by Liz Tyner
The honeysuckle touched her nose again and this time the sweetness churned her stomach. He’d been so pale and the pupils of his eyes so strange.
‘My family gathered around me, but at a distance. My mother would move close, but only for a second. My burns weren’t contagious; they all had to know that. They all kept their respectful distance. Respectful. Distance.’
‘But they were with you. You could not have wanted them to smother you with closeness.’
‘I didn’t. But my life felt wasted. All the work I’d done didn’t matter.’
‘So now you worry about having an heir?’ She called him back from his memories.
‘No.’ The quiet word slashed the air. ‘I only want to do the best I can with the time I have left. I was trained to be a duke, so I did precisely as I should. Motions. All the right ones. I still believe in them. But I want more from life.’
‘You want a touch of commonness? A wife who has lived on the edge of society, one foot in and one foot out.’
‘Is that wrong?’
‘It could be if you look around in a few years and discover that you are a duke through and through, and these moments are a reaction because you almost died. Then you might wish for a wife who is completely in society and has the same strength in her bloodlines as you do.’
‘I might wish for a wife who’d be willing to hold my hand when I lay dying and who would miss me.’
‘I don’t think marriage necessarily provides those things.’
‘It should.’
‘Yes. But, if anything, marriage seems to move people apart, instead of closer together.’
‘My parents had a good marriage—mostly.’
She shook her head, disagreeing. ‘You can hire someone to hold your hand and you can live a life so that others miss you. Marriage is tiresome. I understand your need to have heirs. And you should find someone who can stand with you in public and create the world you wish to have around you.’
She stepped back. ‘But don’t invest your heart in someone. It’s too risky and the return on the investment is dismal, from what I’ve seen.’
Chapter Four
‘I saw you return from the garden.’ Abigail swooped into Lily’s vision when she topped the stairs. A smile glittered in Abigail’s eyes. ‘You were talking with the Duke.’ She bounced on her heels. ‘What were you speaking about? The date for the wedding?’
Lily’s mind almost blanked and she moved past her sister. ‘No. We won’t wed. Just speaking of things. The past. How he studied so hard. Did you have a good time visiting Father’s sister?’
Abigail followed behind. ‘No wonder you had to know whether Edgeworth would court me. You have a fascination with him.’
She stepped to the sitting room. ‘Well, he is fascinating. But distant. You know how distant he is.’ She looked around. ‘Wouldn’t a cup of tea be good?’
‘I do know how he is,’ Abigail said, ignoring the suggestion of refreshment. ‘That’s why I’m relieved he doesn’t want me for a duchess. I’ve always much preferred his cousin. Foxworthy is an adventure. Edgeworth is more like a tutor.’
‘It’s just Edgeworth’s look. He thinks a lot.’
‘He’s like his father. You know how you said the old Duke always looked at you as if you had breakfast on your face. Edgeworth has the same stare.’
‘No. He’s not so superior.’ He couldn’t be if he’d considered asking her to marry him.
‘Well, the old Duke might not have been either. Remember the time he had the coachman leave the carriage out so we could play in it.’
Lily nodded. ‘It was the first time we’d been back after Mother took us.’
Abigail moved to the sofa. Her reticule lay on it, and two parcels, one opened with gloves scattered about.
Lily paused, thinking back to Edgeworth’s face. ‘Edgeworth takes life seriously. His father took himself seriously.’
‘The old Duke didn’t hate us as much as you thought. The time he realised we were at Mother’s when he was meeting his mistress, I thought he was going to choke.’ She held her arm out, showing Lily the purchase. Lily nodded absently.
‘I don’t remember that.’
‘You didn’t see him. He left as soon as he started breathing again. He just glared at us afterwards because he felt guilty. We knew his secret. Maybe he wanted to intimidate us. He surely didn’t like it when the Duchess had us for tea.’ She slipped the glove from her hand and threw it with its mate.
‘He should have been kind to us.’
‘Yes.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘But you didn’t exactly look well at him once you found out he was not true to the Duchess. You thought him terrible. Terrible. And you were so angry when Mother’s friend visited us and told us about the baby being on the way.’
‘But I couldn’t say a word. Mother would have been...unsettled. It wouldn’t have been worth the upset. Mother actually thought it a grand jest that her friend had had a romp with the old Duke. She encouraged it. Did all she could to push them together.’
Abigail snorted. ‘I know.’
‘She exhausted me.’ And when her parents lived together, their father had been little better where his wife was concerned. He’d acted as if it hurt to have her on his arm. His smile had condescended. His wife was beneath him. He wanted everyone to know he thought her a mistake.
Lily knew her father had once been smitten with her mother. But that hadn’t lasted. A grand love turned into an even grander liability. Lily’s grandmother had filled her granddaughter’s ears with tales of how her son thought himself in love with the first woman who sidled up against him. Married her, and then her grandmother’s eyes had become slits as she’d stared at Lily. ‘And that has been a delight.’ The older woman had nodded and turned away, sniffing into the air and leaving the room.
Abigail rolled her eyes. ‘Do not let the past hurt you. It’s over.’
