Something Old

by Rebecca Connolly

  Thomas stood just before the gallery, eyes on his pocket watch. Her approach brought his head up, and he stilled, his eyes lowering to the hem of her gown and slowly making their way up the length of her figure. Lily felt her face heat as he did so, though it could just as easily have been the anxiety of her haste warming her cheeks.

  “Will it do?” she asked, looking down at herself, taking in the yellow ribbons and flowers adorning her white skirts. “I was uncertain as to the expectation of dress for our company, so I thought…”

  “You look beautiful.”

  She looked back up at him, throat closing at once. His eyes were fixed on her face, darker than she had ever seen them, expression warm, if not pleased.

  There was nothing to do but smile at that.

  She took in the appearance of him as well. “And you look rather fine as well, sir.”

  Well was putting it mildly. He looked the picture of a gentleman in the country. His black suit coat over a yellow waistcoat of satin, a white cravat neatly folded and pinned, and his long legs encased in pale breeches reminded her that her husband was a fine figure of a man.

  He was no dandy, but he was a feast for fashionable eyes, nevertheless.

  “And yet, no one will notice me with you on my arm,” he vowed, coming to her with an arm extended. “Which suits me perfectly.”

  Lily took his arm, feeling her blush extend down to the tips of her toes, marveling that she was able to put one foot in front of the other without stumbling or wavering.

  This could be a promising beginning.

  They moved through the gallery without speaking, then down the main stairs, where they fetched cloaks and Thomas’s hat, then moved out to the courtyard where the carriage awaited them.

  “I rather like having access to the carriage from the courtyard rather than the main entrance,” Lily murmured to Thomas as they neared the carriage. “The path from the drive to the house is so long…”

  Thomas chuckled, pausing as one of the footmen opened the carriage door and lowered the step. “It is not that far.”

  Lily shrugged one shoulder, the stiff, ruched fabric of her sleeve rustling as she did so. “Perhaps not, but the courtyard is much closer.”

  “I’ll not argue that.” He handed her into the coach, waiting until she settled in the forward-facing seat before entering and taking the rear-facing seat for himself. The step was folded, the carriage door closed, and the footman nodded to the driver, who snapped the reins.

  Lily twisted her lips as they pulled around the courtyard. “Will you tell me about Lord Basset? How did you come to make his acquaintance?”

  “Lord Basset has been an acquaintance of mine for some time, though only through correspondence by letter,” Thomas told her, his hands folded neatly in his lap. “When business enterprises in Cornwall came to my attention, I found Lord Basset involved in several of them. My solicitor contacted his, and soon we were communicating with each other. On his advice, I became a shareholder in two local mines in addition to the shipping ventures I had already taken on, which have prospered well, despite a scarcity in other mines.”

  “That seems fortunate,” she murmured, almost startled by the amount of information her husband was sharing.

  He nodded once. “Today, our paths crossed in person as we met with other mine shareholders and owners in Redruth to discuss growing concerns across all mines.”

  “And are the mines in trouble?” Lily asked, more out of curiosity than true interest. She had no idea what went into running a mine, owning a mine, or investing in a mine, let alone what possible concerns might exist, but if Thomas was in a talkative mood, she’d ask about every detail she could root out to keep him doing so.

  “Not necessarily,” he relented without much emotion. “There are always risks, and the Welsh mines seem to outproduce them on average, but our mines seem to have each found a good cache that continues to bring profit. The concerns raised at this meeting were more of safety for the miners, which were fascinating to learn about.”

  Lily shuddered as she considered the life of a miner and the dangers of being one. “Surely that must be paramount for owners and shareholders.”

  Thomas smiled, though she did not see much amusement in it. “One would think and hope so, and yet… I suspect some of the owners and shareholders are more interested in the profit than in the people. I cannot say for certain, being unfamiliar with the other men at this meeting, but that was the impression I received. I shall need to discuss matters with Basset at some point.”

  “Perhaps you might do so tonight,” Lily suggested, pleased that Thomas felt as she did on the subject.

