by Liz Tyner
‘A jest,’ she said.
‘Well...’ He stood and perused both his daughters. ‘This may change plans for the two of you. But it doesn’t really change mine. I want your fortunes to increase with marriage.’ He rested a hand on the back of a chair. ‘Remember, money can’t buy happiness, but a rich person who is miserable has to work at it.’
He turned. ‘I want Edgeworth for a son-in-law. I don’t care how the two of you sort it out.’
Lily watched him leave the room.
‘So...’ Abigail swooped, laughing. ‘You are all set to steal my beau.’
‘No.’ She shook her head, wishing Abigail would stand still enough to swat. ‘Edgeworth has—had a misunderstanding.’ She couldn’t have so much attention on her. People would sneer. The blacksmith’s daughter who married a duke.
‘Well, I should be upset that he prefers you over me, but I’m really rather relieved. Particularly since I prefer almost everyone over him.’ Abigail grimaced. ‘Edgeworth is a little—I mean, he acts ancient. I prefer someone more lively.’
‘He’s just serious.’
‘Yes. He is,’ Abigail said, leaving. ‘Too serious. Just like you.’ She tapped her finger against her lips. ‘I never noticed that before.’ She turned, her dignity leaving as she called out, ‘Father. Is the note to Lily still there?’ Her voice rose. ‘I must see it.’
Lily clamped her teeth together. Abigail could look all she wanted. The book was now hidden under Lily’s bed and the note had been folded into a bookmark and now resided in a recipe book.
* * *
Standing behind the open curtains in Abigail’s room, she watched for the Duke to step out of his house. The nightly jaunt into the gardens had been a tradition of sorts. His father used to walk out in the evenings and smoke occasionally—and always when Edge was home from his studies. She’d eavesdropped several times, impressed with his father speaking so much. But after a few nights, she’d lost all interest in what a duke should do and how he should do it.
When Edge was injured, she’d known he was very ill, because his forays into the garden had completely stopped. Not once in eleven days had he stepped out.
Now, she waited.
Finally, a lone figure moved into sight. If she’d not been watching for movement, she wouldn’t have seen him in the fading light. He stood, eyes taking in the night. He’d been named well. She’d never seen a lion at night, just the one in the menagerie, but it hadn’t seemed to care who watched it, or what they thought, because it had a powerful build and the force of generations of strength bred into it.
She took a wrap from the dressing chamber and put it around her shoulders, and sat a bonnet on her head, leaving the blue ribbons to flutter.
A flash of memory caused her feet to slow and a pang of guilt to hit her midsection. She’d lived so carefully, avoiding every opportunity to be like her mother.
Before stepping outside, she gave an extra tap to hold her bonnet in place. She paused when the fresh air hit her face. But it was dark enough no one would see her.
She’d had to wait until the sun set because otherwise when she moved forward, she would be in view of all the windows, and it simply could not appear she was engaging in anything of questionable nature. She’d been fortunate with the mourning attire, but one servant had seen her returning to the house and met her with a broom, concerned a stranger was lurking about.
She’d explained that the sun had given her a headache and she’d wanted to shield her face, and she’d donned the darker clothing. That had caused a furrowed brow, but hadn’t been questioned.
If she said she’d suddenly taken an interest in horticulture at night time no one would believe it.
She could not let anyone think she was like her mother, particularly Edgeworth.
Not one word had been mentioned in print about Lily’s family in such a long time and she didn’t want it to change. The words didn’t seem to stick to the people who’d been generations in London, but it landed on her family like the stench in the streets everyone stepped around and it lingered. Everyone thought her father had bought his way into society and, in a sense, he had.
She took in a breath and moved away from the house. Perhaps she was like her mother.
Her footsteps didn’t make noise in the dew-dampened grass. She forced herself to slow, the wafting honeysuckle perfume of the night surrounding her. When her eyes locked on Edgeworth, she could have been the predator.
When he saw her, his shoulders turned while he pulled in a normal intake of breath with the same fluidity. With that movement, their positions reversed. She couldn’t even see into his eyes, but still he mastered the space.
She curtsied, but didn’t lower her head. The bench, hidden in the daylight by the semi-circle of hedge around it, was at her left. Edge had sat there so many times with his books.
Even though she couldn’t see it until she stood near, she moved directly to it and sat.
He walked to her as if he’d invited her into the garden and had been waiting.
She saw not a man, but a monument to one, carved like the figures that jutted from the towers of some castles to warn intruders. She wanted to tap at the stone, study it, look for divots caused by weather or age, and see how the shape had been formed.
The thought flitted through her mind that if she didn’t speak, he wouldn’t. The ability to outlast another person had been bred into him, perhaps from some warrior grandfather of his.
But she could tell this wasn’t a contest to see who could outlast the other. He merely waited for her.
‘You have to discourage Fox from my sister,’ she spoke quietly. ‘Now she’s enlisted Father in her plans for marriage.’
‘He should take part in his daughters’ futures.’
‘He never did particularly before. But now it’s as if he’s thought of it as business and he’s taking it as seriously as if it’s something on a ledger sheet.’
