by Liz Tyner
He didn’t move, but she heard a snort of air from his nostrils. ‘I insisted he accept the invitation for that very purpose.’
Her eyes widened. This wasn’t the same Edgeworth she’d known her whole life.
He took her by the arm and led them from the music and back to the refreshments. He bent his head low so his voice wouldn’t carry. ‘When you told me that everyone believed I’m interested in your sister, I made sure Fox knew it wasn’t true and insisted he attend to change the perception.’
She stopped, mouth gaping, and reached for a glass. ‘You can’t be serious? Foxworthy?’
He nodded.
‘But you’ve always... I’ve heard the rumours—that you warned men to—’
‘To take care around the Hightower sisters.’
‘Around Abigail.’
‘Lily and the sister she watches over.’
‘Because we’re neighbours. Because Abigail and I often were next door.’ She put the lemonade to her lips.
‘Certainly,’ he said. ‘And because I didn’t want another man near you.’
She spewed droplets of lemonade over his coat.
She coughed, her hand over her mouth, choked. She followed with another sip to keep herself from coughing again. ‘My apologies,’ she croaked out.
‘Not a problem.’ He pulled out a handkerchief and offered it in her direction. She shook her head. He dusted off the front of his coat while he studied her.
‘Could you repeat that?’ she asked.
* * *
One musician began a softer tune and the other players joined in as background, the evening slowing down. On her right, a group of older gentlemen discussed the Chancery Court’s recent decision deciding the guardianship of a child.
Edgeworth led her to the other side, almost behind where the musicians were, and used them as a buffer to keep the conversation quiet.
Lily looked at him. Gauging Edgeworth’s thoughts in bright light wasn’t easy and in the muted shadows she could see only the barest amount and had to rely on his voice. He examined her just as closely.
‘I realised you haven’t always known,’ he said. ‘Our understanding. I thought you did. I thought you would have told me, nicely, if you’d not agreed, so I accepted that we both thought the same.’
‘Known? Understanding?’ She spoke rapidly. ‘I knew you—were going to court Abigail and I had to make certain she never stepped one foot wrong. You seemed to pay attention—’
‘You were always together. I couldn’t see you without seeing her.’
‘Me?’ She tilted her head to the side.
He looked at her, his eyes narrowing. ‘Yes. Of course.’
‘You know how different Abigail and I are. She’s like lace and I’m more—’ she couldn’t think of a word that wouldn’t be insulting to herself ‘—practical.’
‘Practical. Sensible. It’s all the same.’
‘I’m...’ She couldn’t say the words.
All eyes watched a duchess. Her events were well attended and filled with lace-like people. A duchess would think nothing of meeting someone in the royal family. Other peers. Lots of people. People who couldn’t help sharing little whispers.
She crossed her arms over herself. He’d never understand. ‘Why did you wait so long to tell me?’ she asked.
‘We talked about it.’
‘No.’ The word whooshed from her lips. ‘I would have remembered that. I know I would have.’
‘Well, maybe I didn’t say the exact words, but I could tell you are fond of me. You always spoke so honestly to me.’
‘I speak honestly to everyone.’ She leaned forward so he could not miss the emphasis in her words.
‘No, you don’t. I’ve watched. You’re very kind, nice, and—’ he moved so they stood at a slant to each other, mostly facing the room and shoulders aligned ‘—the most polite Miss Lily Hightower. With me, you’re different. You told me when my voice squeaked like a carriage wheel and asked if I could please do it again.’
‘I didn’t know boy’s voices did that.’ She took in a breath and looked away. ‘You could have explained it wasn’t a new skill. I thought it fascinating. And the look on your face that day didn’t convince me you were fond of me in any way.’
‘I wasn’t. At that moment.’ His shoulders bumped just a bit. ‘I thought my voice would stay that way for ever.’
Their eyes caught in memory.
