A Spinster for a Spy: Book 1: Lily - Clean Regency Romance (A Duke's Daughters: The Elbury Bouquet)

by Arietta Richmond

  He would call on her. But it was not courting – there was too much risk in that.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next two weeks passed much as the previous weeks had, with many events to attend, and Lily’s mother slowly becoming more despairing of her daughters ever marrying. However, Lily at least was spared the worst of her mother’s attention, for Lord Canterford called on her every few days. They became more relaxed in each other’s company, and spoke animatedly of poetry, and novels, of the vagaries of society and gossip, and, slowly, of their own lives – of what they cared about, and what they had seen and done.

  On a few days, they even took a drive around Hyde Park in his curricle, enjoying the warming spring air. Lily was sure that he cared for her, yet there had been no further kisses, no further attempt at anything like that. He seemed almost distant in some ways, even when they spoke with great enthusiasm on one topic or another. It left Lily feeling more and more confused. He called on her, he danced with her at Balls, and everything about him said to her that he cared for her – but he remained perfectly, politely, just that bit distant.

  If she had hoped for a declaration of undying love, it appeared that she was to be disappointed, she thought to herself, as she sat at her escritoire. Her poems had become rather more about unrequited love of late, and she knew that she was using them as a method of expressing her own frustration. She had come to realise that she wanted him to court her, formally, officially – for, with the fear of having her poetry revealed – and reviled – removed, there was no reason for her to stop herself from caring – and care she did, with an alarming intensity.

  Which was all to no point at all, if he did not truly care in return.

  <<<< O >>>>

  Trent found his days to be less and less amusing. He lived for the moments that he spent with Lady Lily, yet when he was with her, he held back – not from conversation, which he delighted in, but from allowing himself to care too deeply – or at least to show that he did. He reminded himself, repeatedly, that to care too much would, inevitably, put her in danger, that marriage and spying were not, truly, compatible, that to court her would be a very bad idea. He found himself unconvincing, yet he persisted with those thoughts. And deep down, that seed of doubt remained – he had failed so often in his life, in the eyes of the people he cared for – could he ever hope to succeed in the eyes of such a clever and intelligent woman – he feared not.

  So he tortured himself with her presence, tortured himself by denying his need to hold her, to kiss her, to do far more than that. If all he could allow himself was her friendship, he would force himself to accept that reality.

  On this particular day, he had spent the morning in her company, and the pain of maintaining his distance stayed with him as he went from Elbury House towards Bigglesworth’s Books, to meet with Lord Setford. The shop was as it always was – so full of books that movement could be difficult, warm, and reassuringly scented with the smell that only massed books could create. Old Mr Bigglesworth was dozing at his counter when Trent entered, but his eyes snapped open at the sound of the bell on the door.

  “Good day to you, Lord Canterford. Come on through.”

  Bigglesworth pulled the curtain aside, and Trent went through, along the corridor, and up the narrow stairs. He tapped on the door, and was greeted by the scent of perfect coffee when he entered the room. He sipped appreciatively once he held a cup of it in his hand. The coffee was always a highlight of his visits to report to Setford.

  “So, Canterford, what do you have to tell me?”

  “The nobility, my Lord, remain most predictable. There are a few young malcontents who will grumble about anything that they can, and who might, with the right ringleader, act on that grumbling, but on the whole, the upper ten thousand are a dull lot, more likely to gamble, drink, and carouse with loose women than they are to do anything requiring more effort or commitment. A fact of which I am glad, for it makes my job easier, even if it makes their company at most events rather tedious. They are, for all of their protestations otherwise, rather unintelligent in how they approach life.”

  Setford laughed, nodding in agreement with Trent’s assessment of his peers.

  “All to the good, all to the good, m’boy. We want them dull and uninspired, not making trouble. But I hear that you’ve been spending rather a lot of time with Lady Lily Gardenbrook of late – since you discovered the truth of all that clandestine correspondence. Taken with her, are you?”

  Trent flinched at the question – he should, really, have expected it, from a man like Setford, but he had hoped that the topic would never come up in conversation. Setford waited for his reply, holding him trapped by that piercing grey gaze. How could he answer? How could he not? With this man, instinctively, he knew that nothing but the truth would suffice. And in that instant, he realised that, odd as it seemed, he felt safe to speak the truth – for Setford had never looked at him with an expectation of his failure – quite the opposite. That gave him the courage he needed.

  “I am, indeed, taken with her, as you put it. But what can come of it?” Trent was surprised at the anguish in his own voice. “If I am to continue in this role for you, then danger is always present, lurking in the shadows around us all. How can I even consider courting a lady, when to do so would bring her into danger? What I might wish is irrelevant, in the face of keeping her safe.”

  Setford gave the slightest of shakes of his head.

  “I rather thought that was where your mind had gone about this. Let me pose you a very simple question – what if she doesn’t want to be kept safely away from all danger in the world?”

  Trent gaped at him. It was a very good question, and one he had never thought to consider.

  “Umm – why would she not wish to be kept safe and protected?”