  “It may not be the place or the time,” he reminded her with a slight tilt of his head. “I have no notion how many guests he has invited to Trevadden Park, nor the identity or station of those he has invited.”

  Lily giggled at the notion, shaking her head as she looked out at the passing scenery in the evening light. “We are walking into a great unknown tonight, are we not?”

  He chuckled as well, and the sound warmed her more than her previous embarrassment ever could have. “I daresay we are, and I am delighted not to be doing so alone.”

  “Should we establish a signal and excuse for ourselves should we need to make a hasty return to Pendrizzick?” Lily asked him, keeping her expression blank even as her tone took on a teasing note.

  Thomas barked a laugh, grinning without hesitation. “Perhaps we should! Are you to be unwell? Am I? Perhaps our elderly Great-Aunt Mary has also come to Cornwall with us, and you are anxious for her comfort.”

  “Poor Great-Aunt,” Lily bemoaned on cue with a heavy sigh. “She does endure so much and with so little complaint.”

  “That she does.” He continued to chuckle, shaking his head. “And how shall we communicate our need to make such an excuse, hmm? Shall I turn my cravat pin?”

  “And I shall fidget with the pearls at my throat,” Lily insisted with a nod, finding delight in this plot of theirs. “It is a near identical motion to yours, and I do not naturally fidget.”

  Thomas grunted in agreement. “For which I am especially grateful. It would be deuced distracting for any man in your company to have you fidget with your jewelry, and I’d have to call out several of them for their behavior. Dueling being the tricky thing that it is, I’d rather not.”

  Lily’s jaw dropped at the suggestion. “They would not be distracted.”

  “Oh, I assure you, they would,” Thomas overrode before she could finish, nodding with a knowing smile. “I would be. I’ll apologize now if it takes me a moment to recollect what you are signaling if and when you do so tonight.”

  There was no sound for the space of several thunderous heartbeats. Lily felt hot and cold, completely numb and consumed by tingling in every limb. Was he saying that…? Could he mean…?

  She bit her lip as she warred within herself for understanding and clarity, only to hear her husband hiss to himself across the way.

  “And that is just as distracting, my dear.”

  Her eyes widened, and she suddenly feared her heart might spring from her chest and begin dancing a jig on his knees. She released her lip at once, swallowing hard.

  “Rather sensible, all things considered,” he remarked, smiling in a manner she had never seen. Something that blended satisfaction with interest, and it had an almost primal edge to it, raising bumps along every inch of her exposed skin as though she had a chill.

  Yet she was not chilled. Not in the least.

  Swallowing again, she forced herself to exhale, slowly and silently. “I shall… do my best,” she said, feeling as though she were thinking through mud and speaking even worse. At his curious tilt of the head, she hastily added, “To fidget without distraction. And not become irritated if you… if you should…”

  “I’m quite accustomed to being distracted by you, Lily,” Thomas assured her, somehow completely unaffected by the growing tension in the carriage that threatened to choke her.
“It’s been a constant state of mine for years, punctuated by moments of intensity when and where they happen.”

  “You never said,” she whispered without thinking, her pulse somehow in her throat and ears now. “Not once have you told me…”

  “I should have,” he insisted, his voice dipping low and reaching into her heart. “Every time, I should have. I was afraid.”

  A faint rush of air passed her lips, tickling the suddenly sensitive skin. “Afraid? Why should you be afraid to tell me?”

  He snorted a soft laugh. “To tell you that you are beautiful? That I’ve never seen your equal? That I struggle to look anywhere else when you are in the room? That it has been so ever since I saw you again at the pianoforte in Mary Hamilton’s home?” He shook his head very slowly. “After how I married you, I couldn’t venture to tell you anything. You deserved so much better. How could I confess to feeling what I did after hurting you so?”

  “It would have helped,” she told him, feeling near to tears yet elated to hear every word, “to know that you felt any of this. It would have helped, Thomas.”

  The emotion she saw in his expression ate at her, an almost broken bewilderment she instantly wanted to soothe.

