“Are you?”
His lady love laughed, this time heartily. “Oh, good heavens, no!”
“I am glad of that.”
“Why?”
“Because I suspect there would be all manners of protocol and such to marrying a princess, and I have no patience now that I’ve found you again.”
She shook her head and glanced shyly up into his gaze. “And it doesn’t matter to you who I am?”
“No. I was destined to find my bride that night, and I did. You wouldn’t have been there that night if we weren’t meant to be together.”
She laughed, a musical sound that brought back memories for him. “When did you become such a romantic?”
Now it was his turn to laugh. “When you ran out and left me naught a clue to be found. You could have at the very least left me a slipper.”
“Or my wings?” she teased back.
“They might have helped, but I doubt the mothers of London would have appreciated me wandering about trying them on their daughters,” he said, before he leaned closer to her ear, “or asking them if their little girl had a cute bit of freckle on her—”
She swatted him playfully and danced down the line away from him. Ashe watched her every step and, when they rejoined each other, she said, “I see you haven’t lost a bit of your wickedness.”
“Do you mind?”
“Not in the least,” she replied.
They danced for a few more minutes in silence, just gazing at each other. To Ashe, she was lovelier than he remembered, from the gorgeous mane of red hair down to her slippers. She seemed less fragile than she had those many years earlier.
“Where have you been?” he asked. “And don’t you dare tell me you got married.”
“No, nothing like that.” She tipped her head slightly. “I went away. It seemed the sensible solution at the time.”
“Sensible? Not to me! And what do you mean, away? Away where?”
“Far away,” she told him. “I thought it best.”
“Best for who?” he said. “You stole my heart, you minx.” He pulled her close, closer than was necessary for the dance, and whispered in her ear, “Let me guess, you were deserting heartbroken men from one side of the Continent to another.”
She shook her head, lips twitching with mirth. “No. I haven’t been doing anything like that.”
“And when did you come back to London?”
“Six months ago,” she confessed.
“And why didn’t you come to me?”
It seemed an eternity before she answered. “I almost did,” she said, a tremble to her voice. “But I didn’t know—”
He stopped in the middle of the floor. “Know what?”
“I didn’t know if you would forgive me. Or what that night had meant to you—”
“Did it mean anything to you?”
“More than you could know.”
“Then prove it. Say you will marry me.”
Then came a loud outburst that drowned out her response. For a red-faced, furious matron at the doorway to the Ashe ballroom stopped the evening cold, as she shouted at the top of her lungs, “That woman is a thief and an imposter!”
Ashe stalked back and forth in front of the breakfast table where his mother sat eating her morning repast as if nothing were amiss.
“I lost her, Mother! Again!” In the chaos of the Lady Fitzsimon’s shouted accusations, his lady love, his fairy queen, had managed to slip through the crowd and get out of the house.
One of the servants had seen her leaving through the garden.
Lady Ashe nodded and smiled and buttered her toast without a word.
“How will I ever find her again? I don’t even know her name.”
“You looked as if you knew each other quite intimately,” his mother said. It wasn’t so much a scold … But really, such a kiss! And in front of the guests. Then again, hadn’t her husband kissed her in much the same manner the night they had fallen in love? But he’d had the decency to steal her off to the conservatory on some ridiculous pretence that the oranges were in bloom.
“What if Lady Fitzsimon gets to her first?” he said. “She’ll have her thrown in prison.”
“Lady Fitzsimon will most likely get to her first,” Lady Ashe said.
That froze her son’s steps. “Mother, that is the last thing we want to happen.”
She shrugged and continued eating her breakfast.
Julian paused before the table. “How can you be so certain that Lady Fitzsimon knows where she is?”
“Because I, just like Lady Fitzsimon, know exactly where that dress came from.”
She glanced up at him and he looked ready to burst. Yes, he was in love with that girl and there would be no setting her aside. He’d loved her all these years and no other lady would brighten his heart. Good. It was exactly as it should be. So she pushed aside the tablecloth and pulled from beneath the table a set of gossamer wings. “She lost these last night.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” he exploded.
Lady Ashe smiled, wiped her lips with her napkin. “Because I wanted to finish my breakfast before we went and fetched your future wife home.”
Ella emerged from the basement room that she shared with Hazel and Martha a miserable wreck. She’d been able to escape the Ashe Ball the night before — her knowledge of the house suddenly becoming rather convenient.
Once she’d found her trusty carriage and helpers, they had whisked her home and scattered into the night. When Hazel and Martha had arrived so many hours later, she had sobbed out the entire story on their sympathetic shoulders.
Now the morning had come and Ella knew the reckoning, the one she’d avoided all those years ago, was about to come to roost. But perhaps it was as Hazel averred — there had been no crime committed. Madame Delaflote had demanded that Ella pay for the gown, so technically it was hers. She had found the invitation on the floor of the shop. There was no theft whatsoever.
Not that Madame would see it that way. She’d sack Ella for bringing this scandal down upon her shop, she’d—
Ella’s wayward thoughts came to an abrupt halt as she parted the curtain before going about the business of opening. She spied a crowd of ladies and onlookers outside, all queued up and waiting for the shop to open. Several of them waved at her and others pointed at the door, in hopes of enticing her to open the shop early.
Lady Fitzsimon stood front and centre with a pair of Robin Redbreasts at the ready. She hadn’t wasted any time and was here to exact her reckoning. But that sight didn’t frighten Ella as much as did the tall, handsome figure of Lord Ashe standing at the back of the crowd.
He was here!
Ella whirled around and hid behind the curtain. He’d found her after all.
Hazel and Martha had just come upstairs and were rubbing their sleepy eyes.
“What is it?” Martha asked.
“Is something wrong?” Hazel said, then glanced over Ella’s shoulder. “Is she out there?” “She” being Lady Fitzsimon.
Ella nodded her head.
“Is he out there?” Martha asked.
She nodded again.
“Well, let him in and see what he has to say. I still wager he’s here to propose. Then he’ll send that old cow packing.” Hazel pushed past Ella and went out into the main shop but then came to an instant standstill, much as Ella had done previously. “Oh, my stars! He’s brought half of London with him.”
At this point, Madame arrived, coming down the stairs from her rooms above. She glanced at the lot of them and sighed. “What is this? Standing about? The shop needs to be readied. I want—” She pushed open the curtain and discovered the mob outside.
She whirled around on her employees. “Whatever have you done?” But before any of them could answer, she took another glance at all the anxious and happy faces outside — well, except those belonging to Lady Fitzsimon and her police officers. “Oh, la! It matters not — I’ll be rich before this day is out. Get those doors open!”