Hunter bowed, his imperturbability back in place. "Very good, my lady."
Caroline beamed, the pall of boredom and frustration shifting from her shoulders. She felt light enough to float up into the cloudy winter sky. From what she saw of her friends, they too had found fresh purpose on this February afternoon.
"Why not? Dashing widows drink champagne whenever they feel like it. What better excuse than a toast to our glittering success?"
Chapter One
* * *
May 1820
The Grosvenor Square house stood transformed. Spring had arrived and with it a release from the pall of mourning. Caroline had thrown herself wholeheartedly into the season, and tonight's ball was the culmination of her campaign to win society's acclaim.
She halted in the doorway to her crowded, noisy ballroom, at last able to catch a breath. Holding what turned out to be a brilliant success of a party required diligent attention. But finally, everything was in place and she was ready to have fun. The orchestra played a lively quadrille; a lavish supper was ready and under Hunter's capable supervision; she'd greeted all her guests, delighted at how many people had accepted her invitation. Of course society was curious about rich Lady Beaumont, so recently out of mourning. But she could see already that tonight curiosity veered toward approval.
Helena was dancing with a red-haired fellow whose name escaped her. Fenella danced, too, her pale prettiness flushed to vivacity. She wore a sky blue dress in the first stare of fashion—it was so pleasing to see her in something other than gray. Both friends had worked like Trojans with Caroline to ensure that the launch of the dashing widows was a triumph.
"You're looking revoltingly pleased with yourself, Caro," a deep voice murmured in her ear.
Pleasure warmed her and extending her hand, she turned with a smile. "Silas, I wasn't sure you'd tear yourself away from your greenhouses long enough to come."
Silas Nash, Viscount Stone, was Helena's older brother, the cleverest member of a notoriously clever family. Soon after coming to London, Caroline had met the noted botanist at Helena's house. She'd immediately liked his humor and kindness. And his handsomeness had offered a welcome distraction during the dull days of her seclusion. A handsomeness of which he remained refreshingly unaware.
"I wouldn't miss this for the world. You've arrived with fireworks." He bowed over her gloved hand, hazel eyes glinting up at her as he bent.
He always treated her as if they shared a joke that the rest of the world had missed. It made her feel special. He made her feel special. When she came to London, unhappy and uncertain, she'd been deeply grateful for his support. Tonight, happy and confident, she remained deeply grateful. "Helena has been talking."
He straightened and released her hand. "Perhaps she dropped a hint here and there abou
t the evening's finale."
She couldn't contain a smug smile. "My party is a great success, isn't it?"
"It is indeed." He regarded her from under tawny eyebrows, his gaze sharp. "I congratulate you on your victory over society."
She flicked her fan open and cast him a flirtatious glance as she fell into their familiar bantering. "I intend to enjoy myself."
"You deserve to kick up your heels a little." The fondness in his expression made her heart swell. She wondered if he knew quite how much his friendship meant to her. His immediate approbation had done wonders for her self-assurance when she'd been new in Town. Without it, she doubted she'd have had the nerve to claim a prominent place in the ton.
"Oh, I plan on doing more than a little," she said on a laugh. "I've spent my life as someone's dutiful daughter or someone's obedient wife. Now I seek amusement on my own account—and nobody can say me nay."
"Until you find another husband."
All the color and music and movement around her jangled into cacophony in her head. Her throat clogged with horror. Another husband? She'd rather die.
"Caro?"
Silas's voice brought her back, reminded her that she need never enter the smothering hell of married life again. Instead, here she was with handsome Silas Nash and she was free to enjoy herself precisely how she wished.
She took in the tall, rangy build set off to perfection in evening clothes, the thick honey-brown hair, his intense, intelligent face with its Roman nose so like Helena's. It all made for a man of more than average appeal. His title was singularly inappropriate—anyone less like a stone was impossible to imagine. He was the most alive person she'd ever met.
She waved her fan slowly in front of her face, chasing off all her dark memories. Tonight was hers, and she didn't intend to waste it on unhappy thoughts. "I don't want another husband."
He frowned. "Of course you do."
"Of course I don't." She tilted her chin and took advantage of the small island of privacy surrounding them to confide her wicked intentions. "I am, however, in the market for a lover."
As she'd expected, her pronouncement didn't shock Silas. His tolerant attitude was among the many things she liked about him. He regarded her thoughtfully. "Is that an invitation, Caro?"