by Meara Platt
Lillian licked her lips. “You wish to act in haste?”
He nodded. “It would be best.”
She trailed her gaze from his thick, unruly dark brown hair, to his clear blue eyes, past the strong chin she could barely make out beneath his stubble, and then down to his hands. His hands looked strong and yet they’d been gentle with his dog.
“Will you do it?” he asked, his voice sounding gruffer than before.
Lillian had only ever done the responsible thing. She’d never acted in haste and when she finally did on those rare occasions, she only ever did so after garnering considerable council. She’d watched over her two younger sisters and guided them toward decent and upstanding behavior.
It was time she tried something different. She took a deep breath and, feeling as though she was jumping off of a cliff, nodded.
“I believe that I will.”
She held his gaze as both of them comprehended what they were about to embark upon.
“You will marry me, then?” His surprise at her answer was obvious in both his voice and expression.
She nodded again and in the absence of anything else to do, held out one hand. He glanced down at it, squinted, and then took hold and squeezed it, in what she could only describe as a reassuring motion.
With a gleam in his eyes, he rose and then bowed low. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady. I can obtain a special license this afternoon. Would you mind if we married this evening?”
So soon? Oh, but he must be worried indeed.
If she allowed herself time to reconsider, she would likely change her mind.
“If you think it necessary, but would you be so kind as to answer one more question for me?”
“Of course.”
“Your name, sir. Might I know your name?”
He laughed, nervously, almost as though he too wasn’t completely certain of the bargain they’d struck. “Christian Masterson, Duke of Warwick. And you are?”
“Lady Lillian Prentiss, stepdaughter of the late Duke of Crawford.”
Chapter Three
A Very Brief Engagement
Lillian stepped tentatively through the corridor with her hands behind her back. He’d wanted to summon a carriage to take her home, but she’d insisted he not. She would walk home. And think. Had she lost her mind?
All of this was moving quickly. She swallowed hard as he directed that she precede him to the front door.
He’d not offered his arm for her to take, and she was grateful. Already her head was spinning. Somehow, she knew that his touch would do nothing to settle her already scrambled brain.
Not only had she just promised a virtual stranger that she would marry him—that she would bear a child for him—but she’d also discovered that he was a duke!
Lillian hated dukes… as did both her sisters and her mother.
Except for their stepbrother, Cameron, of course. So far, since stepping into their stepfather’s rather uncomfortable shoes, he’d managed to do a decent job as duke. He’d hated his father as much as they did, albeit without the subtlety that his stepmother and stepsisters had shown.
This duke, the one Lillian had just promised herself to, if only for a short while, could hardly seem any less ducal, and for that, she was grateful.
He’d informed Lillian that he could procure a special marriage license by nine o’clock that evening and then asked her preference for where they ought to marry. He’d suggested his home but wondered if she’d prefer a house of worship. She’d agreed that it would be best to take their vows in his study, with her maid and his sister as witnesses. He’d asked her if she’d like to have anyone else present and Lillian had told him she would wait until afterward to share the news with her mother, who would then tell the rest of her family.
If her mother knew beforehand, she would insist upon an extravagant ceremony at Saint George’s Cathedral. The Dowager Duchess of Crawford would demand that Lillian and her betrothed wait until all of their immediate and extended family could be notified and then travel to London and share in the celebration.
But time was of the essence.
Lillian shivered when they arrived at the front door that she’d entered less than one hour ago. She could hardly comprehend the speed at which they would move forward with this arrangement. So much had been decided in such a short time. Her entire life… What remained of his…
He didn’t open it immediately but turned to address her instead, his brows furrowed. “There are several details, I suppose, that we ought to put into writing.” He rubbed at his chin. “I’ll have a contract drawn up and before the ceremony, you may take all the time you need to read through it. My solicitor will be available if you have any questions.”
Lillian wasn’t all that experienced with contracts. “Should I expect any surprises?”
He didn’t answer right away. He stepped closer and looked as though he would reach out and take her hands in his but instead, placed them behind his back and rocked on his heels.
“The contract is mostly to protect you upon my death. There are benefits I can put in place for you that cannot be enacted for my sister. The original title and ducal estate have numerous complicated requirements that I’ve unfortunately become all too familiar with over the past two months. If my sister has not reached her majority, she will have no choice but to become a ward of the new heir. Hopefully, that will be my son. If the heir hasn’t reached his majority, Bernadette becomes a ward of the widow. If for any reason I pass without an heir, my widow will have a life estate deed of the dower house as well as a small townhouse in Mayfair. These provisions are already in place but I want them spelled out clearly in the marriage contract so that there is never any doubt. In case…”
“In case we fail.”
He clenched his jaw. “Yes.”
It was a somber thought. If they failed, that would mean he would be gone—dead.
“We will not fail.” It was a stupid promise to make but Lillian only wanted to reassure this man she barely knew. “Your Grace,” she added. The words left a sour taste on her tongue.
“Christian. Will you call me Christian? Or Warwick, if you prefer.”