‘Has my name been put into the accounting?’ he asked.
‘Of course. But now he knows you’re not interested in Abigail.’
‘What did he say about your prospects?’
‘That,’ she said, ‘is immaterial, as I do not have a list for such a thing.’
His breathing tightened. ‘It’s nature to want a person in your life who thinks you above all others and you think above all others. Selfish, perhaps. But nature.’
She ground her teeth against each other and the moment was so silent she could hear the sound from inside her head. ‘If people followed their nature—’
‘Most people do.’
This time she didn’t mind the long silence. His words remained in her thoughts. ‘Do you?’
He could have given a soliloquy in the space before he answered, ‘My nature is precise. Planned.’
‘Methodical?’
The silence fluttered around them again.
‘Your Grace.’ She spoke more softly, taking the bite out of her words.
‘Miss Lily.’ His voice, little more than a whisper, rumbled into the night and had no sting in the words. ‘Speak as you wish. You always have. To me.’
She stood. ‘I don’t particularly care what your cousin does. But I do care if my sister is hurt.’ She moved closer—which would have been improperly close in the daylight, but she needed to see his eyes.
She raised her arm, keeping it close to her body so she wouldn’t nudge him and clicked a fingernail against her incisor. ‘Did you notice he has white teeth?’ The wind fluttered her bonnet and she grasped the untied ribbons with her other hand, holding both in one grasp.
‘Teeth?’ He narrowed his eyes, questioning. ‘I don’t care about Foxworthy’s teeth and that isn’t a concern of mine at all.’
‘My sister noticed. She thinks he has the loveliest mouth she has ev
er seen.’
‘His teeth are just teeth. He’s lucky someone hasn’t removed them for him.’
‘That would devastate my sister.’ She sighed. ‘She notes every little detail about him.’
‘Fox encourages such nonsense.’
Her brows rose and her chin tilted down, and her lips turned up the merest amount. ‘I asked her about you.’ Again she watched for the divot or a clue to show inside the immovable stone.
He leaned his head forward, but she sensed only a mild curiosity about her sister’s opinions. In fact, Lily felt he studied her report of her sister’s talk to judge her view of it, not to form an opinion of Abigail. ‘She thought you have nice teeth, too, but she wasn’t certain.’
Brows flicked the words away. ‘Nice enough.’
She could sense he found the moment humorous, but she couldn’t see a smile.
‘And I asked her about your hair since she noticed Foxworthy’s hair turns up in darling little curls when it gets wet.’ The words tumbled over each other. ‘She said she once saw him come in from the rain.’
‘So he comes in from the rain. That shows he is more intelligent than I thought.’
‘You can’t let him near my sister.’
‘They would make a good match.’
This time she heard decision. She gasped. ‘No.’
‘I believe Foxworthy is ready to settle in to marriage. Your sister could keep his attention.’
‘No one is that enchanting.’
‘Marriage will settle him.’
‘You’re willing to ruin my sister’s future.’ She wanted her words to jar him, yet he didn’t move.
‘Underneath it all, Fox is a good sort.’
Edge would just dig those boot heels tighter into the ground if she kept mentioning his cousin’s flaws. But she couldn’t stop. ‘I don’t believe that. Underneath his heart, lungs and liver, there’s a part lower down that is not virtuous. He’s a scoundrel. But I suppose if you are talking about his knees and his toes, he has quite an amount of quality. Those are not the parts which cause trouble.’ She grimaced. ‘I must correct myself. They are the parts which lead him to trouble as he dances from one woman to the next.’
‘He is maturing.’
‘And in twenty years he’ll surely make some woman the best of husbands. But I’m worried about tomorrow. Before she left to visit my aunt, Abigail said Father has asked you and Fox to our house to discuss an investment. It is a thinly disguised attempt at matchmaking.’
His eyes widened. ‘I am so shocked.’
‘Sarcasm? Your Grace?’
‘I sent my man of affairs over to ask your father if he knew of any business ventures Fox or I might invest in. A simple query.’
‘Oh, my.’ She put a hand to her cheek. ‘You cannot get his hopes up like that. To have a duke and the son of an earl at his home to discuss business.’
‘He is very knowledgeable about investments.’
‘Yes. And he will be considering a very long-term one for his daughters.’
‘What is so wrong with that?’
‘It’s Abigail I’m concerned about. She’s the one interested in marriage.’ She levelled a gaze at him. ‘And Foxworthy is interested in an entirely different arrangement.’
His face became bland again. He stepped aside, putting a foot on the bench, adding more distance between them, yet not. He leaned her way, one arm on his propped leg and his fingers clasped. Almost subservient. Except, not. A lion taking a step away, yawning, pretending not to see the prey, letting it get closer and closer. ‘So tell me. What exactly would it take for you to risk a long-term investment?’
‘I don’t have to take any risks and see no need to. I am able to live my life as I wish, without upheaval.’
‘A life without upheaval might not suit you for ever.’
‘Then I will worry about it when that time arrives.’