She had to speak, to put words in the air between them and make the world seem normal again. ‘What if I had courted someone else?’
‘I would have swooped in like a hawk.’
‘It would have been too late.’
‘That’s what I mean about your honesty,’ he said. ‘And it wouldn’t have been too late.’
‘And you have quite the opinion of yourself.’
‘I was taught I should,’ he said. ‘And so should you. Have a high opinion of yourself.’
Her teeth tightened against each other. She couldn’t keep her lips from forming a straight line.
Small muscles in his face tensed, making a statement of disagreement without speaking. ‘We’ve known each other since childhood.’ One shoulder moved in the closest he would ever get to a shrug. ‘I thought you were keeping yourself hidden away...well, because you were waiting for me.’
‘No. I wasn’t.’ She shook her head. ‘I was just—living. Next door.’
His lids shuttered his eyes, but then he looked at her—the first whimsy she’d ever seen on his face. His eyes weren’t cold. Her toes squeezed into her slippers and somehow her legs kept from melting away.
‘Apparently, when I err it’s on a grand scale,’ he said.
‘We’ve been friends for a long time, true. And you’re a lot like your...family.’ She thought of his father.
‘It’s a good life,’ he said. ‘I’ve known you since I was six. Or something around that age. Why shouldn’t you be my duchess?’
He knew full well why. Just as everybody else did.
‘Is this a proposal?’ she asked. ‘Not a jest—not a jest like when I took your book and you left the volume of manners out for me to see.’
He moved closer. ‘I knew you’d see the note.’
‘There was a note?’ Her voice rose.
‘Yes.’ He nodded.
‘What did it say?’
‘That you would need this for when you became a duchess.’
* * *
Edge watched her. ‘Lily. Breathe.’ She acted as if he’d told her he’d not marry her if she were the last woman alive.
Her lips moved. ‘I have other plans.’
‘What other plans?’ He leaned in.
‘I don’t know.’
The first time he remembered seeing her she’d asked if he could growl. She’d walked to the bench on his parent’s property, holding a biscuit in each hand.
And in his confidence at being the heir and needing to do whatever he must, he said, ‘Of course. I can do almost anything.’
‘Growl, then.’
‘No.’ He’d frowned. ‘I’m studying.’
‘Lord Lion can’t growl. And you can’t fly. You can’t do most anything. You only read.’
‘Lord Lionel,’ he’d corrected her.
She’d paused, studying his face as if she didn’t hear correctly. ‘Lord Lion-owl. Lions growl. Owls fly. You don’t do either. I’ve watched.’
‘Lord Lionel,’ he’d insisted.
She’d looked him over. Frowned. ‘If you growl, Lord Lion Owl, you can have a biscuit. They’re good ones. Cook makes them just for me.’
He’d held out his hand, but she’d stepped back, shaking her head.
He’d growled. She’d thrown the biscuit at him whils
t sticking her tongue out. He’d caught it with one hand and growled again. She’d turned, running to her house, laughing.
That biscuit had tasted like orange cake.
Chapter Three
Lily stared. Edgeworth didn’t look down his aristocratic nose at people—she was certain of that. But when one looked at the sky and saw one layer of wisped clouds floating lower, and then a second tier floating above the first, Edgeworth was the most distant level. He floated on the top tier.
‘No,’ she said, remembering her manners and then adding, ‘but thank you so much. I’m so honoured to be asked. And it is a great compliment. I will cherish this moment.’ She paused. ‘For ever.’
His eyes still blared blue at her. And he did seem to be looking down his nose a bit, after all.
‘I said thank you,’ she whispered. All eyes would be on her as a duchess. And while she didn’t take the responsibility for anything her mother had done, she couldn’t bear the whispers about her being above herself.
He didn’t move when he heard her answer. ‘You said “No, thank you”. One word too many.’
‘Perhaps you could clasp your hands over your heart,’ she said, ‘and act as if an arrow pierced you deeply because I didn’t respond with a yes.’
