by Lydia Dare
When Simon had informed her that they would watch the famed thespian in the role of Richard III, Lily could barely contain her excitement. Apparently, being a duchess had its advantages.
Bridges Street was clogged with carriages as drivers maneuvered their horses toward Drury Lane. Men and women moved en masse toward the entrance, all dressed in their finest clothes for their night at the theatre.
Lily glanced down at her own dress. "I suppose I should be eternally grateful to Prisca for making this gown for me." She felt a little chagrin at wearing the green silk dress again, but it was the nicest one she owned.
Simon pulled her hand into the crook of his arm and smiled down at her. "Tomorrow, we'll commission London's most expensive modiste. You deserve a grand new wardrobe."
"My reward for putting up with you, Your Grace?" she laughed.
"My reward is you putting up with me." His gaze traveled up and down her body. "Among other things."
"Simon," she scolded him. "Do behave yourself." But she couldn't hold back the smile that threatened to erupt. "You're positively incorrigible."
His eyes narrowed at her. "And I thought beastly was the only description you had for me." He made the comment and looked away without meeting her eyes.
"I have a lot more, Your Grace." She stopped walking and tugged his arm. She raised one hand to cup the side of his face. "Beastly is my favorite, though."
He leaned into her hand. "Would that it could be true," he said quietly.
"You doubt me?"
He looked away and changed the subject, just as she'd known he would. "I can't wait to show off my lovely wife at the theatre." His eyes caught hers. "But I must warn you…"
Before he could even finish his sentence, a booming voice said, "Well, there's the Duke of Blackmoor. Finally out of seclusion, I see."
The man approached slowly and extended a hand to Simon. His height was nearly equal to the duke's, and the family resemblance was unmistakable. He shared the same black-as-night hair and grey eyes. Lily wracked her memory to come up with a name, but it eluded her.
"Lily, this is Mr. Alstott, a distant relation on my father's side. Charles, meet my duchess." Lily's heart did a little flip when he said her new title with such pride.
"Lovely to meet you," Lily replied.
"Your Grace, I knew it would be a lady such as you who'd finally get Simon to the altar," Mr. Alstott said, pressing his lips to her gloved fingers.
"I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not," Lily said quietly.
Simon simply laughed and whispered dramatically, "It's a compliment, love. You may take it as one."
"Most definitely," the man boomed. "It would take a woman of great strength to finally collar this pup."
Simon narrowed his eyes and shook his head slightly, almost unnoticeably, at his distant cousin. At first, Lily thought she'd imagined it, but she knew she had not when Mr. Alstott tilted his head to one side in confusion. Then Simon made his signature move and changed the subject.
"Where is your lovely wife?" Simon asked.
"She's gossiping with friends, as usual," Mr. Alstott answered, as he searched the lobby with his eyes. Then he caught his wife's attention across the room and gestured her toward them. "Mary," he began when she reached them. "Meet the Duchess of Blackmoor." After the introduction, he draped his arm around his wife's slender shoulders.
"Lily, please. I'm not quite used to the title yet."
"Charles and Mary will be sharing our box tonight," Simon informed her and directed her toward the staircase.
"Oh, how nice," Lily replied.
Beside them, Mary Alstott leaned toward Lily, her brown eyes wide. "I think it's quite brave of you to come out in society like this after the…"
Charles coughed loudly, interrupting his wife's statement. Mary stopped talking to place her hand on her husband's chest. "Are you all right?"
Lily frowned as she watched them. All the male members of the Westfield family seemed to share the same predisposition toward untimely changes of subject matter.
"Yes, yes, of course," he said. "I am a bit parched, however. Come, Mary. We'll find some wine."
"Perhaps we should take our seats," Simon suggested. He ushered Lily through the crowd and up the stairs to his box.
The number of theatre-goers was slightly overwhelming. Lily had never imagined such a crush. One lady after another looked at her out of the corner of their eyes, and Lily was certain she wasn't dressed nearly nice enough for this. "Perhaps we shouldn't have come," she muttered to herself.
Simon stopped walking and frowned at her. "Why?"
"I beg your pardon?" Lily blinked at him.
"Why shouldn't we have come?"
Lily shook her head. How was it possible he'd heard her? "I… um… Well, I feel a little underdressed."
A roguish smile lit his face as he directed her down the corridor past one box after another. "You're beautiful, Lily. And you're the Duchess of Blackmoor. You could walk in here wearing rags if you wanted."
"Rags?" She couldn't hold in a giggle.
"Personally, I prefer you wearing nothing at all."
"Simon!"
He ignored her rebuke, pressing her lower back toward one of the boxes. "Ah, here we are. Sit right near the front, love, so you have a good view of the stage."
