Aunt Winnie gave her a knowing smile. “If you say so, my dear. Now, about that stack of invitations I received this morning. We should go—”
A knock at the door drew her godmother’s attention. It was Solsbury House’s stalwart butler.
“Yes, Higgins?” she asked as Lily swung her slippered feet to the floor and smoothed her rose pink muslin skirts.
The butler bowed. “My apologies for interrupting, my lady, but there is a special delivery, for Miss Godwin. Flowers.” He turned to Lily. “I thought you might like to know, miss.”
Aunt Winnie cast her a quizzical look. “How fascinating.” Then to Higgins, “Do bring them in.”
One of the footmen entered bearing an enormous bunch of white lilies surrounded by lacy fern fronds.
Lily pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, my goodness,” she breathed.
“It seems you have an admirer,” remarked Aunt Winnie. She directed the footman to place the lilies on a nearby cherrywood table. “Is there a note?”
“Yes.” Her pulse quickening, Lily stepped forward and picked up the small card. And then her heart fell.
Lilies for the sweetest Lily of them all.
Affectionately and patiently yours,
Humphrey
“They are from Lord Hardwick,” she said, hoping that Aunt Winnie hadn’t detected the catch in her voice.
“What?” Her godmother looked over her shoulder at the note. “The audacity of that man astounds me. He could at least grovel with a bit more alacrity. And sincerity.”
Lily sighed and tossed the note onto the table. “Groveling to any degree won’t work. As far as I am concerned, Lord Hardwick can go and jump in the Thames.” She meant what she said. Truth be told, she’d barely thought of Humphrey and his betrayal since she’d departed Horwood House. It made her wonder how much she’d really cared about him to begin with ...
Lord Nash was the man she couldn’t stop thinking about, despite her best efforts.
“That’s my girl.” Aunt Winnie threaded her arm through hers. “Now, come and sit by the fire so you can help me decide which events to attend. I would value your opinion.”
Which really meant, her godmother wanted to encourage Lily out into Society again.
Aunt Winnie sent for tea and cakes and after they were settled on the cherry red velvet sofa before the fire, they began to sort through all the invitations. Her godmother was quite the social butterfly and a patroness of several worthy charities so it was quite usual for her to be inundated with requests for ‘her most esteemed presence’, especially at this time of year.
“What do you think of this one, Lily?” Aunt Winnie proffered a cream sheet of parchment with gilt edges. “You’ve made it abundantly clear that you are leery of attending any sort of evening affair other than Lady Kilminster’s musicale, but this sounds like it will be quite entertaining; the Earl and Countess of Maxwell are holding a masquerade ball on Twelfth Night at Latimer House. Helena, Lady Maxwell, is the most delightful woman.”
Lily grimaced. “I’m not sure ...”
“Oh, heavens, child.” Aunt Winnie threw her a look that was both exasperated and amused. “There’s nothing quite so diverting as a masquerade ball. Especially when the Lord of Misrule comes out to play.”
“Very well then.” Lily sighed in resignation. “If I agree to attend at least one ball, will that appease you, my dearest godmother?”
“Yes.” Winnie gave her hand a light squeeze. “It will. I just want you to be happy, Lily.”
Lily summoned a smile. That’s all she wanted too.
If only her wayward heart would stop longing for Lord Nash.
Chapter 8
Latimer House, Mayfair, London
Twelfth Night, 1820
The masquerade ball was a frightful crush but Lily didn’t mind. The more guests there were, the easier it would be to escape notice. Or that’s what she tried to tell herself anyway as she followed Aunt Winnie around the subtly lit ballroom, ignoring the odd curious stare and whisper, until they eventually took up a position near an alcove housing an elaborate arrangement of crimson and white roses standing on a fluted marble pedestal.
If only she could sink into the woodwork, then she wouldn’t have to worry if anyone else she knew was here. Like Humphrey. Or even worse, Lord Nash.
If she caught sight of him, she didn’t quite know what she would do.
Aunt Winnie accepted a glass of Champagne from a passing footman but Lily declined.