‘It doesn’t hurt me.’
‘You have always been mature.’ She wriggled her nose. ‘And staid. Or is that stale? And do I smell mould?’
‘No. You just smell.’
Lily dodged Abigail’s pretend slap.
‘That’s what I mean,’ Abigail said, ‘you always use the oldest jests.’
‘Go away.’
‘You can’t be that fortunate as to have both Mother and me move. But I am happy Mother left. Now I can fall in love without worrying she will cause more tales.’
‘Love,’ Lily muttered. ‘Mother and her friends showed me just how wonderful that is.’
‘Lily—’
‘Can you name one person happy and in love?’
‘Well, no,’ Abigail said. ‘But it exists. I’m sure of it.’
‘Would you like to buy a unicorn?’ Lily asked.
Abigail laughed. ‘No.’ She dragged out the word. ‘And you’d still be saving for one if Father hadn’t told you that they cost over a million pounds.’
‘I wouldn’t,’ Lily said. ‘I finally outgrew that stage of my life.’
‘Maybe you shouldn’t have.’
‘I can’t imagine how I could have believed in them so much.’ But she had. Her mother had told her story after story about unicorns and true love and golden slippers and all kinds of nonsense when she’d been in one of her folderol moods.
‘Not all men cause such problems.’
It was true. They didn’t, she supposed. But Edgeworth’s father had caused his family problems. He’d so infuriated her and, because of that, she’d hurt the Duchess without meaning to. Without thinking things through. She’d let her own emotions escape, just as the old Duke had, and her conscience hadn’t cleared since.
She wished the unicorns had been real.
* * *
Abigail glided into the main sitting
room and Lily followed behind, her skin tingling at the thought of seeing Edgeworth again.
Their father sat in his usual chair, wearing the same clothes he would have worn for dinner with the King. He rose.
But the other two were already standing. Fox lounged against the mantel, every one of his teeth lit up like stars in a night sky shining only for Abigail. Lily’s vision locked on the third male in the room—the one with a placid, thought-free stare. Edgeworth.
He met Lily’s eyes. His head dipped just a hair in acknowledgement and he lifted his glass in a salute only she could notice.
‘Ladies,’ her father said. ‘Edgeworth and Foxworthy have so kindly agreed to stay for dinner.’
Abigail beamed into Foxworthy’s eyes. ‘Oh, how wonderful.’ Abigail sat on the sofa.
Lily had two choices. Sitting across from Edge, or with him standing behind her. She chose across.
She tried not to look in his direction, but her eyes didn’t want to co-operate.
He watched the person speaking, adding little to the conversation. His superior stare was probably learned early. She imagined his nursery maid holding a spoon of porridge in front of him and withholding it until he scowled.
The men discussed the speed of carriages and the mail coach, and Abigail informed them of how she’d like to travel in one because it would be so much fun to hear the trumpet sound and see the gates open, and to dash through at such a speed.
Fox told her all about his journey in the coach and her father mentioned a different trip, but somehow Fox’s far outshone his. Everything Fox talked about had a flair of adventure in it, possibly because Fox didn’t play by the rules.
Her father beamed and Edge just looked on, seeming somehow to guide the talk with his nods of approval or lack of response. Lily didn’t think anyone noticed but her. A little plume of irritation flowered inside her.
She picked at the arm of the chair and the talk faded from her thoughts, and she remembered telling Lord Lionel once that she wanted to learn what was in his book and so he’d started talking about someone named William of Orange, and wars, and kings and queens. He’d kept talking about fights between families and she’d stood up and said she’d changed her mind. She didn’t need a tutor because she’d learned all she needed about the past. People were mean.
Then he’d tried to explain how important history was and she’d felt scolded because he’d sounded so fierce. But she’d let him scold her while she stared at him. She blinked and he’d tried to explain more, and she’d blinked some more and he’d tried to explain more.
Then he’d jutted his chin and blinked at the end of a sentence, only it was more of an explanation point. And then she’d blinked six times. And he’d laughed.
Now, she looked up and straight into the fathomless blue eyes she’d stared at while he told her all about history.
He stood, back stiff. Ever so ducal. And he said something about fines and penalties, but she’d not really been paying attention to his words. But he sounded so above everyone else.
He caught her watching him. She blinked. Three times.
He tilted his head just a bit, pausing briefly mid-word before he continued.
The look he gave her could have wilted her eyelashes and maybe hers did fall just a bit, and then her eyes widened in question.
She didn’t know how he smirked at her without moving the muscles of his face, but he did, and then he turned his head towards his cousin and his tone became conversational. ‘Fox is not sharing the story of the time he was caught by the thief takers.’
‘Nothing to share,’ Fox muttered. ‘I was in the wrong place and the wrong time with the wrong woman. I had to send for Edge to vouch for my character.’
‘Hardest thing I ever did,’ Edge said.
‘A woman was the thief,’ Fox muttered, ‘and she used me as a decoy. I lost the best pocket watch I ever had that day.’ Fox tilted his head down ‘It would have been terrible to be punished for a crime I didn’t commit.’