  “I didn’t know,” he murmured.

  Lily lowered her chin, forcing a gentle smile. “You know now.”

  He returned the smile, though it failed to erase the shadows. “And so do you.”

  Her heart skipped a beat, the truth of the conversation sinking into her heart and mind. What would this mean for them? What could it change?

  Where would they go?

  The temptation to bite her lip had never been so strong, but knowing what she now knew, she could not do so without being reminded of Thomas’s confession.

  A distraction, was she? She’d have to remember that.

  They did not speak again until they reached Trevadden, though the pressure in Lily’s chest did not abate, nor did her temptation to look at him. Something had shifted between them in that ride, and she was half tempted to ask to return to Pendrizzick to see what might occur on that journey.

  Her cheeks flamed yet again at the thought.

  Thomas was suddenly stepping out of the carriage, reaching his hand back in for her. Thank heavens for the fading light that would keep her embarrassment from being obvious, she thought.

  She let him help her down, forcing her racing heart to find some semblance of calm, though it would never fully settle now. Perhaps ever.

  Smiling up at Thomas, she proceeded into the grand façade of Trevadden, its grand columns lending a more regal air to the already spectacular place. A line of liveried footmen stood inside, taking their cloaks and Thomas’s hat, while the one on the end indicated they could follow him farther inside.

  “This place,” she breathed, tugging on Thomas’s arm. “It is…”

  “A masterpiece of architecture and style,” he finished for her, nodding in agreement. “Perhaps I should ask him to take a holiday somewhere so we might tour this house as well.”

  Lily snickered, her glove coming up to cover her mouth for a moment. “Yes,” she finally managed once she had regained control. “Would you?”

  “Certainly.” A corner of his mouth twitched, but somehow, he managed not to laugh. The look he gave her, however, was full of laughter.

  Her heart fluttered at its sight.

  They reached a vast drawing room, the walls the palest shade of green and enhanced by dark wooden beams exiting into the beams of the ceiling above their heads. There were perhaps ten people in the room, one of which was a tall, dark-haired man with rather splendid evening wear. Had they been in London, he would not have been out of place, yet Lily would hesitate to call him a dandy.

  But only just.

  He turned as they entered, his smile swift and sure, and he immediately made for them. “Granger! So pleased to have you here. Welcome to Trevadden.” He bowed politely, then extended a hand to shake before turning toward her. “This must your wife, sir.”

  “Yes, indeed. Lily, may I present Lord Harrison Basset?” Thomas asked, stepping back just a touch.

  Lord Basset bowed again, this time a bit farther. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Granger.”

  “And I you, my lord,” Lily demurred with a polite curtsey. “Your home is extraordinary.”

  “Thank you. You are both welcome at any time to come and poke about its corridors,” he told them congenially. “No notice needed, no invitation required. In fact, I should appreciate your opinion on the place, Mrs. Granger. My mother is forever insisting in her letters that I need a woman’s touch in it, and I fail to see that as a suitable excuse to find a wife. If you could be prevailed upon to advise me of any alterations you might deem appropriate, I would consider it a very great favor.”

  Lily could not help but smile and nodded. “I shall do my best, my lord.”

  “Good. Now,” he took a step closer, gesturing for Thomas to step in as well, “I have heard, Mrs. Granger, that you are exceptionally skilled at the pianoforte. If you consent, I shall invite you to play something for us after dinner.”

  “I would be delighted, my lord.” Lily dipped her chin, not quite nodding, but smiling even so.

  Lord Basset did the same. “Excellent. Now, let me introduce you to the nearest lady so you might have someone to take you around while I steal your husband to do the same. Ah.” He moved to a fair-haired woman in violet silks, her fan steadily waving. “Mrs. Boscastle, allow me to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, recently arrived from London.”

  The woman turned with a blank expression that only changed when she took a pointed look at Lily, then offered a polite smile. “What a pleasure.” She curtseyed to them deeply. “So delighted.”

