An American Duchess by Sharon Page Page B

looked at her feet. The girl had probably gotten in trouble for merely looking. Zoe went over. “What’s wrong, Isobel?”
    The dark-haired girl blushed. “Oh, nothing, Miss Gifford.”
    “You must call me Zoe, my dear, if we’re to be sisters.”
    Isobel sighed. At fourteen, she wore a youthful lavender dress with a hemline below her midcalf. “Zoe, there is someone I love, but he doesn’t even see me.”
    “Then you must live your life and do exciting things. He would notice you then. You can do anything you want. Have a career, go to university, become a scientist, an author, a painter, an actress.”
    “I am going to do exciting things. Then everyone won’t ignore me anymore.” Isobel tipped up her chin, looking happy and determined.
    Zoe nodded approvingly, then looked around the room for Langford. He had been on the receiving line, but had disappeared right after that. She moved near the terrace doors. She didn’t want to have to pretend she was a glowing bride-to-be.
    And she couldn’t stop remembering...
    Richmond slipping the ring on her finger the morning of his flight. She remembered the roar of his airplane, the wash of sunlight as the sun rose on the horizon. Her happiness as she promised to wait for him.
    She couldn’t stand it anymore. The oppressive heat of the ballroom. The stares—some quick and furtive, some bold and unflinching. The whispers and titters. Those she really hated. But she couldn’t bear even one more jovial word of congratulations. She had to escape.
    On her way out the door, she took a bottle of champagne and she slipped through the terrace doors. For once the night was sultry and warm. She had to put some distance between her and the crowd at the house.
    Moonlight sparkled on the lake, down the sloped hill of the lawns. She made her way there.
    * * *
    Zoe set down her bottle of champagne on the small wooden jetty that stuck out into Brideswell’s lake. She took off her shoes, rolled her stockings off, splashed her feet and squealed. The lake was frigid after the stifling heat of the ballroom.
    If she didn’t do something thrilling, she would burst into tears.
    Zoe stood and pulled off her dress, looking over her shoulder to ensure the partygoers couldn’t see her. She unhooked her bra, slipped it off and pulled off her silk knickers. She walked to the end of the dock, then dived in. Her muffled cry of “golly” echoed over the water when she came up for air.
    She ducked under the water. When she surfaced, she gasped. Moonlight fell on a man standing at the end of the dock. Langford. His tie was loose, his collar open, and he carried a champagne bottle by its neck.
    “You are escaping, too,” she called.
    He stared at her dress and her bra, the cups pointing upward on the dock. “You are not wearing clothes.”
    “I could hardly swim in my evening clothes.”
    “You are going to freeze in there. It is dangerous, Miss Gifford. Come out.”
    She flashed a saucy smile in response to his fussing. “I know a lot of girls who wouldn’t be afraid to walk out of the water right in front of you.”
    She said it to challenge him. But he picked up her dress and held it out toward her, the pink beads sparkling under the moonlight. “And you are not one of them. Otherwise, I believe you would have done it.”
    “Are you sure you don’t want to join me? The water is very...refreshing.”
    “Freezing cold. I should know, Miss Gifford. I used to swim unclothed in here all the time when I was a boy.”
    “I don’t believe you. I think you acted like a duke from the moment you were born.” She was teasing him—and it was fun. She was laughing now, laughing instead of crying.
    “That is not true. No infant in nappies can act ducal.”
    She giggled. “Come in for a swim. I dare you.”
    He would probably stalk away.
    He didn’t—he tipped up the champagne bottle to his lips. It looked decidedly unducal. She squirmed a bit in the water, watching his lips part. Langford had