White Lace and Promises Read Online Free Page A

appeared in public together it had been this way. As if, despite her fine new clothes, everyone could tell at a glance she didn’t belong with Mr Asahel de Grijs Sexton.
    Tonight, they could probably also sense how displeased he was with her.
    Her breathing quickened and the tension in her belly intensified. Pretending cool indifference, she glanced around at walls draped with eggshell-coloured silk moiré, then up to admire the sparkling crystal chandeliers lit by so many candles. Their scent of beeswax and jasmine filled the air.
    How odd to be attending a ball at Mrs Hazelwood’s house. She’d spent her childhood watching from the stairs, between the banister posts, while finely dressed guests had arrived. After she’d been put to bed in her chamber in the attic, she would sneak out past the maids. Then she would creep around in the bushes, peering into the windows at the dancing, laughing couples. Peering at a world that had been so close yet forbidden to her.
    People had always seemed so happy at these events.
    However, tonight Beth wasn’t happy.
    Grey remained stonily silent at her side. She hated feeling so disconnected from him. She had to look away and, turning, she met Mrs Hazelwood’s sharp, ice-blue eyes, which seemed to say, “A lady never slouches. A lady never frowns.”
    Beth automatically straightened and donned a pleasant expression. Inwardly, she bristled and balled her hands. I don’t care. I don’t!
    Mrs Hazelwood’s eyes warmed with approval. Warmth spread over Beth and she relaxed.
    Oh bother. I do care.
    The old woman never changed. Her gently faded beauty, her petite, birdlike build and white hair without a trace of yellow, peeking from beneath a bouffant, stiff-starched, white-lace-trimmed cap. A serene half smile curling her lips. All these things were engraved on Beth’s heart as a vision of home—the only home she’d known as a child.
    A lump formed in her throat—a lump made of pure gratitude and something she didn’t have a right to. She didn’t even want to give it a name. If she’d ever had the right to these feelings, she’d long since proven herself unworthy. Mrs Hazelwood had raised her with better morals than to bed men without the benefit of marriage.
    Well, at least she could stand up straight and be a lady for a few moments. For her benefactress’ sake.
    “My darling girl,” Mrs Hazelwood said in her slightly gravelled tones. The familiar scent of lavender and ginger tea wafted over Beth as the woman came closer and took her hands. “How good it is to see you again. You’ve been hiding from me.”
    “I have been so busy… The shop and the children…” Beth’s voice trailed off. Anything she ever said seemed so inadequate. She didn’t know why she avoided the kindly lady who had saved her from the foundling house. She just did.
    The snapping, ice-blue eyes darted to Grey, where he had been drawn away into conversation with two older gentlemen. “I suspect you have allowed Mr Sexton to monopolise your time.”
    The faint chiding tones pricked Beth’s ears. Mrs Hazelwood had privately made plain that she disapproved of Beth’s engagement. If there was one thing Mrs Hazelwood had endeavoured to imprint upon her youthful mind, it had been an admonition that she should never use her unusual beauty to try to aspire beyond the station of her birth. Wealthy gentlemen could only bring a girl of her origins disgrace and disappointment.
    At the tender age of eighteen, Beth had disregarded this well-meaning advice and reaped unbearable heartache. Would Mrs Hazelwood be proved correct this time as well?
    Mrs Hazelwood sighed, bringing Beth back into the moment. “Joshua says he cannot come tonight. Says the quinsy that is going around is keeping him too busy. I told him a good nephew would find the time.”
    Relief washed over Beth. Thank God. He wouldn’t be here.
    “You’ve gone a little pale, dear,” Mrs Hazelwood said, concerned.
    Beth placed her hand at her