Page 13 of Regency in Color

Chapter Five

The mid-afternoon sun shone brightly in the clear sky above, casting its warmth to the assembly of people below. Ladies promenaded around the Earl of Missenden’s beautifully curated garden, occasionally stopping to say hello to an acquaintance or commenting on a particular bloom's vibrant color. Their parasols served to be more of a fashion accessory than a necessity since although it was sunny, the temperature remained rather pleasant.

It was as close to a perfect day as anyone could ask for.

Yet Colin stood among a group of very eligible, very eager young ladies and their chaperones, absolutely miserable.

They fluttered their lashes at him over their gracefully flapping fans and tittered at just the right volume whenever he could muster the wherewithal to utter something witty. Their mothers listed off their accomplishments, some of which were rather extensive. If he wished, he could propose to any number of them and be talking over the details of a marriage contract within the hour.

So why couldn’t he pick the low hanging fruit and execute his mission to find a suitable wife?

A pair of luminous brown eyes, as sweet as chocolate candies, floated in from his memories. They used to stare at him as if he were Helios. Powerful enough to make the sunrise and set. The picture slowly expanded, bringing into focus Juliana’s brilliant smile, which he used to be able to conjure with a few offhanded words.

How things had changed.

Now everything he said was wrong. All of his actions were scrutinized for sinister intentions. It was all his fault, and he hated himself for that.

Imbecile.

Inconsiderate.

Inappropriate.

In the light of the new, sober day, Colin regretted everything about his rather ill-advised offer to Juliana. She was right. He hadn’t thought twice about what she wanted. He’d charged in like a bumbling knight in dented armor, attempting to save a damsel he hadn’t ascertained wanted to be saved.

The paradox of it all was that he did not wish to see her wed to someone else. The thought of another man enjoying Juliana’s affections brought forth unbridled jealous wrath that bordered on lunacy. He could almost visualize his fist repeatedly striking the face of her undetermined husband.

He’d wanted to do something for her. To give her something she needed or help her reach a goal she longed for. It was a pity he’d forgotten that the best place to begin when attempting to help someone achieve an aspiration was first to inquire what their desires were.

Next time he’d . . . No, there wouldn’t be a next time. He had so thoroughly botched things with Juliana he’d be surprised if she ever allowed him within a yard of her ever again. “What do you think, Your Grace?” Miss Manning asked, from beside him.

“What? I—” Colin scoured his memory for the last several seconds of Miss Manning’s inane chatter, attempting to figure out the question he was supposed to provide the answer to. His search came up empty. He hadn’t paid attention to anything the petite slip of a girl had said for the past several minutes. There’d been something about gardens, or curtains—perhaps card games, or something equally as uninteresting.

“I beg your pardon, but I admit I missed your question. Would you be so kind as to repeat it?”

“Of course, Your Grace.” A pink flush bloomed on her cheeks, now aware he hadn’t been listening. “I merely asked if you’d be attending the masquerade at Vauxhall Gardens at the end of the week.”

“Ah, yes. Unfortunately, I will not be in attendance at that particular gathering.”

“Pity. I was rather hoping we might run into each other there.”

Colin noted the intense, meaningful glint in her eyes as she spoke. She held his gaze for a moment longer than was proper, then coyly dropped her lashes until they brushed her cheeks. Colin had partaken in more than enough liaisons to understand the subtle message in her words and actions.

Many a lover had enjoyed a late-night romp in the vast gardens at Vauxhall. Even if he were interested in such a tryst, he had a strict rule about not compromising marriage-seeking young ladies. The consequences could quite literally be death or life as a fugitive. No matter how magnificent the experience, giving a girl a green gown was never worth meeting an aggrieved father or brother at dawn.

This was his cue to leave.

“Indeed.” Colin glanced over her shoulder and pretended to notice something in the distance. “If you all will excuse me, I see an old friend I’d like to catch up with.”

He inclined to each lady in turn, then hustled off with no particular direction in mind.

* * *

That day,Juliana spotted Colin sitting in a chair on the Earl of Missenden’s lawn, in front of the string quartet performing one of Ignaz Pleyel’s compositions. The musician was so well known that even without a single musical bone in her body, she could distinguish his style when she heard it.

He sat with his ankle propped on his knee, his fingers tapping the rhythm of the song on his boot. Where she lacked musical talent, Colin mastered any instrument he decided the learn. He could make the strings of a violin weep in devastatingly beautiful agony or sing a melody fit for the angels.

She missed hearing him play. The day he’d proposed, he’d arrived at her family home in Kent and set up a picnic in the yard in front of the drawing-room window so her mother could keep watch. While she enjoyed the cheese, strawberries, and other refreshments, he had pulled out a violin and played a heart-melting tune that he’d written for her. If she hadn’t already been madly in love with him, she definitely would have fallen victim to the emotion after that.