“Are you all right, dear?” From behind her godmother’s bejeweled domino, Lily could see her blue eyes held a soft expression. “I know you are nervous but I’ve always found that ‘getting back on the horse’, as they say, is the best way to overcome one’s fears. There are plenty of dashing young bucks here this evening. And in your lovely new gown, you are sure to be asked to dance.”
Lily’s answering smile was unforced for once. Her gown was indeed gorgeous and the loveliest she’d ever worn, thanks to her godmother. Aunt Winnie had insisted her French modiste design one for her, especially for this occasion, and Lily was nothing but grateful. The white silk dress had a filmy gauze overskirt that had taken Lily’s breath away when she’d first seen it; the delicate fabric was embroidered with ice-blue roses and seed pearls, and the hem and lightly puffed sleeves were confections of ruffles and blue satin bows. Her matching mask was adorned with tiny blue ribbon rosettes and seed pearls too. With additional seed pearls dressing her coppery arrangement of curls, Lily felt like quite the princess and thoroughly spoiled.
“I suppose I’m a little on edge as I don’t want to become the subject of the latest on-dits, especially if I run into Humphrey,” explained Lily, pleating her satin-gloved fingers together. She didn’t know if her former fiancé was here, but he might be. “I’m sure there must be some speculation going around as to why my engagement ended.” As far as she was aware, nothing had appeared in the scandal sheets. And the fact she’d absconded with Lord Nash hadn’t become common knowledge, thank goodness.
If that ever came to light, her reputation would be utterly ruined, child or no.
Aunt Winnie shrugged an elegant shoulder. “Perhaps. But I find smiling as though one hasn’t a care in the world and nothing to hide, usually helps. Besides,” her godmother touched her arm, “it is Lord Hardwick who behaved dishonorably, not you.”
Lily blushed. If her godmother only knew how she’d conducted herself in Lord Nash’s company, she wouldn’t be so quick to make that assertion.
The next half an hour was filled with social chit-chat as ton ladies wishing to pay their respects to the Marchioness of Solsbury, stopped by their corner of the ballroom. Perhaps because she was with her aunt, everyone she encountered was nothing but respectful, and when the young and charming Lord Banfield, asked her to join him for a turning waltz, she readily accepted.
She’d just been laughing at one of Lord Banfield’s amusing observations—he was quite the wit—when Lily saw him, the man she’d been constantly dreaming of for almost two weeks, and she missed a step, bumping into her partner.
Lord Banfield gently grasped her beneath the elbows, steadying her. “Miss Godwin, are you all right?" His domino mask couldn’t hide the soft light of concern in his brown eyes.
“Yes ... I mean, no. Not quite.” Lily’s chest felt too tight, like she couldn’t draw enough breath and her stomach flurried about. She didn’t know if Lord Nash had seen her—he’d been on the other side of the room—but she had definitely seen him. That artfully messy light brown hair. That handsome profile. Even though he wore a black mask, she’d know him anywhere. “If you don’t mind, I think we should end our dance, my lord.”
“Of course,” Lord Banfield tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Shall I escort you back to Lady Solsbury?”
“No ... No, thank you.” For the moment, Lily wanted nothing more than to disappear; she needed to regroup, rebuild her defenses. Decide whether she should stay or go. “If you could in
form my godmother that I needed to visit the ladies’ retiring room, I would be most grateful.” She twitched her skirt. “I seem to have torn the flounce on the hem of my gown.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Miss Godwin. I hope the tear is not my doing.”
Poor man. He really was quite pleasant and earnest and she hated lying. But she really needed to get away. Even now, her throat felt too tight and her eyes prickled with tears. “No, it’s my own fault. I felt it rip when I tripped.”
Lord Banfield bent over her hand. “Well perhaps you might honor me with another dance later this evening, Miss Godwin?”
Lily forced a smile. “Perhaps. You’ve been most kind.”
Lord Banfield took his leave and then Lily found a maid and asked directions to the ladies’ retiring room.
It was on the first floor and she needed to pass the card and supper rooms and traverse the main hall to reach the stairs. As she walked past the supper room—an elegant space that was probably Latimer House’s dining room—she caught sight of Lord Nash again.
