She glanced from one man to the other, so stunned by their stalwart support that she didn’t know what to reply. She supposed she ought to assume a dignified, ladylike demeanor, just to demonstrate to Denys’s family that she wasn’t the guttersnipe they thought her to be.
“Gentlemen,” she began, but her voice wavered at once, her throat clogged up, and any pretense of dignity was lost when she gave a most unladylike sob.
Jack, thankfully, stepped into the breach. He looked down at Denys, who was still on one knee and waiting for an answer. “Do you need a bit of help with this proposal, old chap? You don’t seem to be getting on very well on your own.”
“I have the situation well in hand, Jack. Thank you.” He once again grasped Lola’s hand, but before he could continue, Jack spoke again.
“Of course, of course, but in cases such as this, a man needs all the help he can get. Speaking of help,” he added, glancing left and right, “where the devil are Nick and Stuart? They were milling about beside me a few minutes ago.”
“I don’t know about Stuart, but I’m right behind you.”
Lola looked past Jack’s shoulder, and when she saw Nick coming forward, she wasn’t quite so shocked as she’d been to see Jack and James. But what did shock her was the beautiful, black-haired woman on Nick’s arm, the same woman Lola had seen with Denys at the opera. Nick’s wife.
They eased between Conyers and his son, and given Nick’s higher rank, the earl was forced to give way. He stepped back, leaving Nick and his wife to become part of Lola’s growing circle of support, and her shock began to fade, replaced by something deeper and far more profound.
Hope.
“MissValentine,” Nick said with a bow, “you must forgive me for interrupting this romantic moment, but I simply cannot wait a moment longer before I introduce you to my wife, Lady Trubridge.”
Of all Denys’s acquaintances, Lady Trubridge would be the most damaged if scandal of any sort were attached to her name, for she was one of the powerful ladies in British society. But Lady Trubridge didn’t seem to care about the risk to her social position. “MissValentine,” she said gravely, and Lola watched in amazement as one of the most influential women in London bowed to her.
“I am very pleased to make your acquaintance,” she went on, her voice cutting through the hushed room like the elegant slice of a duelist’s sword. “And I should like you to know that I would never forsake Denys.” She met Lola’s gaze. “Or any other friend.”
“None of us would.”
By now, Lola was beyond being surprised, so the Duke of Margrave’s entrance into the conversation did not rattle her. She looked up, laughing a little as she watched Stuart come forward, moving past Conyers. On Stuart’s arm was a tall, slim redhead Lola knew must be his duchess, and together, they moved to her other side, joining the growing, protective wall that surrounded Denys and her.
But the circle was evidently not complete, for Jack glanced around, and when she followed his gaze, Lola spied the stunning blonde who had been on Jack’s arm at the flower show. She was standing beside Lady Conyers, but she wasn’t moving forward, and Lola’s rising hopes stilled, caught in the scrutiny of a pair of stunning blue eyes.
“Linnet?” Jack said. “You’re the last, my love.”
The woman glanced around, noting the faces looking at her, and then she heaved a sigh. “All right, all right,” she said in the unmistakable accent of Knickerbocker New York as she came toward their group. “You win, all of you. I’ll accept her. But—”
She halted beside her husband, those magnificent cornflower blue eyes giving Lola a look of unmistakable warning as she took Jack’s arm. “But if you so much as wink at my husband, MissValentine,” she murmured in a low voice, “I’ll claw your eyes out.”
Jack laughed, flashing Lola a grin. “My lioness,” he explained, “is the jealous type.”
“Lady Featherstone,” Lola said, feeling horribly awkward as she proffered a bow, for it was painfully obvious the other woman knew Jack had once held a torch for her.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” the countess grumbled, and thrust out her hand in the uniquely American fashion. “You’d better get used to calling me Linnet, or we’ll never become friends.”
Lola looked down at Lady Featherstone’s gloved hand, held out to her in friendship, and the countess’s slim, bejeweled fingers began to blur before her eyes. Blinking hard, she took that hand in her own and shook it with heartfelt gratitude.
“Linnet,” she managed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. All of you,” she added. “I’m... I’m overwhelmed. I truly am. I—” Her voice broke as she glanced around, looking into the faces of the people who had just put their own social position in jeopardy, and though she wanted to say more, she just couldn’t manage it.
Denys came to her rescue. “Now that the introductions have been made,” he said, his fingers again capturing hers, “can we return to the matter at hand? I am still down on one knee here, Lola, in case you’ve forgotten.”
She studied him, down on his knee, proposing to her in front of some of the most influential people of British society, and joy rose within her, so much joy, she thought her heart would burst in her chest. “You did this,” she choked. “All of this.”
“I did.”
“Oh, Denys,” Lady Conyers wailed from across the room. “How could you?”
She burst into tears, but Denys ignored her.
“I had to show you that you are not alone in this, my darling. Others may cast us out or refuse to receive us, but my friends—our friends—won’t.”
But Lola could hear his mother sobbing quietly nearby. “Are you sure?” she choked. “Are you absolutely sure? I couldn’t bear it if you ever came to regret marrying me.”