Moments later, the Alstotts joined them and the theatre grew dim, signaling the remaining patrons to find their seats. Lily sat forward against the rail, excitement coursing through her veins as the stage captured her attention.
Simon's hand clasped hers when the play began. With a sidelong glance, she saw his bright smile in the darkness and it warmed her heart.
***
Simon couldn't concentrate on the play even the slightest. He held Lily's hand clasped comfortably in his for fear that, if he let go, he would lose her. It was a foolish thought. She was safely seated beside him, entranced by Kean's performance.
Still, the worry persisted. Both Charles and Mary had very nearly told Lily the word about Town. The society rags were full with the news of his nuptials and rife with unflattering speculation. Not one column mentioned how wonderful Lily was. Instead unsubstantiated gossip filled the pages. One author after another suggested Lily was already expecting Simon's child before their nuptials, hence the swift wedding.
One enterprising columnist had discovered Lily's dowry. They wrote that when no one would take Blackmoor's bribe to take Lily and the child off his hands, he had no choice but to marry her himself.
To add insult to injury, not only was her virtue maligned, but there were many uncomplimentary comments about her appearance, from her hair color to her height.
Simon's gaze traveled over her body in the darkness. She was perfect. She was tall and lithesome. Every part of her fit every part of him.
At first, he'd wanted to cancel their excursion and return to Westfield Hall, but that would only give credence to the reports. It would be better for them to hold their heads high and ignore the lies all together.
When the curtain fell for intermission, Lily stood up to stretch, exuberance sparkling in her hazel eyes. "This is amazing," she gushed.
Simon caressed her knuckles. He loved seeing her so happy. "Would you like some refreshment, love?"
"No, but thank you. I'll return in just a moment, Simon," she said as she pulled her hand from his grasp.
"Where are you going?" he asked, rising from his seat, ready to trail her like a faithful puppy.
"Women have to have some secrets," Mary broke in. "Come along, Lily. I'll accompany you to the retiring room."
Lily hooked her arm with Mary's, promised to return soon, and stepped out of the box. Simon watched her go, and a feeling of dread seeped over him.
Charles brought his attention back to the present when he called Simon's name. What Simon truly wanted to do was go after his wife. But he couldn't imagine the scandal he would cause if he followed her to the ladies' retiring room. And though worse had
been said about him, he didn't want to give the gossipmongers anything else to say about Lily.
"She'll be fine, Blackmoor," Charles chided. "Mary will take care of her."
"I just worry," he said, catching himself mumbling.
"I can tell. You remind me of my faithful old dog. He was always such a jolly fellow until someone threatened my existence. Then he came out with teeth flying."
Simon sank into his chair. Surely she would return soon.
***
"I must tell you how terribly brave I think you are," Mary said in hushed tones as they walked down the crowded corridor.
"Brave?" Lily echoed, suddenly ill at ease.
"Why, if I were you, I wouldn't even step foot in public yet. I would have waited until the scandal died down a bit." She smiled at Lily. "But then I would imagine Blackmoor would never have married someone without a strong backbone."
Lily stopped walking and turned toward Mary. "I have no idea what you're referring to. Please enlighten me."
"Oh, my," the woman breathed. "You don't know?"
A giggle sounded near them. Lily looked up when she heard someone whisper loudly, "I can't believe she's walking around in public!"
"Know what?" Lily asked, as she drew Mary to the side of the hallway.
"The society columns," Mary mumbled. "The rumors about you and Blackmoor. About why you had to marry quickly." The woman looked down at the floor.
"There are always rumors about His Grace in those pages. It's nothing new." Lily tried to sound light and dignified.
"Yes, but these were about you, dear," Mary said quietly.
Lily shook her head in disbelief. She'd never done anything to provoke a scandal. "What do they say?"
"I've said too much already."
"Please, Mary."
"You should ask His Grace," the woman hedged.
"I'll do just that," Lily said as she turned quickly and stomped back down the corridor.
She heard laughter to her right and looked over to find a group of well-dressed ladies staring at her, tittering behind their fans. Honestly, didn't they have anything better to do? Obviously not.
Then the crowd parted, and Lily saw the source of the laughter. Mrs. Teresa Hamilton, stunning as ever, stood amongst them, wearing a smug smile and a low-cut dress. Lily didn't know which was more offensive.
Lily resisted the urge to rip the perfect blond curls from her head. No matter how satisfying that seemed, it certainly wouldn't help Lily's current predicament. She tipped her nose in the air and continued down the hallway, determined to act the role of duchess even if she didn't feel it.
Simon's box came into view, and Lily increased her gait. How could he not tell her what was being said? How could he parade her in front of the ton without any warning? In her haste, Lily stumbled just outside their box but managed to catch herself. She took a deep breath and adjusted her slipper.