“Christian.” Lillian met his gaze. She was going to be intimate with this man very soon. She wished she could wait but it would defeat the purpose of this entire endeavor. “And you must call me Lillian.”
He stared at her so hard that for a moment Lillian thought he might lean forward and place his lips on hers—to seal their bargain perhaps. But then, of course, he exhaled loudly and stepped back.
“I look forward to seeing you this evening, and I mean, literally seeing you, as I shall be wearing my spectacles then.” He smiled wryly. “Are you certain I cannot send a carriage to collect you?”
Lillian shook her head but then bit her lip. “Do you intend to…?” She swallowed hard. “Should I plan on…?” She was glad in that moment that he could not see her properly as a myriad of uncertainties must surely be visible in her expression.
He cleared his throat. “I will have your chamber readied, but as for the rest, we can decide later. I will not expect you to… until you are comfortable.” Again, it struck her that this man, Christian, her future husband, certainly did not act like any duke she’d ever known. He was kind and humble, and… dying.
“But we should not wait overly long,” she confirmed.
“No, I would rather not.”
She stared at his mouth and wondered what she would have done if he had placed his lips upon hers. She found him attractive, very much so. She had thought so upon their first meeting.
But that was not what any of this was about, and she would do well to remember it. They could be friends. It would be better if they were friends even, but nothing more than that.
“I will have my maid pack a small valise then, until I can send for the rest of my belongings.”
Staring into the depths of his eyes, she wondered if he was as dumbfounded by their agreemen
t as she was. And yet she had no wish to recant her acceptance.
She would have her independence. But possibly a child as well. This man’s child.
She would be a widow. It was not a happy thought and made her feel greedy—grasping. She almost changed her mind in that moment.
“I look forward to this evening.” His voice sounded gruffer than it had before.
He then opened the door and assisted her down the front steps. As she walked away, she glanced over her shoulder and saw that he remained on the sidewalk, exactly as she’d left him.
Staring after her.
She quickened her steps, almost as though she could run away from the decision she’d just made. Or simply because she felt anxious and rushed at the same time. He was dying, and she had no idea how much time he would have.
She would not change her mind.
She had never been a fickle person and wasn’t about to begin being one now. Although her mother might beg to differ.
Lillian had angered her stepfather to no end when she’d broken the betrothal he had arranged for her with Lord Emery. That had been nearly two years ago, however, and she’d had very good reason. Lillian shivered at the memory. Christian was nothing like either her stepfather or Rothberg’s heir.
But what if she was wrong?
She was not. She dismissed the thought. For now, she must address more pressing concerns—her marriage.
In a matter of hours! She stumbled at the though.
Her mother expected her to attend the Wragge-Morley musicale that evening and in order to avoid doing so, she would have to feign illness.
She broke into a cold sweat at the idea of lying to her mother. Lillian couldn’t tell her maid what she had planned for that evening until after her mother had already left, as Becky’s loyalties often seemed divided. Lillian would leave a note for her mother to discover the next morning. She would have to make up some story. Something to the effect that she’d fallen in love and couldn’t wait to be married to him. Or perhaps something else. Something more plausible…
She would tell her mother tomorrow, when nothing could be done about it. Although couples married for far more mercenary reasons, the fact that she’d made this decision on her own and that they’d never been presented to one another properly made it seem almost sordid.
Even though it was not. It was not!
Both of them had very good reasons for entering into this marriage.
She stepped inside and relinquished her bonnet to her mother’s butler, Mr. Warren.
“Did you enjoy the park this morning, my lady?”
“It’s a beautiful day,” she answered in response. “Has my mother risen yet?”
“She is taking her breakfast now.”
Lillian purposefully slowed her breaths and made her way toward the morning room. If she was going to convince her mother that she was too ill to attend the musicale that night, she might as well begin the charade now. Stepping into the bright and sunny room, she glanced at the clock and realized it was nearly noon. Not even half the day gone, and she’d already gotten herself engaged.
Her mother glanced up from the old and weathered letters she was reading. They were letters Lillian’s real father had sent to her mother when he was on the peninsula, and ever since her second husband had died, she’d been reading them openly.
The misty look faded from her eyes when she caught sight of her oldest daughter.
“I was beginning to worry. You’re usually back earlier from your morning constitutionals. And you ought to have taken Becky with you. I don’t know what you were thinking going out without a chaperone. Sometimes you are too independent for your own good. Did you eat before you left?”
“I’m not hungry.”
The servant standing beside the sideboard stepped forward and pulled out a chair for Lillian before she even had to ask.
“Don’t you get tired of reading them?” She flicked her gaze toward the letters.
The soft smile returned to her mother’s face. “I kept them hidden for years. I couldn’t read them when Crawford was alive.” Her mother had told her this before, but for some reason, Lillian hadn’t wanted to think about it.
“I hear his voice when I read them. Even though I no longer remember his face.” With purposeful care, her mother smoothed the letter she had been reading, refolded it, and replaced it in its original envelope, browned at the edges from age.
