Page 108 of Harpy of the Ton
He closed his eyes, relishing the feel of her hands in his for what might be the last time if she were to ask…
“How did we meet?”
He opened his eyes. “What?”
“I can’t remember,” she said. “I’ve tried to picture it, but it’s like its lost.”
“Bella, I…”
“Please tell me,” she whispered, her eyes glistening. “Tonight, you’ve made me so happy—it’s a memory I’ll carry with me forever. Can you not give me more memories—from times gone past?”
His heart ached at the plea in her eyes, and he uttered a silent prayer to the Almighty for forgiveness.
“I first saw you through the window of a mansion,” he said.
“A mansion? What was I doing there?”
“You were lady’s maid to the mistress of the house.”
The fact that he’d lied hung in the air, but her mouth curved into a smile.
“That explains the book Jonathan and I have been reading,” she said. “And you were…”
“I was working in the garden,” he said. “I’d stopped to catch my breath, and saw you, looking out of the window.” He sighed at the memory. “You were so still, yet I saw sadness in your eyes. I thought, then, you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”
She colored and tried to withdraw her hands. “Lawrence, you don’t have to—”
“No.” He held her firm. “I had never seen anything so lovely—and I never have since. So I cut a rose from the garden and presented it to you. I told you that until I’d seen you, there was nothing more beautiful in my eyes than that rose.”
“And what did I say?”
He glanced at her gown, the simple white muslin she’d trimmed with a piece of ribbon below the curve of her breasts.
“You asked me how I knew that the rose was your favorite shade of pink.”
“And then?”
“I pledged to find you a ribbon that matched the color, so that after the rose faded, you’d have something with which to remember it forever.”
“Oh, Lawrence.” She let out a soft laugh. “What sweet words to fall from the lips of a man!”
“I meant every word,” he said. “And I resolved, from that day, that you and I would be married.”
“Am I so easily won?”
Her smile faltered, and he silently cursed the gossips in the village.
“There was never a woman more virtuous,” he said, “nor a woman more deserving to be wooed like a lady.”
She smiled. “How did you woo me?”
“I went to Midchester and bought as many pink ribbons as I could afford. Then I came and placed each one at your feet, and declared that from thenceforth, those ribbons, and my heart, would forever be yours.”
“You spin a pretty yarn of courtship,” she said. “Where are the ribbons now?”
“Some adorned your wedding gown and your bonnet; others you kept, to wear a different ribbon in your hair each day. But they’re gone now. They were lost when we came here—and when I lost you.”
Her eyes narrowed, and as she opened her mouth to reply, his breath caught in his throat. Would she ask about her accident?
