A half hour later, Caro waited, hidden in the shadows behind the garden folly. Lord and Lady Stanhope were holding this ball at their villa on the outskirts of London, which meant it had room for a full garden. The folly was a miniature version of a Greek temple consisting of five columns topped by an open ring, with a rustic stone bench inside.
It was a gorgeous spring night, clear but cool, with a full moon. The sounds of the party had all but faded away, leaving only the trilling of a nightingale overhead. Caro could detect the sweet fragrance of cowslips blooming nearby, reminiscent of apricots.
Then she heard it—the crunch of footsteps on the gravel path. She peeked out from behind a column and saw Lord Thetford approaching.
All at once, she was living her girlhood fantasy. And by