Her mother had been a widow for just a few years when she’d become engaged to Crawford.
“You loved Father.” They didn’t speak of him often. They hadn’t spoken of him at all while the duke had been alive.
“I did.”
“But not Crawford.”
“No, but he provided all of us with security. I had three little girls; you know that.” Her mother blinked and pinched her lips together. “Although Crawford had a dreadful temper, he never hurt any of you girls. And we’ve never had to worry about keeping a roof over our heads, nor about having food on the table. Circumstances would have been quite different had he not offered for me.”
Lillian knew all of this. “So, you have never regretted it, marrying the duke?” And of course, with Crawford gone now, her mother no longer had to worry about managing a husband.
Her mother looked at her squarely. “He put a roof over my daughter’s heads and food in their mouths. How could I ever regret that.?” She glanced down at the letters. “I want for nothing now. I experienced great love at one time. It is more than many ever know. I have my happy memories.”
Her mother sipped at her tea and then dabbed a napkin at the corner of her lips. Rays of sun slanted in to light up her mother’s hair, illuminating the silver strands threaded thickly amongst the golden blond ones. Her mother would not be lonely without her. She would still have Cora and Martha to keep her busy. And good heavens, all of Louella and Cameron’s children as well!
And with Lillian married, her mother could finally bring Cora into society.
“Mother.” Lillian stared at the silk embroidery on the white linen tablecloth. “Do you remember hearing about the Duke of Warwick’s death a few months back?”
Her mother sipped at her tea again and frowned. “Nasty business. I wouldn’t speak of it if either of your sisters were here.” She leaned forward. “It happened at the height of the Season, you know. Lady Stanhope told me that His Grace was caught dallying with Lord Grimsley’s wife. Of course, Warwick’s death was officially listed as an accident, but everyone knows the truth of it. Grimsley dispatched him on the field of honor.”
For some reason, she’d believed that the former duke had died from an illness similar to that which her Duke of Warwick was afflicted with.
Lillian frowned. “Did you ever meet any of them, the Warwicks, that is?”
Her mother stared at her curiously. “Not that I remember. The duchess has been gone for several years now. Why do you ask, Lillian?”
Lillian shifted her gaze to the corner of the room and shrugged. “I understand the new duke is in residence.”
“I certainly hope he isn’t the scoundrel his brother was. Not that it concerns us in any way. Dukes aren’t to be trusted, except for Cameron, of course.”
“Of course,” Lillian agreed. It was most unfortunate that Christian was a duke. He was nothing like her stepfather had been… Surely, he’d not dissembled with her in any way. Had he?
“Lord Crenshaw will be at the musicale tonight. He was asking Lady Wragge-Morley about you.” Her mother’s voice dripped with satisfaction.
Lillian suppressed a shudder. Lord Crenshaw was well into his sixth decade. He was bald and portly and smelled of cigars and decaying teeth. Worse than that, his disposition made her inclined to distrust him. How could her mother even think that Lillian would consent to being courted by such a man?
“I was hoping that after you turned down Rothberg’s heir, you would be open to other offers. It isn’t fair to your sisters, you know.” Sometimes, it was as though her mothe
r could read her thoughts.
“I will choose a husband, Mother. Please do not worry. The girls will have their come outs soon enough.” But she did not meet her mother’s eyes. Such ill-fated matchmaking efforts would be a moot point by this time tomorrow. Something that felt like a thrill of excitement but also sheer terror shot through her veins.
She felt her mother’s curious gaze boring into her. “Is there something you wish to tell me?”
“I don’t feel well.”
Lillian glanced up and forced herself to return her mother’s stare. After an uncomfortable moment, her mother blinked and apparently relented. “You must have spent too much time in the sun. What were you thinking, gallivanting around Mayfair alone in the middle of summer—in the heat of the day, no less?”
“It was not the heat of the day.”
“Harrumph. Well, it is the middle of summer.” Her mother reached out and touched Lillian’s forehead.” Ironically, it was damp from the cold sweat Lillian had broken into. “Perhaps you should rest this afternoon, then. You’ll want to be in top form for the musicale this evening.”
Lillian nodded and then feigned a cough as she pushed herself away from the table. She really was not very good at dissembling.
The footman smoothly pulled the chair back as she rose.
Slowly, she reminded herself. She also tried to summon an expression that might accurately portray a sickly person. Her younger sister Cora, at the age of eight and ten, was so much better at acting out deceptions. Lillian ought to know, Cora had fooled her on more than one occasion. Even the youngest of them, Martha, would have done better.
“You don’t look… normal.” Her mother’s gaze trailed her.
Lillian felt anything but normal. “I intend to rest.” Only she wasn’t certain how she would do locked away in her room for all of the afternoon. More doubts were making themselves known. But also, an unusual excitement. She could take her fate into her own hands for the first time in her life.
She had not expected to learn that Christian’s brother had been a scoundrel, nor that he’d died in a duel.