  “Because, my dear boy, women, just like men, have independent minds, and interests – and intelligent women especially so – they want to interact with the world, to contribute, to achieve things – not to hide away in the house in case anything bad happens – you do not hide, simply because the possibility of danger exists, in the future, so why should she? I have reached the conclusion that Lady Lily is a very intelligent woman, and I cannot imagine her choosing to hide.”

  “She is intelligent – far more so than most of the men of the ton, in my view. But still… the thought of her in danger makes me feel physically ill.”

  “I see – then you had best court her, before you lose her. For that is the reaction of a man far gone in love.” Trent gulped, suddenly finding breathing difficult. When Setford put it before him so baldly, he could not deny it – he loved her. His head spun. Setford went on, a small smile playing about his lips. “Do not think that you are unique in this, Canterford – you have met, amongst those I have introduced you to, a number of men who have faced this very question, and followed their hearts, very successfully – Melton, Porthaven, Pendholm and more. Why should you not succeed as well?”

  “But… forgive the impudence of this, my Lord, but you, yourself, have not married – does that not put into question your statements?”

  Setford let forth a rather solid laugh, full of good humour and genuine amusement, much to Trent’s confusion. He stared at the man, waiting for an explanation.

  “Sharp of you, m’boy. Very sharp. I will admit, that for many years, I denied myself the comfort of even considering love or marriage, for exactly the reasons you have given. But, quite frankly, I was wrong. These young men that I have mentioned, men you have met, taught me that – though don’t ever tell them I admitted it. And my views have changed as a result. So much so, that there is a lady… but enough of that – it is early, nothing may yet come of it. Regardless, my advice is to follow your heart. And I applaud your choice – Lady Lily would make an excellent spy, if you should choose to allow me to recruit her…”

  Trent swallowed the last of his coffee, and stood. Setford simply watched him, his eyes alight with good humour.

&nb
sp; “Then, Lord Setford, I shall consider taking your sage advice, and risking my heart and my sanity.”

  Setford waved him away, his smile never wavering.

  Downstairs, Bigglesworth stopped him as he went to leave, and pressed a book into his hands.

  “Here it is, my Lord. Exactly as you asked, I’ve not sent any message to Lady Lily Gardenbrook to tell her of its arrival.”

  Trent looked at the volume in his hand – ‘Reflections on Friendship’ by Mr L Brooks, bound in a rich dark blue leather and embossed in gold, to match the previous volume. What perfect timing. He pressed the required money into Bigglesworth’s hand, and left the shop.

  <<<< O >>>>

  Lily was annoyed with the world. Her sisters sat around her chattering away about a random collection of things – men, fashion, dogs, horses, painting, books and more.

  The noise grated on her. Hyacinth turned to her.

  “What do you think Lily? Should Rose allow a gentleman’s opinions on food to influence her view of him? It seems rather shallow to me.”

  Lily blinked at Hyacinth a moment, then shook herself out of her woolgathering to answer.

  “If it matters to Rose, why should she not let it influence her view of him? Surely, we should each choose who to like, based on what matters to us.”

  “I see – so, do tell us, what is it about Lord Canterford’s likes or dislikes that matters to you, Lily? Or are you still trying to pretend that you are not smitten, even though he calls on you almost every second day?”

  Lily felt all of her irritation with the world, and with Lord Canterford in particular, rise up within her. It was too much, too much entirely.

  “Oh Hyacinth, stop it! Cannot you leave me alone on the matter? Yes, I do like him, if you must hear the words from my mouth! But I cannot answer your question, for I fear that this last few weeks I have become less and less sure of what he cares about, what matters in his life. It is all so frustrating, and quite lowering. I thought that he cared for me, but now…”

  Her voice tailed off, and Hyacinth looked at her, a little shocked. The other sisters’ conversations stopped, and they all turned to look at Lily. Lily never snapped, not even when teased unmercifully. Something was obviously wrong. Camellia came to sit beside Lily, and took her hand.

  “What do you mean, Lily? What are you unsure of?”

  At the sight of the ring of sympathetic faces surrounding her, a strangled sob escaped Lily, and slow tears trickled down her cheeks. Rose produced a handkerchief, only slightly discoloured by icing from the cakes they had just had with tea, and handed it to her silently. She gulped.

  “I… I thought that he cared, yet whilst we talk, and I enjoy his company, and he seems to enjoy mine, there has been nothing further. Not since… not since one moment, weeks ago. Since then, he has not attempted to hold my hand, to be closer than propriety dictates, or to kiss me, or… anything! It is as if I am a sister to him, not someone he might… he might marry!”

  “Do you want him to marry you, Lily?”

  Camellia’s words dropped into a pool of silence. The ripple of thought that they created spread through the room, and six sets of eyes studied Lily’s face, waiting for her answer. Lily drew a long breath – did she want him to marry her?

  “Yes, I believe that I do want him to marry me. But I have obviously been a fool – I have been seduced by the comfort of our conversation, into allowing him to see far too much of my intellectual habits. Surely that is why he has become so distant from me – no matter what he says, surely he is like every other man of the ton, and does not really want too much intelligence in his wife. After all, an intelligent wife might argue with him, might dare to have her own opinion.”