‘I am deeply wounded.’
She lowered her chin. ‘I believe so,’ she said. ‘I believe the shock has rendered you unable to show the deep grief you’re feeling.’
‘Exactly.’
She shuddered a half-shake in disagreement. ‘Why do you consider me for a duchess?’
‘If you’d said yes, I’d be inclined to tell you.’
‘You’re making a mistake. I’m—’
His lips firmed and he gave the slightest shake of his head. ‘You’re not a mistake.’
All the other sounds of the soirée faded away while she listened with her whole being for his response. The insides of her stomach bounced against each other, waiting. ‘Explain.’
She could see it in his eyes. Few people insisted he speak when he didn’t want to. He stared at her, but it wasn’t the knife-cutting stare of his father, nor the biting glare of condemning eyes. He seemed to be pulling the thoughts from inside himself, having trouble putting his feelings into the air.
‘I know you.’ Each word hit the air alone. ‘I was at university and I thought of you and your sister’s laughter, and I studied hard so that when I took my seat in the House of Lords I could do the country well for people like you.’
‘Because of laughter?’ She could hear the squeaking wheel in her own voice.
He bent his head towards her. ‘Miss Hightower, never underestimate the sound of innocent laughter.’
She leaned forward. ‘I wouldn’t have ever assumed it worth a marriage proposal.’
‘I did not propose,’ he said. ‘I merely discussed it with you.’
‘Well, that is totally a horse of a different colour.’
‘Not vastly different, I suppose.’
‘Not vastly.’ She spoke in the same tone, but with a smile at the end. ‘And had I heard your laughter in the past, I suppose the answer might have been different.’ Not true. But she felt guilt for refusing him and interrupting his plans. He planned so carefully.
He didn’t speak.
‘How long has it been since you’ve laughed?’ she asked.
‘No one can easily answer that question.’
‘It’s harder for you than for other people, I would imagine.’
‘I never thought such a simple enquiry would lead to such a long conversation.’
‘Your Grace, you might do well to expect a lot of talk to accompany a marriage proposal, years and years of it, and it shouldn’t all be one-sided.’
‘I try not to clutter the air with unnecessary prattle.’ His brows moved. ‘You’ve never once before called me “Your Grace”.’
‘I’m sure I have,’ she said.
‘I’m sure you have not. A discussion of marriage shouldn’t distance us.’
‘It hasn’t, Edgeworth.’
‘You don’t call me that often. You call me Lord Lionel, or Edge—as my brothers do.’ His eyes were walled. ‘And not long before my accident, you called me Edgy, which served its purpose and took days to forgive. I usually have no reason to forgive anyone.’ He stood like a pillar beside her.
‘That was childish of me. Please forget I said it.’
With the barest of forward movement, he leaned in closer to her face. He’d not really needed to. No one could possibly hear his voice but her.
‘I do have a question. Something I’ve wondered for years,’ he said.
She waited.
‘What is a booby-head?’
She squinted and leaned towards him. ‘What? What is a—?’ She could not fathom what he was thinking.
‘Never mind. I suppose I know.’ She heard a smile in his voice and this time she was included but she didn’t know why. ‘I think it best to forget the question.’
His eyes showed nothing. No humour. No irritation. Just the calm demeanour of a man who might as well have been alone.
If she could change one thing in her life, it would have been the moment she told the newspaper man about his father’s illegitimate child. Edgeworth must never find out she was the one who told. He’d never forgive her.
He left, leaving her with a polite manner groomed from centuries, and she felt as if she had been jilted at the altar.
* * *
Her sister dashed into the room without knocking. ‘Did you notice Foxworthy must have looked into my eyes for a full minute, when our dance stopped?’ Abigail sat on the bed, depressing the mattress. ‘I suppose it could have been longer. What do you think?’