Even though it hurt, her traitorous, rebellious, reckless heart made her stop by the wide doorway in the shadow of a heavy burgundy velvet curtain to observe him. His back was to her and she was pleased he hadn’t worn a domino cloak; for one long moment, her eyes feasted upon his wide shoulders and narrow hips, shown off to perfection in a superbly tailored evening jacket of midnight blue superfine.
He threw back his head, laughing at something his conversational partner had said ... another woman. A beautiful young woman with glossy brown hair and a willowy frame attired in an exquisite amber-gold satin gown. When she smiled back at Joshua from behind her domino mask, and then he touched her arm, it felt as though someone had just plunged a blunt bread and butter knife into Lily’s chest.
He’s already found another conquest, Lily. What did you expect from a hardened rakehell?
She drew a tight, shuddering breath but as she turned to go, someone caught her elbow in a firm grip and backed her against the oak-paneled wall.
“My dear Miss Godwin, what a pleasant surprise. I was hoping you’d be here this evening.”
Humphrey! Lily swallowed as burning anger rose to replace her sorrow.
Before she could find her voice, Humphrey was speaking again, his voice low and soft and threaded with menace. “Did you like the flowers I sent? I had hoped you might do me the courtesy of sending a thank you note.”
Lily stared at him in absolute shock. The impudence of the man! Was he mad? “You want me to thank you?”
He shrugged. “It’s customary.”
She lifted her chin. “It’s also customary for one’s affianced to practice fidelity,” she retorted, unable to keep the acid from her voice.
Above his black mask, Humphrey’s thick black brows plunged into a deep frown. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Lily.”
“Oh, so you are not sorry it happened?” Lily jerked her arm away and rubbed her elbow.
“I want to explain, honestly I do.” Humphrey’s voice was urgent. Gruff. Not contrite at all. “But that’s difficult when you refuse to see me. Or even acknowledge my existence. I demand you give me a second chance.”
Good God, the man was arrogant. How had she not seen that before? Her anger lent her strength. “Lord Hardwick, you’re in no position to demand a single thing from me. I do not want to hear your pathetic justification for doing what you did with Lady Crawford. I do not trust you and nothing you can say will restore my faith in you. Furthermore, I do not care for you anymore. It is over.”
Lily attempted to push past him but he crowded her into the corner; the heavy velvet curtain blocked her view of the supper room and for the first time, fear flickered inside her.
She’d scream if she had to. She didn’t care if she caused a scene. She was surprised that no one brushing past them had noticed this fraught encounter. Or perhaps they had but chose to ignore it. It was a Twelfth Night masquerade ball and some degree of licentious behavior was practically part and parcel of such affairs—or so she’d heard.
She put her hands against Humphrey’s chest, preparing to push him away but he was speaking again.
“By God, you’ve got a nerve, Lily Godwin,” he growled. His dark eyes flashed behind his mask. “The embarrassment you’ve caused me and your aunt and uncle. You have no idea how humiliating it was to be deserted in the midst of Lord and Lady Faringdon’s house party.”
He leaned closer and gripped her chin with bruising fingers. His breath was sour and Lily smelled brandy upon it. She wanted to turn her head away but she couldn’t. He was too strong. “But we all know it’s you whose behavior has been beyond the pale. Running off with a scoundrel. Doing God knows what with him all Christmas.” He flicked the curtain back so she could glimpse Lord Nash again. “I think he was a poor choice though, my dear. Look”—he forced her head around so she was staring straight at Lord Nash and his companion—“he’s already chasing another piece of skirt.”
Tears of anger and hurt and humiliation stung her eyes. “Take your hands off me, Lord Hardwick,” she spat, wrenching her head away.
“My poor, Lily,” he crooned. “Perhaps a kiss will soothe the sting.”
He grasped her chin with cruel fingers again but as he angled his head to take her mouth, she slid her hand out from between their bodies and slapped his face as hard as she could. The resounding crack of her open palm hitting his flesh was an unmistakable sound.
Her voice was like ice. “Get. Off. Me.”
Humphrey stepped back, rubbing his reddening skin; her handprint was an angry mark on his lean cheek. “You ungrateful piece of baggage,” he hissed then turned and stormed off, bumping into a startled footman as he went and upsetting a tray of Champagne flutes. They hit the wooden parquetry floor with a crash.
