Autumn Rain by Anita Mills

shall not have seats."
    "See and be seen," he reminded her again. "There is nothing like a late entrance to gain one notice."
    "At Almack's, I am told they will not even admit the Regent late."
    "Well, when we are for Almack's, I shall remember that."

    After four years of marriage to Arthur Kingsley, Elinor knew the oft-repeated scene by heart. Ever conscious of the entrance they made, Arthur led her inside to greet the host or hostess, in this case Lady Broxton, then moved through the crowd slowly, stopping to acknowledge anyone of social standing, until finally they reached a chair along the wall. As always, he urged her, "Enjoy yourself, my dear, and do not forget to be all that is proper before Lady Sefton—and Lady Jersey, of course." For a brief moment, he searched the room eagerly, then sighed. "I do not see Princess Esterhazy tonight, but I am told the Drummond-Burrell woman is to be here, much good she will do us."
    He sat down to watch her, his faint smile betraying of the satisfaction she gave him. It was, she reflected wryly, as though she were a top on a string, and once he pulled, she was expected to spin gaily among the glittering ton, displaying his wealth for him. And all the while she was to be the epitome of style and wit.
    Arthur's gaze followed her, taking in those who spoke to her almost jealously, wishing the acceptance he'd pursued so long had not come so late. But it had finally come—the beautiful, exquisite creature of his creation had given him that which his fortune alone could not buy. She had made most of the ton if not actually forget, then grudgingly forgive his humbler origins. Birth was everything, and even an impecunious baron was less suspect than he was. But Elinor was changing that for him. She had been worth the wait.
    She was particularly in looks, clad in the low-cut, high-waisted gown that accentuated her slim body enticingly. On her neck blazed the spectacular collar of emeralds and diamonds, and above it all, her copper hair shone beneath the soft light of the chandeliers. The hair represented his only refusal to bow to the dictates of fashion—she could wear it up, pinned back, or twisted, usually at the nape of her neck, but he would not allow it to be cut above her exquisite shoulders. This time, she'd chosen to have it knotted on the crown, its severity relieved by a few artfully curled strands that softened her fine, almost perfectly chiseled features*. Yes, she was his beauty.
    Then he noticed the man who approached her as she stood conversing with Lady Jersey and Lord Palmerston, and he frowned, hoping she had the good sense to cut Longford. Knowing he could not get there in time to avert a social error, he held his breath.
    Already stung by the icy stares and the whispered asides behind his back, Lucien had been contemplating cutting his losses and leaving when he saw her. For a moment, he did not recognize her, then it dawned on him that woman with Sally Jersey was Ashton's daughter. Old Kingsley's wife. The change was striking—the pretty child bride had become an utterly stunning woman. And judging by the jewelry and that gown, she was costing the old man a fortune. On impulse, he made his way toward her.
    "Venus," he said low behind her.
    In front of her, the fine-boned woman's mouth drew into a taut line of disapproval, and then her expression went distant. And Palmerston, after nodding curtly, looked away.
    "What—no greeting, Sally?"
    Lady Jersey did not answer. Elinor turned to look up into the Earl of Longford's face, and despite the time that had passed, she knew she would have recognized him anywhere. He was still the handsomest man of her memory, still the one who haunted her dreams. Momentarily, she wondered if he even remembered that awful night at the inn. But aloud she said, "I thought you were in the Peninsula, sir."
    His eyes raked over her, and a faint, barely discernible smile played at the corners of his sensuous mouth. ' T did not know you had