‘It was a night to remember.’ She couldn’t recall much about Abigail’s actions at the soirée. Different memories lodged in her, creating a pleasant and unpleasant feeling mixed deep inside.
Her sister waved a hand. ‘Lord Foxworthy... Really, did you notice how he looked at me? And after our dance we stole away to the library and he kissed me.’ She shivered. ‘That lasted much longer than a mere five seconds.’
‘You do not need to tell me all the gory details,’ Lily muttered. ‘And you are not to be alone with Fenton Foxworthy.’
Abigail sighed. ‘Isn’t Fenton the most elegant name?’
‘No more elegant than, I don’t know, Lionel.’
Abigail grimaced. Then she spoke softly. ‘He looked deep into my eyes. Deep. Something happened. It could have been love. On his part.’
Lily snorted. ‘Don’t fall in love with him. He has had so many women’s names linked with his it would be easier to count the few he hasn’t romanced.’
‘Love.’ Abigail smiled and her eyes lost focus. ‘I could not say I am entirely in love. But enough. Just deliciously in like.’
She whooshed up from the bed and her gaze locked on Lily. ‘I hope you’re not jealous of my friendship,’ Abigail said. ‘I noticed you standing very close to him.’
Lily’s heart thumped an extra beat. The Duke’s face moved through her thoughts.
Abigail’s face peered close. ‘Yes. What were you and Foxworthy talking about?’
Lily glanced at her sister, then answered, ‘Foxworthy?’
Abigail chuckled. ‘That was much more pleasant than when you spoke with the Duke. It is a good thing your faces didn’t get stuck that way.’ She moved to the door. ‘On the other hand, if Foxworthy’s face had locked for ever when he looked at me...’ She took in a deep breath and didn’t complete the sentence.
‘It’s time for breakfast,’ Abigail said. ‘Father’s already at the table and probably finished eating by now.’
Abigail left and Lily rushed through her morning ablutions.
* * *
By the time she stood at the table, her father was lost in his paper. Abigail sat on his left side, hardly touching her food, her fork designing shapes in the jam. ‘Fox seemed to think the Duke is truly not interested in me,’ Abigail said.
Lily slid into her seat. ‘I received the same conclusion.’
Their father lowered his paper, but didn’t speak.
‘Fox says I am too lovely and too vivacious to waste my time on his stuffy cousin.’
‘Nonsense. He’s a duke,’ her father said. ‘He is not a waste of your time.’
‘Perhaps we misunderstood His Grace all these years,’ Lily said.
‘Couldn’t have,’ her father said. ‘I saw the book.’
‘What book?’ Abigail asked.
‘The deportment one. The one Abigail put in the library.’
‘I put it there, Father,’ Lily said.
‘What were you doing with Abigail’s book?’
‘Book?’ Abigail’s voice challenged.
‘Edgeworth gave me a book on deportment.’ Lily shrugged the words away.
‘He did?’ Her sister’s head snapped around to Lily and her eyes widened. ‘You never told me.’
‘The note...’ Her father studied her. ‘It was for you, Lily?’
‘I never put any note in a book.’ Abigail’s nose wrinkled. ‘What did it say?’
‘Something about you becoming a duchess,’ he answered.
‘Oh,’ Abigail put her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh.’ She looked at Lily and then at her father. Her eyes gleamed with laughter. ‘Lily. Lily’s note.’ She jumped to her feet and leaned over the table. ‘Father.’ She stretched her arm and pointed her finger almost into Lily’s face. Lily batted it away. ‘It was hers.’ She laughed. ‘The Duke. They were whispering in the corner. Foxworthy was trying to distract me and tell me how beautiful I was—right out of the blue. We all know that’s true, but Foxworthy kept saying all his normal balderdash, and all the while Lily and the Duke were nose to nose in the corner. You didn’t notice?’
‘They’ve always—’ He stopped, irritation fading. He tapped his fingertips together, staring at Lily. ‘It was your note.’