Lily pushed away from the wall. “I’d rather be that than a doormat,” she called after him, not caring who heard the exchange or stopped to stare.
Brute. Oaf. Hateful, pompous beast.
Her attention was drawn by the sound of clapping. “Brava, Miss Godwin. Brava.”
She spun around and her eyes met Lord Nash’s. He was standing less than a foot away. Oh God. Heat flooded her face and she was certain she was as red as the curtains adorning the doorway to the supper room.
Her fingers curled into her skirts as she prepared to lift them and flee. She wasn’t ready to face this man. The man who haunted her dreams.
Perhaps he sensed she was about to run as Lord Nash reached out and placed a gentle hand on her arm, staying her. “Lily,” he murmured softly, “please don’t go.”
Even though he wore a mask, and the light in the supper room was muted, she thought she caught a look of tenderness in his blue eyes. But then, perhaps it was just a trick of the light. And not a small degree of useless wishful thinking.
Before she could stop herself, she blurted out in a voice that noticeably quavered, “I wouldn’t want to keep you from pursuing your latest conquest, Lord Nash.”
He frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
Lily gestured past his wide shoulder. “Only a few moments ago you were flirting in the supper room. I saw you. You cannot deny it.”
Lord Nash’s frown deepened. “Without a word of a lie, I wasn’t flirting with anyone, Lily.”
“I’m not an imbecile, my lord. What of the beautiful young woman with brown hair, in the gold gown you were talking and laughing with?”
“Ah ...” His mouth tilted into a roguish half-smile. A smile that made her heart trip and her knees quiver. “You’re jealous.”
“Pfft.” Lily waved a dismissive hand, attempting to feign indifference even though her heart threatened to split in two. “Why would I be jealous?”
His grin widened and behind his mask, his blue eyes twinkled. “You’re not jealous? Even just a little bit?”
Irritation flared. He was laughing at her! How dare he make fun of her pain? “You are so conceited,” she shot at him. “As vain as a peacock.”
Lord Nash tried to but failed to look contrite. His eyes still gleamed with amusement. Amusement at her expense, curse him. “I’d be thrilled to hear you were a bit jealous,” he said.
Lily lifted her chin. “Why?”
He took a small step closer. His gaze, now serious, trapped hers. “Because that would mean you care for me a little, Lily. And knowing that you care, would make me a happy man indeed.”
Her breath caught. Oh ... Oh. “But what ... what about that other woman?” she whispered.
“Her name is Lady Abigail Barsby. And she is the newly wedded wife of my best friend, Sir Nicholas Barsby. If you look over my shoulder, you will see that Sir Nicholas has returned to her side with a supper plate.”
He took a sideways step and Lily immediately saw he spoke the truth. Lady Barsby was now sitting at a small table with her sinfully handsome husband—a man with jet black hair and eyes only for his wife. He fed her a sugarplum from his long fingers and the look they exchanged was so heated, Lily found herself blushing. They were clearly besotted with each other.
Her gaze returned to Lord Nash who stood watching her, a question in his eyes. “So, do you believe me now, dear Lily?”
Unable to speak, her heart kicking oddly against her ribs, she simply nodded.
He tucked her hand into his arm. “Come with me then,” he murmured against her ear. “We need to talk.”
* * *
Joshua led Lily across the main hall, up the wide staircase, and along the hallway until he located a vacant parlor that was illuminated by a small fire and several branches of candles. He didn’t much care if anyone noticed their progress because it wouldn’t be long before everyone knew Lily was his ... if she wanted him.
God he hoped she did.
As soon as he closed and secured the door, he lashed Lily against his body with one arm then tugged off her mask and then his.
Christ, she was gorgeous. Whether it was Christmas or not, she would always be as beautiful as an angel to him.
She stared up at him with wide gray eyes that shimmered with tears and uncertainty and naked expectation. Her lips trembled. He so badly wanted to kiss her—indeed his whole body ached for her—but it was clear he needed to clarify a few things.
An Improper Christmas: An Improper Liaisons Novella: Book Three Page 8
