda, which was empty of dancers and musicians because of the fine weather. The columns and painted ceiling enclosed them as Stephen told Miss Ramsey of the circus performances and displays of horsemanship.

“The next time such an event is held, you must attend,” he said. “With a seat in the audience boxes, you can gaze down and see everything.”

Stephen grew silent then, realizing that he would very much like to be the one to escort her to such a performance. It was presumptuous of him to even think such a thing, but once the thought took root, he couldn’t pry it out of his mind. He could too easily imagine her gasping and gripping the arms of her chair as she watched daring feats of acrobatics, her smile bright and genuine.

He was a fool. Upon approaching her, Stephen had never considered that the night would take this turn. He hadn’t imagined he might find himself loath to leave her company, and craving it with an odd sort of need.

Before tonight, they’d barely known one another. After hours of roaming the gardens, Stephen had learned that Miss Ramsey took milk and lots of sugar in her tea, and that she was fond of daffodils. She preferred sunsets over sunrises, and loved a well-made, spicy curry. She had never been outside London and longed for the sights and fresh air of the sprawling country. The bookshop had been an inheritance passed down from a father who’d had no sons. Despite the insistence of her mother and several acquaintances that as a woman she was not up to the task, Miss Ramsey had kept the shop open, and it continued to flourish. Providing for a small family was her responsibility, one she took quite seriously.

On first glance, the weight on her shoulders seemed a pittance compared to all the land and people Stephen was beholden to. Yet, Thalia carried her burden with limited resources and the status of being both a blackamoor and female working against her. She was far stronger and capable than he was, yet her head was always held high and the regal dignity in her posture never diminished.

Stephen threw himself into providing an enjoyable evening for her, as she’d confided that she rarely had time for simple, frivolous fun. He walked her through the Chinese temples and arcade, then the Turkish tent—where they’d rested for a while to sample the best coffee Stephen had ever had, and an array of delectable sweets. They wandered and talked of everything and nothing at all, and Stephen was hard-pressed to remember when he’d enjoyed someone’s company more.

During their explorations, they had paused to watch the hot-air balloon ascend into the night. The gasps and exclamations of the crowd were nearly deafening, but he and Thalia merely watched the spectacle in silence.

But then, Thalia turned to him with a curious look on her face. “Have you ever done it … ascended in a balloon?”

“I have,” he replied. “At an outdoor ball my parents hosted at Westerfield Abbey in Devon years ago.”

Her lips turned up. “What was it like?”

“Bracing. Cold. Exhilarating. I could come up with fifty more adjectives and still never fully encompass the experience. It was like being outside of my body. Being so high in the air with the wind in your face … it’s one of those experiences that can make you feel larger than life, more than human.”

A wistful look overcame her face as she looked back at the floating balloon. “It sounds wonderful.”

Just then, Stephen never wanted anything more than to see Thalia step into the basket of a hot-air balloon. To witness the look on her face as it ascended, bobbing and dipping at the mercy of the wind. Perhaps he could arrange a private ascent for the two of them at the end of the night. If Thalia was going to give herself over to a night of whimsy and wonder, a balloon ascent would be the perfect cap to a lovely evening.

Keeping that thought at the back of his mind, he sought another amusement to point out—desperate to keep her in his company. They had toured most of the biggest attractions of the gardens, but Stephen would have shown her every flower, every pillow, every green leaf if it made her smile as she was right now.

At last, they came upon a panorama depicting an exotic painting of an Indian temple framed by a lush pleasure garden. Stephen found himself searching for more time—one more second, another minute. He stood still once they circled to the back of the painting, the thin, painted screen shielding them from others ambling along the path. The lantern light shined through the panorama, casting its variegated colors across her face. He trembled with the desire to taste her lips—plump and sensuous and still slightly pink with rouge.

“You’re different,” he blurted aloud before thinking of his words. He had to say something to keep from hauling her into his arms. “Outside of the book shop, I mean.”

A slight smile curved one corner of her mouth as she turned to face him and lowered her mask. “I am a woman as well as a proprietor of a business. When I leave that shop, I am like any other of my sex.”

Of course she was. It was his folly that he hadn’t seen it until tonight. Stephen didn’t think he could ever look at her again without seeing just how magnificent she was.

“You are also different,” she added when he didn’t reply. “You’ve always been genial when you visit to purchase your books on Saturdays, but … tonight you seem less a duke and more a man. I suppose it is the atmosphere of the gardens.”

“No,” he insisted. “It isn’t the gardens, but rather the company. I find you easy to talk to.”

She sighed and turned away, reaching out to gently caress the petals of a flower. A green vine twined around the pillar of a faux ruin, its blossoms the same hue as her gown. “I suppose that’s because I’m not of your world. You needn’t worry about expectations or decorum, or that I might try to trap you into an unwanted marriage. There is no need to act courtly toward a woman beneath their station.”

Something in her words left a hollow feeling in Stephen’s middle. It bothered him to hear her speak that way of herself, but there was only truth in her words.

Stephen approached slowly, not wanting to frighten her. There was too much air between them, a tension created of things unsaid. Things he didn’t even understand himself.