appearance at the races? the caption said. Weâre betting the merriment can lure him out of isolation at last!
David was going to the Granley Ball?
Feeling all in a daze, Lulu put down the magazine and rushed over to her dressing table to study her reflection in the oval mirror. She had at last managed to persuade her parents to let her bob her hair, and the dark red waves curled around her ears and the nape of her neck. Her wide green eyes shone back at her with sudden hope and excitement. She was fashionably slender under her silk robeâsurely she could be just as pretty as that Lady Elizabeth whatâs-her-name!
And the hateful freckles over her nose, long the bane of her life, could be powdered away.
Maybe, just maybe, if David saw her again he would realize she really was grown up. That she could be the one to help him live again at last. It was a silly scheme, a real long shot, but she had to try it.
And she knew just what to wear while doing it. The perfect armor to battle for Davidâs heart.
âI have to find the Poiret,â she said, and whirled around to pull open the carved doors of her wardrobe. All her London clothes, unworn since the return to Hatton Hall, hung there. A jumble of creamy satin, inky chiffon, shining rainbow beads, fur trim and delicate lace ruffles. She found a box at the very bottom, and threw the lid back.
âYes,â she said. âThis is definitely the one.â
Jessica leaped off the bed, clapping her hands. âAre you going to sneak out to the Granley Ball? How exciting!â
âYes,â Lulu answered. âYes, I really think I amâ¦.â
Chapter Two
David Carlisle sat by the window in his dimly lit library, a half-full glass of whiskey in his hand. He didnât see the sunset outside that streaked the sky with glorious pinks and oranges, turning the overgrown gardens to a shimmering gold. He didnât hear the click of the door as the housekeeper peeked in and then scurried away again, leaving a dinner tray on the table outside.
He stared down at the invitation on the window ledge. The white card was so heavy the warm summer breeze didnât stir it. The black engraving was dark and stark.
A midsummer masked ball. A night of champagne, music, gardens crowded with tipsy revelers in feathered masks. Noise and light and heat. Nothing sounded worse.
David took a deep drink of the whiskey, rough and hot at the back of his throat. But it didnât make the card disappear.
Most people knew better than to send him invitations now. When he first came home from the war, his mother still lived here at the abbey with him and she urged him to go out to balls and dinners, to meet peopleâespecially marriageable young ladies. She wanted things to go on just as they always had, in the orderly, pretty, Edwardian world she grew up in. Eventually she gave up and moved to the south of France.
Her world was gone, and no amount of parties would erase what had happened in the trenches of France. Nothing could bring back the friends he had lost, or his old self. And no young lady in her right mind would want to marry him.
As he sipped at the whiskey, the image of one lady in particular came into his mind and she wouldnât go away. Lulu Hatton. For some strange reason she often came to him at weird moments, the vision of her bright smile and vivid red hair. The sound of her laughter. She had always been laughing, always rushing out to grab life with both hands.
She had been a part of his life for years, the kid sister of his Eton friend Bill Hatton. A cute, funny girl who followed him around and played ridiculous pranks on him.
When he was in the horrors of France, that hell of mud and blood and rot, the memory of Lulu and the joyous life of Hatton Hall was like a sunny dream he could take out and hold on to. A lifeline.
But then, when the war was over and he had hobbled home with his scars and nightmares, he made himself do his duty and
David was going to the Granley Ball?
Feeling all in a daze, Lulu put down the magazine and rushed over to her dressing table to study her reflection in the oval mirror. She had at last managed to persuade her parents to let her bob her hair, and the dark red waves curled around her ears and the nape of her neck. Her wide green eyes shone back at her with sudden hope and excitement. She was fashionably slender under her silk robeâsurely she could be just as pretty as that Lady Elizabeth whatâs-her-name!
And the hateful freckles over her nose, long the bane of her life, could be powdered away.
Maybe, just maybe, if David saw her again he would realize she really was grown up. That she could be the one to help him live again at last. It was a silly scheme, a real long shot, but she had to try it.
And she knew just what to wear while doing it. The perfect armor to battle for Davidâs heart.
âI have to find the Poiret,â she said, and whirled around to pull open the carved doors of her wardrobe. All her London clothes, unworn since the return to Hatton Hall, hung there. A jumble of creamy satin, inky chiffon, shining rainbow beads, fur trim and delicate lace ruffles. She found a box at the very bottom, and threw the lid back.
âYes,â she said. âThis is definitely the one.â
Jessica leaped off the bed, clapping her hands. âAre you going to sneak out to the Granley Ball? How exciting!â
âYes,â Lulu answered. âYes, I really think I amâ¦.â
Chapter Two
David Carlisle sat by the window in his dimly lit library, a half-full glass of whiskey in his hand. He didnât see the sunset outside that streaked the sky with glorious pinks and oranges, turning the overgrown gardens to a shimmering gold. He didnât hear the click of the door as the housekeeper peeked in and then scurried away again, leaving a dinner tray on the table outside.
He stared down at the invitation on the window ledge. The white card was so heavy the warm summer breeze didnât stir it. The black engraving was dark and stark.
A midsummer masked ball. A night of champagne, music, gardens crowded with tipsy revelers in feathered masks. Noise and light and heat. Nothing sounded worse.
David took a deep drink of the whiskey, rough and hot at the back of his throat. But it didnât make the card disappear.
Most people knew better than to send him invitations now. When he first came home from the war, his mother still lived here at the abbey with him and she urged him to go out to balls and dinners, to meet peopleâespecially marriageable young ladies. She wanted things to go on just as they always had, in the orderly, pretty, Edwardian world she grew up in. Eventually she gave up and moved to the south of France.
Her world was gone, and no amount of parties would erase what had happened in the trenches of France. Nothing could bring back the friends he had lost, or his old self. And no young lady in her right mind would want to marry him.
As he sipped at the whiskey, the image of one lady in particular came into his mind and she wouldnât go away. Lulu Hatton. For some strange reason she often came to him at weird moments, the vision of her bright smile and vivid red hair. The sound of her laughter. She had always been laughing, always rushing out to grab life with both hands.
She had been a part of his life for years, the kid sister of his Eton friend Bill Hatton. A cute, funny girl who followed him around and played ridiculous pranks on him.
When he was in the horrors of France, that hell of mud and blood and rot, the memory of Lulu and the joyous life of Hatton Hall was like a sunny dream he could take out and hold on to. A lifeline.
But then, when the war was over and he had hobbled home with his scars and nightmares, he made himself do his duty and
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