  “Would you be so kind as to introduce Mrs. Granger to the rest of the ladies, Mrs. Boscastle?” Lord Basset inquired.

  “Of course, Basset,” she all but purred, beaming up at him, her tone losing a great deal of its formality. “It would be a pleasure.”

  He nodded his thanks, nodded to Lily, and walked on, indicating Thomas should follow.

  Thomas turned to Lily and took up her hand, kissing it softly before leaving. The back of her hand burned, though it had only been a brush.

  “Not very gallant,” Mrs. Boscastle grumbled when they were alone, her fan moving again.

  “I beg your pardon?” Lily asked, ready to defend her husband’s actions.

  The lady tapped her fan toward the men. “Basset. Abandoning you to a stranger and stealing your husband for his own conversations. If he weren’t so wealthy or so well featured, I shouldn’t pay him a moment’s attention.” She shook her head, then gave Lily a look. “Which of the ladies would you care to meet first?”

  Startled, Lily took a look around the room, her eyes falling on a slender woman in a simple green muslin standing alone by the fire, looking almost identical to Lord Basset, though her eyes were the palest, most brilliant blue she had ever seen. “Who is that young lady?”

  Mrs. Boscastle sputtered behind her fan. “Oh, I shouldn’t bother with that one. That is Miss Moyle, Basset’s half-sister. She’s the daughter of a maid, born on the wrong side of the blanket, you know. Basset acknowledges her, though he’d be better off leaving her to the poorhouse, I daresay. Not fit to mix in polite company, yet he will insist on doing so. She was a maid herself before he found her. Conversation with her is worse than speaking with a miner.”

  “Really?” Lily murmured, pursing her lips. “Excuse me, Mrs. Boscastle.” Without another word, Lily strode across the room, not caring if every other man and woman in the room could see her doing so. She smiled pleasantly as she reached the young woman and curtseyed as she would have to anyone else. “Miss Moyle, this is terribly forward, but I would very much like to make your acquaintance, if I may. My name is Lily Granger, and I hope we shall become great friends.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Thomas had never been more enchanted by his wife than at this mom
ent, and that was saying a very great deal.

  Basset had all but cursed as they’d seen Lily stride away from Mrs. Boscastle, who looked as though she had swallowed a toad as she watched Lily go.

  “That’s my sister,” Basset hissed to Thomas when Lily reached her. “She’s… She’s not…”

  “I don’t think it matters,” Thomas told him as he smiled at Lily’s curtsey, getting the idea well enough from reactions.

  Whatever the young lady’s name was, whatever her situation, it was good enough for Lily. Which meant it was good enough for him.

  Even now, the pair of them were sitting together, deep in conversation, and the bewildered expression had yet to leave the young woman’s face. Basset had since gone to see about the meal, leaving Thomas in the company of another recent acquaintance, Gage Trembath.

  “I hope you recognize the statement your wife has just made,” Trembath murmured beside him, watching the scene as well.

  Thomas glanced at him. “You disapprove?”

  Trembath shook his head firmly. “Not at all. I’m rather fond of Emblyn. Miss Moyle, that is. I’ve no complaints in associating with her. But if you will look around, you will see that not all feel the same.”

  A quick survey of other guests proved the man’s word. There were not many others in the room, but some of the ladies eyed Lily and Miss Moyle with distaste. Mrs. Boscastle, for one, seemed horrified, while her companion seemed more irritated than anything else. There were a handful of other ladies about, but none seemed to take notice of Lily, or Miss Moyle, or of the horror felt by those that had noticed.

  “What should be their complaint?” Thomas asked, his eyes tracing back to his wife and her new friend. “Whatever her situation, if Basset should be her brother…”

  “Miss Moyle is the illegitimate daughter of Basset’s late father,” Trembath told him in a low voice. “Her mother was a maid in the household. Basset only recently learned of her existence and sought her out. She was working as a maid at Tehidy. He would have her live here with him, but she will not. She is well aware of the distance between them in fortune and breeding, and she is stubbornly maintaining that distance insofar as Basset will concede.”