  There was bitter sadness in Lily’s voice, for she did not wish to believe that of Lord Canterford, yet she could see no other explanation for his coolness to her of late. Hyacinth snorted.

  “If that is true of him, then you are better without him. But I can’t believe it.”

  “You can’t?”

  “I can’t. the man is far sharper than he allows most people to notice, and far more respectful of women’s opinions than almost any man I have met – with the obvious exception of our father, and a few others. I think that you are letting your fears run away with you.”

  “Oh Hyacinth, I so want you to be right!”

  Camellia squeezed her hand, and Lily turned to meet her eyes.

  “Lily, you know that not all men prefer their wives dull and uneducated -- look at the people we know – the Duchess of Melton designs gardens, the Countess of Porthaven runs an art gallery – yet they are loved by men who appreciate their skills and interests. Compared to that, my dear Lily, you are almost ordinary – so why should you not be loved? Do not let yourself lose the only man I have ever seen you care for at all, just because you fear that he does not appreciate the real you. Surely, there is some other reason for his reticence of late. Why do you not simply ask him if anything is amiss. You could, perhaps, even be brave, and declare your feelings, and see what happens.”

  Lily looked at Camellia – again, her sister surprised her with her insight.

  “You are right, Camellia, I need to know the truth, not torture myself with imagined reasons for his manner. But the idea of declaring myself to him, of risking rejection – that is quite terrifying.”

  Hyacinth looked thoughtful, more so than usual.

  “I believe that I agree Camellia. If… if I ever start to think like Lily has been thinking, please shake me hard, and tell me what you just told Lily.”

  Lily blinked – was Hyacinth implying that there was a man she cared for – how very intriguing!

  “Thank you, all of you. You have made me determined. When he next calls, I will ask him about his reticence, and, perhaps, if I can gather up the courage, even tell him of my feelings – for knowing the truth of it would be far better than this perpetual uncertainty.”

  Her sisters applauded, and Lily felt ridiculously cheered by their support. Rose pushed a fresh cup of tea into her hand, and placed a plate of cakes beside her. In Rose’s world, tea and cakes could fix anything.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next day Trent rose earlier than usual, and dressed with particular attention to his appearance. Farrell pretended to be offended by the implication that Trent was ever less than perfect, and Trent allowed the valet his petulance – they had known each other for many years now, and Trent was quite certain that Farrell fully understood that his attitude was born of nerves about something.

  When he was ready, he gathered up the new book of poetry, and carefully wrapped it in a piece of exotically woven silk cloth. He would give it to her today, a gift to demonstrate his love, and an apology of sorts for his distance in manner of late. Whether he would have the courage to tell her the depth of his feelings, he did not know, but he would at least ask to formally court her – if she agreed to that, then he would need to ask it of her father.

  That thought gave him pause. The Duke of Elbury was a jovial man, cheerful and unfailingly kind – but would he consider Trent good enough for his daughter?

  He swallowed, and drew himself up. Other men were not necessarily as his own father had been, would not immediately judge him as wanting. He would not allow the memory of his father’s attitudes to keep him from being with the woman he loved.

  As he drove the curricle along the cobbled streets, the wrapped book tucked onto the seat beside him under a carriage blanket, despite his doubts and fears, his heart was full of happiness. Soon, he would know the truth of it – did she care for him, as much as he cared for her? Could he hope for more, for love? He did not know, but he desperately wished it so.

  When he drew up outside Elbury House, and the stableboy ran out to hold his horses, a sudden rush of fear ran through him again. He pushed it aside, and went up the steps. The door opened almost immediately, and Marks ushered him into the house. As they moved towards the parlour, the Duke stepped out of a nearby door.
>
  “Ah, Canterford. A word, if you will.”

  Trent swallowed hard. What was this about?

  “Certainly, Your Grace.”

  The Duke gestured for Trent to enter the room from which he had emerged, giving the wrapped book a curious glance as Trent passed him.

  “Please, be seated.”

  The Duke waved him to a chair near the fireplace, and Trent settled onto it, glad that he had not been placed on the wooden chair before the Duke’s desk – that would have been far too reminiscent of ‘interviews’ with his father.

  “I won’t fuss about with this, and waste your time or mine, Canterford. I have just one question for you – what are your intentions towards my daughter Lily?”

  For a minute, Trent simply sat, struggling to find appropriate words, as the silence stretched around them. The Duke’s kind eyes rested on him, but the man said nothing more. As it had been with Setford, Trent knew that nothing less than absolute honesty would do with this man.

  “Your Grace… I… I love her. I ask your permission to court her, formally.”

  The silence stretched again, and Trent watched the Duke’s face, waiting for the moment when he would be judged inadequate, when disappointment would show, when he would be denied his heart’s desire. It did not come.

  The Duke nodded slowly.

  “Good. I like a man who can give me a straight answer, and knows that he should. Lily does not suffer fools gladly, although she does her best to hide her opinions when about in society. Does she know that you feel this way about her?”