An Evening to Remember (Paperback)

Kent, 1777

Matilda strolled around the mahogany dining table, her fingers brushing the polished edge as her gaze swept over the morning spread. A lavish assortment of delicacies greeted her: light pastries glazed with honey and dusted with sugared almonds, slices of tender ham cured with fragrant juniper, and soft eggs whipped into a rich custard before being baked in ceramic pots. Her mouth watered at the sight, and the tempting aroma emanating from the fruit centerpiece only heightened her anticipation.
Lady Charlotte, her dearest friend, had outdone herself with this wedding breakfast. The occasion to celebrate a second ceremony uniting Charlotte and Lord Lacy. A charming, intimate affair held in the family’s ancestral chapel on their sprawling estate in Kent. Golden light filtering through leaded windows had cast a glow over the beautiful couple taking their vows, making the day feel as if it had been touched by heaven itself.
Matilda reached for a ripe strawberry, the bright-red fruit gleaming like a polished ruby atop a silver platter. Leaning casually against the walnut-paneled wall, she popped the berry into her mouth, closing her eyes as the sweetness burst on her tongue, mingling with the faint tang of lemon from the custard tart she’d savored earlier. For a moment, she allowed herself to revel in the simple pleasure, shutting out the growing unease that had taken root in her heart.
Her thoughts wandered to her friends—Genevieve, now blissfully married and preparing for the arrival of her first child, and Charlotte, glowing with the happiness of newlywed life. The realization that she alone remained unwed among their trio brought a sharp pang of melancholy. She sighed and picked up a morsel of quince jelly spread over a slice of bread, hoping the sweetness might dull the ache of her musings.
A sudden commotion from the gardens drew her attention. Laughter and the murmur of delighted voices floated through the open windows, mingling with the faint trill of a lark in the distance. Curious, Matilda moved through the dining room into the adjacent drawing room. The space was as grand as one might expect of a country estate. The walls were adorned with gilded portraits of past generations, their stern gazes softened by the flickering candlelight from ornate sconces. Heavy crimson drapes framed tall windows, and a marble fireplace dominated one end of the room, its mantel crowded with delicate porcelain figurines.
She stepped onto the stone terrace and shaded her eyes against the midday sun. Below, on the sweeping lawn bordered by rose bushes, a small crowd had gathered. At its center stood a figure unfamiliar to her—tall and broad-shouldered, his presence commanding even in the relaxed atmosphere of the family gathering. His dark riding coat was dusty from travel, his tan breeches clinging to muscular thighs, and his boots bore the scuffs of long hours in the saddle. There was an air of ruggedness about him, a stark contrast to the meticulously groomed gentlemen celebrating her friend's marriage who surrounded him.
Charlotte’s delighted exclamation carried to her. “Christopher! You’ve come!”
Charlotte’s brother, who returned from Scotland after years of absence seemed so different from the boy she vaguely remembered. Matilda watched as he kissed Charlotte’s cheek, clasped Lord Lacy’s shoulder in a brotherly embrace, and exchanged warm greetings with his parents. Her gaze lingered on him, noting the way his unkempt dark curls framed a strong, angular face. His eyes, the color of polished mahogany, gleamed with genuine affection as he laughed. She swallowed a strange heat pooling in her chest. He looked nothing like the foppish beaux she’d encountered during the Season and certainly nothing like the boy she knew as a child. No, this man exuded vitality and purpose.
He turned suddenly, his gaze locking on her with startling intensity. Matilda froze, feeling as though he had stripped away her composure with that single, assessing glance. Heat crept up her neck, and she hastily looked away, fumbling for another strawberry to eat.
She forced herself to remain still when he strode toward her moments later. Charlotte was at his side, her expression alight with mischief and joy.
“Christopher, you remember my dearest friend, Lady Matilda Lane-Fox. Matilda, my brother, Lord Christopher Wright, Marquess Charteris.”
His bow was exact, and when he took her hand, the warmth of his lips brushing her glove sent a shiver racing up her spine. “Lady Matilda,” he said, his voice a deep rumble that made her breath catch. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine, Lord Charteris,” she managed, her words steady despite her racing heart. Up close, he was even more imposing—broad shoulders filling the space beside her, and his sharp features softened by the faint smile tugging at his lips.
“I understand you’ve only just returned from Scotland,” she ventured, hoping to prolong the exchange. “Do you reside there often?”
“Permanently,” he replied, his tone clipped. “My father's northern estate demands it.”
She opened her mouth to ask more, but his attention had drifted elsewhere. Disappointment pricked at her, and she stepped back, murmuring a polite excuse before retreating into the house.
Her heart sank as she watched him disappear into the throng of guests on the lawn. It seemed the enigmatic Lord Charteris had little interest in her despite her initial hopes when they locked eyes. Yet, despite his apparent indifference, her thoughts lingered on him—on the way his presence had filled the space around her and the brief flicker of warmth in his gaze before it had cooled.
For now, she would let him be. But something told her their paths would cross many times since they were both staying at this estate, and when they did, she intended to learn more about the man who had so unexpectedly captured her interest.