Then she heard Simon's hushed voice filter through the curtain. "No, Lily doesn't know about me."
What didn't she know? Lily tilted her head to hear better.
"Certainly, you plan to tell her?" Charles asked.
"Lily doesn't need to know about that part of my life," Simon snarled.
"Don't bare your teeth at me," Charles growled back.
Did they always fight like that? What an odd family.
"My wife knows all my secrets." The man chuckled. "And adores every last one of them."
"I don't care to know what goes on in your bedroom," Simon replied, and she could hear the frown in his voice.
"Never in a bedroom when the moon is full, dear boy."
Simon growled. "What could possibly be keeping Lily?"
Before she knew what happened, Simon barreled out of the box and straight into her.
Thirty-Eight
"Simon!" Lily cried as she nearly stumbled to the floor.
His reflexes were quick, and he snatched her to him, righting her in no time. "I'm so sorry, love."
She stared at him with a mix of fear and barely contained anger. "Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded.
Oh, dear God! What had she overheard? What had Charles said? Simon's mind went back over the conversation. The lout had announced that Mary knew all of his secrets and then mentioned the full moon. Certainly Lily hadn't deduced anything from that.
"Tell you what?" he asked cautiously, glancing briefly at the other patrons walking past. Certainly the busy corridor was not the place to have this conversation. Simon directed her inside the box.
When Charles met his eyes, Simon glowered at his cousin. "Out!" he barked.
Charles returned his frown but did as he was bid. Then Simon looked into Lily's furious hazel eyes. Her lips pursed to angry little buds.
"What exactly is my crime, Lily?"
Tears threatened to escape her eyes, but she sniffed them back. "What is being said about me, Simon?"
The gossip! Thank God! Relief washed over him, but only for a moment. Lily looked so forlorn, his heart ached. "I thought it best not to tell you."
She poked him in the chest. Hard. "You thought it would be better for people to laugh at me instead? For me to be completely in the dark?"
The beast threatened to erupt from within him. Someone had laughed at her? He'd kill them. "What happened, Lily?" he growled.
"Take me home," she hissed.
Simon stepped toward her and brushed his knuckles across her soft cheek. "I didn't tell you, love, because I knew it would hurt you. But we can't go yet. If we turn tail and leave, the rumors will persist and grow even uglier. We need to keep our heads high and finish out the play."
"What are they saying about me, Simon?" she asked, her brow furrowed with concern.
He shrugged. "That you're enceinte."
Realization reflected in her eyes, and Simon hated to see her hurt. "But I'm not," she barely whispered.
Simon tugged her against him and nuzzled her neck. "You might be. Nothing would make me happier, Lily. But you certainly weren't before we married. And when no child arrives in seven months, or eight, they'll all realize they were wrong."
She sagged against him. "We have to wait eight months?"
He lifted his head. "Or sooner, if it's obvious you're not with child. However, since you have expressly demanded that I ravish you nightly, I don't know how long that will remain."
When a giggle escaped her throat, Simon breathed a sigh of relief. He slid his arms around her waist and kissed her soft lips. Now he wished they could return home.
"Simon," she said, pushing at his chest.
"Yes, love?"
He'd hoped she would smile at him, or in the very least have a sultry look, but her brow furrowed and her nose scrunched up.
"What else aren't you telling me?"
Simon's stomach dropped. "Nothing," he lied, feigning innocence.
Lily stepped out of his arms. "I'm not a fool, you know."
"Of course not, I—"
She held up her hand to stop his excuse. "I don't want to hear it, unless it's the truth."
"Lily, there's nothing to tell," he insisted as his palms grew sweaty. How long could he keep her in the dark? Would it be safer if he put some distance between them? Lived separately? The idea made him cringe. He didn't want to go on without her. He didn't know if he could.
The theatre grew dim again as intermission ended.
Charles poked his head back inside the box. "Simon…"
He nodded at his cousin. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Charles."
***
Lily stepped from the Blackmoor coach in front of
Madam Pelletier's shop on Bruton Street. She wasn't sure why she was here. When they had intended to stay in London for a time, it had made sense to visit a modiste. However, both she and Simon were now anxious to return to Westfield Hall.
She didn't have a need for gowns befitting a duchess in Hampshire. Yet, Simon had insisted. He grasped her elbow and directed her into the exclusive shop.
An olive-
skinned, dark-haired woman rushed forward at their entrance. "Your Grace," she gushed over Simon, her French accent surprising to Lily's ears. "You do me such an honor."
"Madam," Simon began, "you are a visionary. I would never take my wife anywhere else."