‘I doubt you would wish to be punished for a crime you did commit,’ Edge said.
‘Too true,’ Foxworthy admitted, grinning.
Lily’s father patted the arm of the chair twice in quick succession. ‘I’ve asked Abigail if she might entertain us with one of her poetry readings tonight. She’s quite good.’
‘And what of you, Miss Lily?’ Edge asked, no smile on his face. ‘Do you have a poem selected as well?’
‘No. I didn’t prepare anything.’
‘Pianoforte?’
‘I gave up on it years ago.’
‘You cannot get Lily to read or sing for others,’ Abigail said. ‘She prefers to listen. She’s a very good listener. And she is...’ Abigail paused, smiled at the Duke and spoke as if mentally touching a finger on a list while she recounted, ‘Kind. Neat. Loves kittens. Has wonderful handwriting, reads recipe books, helps Cook plan delicious meals, donates to charities and has the best speaking voice.’
‘Be quiet, Abigail.’ Lily tried to shush her sister with a private stare.
‘She’s such an example for me.’
‘You need no example.’ Lily smiled and peered at her sister.
Edge nodded, emotionless. ‘I’ve always admired Miss Lily’s manners.’
‘Thank you, Your Grace. That’s very gracious of you. Your book helped immensely.’
‘Abigail,’ her father inserted. ‘Why don’t you recite that poem you prepared now?’
‘I can do so only because Lily spent so many hours helping me practise.’
Then Abigail recited her poem.
But nothing diminished Lily’s awareness of Edge, even as the dinner progressed, and Fox and Abigail told tales, each one leading seamlessly to another.
* * *
After the meal, the men didn’t wander to another room, and Fox’s cache of adventures seemed endless. Her father listened, an elbow on the chair, and one finger resting across his upper lip, investing forgotten about as the evening moved of its own accord.
Edgeworth had no tales of his own, except occasionally he would remember details Fox omitted and share them, bringing Fox to laughter.
When the clock struck midnight, the men took that as a signal to leave. Abigail stood, getting in a few last moments of conversation as they all walked to the doorway.
Edge and Lily lagged behind as everyone else moved away.
‘You never did read that book, did you?’ Edge asked.
A laugh burst from inside her. ‘No.’
‘I bought it especially for you.’
‘You should have purchased a unicorn.’
His hand touched the small of her back and he didn’t speak. Edge saw the quick glance Lily’s sister gave them, but he didn’t take his hand from Lily’s back. ‘You’ve always preferred to stand at the side, watching your sister flit around,’ he said.
‘Because it was my place. My role.’ She stepped from his touch. ‘People call it being a wallflower, but I think of it as being an audience. Not everyone should be in the centre of the stage.’
He let his hand fall to his side and he gave her the same look she’d given him when he’d been caught up in his own words.
‘Events exhaust me. I dread them,’ she continued. ‘I’m pretending the whole time I’m there.’
‘Nonsense.’ He didn’t want her to feel inferior. ‘You are equally as welcome at the events as any other lady is.’
She didn’t answer. ‘I’m not. In the past years, I’ve been invited to so few. It’s rare.’
He took her hand and pulled her so that she looked into his eyes. ‘Lily. You’re a part of society, too. You’re an heiress. You’ve lived here your whole life.’
‘An heiress. So I purchase my place.’
‘Still your place, all the same. An
d you can dig your heels in—with your choice of husband.’
‘I could,’ she said. ‘But at what cost? And why should I try to enter something that doesn’t wish for me to be there? My sister—if you watch her, you can see the differences between us. I can see them. She savours the attention. It’s her place. And I thought her to be your duchess—all these years. I thought you’d planned it, too.’
‘Were you disappointed that I hadn’t?’
‘It wasn’t something to consider. You were to wed Abigail.’
‘You have a closer bond with her than I do with my brothers.’ He spoke softly.
‘I watched over her when we were young and that gave me something important to do.’
‘You were hardly older than she was.’
‘But she was my little sister.’
He chuckled softly. ‘I felt a decade older than my brother, Steven, instead of the year difference. And the same with Andrew.’ He stopped. She turned to him.
‘Do you still feel the difference?’
‘No. I feel much, much older now. More like their father than their eldest brother.’
‘Perhaps you should have more relaxation.’
‘Well, I planned it. I thought it would be relaxing and important to go to the country and learn about how others lived their lives. A country gentleman invited me to go fishing with him. And then my horse stumbled when a rock turned under his foot and tossed me into the water. I couldn’t swim, of course. I’d no time for such a frivolous and useless experience. The gentleman pulled me out, but I thought I would drown first.’
‘You were fortunate.’ She crossed her arms over herself.
‘Very. I think of it every day.’
‘So do I,’ she said.
He stopped.
‘Your mother,’ she added. ‘She would have been devastated. And your friends.’
‘My friends. I don’t notice any of them particularly caring one way or the other.’
‘They just don’t show it. That’s the way men are.’
‘We can be rather distant with each other.’ His hands were clasped behind his back.
