*
As the doorclosed behind him, Lora touched her lips gently, her fingers tracing the lingering warmth. A swirl of emotions, joy, confusion, anticipation, made her tumble. She moved to the window and watched as Rockford’s figure receded into the evening shadows.
What just happened? she wondered, her heart fluttering. The connection she felt was undeniable, yet a hint of uncertainty clouded her thoughts. Memories of their childhood kiss flooded her mind, and she realized she had often measured others by Rockford’s loyalty, honesty, and kindness. Now, she understood she hadn’t been exaggerating.
One thing was clear, their relationship had shifted in a way she hadn’t expected. Though uncertainty lingered, she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. Whatever challenges lay ahead, she knew she was willing to face them. The growing emotions that bound them were undeniable, and she wouldn’t ignore them any longer. After all, she thought with a faint smile, life’s most precious moments often came without warning.
Chapter Twelve
5 October 1822
Over the nextweek, Lora and Rockford delved into the preparations for the upcoming events with unwavering dedication. Each day brought them closer, their shared goals fostering a growing affection.
At the Sommer Art Gallery, they meticulously reviewed several pieces of artwork for the auction. Eventually, a captivating piece, Wivenhoe Park at Dusk by John Constable, was selected. Crispin Montgomery, director of Devonshire and Sommer Art Galleries, proposed hosting the auction at the stunning Sommer Castle and graciously offered to speak to the mayor to make the necessary arrangements.
During their visits to the gallery, Lora found herself stealing glances at Rockford, admiring how his eyes lit up with passion when discussing art. Their fingers brushed as they pointed out details in the paintings, sending shivers down her spine.
Their quest for the perfect music led them to audition three quartets and a small ensemble, ensuring the gala would have the correct music. During one audition, as the music swelled, Rockford extended his hand to Lora, leading her in an impromptu dance. They twirled gracefully, their laughter blending with the notes of the violin, their connection deepening with every step.
Hours were spent with Harriet and Mrs. Turner, Rockford’s diligent housekeeper, to finalize the menus for the auction and the gala. The planning sessions were filled with lively discussions, laughter, and the occasional stolen glance.
One afternoon, as they sampled various dishes, Rockford playfully lifted a spoonful of delicate custard toward Lora. She arched a brow but leaned in, allowing him to feed her. The smooth, sweet flavor melted on her tongue, but it was the warmth in his gaze that truly lingered.
“You approve?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement.
Lora swallowed, savoring both the dessert and the moment. “It’s lovely,” she said, tilting her head. “Though I suspect you’re enjoying this more than I am.”
Rockford smirked. “Perhaps. But can you blame me?”
Their eyes locked, the playfulness between them giving way to something deeper, an unspoken understanding, a moment suspended in time.
As the days passed, their collaboration evolved into a seamless partnership, setting the stage for what promised to be an unforgettable series of events. Every meeting, every shared smile, and every touch brought them closer, building a foundation of trust and affection that neither could ignore.
Rockford’s remorse grew alongside his feelings for Lora, his heart torn between his duty and his desire for her. He was terrified of the moment she would discover the truth—either by his own confession or through a cruel twist of fate. The thought of telling her himself paralyzed him with guilt and dread. How could he explain his actions without destroying the trust and affection they had built?
The fear of her finding out on her own was even more suffocating. Every day he worried that someone would expose his deceit, that Hastings’ machinations would come to light, or that Lora would stumble upon the truth accidentally. His fearskept him in a constant state of tension, each moment with her tainted by the looming shadow of his secret.
Yet, he couldn’t resist drawing her closer, memorizing the feel of her in his arms, the sound of her laughter, the light in her eyes.
*
Two days later,Lora’s drawing room was abuzz with polite conversation. The scent of fresh scones and bergamot tea lingered in the air, mingling with the soft hum of laughter. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting a gentle warmth that wrapped around the gathering like a familiar embrace.
Rockford watched Lora as she poured tea, her movements graceful, effortless. Every so often, her eyes flicked toward him, a shared glance, a silent understanding. A warmth settled in his chest, a quiet contentment that had woven itself into his days without him realizing it. It was no longer something fleeting, something to be enjoyed in passing, it had become familiar, something he could count on.
Barrington sat at ease, engaged in light conversation with Mrs. Bainbridge, their exchanges filled with easy familiarity. The afternoon carried the kind of unspoken harmony that required no words, only the simple pleasure of good company.
Barrington leaned toward Rockford. “I received word this morning that the highwayman struck again this morning.”
Rockford tensed. Barrington placed a calming hand on his arm.
“The pouch was taken. A few miles south, the pouch was found with the documents untouched but the purse gone. This is not the first time this courier has been accosted by the highwayman. He is certain it is the same man. I find it interesting that he’s becoming a petty thief.”
The butler stepped forward. “Mr. Hastings.”
The moment fractured, not abruptly, but with an almost imperceptible shift. Lora’s hand hesitated just slightly as she poured, a flicker of something too quick to name before she composed herself.
“Mr. Hastings, please join us for tea.” Her voice remained poised, her smile practiced.