‘I have arrived at that time in my life. As I won’t live for ever, I’ve decided I might wish to marry some day.’
‘You only have to say you’re a duke.’ She increased the distance between them and could tell by the barest flick of his head that he noticed.
‘Not worked so far.’ His voice fell, fading into nothingness. A low rumble.
She didn’t move closer.
‘Describe a suitor’s best qualities. Knowing them might help me impress someone.’
She caught the emphasis he put on the word someone and the subtle lightness that appeared in his eyes as he looked at her, and her heart beat bird-like. She clasped her skirt in her hand, clenching her fingers on the cloth. ‘It would not do you any good to be putting on a pretence while courting a future wife.’ She pushed forward, moving close, her body directly aligned with his face. ‘You must be true to who you are.’
‘I agree.’ His words affirmed in a way that said no one should doubt it. ‘Tell me about what it would take for a man to interest you as a husband.’
‘I have never given it thought because the nature of marriage seems false to me. I have no pressing need to carry on the lineage as you do.’
‘It’s a shame because you would make a good mother. You watched over your sister so closely.’
‘I had no choice.’
‘No one would have faulted you for not.’
‘But she is my sister and I could do it. I would have faulted myself. And now I fear I can’t keep her from that rake Foxworthy and he will break her heart or ruin her.’
‘You cannot manage someone’s life for them. And they may be good for each other.’
‘Will you help keep Foxworthy away from Abigail?’ she asked.
‘No. It’s their lives.’
‘But she’s my sister and I don’t want her being—’ Miserable. Miserable like their mother had been. Separated from her husband and society. Locked in an unhappy marriage.
‘Let the romance finish on its own. You can’t keep them apart.’
‘I thought you would help me.’
‘I am. Let it be and Fox will tire of her soon, and if he doesn’t then it may be a good match.’ He took his foot from the bench.
Edge no longer stood in front of her. His Grace watched her. But it was the Duke she wanted to question. ‘Why did you notice me?’
He moved his palm only slightly, indicating her house. ‘You live—’
‘So does Abigail.’
‘So she does.’
She tried to pull every memory of him to the forefront of her mind. ‘Do you remember shouting at me?’
‘I did not shout.’
‘You told me you had to study and for me to play in my garden. Not yours.’
‘I had to be top in my studies. I couldn’t grasp the Greek language. It was hard to concentrate with you asking me what each word I said meant.’
‘I had to go back to my mother’s house that day and my grandmother had been telling me that Mother didn’t love us or she would have stayed at the estate. It was a very bad day.’ Lily had been almost ten when her mother moved into a nearby house. But the separation was as failed as the marriage in many ways. Her parents hadn’t truly been able to stay away from each other until Lily’s late teens when they’d had one quiet argument—a courteous one—and something had turned bleak in both their faces.
‘I would have been kinder had I known,’ he said.
‘It wouldn’t have mattered. I had to get used to the arguments. My parents could not live together and couldn’t live apart. Until, well, you know the story.’
‘Yes. I remember. Your mother left town when Sophia’s memoirs were published.’
‘Just before. They’d been friends, but had a disagreement, and I’m sure Mother knew Sophia would use the book as a chance to get back at her.’ She shook her head. ‘I didn’t
know how peaceful a day could be until she finally moved away.’
‘You stopped going out so much.’
‘I’ve not been invited—not that it mattered.’
‘I meant in the garden. You used to spend hours and hours outside.’
She laughed. ‘Part of it was a quiet rebellion. Mother had told me that my skin would blemish in the sun and no one would want to marry me.’
His grumble barely reached her ears. ‘I thought you were spending time with me—because you were interested in becoming a duchess.’
‘You did make my rebellion more enjoyable.’
‘And you made the studies more tolerable.’
‘Did you envy others their freedom?’
He shook his head. ‘I was fortunate. With privilege there is responsibility. My mother said it over and over.’
Another silence surrounded them, but didn’t separate. This time, he spoke. ‘I was curious, though. To not have a purpose would have been strange and I didn’t want that. Everyone’s future is mapped for them to some degree, so I didn’t rail against my good fortune of having the best of life. But the common life—the rest of life is so foreign to me. How can I represent the country well without understanding all of it?’
‘So that is why you noticed me. My commonness?’
‘Lily. Don’t put words in my mouth.’
‘I want to know what you really think.’
‘Then don’t jump to conclusions about what I say.’
She let the skirt she still clasped fall from her fingers. ‘You have been so trained to be a duke and lived it so long—that I wonder if what you say is what you really feel or what you have been trained to feel?’
‘Does it matter?’ Each word could stand alone.
‘It might some day. If you are deciding on your marriage now because it is what you are supposed to do.’
This time she heard his inward breath, slow and measured. ‘On my sickbed, I could hear the voices around me, but I didn’t want to speak or even open my eyes. My brother Andrew asked, “Do you think he will die tonight?”
‘I heard my brother Steven answer. He said no, I wouldn’t die that night.’ He continued to face her, but didn’t see her. ‘I didn’t care one way or the other.’
