Page 81 of A Potion for Passion

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Flora leaned out her chamber window and took in a bracing lungful of air. The wind bore a hint of steel, harbinger of autumnal frosts to come, and she decided she’d definitely need her paisley shawl for tonight’s jaunt.

She’d been doing her utmost to hide the black melancholy that had threatened to consume her this past week. She had no regrets over what had happened in Lawrence’s bed—she would do it all again in a trice. But she’d set an even more demanding condition if it were ever to happen again.

Lawrence must give himself up and return to his real family.

It was what she would do in his place. But he’d never do it, would he? He wouldn’t abandon his plan of starting a new life in America.

Mrs. Daniell’s voice from downstairs sliced into her thoughts. “Flora, do get along now, or we’ll be late for the supper party. Are you sure you don’t want to borrow my lace cap to cover that…hair?”

“I’m quite certain, thank you,” Flora replied stiffly as she descended the stairs. It was high time her red hair was revealed to all. She was fed up of being ashamed of it, and she was damned if she’d spend her time at tonight’s supper party cowering in a corner for fear a stray red tress might accidentally reveal itself.

She ignored her companion’s heavy sigh. The reverend’s wife had been thrilled they’d received invitations to a supper party thrown by the aristocratic Delgarde family. It seemed the whole neighborhood was going—the genteel part of it, anyway. There was nothing the Daniells liked better than rubbing shoulders with those of higher social status. Despite Mrs. Daniell’s misgivings about Flora’s hair, she’d promised Lucinda to keep an eye on Flora, and was not to be swayed from that promise, come what may.

Flora had stubbornly decided she was going to enjoy herself tonight. She’d force a smile and socialize with as many people as possible, and if they looked askance at her hair, so be it. She’d just stare them down and dare them to comment.

Tugging up her gloves, she hastened to the door, locked it behind her, and allowed Reverend Daniell to help her up into the carriage. She smiled at Thea as she sat down, then folded her hands in her lap and attempted to look demure.

They set off, and it was hard not to compare the parson’s plodding driving skills with Lawrence’s easy expertise. The memory of sitting up next to Lawrence was vivid—and distressing.

Where was he now? She’d tried not to care but hadn’t been able to help making subtle inquiries earlier. Alas! No one had seen him or heard anything about him. She’d even braved Sally’s shop in pretense of asking for one of the nostrums he’d left behind. However, she’d learned nothing save the fact that his remedies had sold out, and that the good people of East Town were clamoring for more.

The wheels of the carriage were making a different sound, and Flora looked up with a start. How long had she been daydreaming about Lawrence? They had already arrived at the Delgardes’ and were rattling up the gravel drive toward the impressive Italianate facade of Belvedere House. So many massive windows! Did their hosts feel threatened, that they needed to see their grounds from every position in the place? It was getting toward dusk now, and, by contrast, the stately edifice was lit up like a waterfall of glowing stars, with lamps in every window.

She smiled to herself. What would Lawrence make of a place like this? Then it occurred to her…this might be somewhere he came to sell his silks, lace, and other ill-gotten gains…and her smile faded.

Would Lady Delgarde be the sort of woman to avail herself of his other services?

An icy hand grasped Flora’s heart, and she felt the prick of tears. But when they arrived in the atrium and were greeted by their hosts, the smile returned. Not even Lawrence, with his insatiable lusts, would be interested in a woman as plain as Lady Delgarde.

Even though the event had been categorized as an informal supper party, the Delgardes had put on a lavish entertainment for their friends and neighbors. There was dancing to a string quartet, card tables, and a refreshment table groaning with fresh fruits, delicate pastries, and ices.

Flora wandered slowly through the public rooms, admiring the opulence, until she discovered that all the fantastically ornate plaster moldings on the walls and ceilings were, in fact, just carved and painted wood. Clearly, even the wealthy were forced to make economies at times.

She spent the next half hour catching up with acquaintances, the females amongst them eyeing her colorful hair in wordless horror, while the men looked on with raised eyebrows and a somewhat alarming glint in their eyes.

Oh dear!By deciding to be bold and flaunt her red hair, had she just branded herself a harlot?

Oddly, the idea amused rather than distressed her, an indication of the new inner strength she’d discovered while masquerading as Madame Julietta…alongside Lawrence.

She tried to imagine him dressed like a dandy, dancing across the ballroom with some aristocrat’s daughter.

And couldn’t. Lawrence was an elemental being, a creature of nature, wild like the woods. If he had to sit inside all day, being stifled by a cravat and dealing with estate accounts and tenants’ disagreements, she imagined he’d quickly shrivel up and die. He cared nothing for possessions, fancy clothes, or etiquette. All he wanted was to go to America and become a true healer.

She’d been wrong to encourage him to rejoin his real family. He’d hate it. And he’d be completely out of her social sphere. No noble family worth its salt would want their son consorting with a milliner, even if her niece was a countess.

Curse that thought!Now she was depressed again and missing him desperately. The Belvedere candelabra lost their dazzle, and the rooms their vivid colors. She no longer had the heart to add names to her dance card, and when she learned the Lovelace family from Fortuneswell were leaving early because their daughter had taken ill, she decided to join them.

The carriage journey home was a welcome respite from Mrs. Daniell’s company. None of the Lovelaces seemed inclined to talk, not wishing to disturb their pallid daughter, so Flora gazed out the window at the passing scenery. It was getting harder to make out the individual shapes of the trees in the gloom, but the carriage lamps gave enough illumination to see the road.

Which, suddenly, wasn’t empty. A man on horseback was overtaking them at the trot.

Thinking it odd for a lone rider to be out so late, Flora stared at him as he passed, just as he turned his head and looked at her.

She fell back in her seat, heart beating wildly. Had she not been sitting down, she might have fallen.

There was no mistaking those darkly handsome features, that long hair tied back from the man’s face, the broad-brimmed hat he wore when riding.

Lawrence!