Belgravia, London. Spring, 1814.
The morning light filtered softly through the tall windows of the Talbot townhouse, settling upon pale carpets and polished wood as though the sun itself had been invited in for tea. In Lady Elizabeth Talbot's dressing room, the air smelled faintly of rosewater and pressed linen, while two maids moved about her with the quiet efficiency of long practice.
Elizabeth stood near the cheval glass, her arms raised slightly as the final pins were set along the shoulders of her gown. The muslin was a gentle shade of warm ivory, the empire waist falling in soft, unbroken lines to the floor. A narrow ribbon of muted gold trimmed the hem and sleeves—simple, elegant, and entirely appropriate for a morning promenade.
"There, my lady," said Mrs. Fairgrove, the elder of the two maids, smoothing the fabric along Elizabeth's back. "You'll look the very picture of refinement in the Park."
Elizabeth smiled softly at the reflection before her. It was a look she knew well—the calm, composed young lady the ton had come to expect. Her heart-shaped face carried a quiet warmth, her complexion clear and luminous in the morning light. Her eyes, blue-grey and gently framed by dark lashes, seemed brighter today, though she could not quite say why.
Perhaps it was the promise of the day.
Her hair had been drawn into a soft, curly arrangement at the crown of her head, with a few delicate tendrils left to frame her cheeks. The light brown waves, threaded with honeyed highlights, caught the sunlight with a quiet glow. It was a style both fashionable and becoming, though Elizabeth had never been one to chase fashion for its own sake.
"Is the carriage ready?" she asked.
"Not yet, my lady," replied the younger maid. "But his lordship's groom has already come by. They say the marquess intends to ride."
Elizabeth's lips curved in a faint, private smile. "That sounds very like him."
The thought of Andrew in the open air—hat tilted, reins loose in his hands, blue eyes bright with morning—sent a gentle warmth through her chest. It had always been so. Even as children, she had known the sound of his laugh from across a field.
She was about to reach for her gloves when a discreet knock sounded at the door. A moment later, the butler's voice drifted in, properly respectful.
"My lady, you have a visitor."
Elizabeth blinked in surprise. "At this hour?"
"Yes, my lady. Lady Sophia Montgomery."
Elizabeth turned at once. "Sophia? Please, show her in."
The maids exchanged a knowing glance—no one ever mistook the arrival of Lady Sophia for an ordinary visit—and moved aside just as the door opened.
Sophia entered like a gust of crisp morning air. She wore a navy riding habit, its clean lines emphasizing her tall, composed figure. Her dark hair was tucked neatly beneath a hat, and her eyes—bright, intelligent, and faintly amused—took in the room in a single sweep.
Behind her, through the open doorway and down the front steps, one could just glimpse the proud white form of her Arabian stallion, Coriolanus, held by a groom. The horse tossed its head as if aware of its own elegance.
"Sophia," Elizabeth said warmly, crossing the room. "You look as though you've come straight from the countryside."
"I have, in spirit if not in geography," Sophia replied, removing her gloves. "Manchester is far less dreadful than London imagines. The air is honest, the fields are wide, and no one attempts to marry you between breakfast and luncheon."
Elizabeth laughed softly. "I should think that alone would make it a paradise."
Sophia's lips curved. "Indeed. And the shooting season was excellent. You would be quite proud of me, Lizzie. I outshot three gentlemen of considerable confidence and very little accuracy."
Elizabeth raised her brows. "You?"
"I assure you, the pheasants were not impressed by their titles."
Before Elizabeth could reply, another voice sounded from the hallway—warm, amused, and unmistakably familiar.
"My dear sapphire, are you terrorizing the neighborhood again?"
Sophia did not even turn around. "Only the deserving ones, my lord."
Lord Benedict Montgomery appeared in the doorway, impeccably dressed despite the hour. His expression softened the moment he saw his wife.
"There you are," he said. "I was told you'd abducted a horse and vanished."
Sophia lifted her chin. "Coriolanus is not an accomplice. He is a partner in intellectual escape."
"Of course he is," Benedict replied gravely. "Shall I expect him at dinner this evening, or will he merely send regrets?"
Elizabeth watched them, her smile gentle, almost automatic. There was something effortless about the way they moved around one another—like two melodies that had learned, at last, how to harmonize.
Sophia rolled her eyes. "If he attends, it will be to improve the conversation."
Benedict offered a mock bow. "Then I shall prepare myself for humiliation."
Their banter continued, light and easy, and Elizabeth found herself standing just a step apart, her hands loosely clasped before her. She did not interrupt. She did not need to.
They looked… content.
Not merely affectionate. Not merely amused. But settled, in a way that felt quiet and certain.
A small, unexpected thought slipped into her mind.
We were promised first.
She pushed it aside almost at once. There was no bitterness in it—only a faint, wistful curiosity, like watching a carriage depart and wondering when one's own would arrive.
Andrew had loved her since they were children. She had loved him just as long. Their promise had never wavered.
And yet… they were still waiting.
Sophia turned back to her. "You look lovely, Lizzie. Where are you off to this morning?"
"Hyde Park," Elizabeth replied. "Andrew intends a promenade."
Benedict smiled. "Then we shall not delay you. Cheshire is a punctual man, if nothing else."
Sophia gave Elizabeth's hand a brief, warm squeeze. "Enjoy the morning. And do not let him talk you into racing. He always cheats."
Elizabeth laughed. "I shall keep that in mind."
As the couple departed, their voices fading down the corridor, Elizabeth turned back to the mirror. The same calm, perfect lady gazed back at her.
Only now, beneath the surface, there lingered the faintest echo of a question.
How long must a promise wait before it becomes a test?
Hyde Park, later that morning.
The paths of Hyde Park shimmered beneath a pale spring sun, the gravel crunching softly beneath carriage wheels and polished boots. Ladies in pastel muslin drifted along the promenade like moving bouquets, while gentlemen in dark coats followed in careful attendance. The air carried the mingled scents of damp grass, horseflesh, and the faint sweetness of early blossoms.
Lady Elizabeth Talbot walked at an easy, measured pace beside Marquess Andrew Russell of Cheshire.
Andrew had chosen to walk rather than ride, though his groom trailed discreetly behind with his chestnut horse. The morning suited him—his copper hair caught the sunlight with quiet brilliance, and the faint scatter of freckles across his nose lent him a boyishness that rank alone could not erase.
Elizabeth glanced at him from beneath the brim of her bonnet. "You might have ridden, you know. It is what everyone expected."
Andrew shrugged lightly. "And disappoint London? I should hate to ruin its morning."
"You disappoint it constantly."
"Then at least I am consistent."
She laughed, the sound soft and genuine. It had always been easy with him—conversation slipping into place as naturally as breath. Even now, beneath the watchful eyes of half the ton, the familiarity between them felt unforced, untroubled.
At least, it had until a familiar navy figure appeared at the far end of the path.
Sophia Montgomery approached on horseback, Coriolanus stepping with aristocratic confidence, his white coat gleaming in the sun. Her riding habit was as precise and unyielding as her posture, and her gaze fixed upon the pair with unmistakable purpose.
Andrew groaned under his breath. "We are about to be supervised."
Elizabeth bit back a smile. "Sophia has always taken her duties seriously."
Coriolanus slowed to a graceful halt beside them, and Sophia inclined her head. "Good morning. I trust you are conducting yourselves with suitable decorum."
Andrew folded his arms. "We are walking in a straight line, Sophia. It is difficult to misbehave at such a pace."
"That depends entirely on the conversation," she replied.
Elizabeth lifted her eyes to Sophia. "Have you come to join us?"
"Of course. Someone must act as chaperone. It would be irresponsible to leave the two of you alone in public."
Andrew raised a brow. "We are in Hyde Park. Surrounded by half of London."
Sophia's expression did not waver. "Temptation thrives in crowds."
Before Andrew could form a retort, another familiar voice drifted toward them.
"My dear sapphire, I believe your services are no longer required."
Benedict approached from the opposite direction, hat in hand, his expression carrying the quiet amusement of a man who had already anticipated this scene. Behind him, at a dignified distance, walked Countess Rose Talbot, Elizabeth's mother, her posture elegant and unassailable.
Sophia's eyes narrowed slightly. "And why not?"
Benedict gestured politely toward the countess. "Because Lady Talbot's mother is here to perform the role properly."
Elizabeth inclined her head toward her mother, who returned the gesture with composed approval.
Sophia opened her mouth, clearly prepared to argue the philosophical merits of her presence. "Nevertheless, I believe—"
Benedict leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough for only the three of them to hear. "My wife," he said with a teasing lilt, "you do not wish to spend time with your husband?"
Sophia froze.
A faint flush rose to her cheeks, subtle but unmistakable. She straightened in the saddle, her composure momentarily disturbed.
"I spend time with you daily," she replied, though her tone had lost a measure of its certainty.
"And yet here you are," Benedict continued mildly, "attempting to chaperone other people's romances."
Andrew coughed into his glove, poorly disguising his amusement.
Sophia shot him a look that promised philosophical consequences, then turned back to Benedict. "Very well," she said at last. "But only because the Countess is present."
Benedict smiled. "Naturally."
She guided Coriolanus into step beside him, the great white horse moving with a proud, measured stride. Within moments, the two of them had drifted ahead, their conversation already dissolving into quiet murmurs and the occasional spark of shared laughter.
Elizabeth watched them go, her expression soft.
Andrew followed her in silence for a moment, then said, "They suit one another, don't they?"
"They do," Elizabeth replied.
There was no bitterness in her voice—only a gentle warmth, and perhaps the faintest hint of something unspoken beneath it.
Andrew glanced at her. "You are not envious, are you?"
She shook her head quickly. "No. Only… curious, I suppose."
"About what?"
She hesitated, then smiled. "About when it will be our turn."
Andrew's expression softened at once. "Soon," he said quietly. "Very soon."
Elizabeth nodded, though the word soon felt, in that moment, both comforting and strangely uncertain.
Around them, the promenade continued—carriages rolling, ladies laughing, society spinning on its endless axis. And somewhere ahead, Sophia and Benedict walked together, already settled into a future that still waited patiently for others.