by Lavinia Kent
Lily held firm to her chair to keep from shrinking into it. To someone else, the words might have sounded friendly, but despite the smile and soft tone, Lily would not trust any relative of Worthington. She was glad she had let Nanny take Simon up.
“What do you want?”
“My own wants are immaterial. It is you I am concerned for. I know my duty. Even if my brother and I were not on the best of terms before his demise, Geoffrey would be most upset if I did not bring you home and care for you . . . properly. And, I understand from the servants that you’ve recently been delivered of a son, my brother’s heir. It is only fitting that I bring you both home, where you belong and must long to be.” As he spoke, St. Aubin leaned over and took Lily’s hand. She fought the urge to recoil into the chair. She must not blame him for his brother’s sins.
Besides, she did not want to raise his suspicions. It was currently accepted that Worthington had been attacked. She could do nothing to raise questions.
“I would rather stay here. Marclyffe holds no pleasant memories for me.” Lily forced an emotional waiver into he voice despite a sudden urge scream the words at him. The thought of returning to Marclyffe was unbearable.
St. Aubin leaned forward until Lily could smell the kippers he’d breakfasted on fighting against his sweet cologne and the bitter tang of ale. “Of course, you do. You’re just confused by your recent . . . misfortune.”
Lily gulped at the sugar syrup in his tone. It felt like swallowing river pebbles. She fought desperately to find a reply. Each word he spoke dragged her back to that world she had been trying so hard to forget.
St. Aubin’s gaze dropped at her silence. She felt his eyes move over her like the probing of fingers. “Don’t fret, my dear. I understand how distressing Geoffrey’s death must be for you. I know how good a husband he was. I am more than ready to treat you as you deserve. I hope the thought brings great comfort to you in your hour of need.”
His hand squeezed hers tight. He could not mean to crush her fingers so. She closed her eyes and swallowed. She must get control of herself. He was not Worthington. It was only her own fears making her feel a threat where there was none. She really must try to be courteous.
“I am not able to travel yet.” It sounded inane even to her own ears, but she didn’t have any other way to put him off. She refused to consider being stuck again at Marclyffe – alone with her memories.
“It’s not far, and I’ve brought the coach. I am prepared to see to your every comfort. I am sure you’ll manage. You’ve already managed so much more than one could ever have expected.”
Lily tried to look frailer than she actually felt, not so hard when all the blood had left her body. She knew it was only her imagination, but she kept thinking she heard a warning in his voice – he could not know the truth of what had happened, could he? She tried to sound calm, “St. Aubin, the doctor said I needed to rest for a few more days. Then I can bring Simon, my son, home to Marclyffe.”
St. Aubin straightened. He released her hand with the barest of caresses. Lily drew a shaky but deep breath. He walked to the window as he considered. “I am sure that is only your nerves speaking, your great grief for Geoffrey. I know you must want to be home, in familiar territory. And your darling son, I am sure you want me to raise him as his father would have. It would be such a shame if you were not there to see him grow.”
Lily’s world shattered with those words. Again she felt the hint of an unspoken threat. Imagination and nerves – only imagination and nerves. Still, Worthington had been ready to kill her child – no – this was not Worthington. She would recite those words as many times as needed. She had nothing to be afraid of.
She glanced towards him. He appeared a very decent man, well dressed and clean. She was being foolish and besides, she had no choice – there was nowhere else for her to go. She could not stay here forever.
“I will call for my son and see how soon we can depart. I just don’t want to be separated from by him.”
“Why would you think I’d even consider such a thing? Of course I want to keep you . . . with your child.” St. Aubin patted her hand reassuringly. “My dearest sister, surely you must understand that it is only with the deepest pleasure and warmth that I view your return.”
All Lily could think was of the horror of returning to Marclyffe, a horror she could afford to let no one see. The tears that never seemed far these days began to well at the corners of her eyes, and she could feel the first of them begin to slide down her cheeks. She forced them back. She would not cry before him, no matter how her body might betray her. She would retain this one dignity.
It had taken every bit of courage she had to finally fight back against Worthington. Now she faced new dangers if she did not give in. She would not arouse suspicion and question because of her own fears.
Seeing only her acceptance of his plans, St. Aubin smiled genteelly. “This may be easier than I thought. Get the boy and whatever you need and we can be off. The sooner we get things settled, the better, my dear sister.”
He continued to speak, but only to himself. Lily was used to the men around her expecting no reply. With leaden feet she turned and headed for the stairs. She would bow, she told herself, but she would find a way not to break – with Geoffrey gone, returning to Maryclyffe could not be that terrible a fate.
Arthur strode up to the house with a distinctive lift in his step. He had ridden briskly across the fields, marking how many days it would be before the harvest finished. He would spend a few hours tallying the accounts and then see if Lady Worthington would come down for lunch.
Jeffers opened the door before Arthur could lay a hand on the handle. He gave the butler a curt nod and strode in. Jeffers was about to speak when Arthur noticed that Lily stood before him on the stairs. He waved Jeffers to silence and gazed up. Little Simon, wrapped tightly in his blanket, was snuggled against her breast.
But when Lily raised her eyes, he observed anxiety in them. Something had changed since dinner the night before. She clenched Simon's blanket so tightly that her knuckles turned white. For the briefest moment, her face relaxed into an expression of hope, before she wiped it clean and deadened her features.
“Worthington’s brother is here.” The words were stone cold as she spoke them.
“I assume you mean his uncle. If my understanding is correct, that’s Worthington you hold clutched to your breast, and he doesn’t have a brother, unless there’s something else you haven’t told me . . . .”
Lily's face grew even paler, if that were possible. Her lips tightened almost imperceptibly as she spoke. “You’re right, of course.” She sounded flat. “My Simon is now and forever Worthington, with all that entails.”
She descended the stairs. She had an inherent grace, but Arthur could see her knees shaking as she stepped. Afraid that she was relapsing, he quickly moved forward and reached to take the baby from her.
“No.” The word was softly spoken, but held surprising power and strength behind it. Then, as if she’d reconsidered before she even spoke, she handed the baby to him and clutched the baluster. Her eyes fastened on someone behind him.
He cuddled the baby, with growing ease, to his chest. It was amazing how much Simon had grown in a few days. Swaying to soothe the infant, Arthur turned to see what had attracted her attention.
In the door to the morning room stood a gentleman, of pleasant countenance, but to his practiced eye definitely not out of the top drawer. The man’s trousers hugged him a little too snug, and the color of his coat was a touch too bold. He was the caricature of a gentleman rather than the genuine article. He must be the brother-in-law Lily had mentioned. Arthur had met Worthington on several occasions, and that must explain the familiarity. Surely this man had something of his brother about him, despite his more settled appearance. It was even a possibility they had met as boys.
The man seemed taken aback to see him, but quickly recovered.
“I am Lord Dudley St. Aubin,” he said
, extending his hand. Arthur glanced at Lily to gauge her reaction. Taking the hand, he found it cold and slightly damp.
“Westlake,” was Arthur’s only reply, as he stared down at the shorter man.
“I want to thank you for caring for Lady Worthington and her child,” St. Aubin said. “I am sure they’ve been a bother to you and I’ll be delighted to return them now to our home. We wouldn’t want to put you out any more than we have done already.”
St. Aubin ducked around Arthur and stood next to Lily on the stairs. Even though Lily remained on the first stair, St. Aubin dwarfed her. He wrapped his fingers around Lily’s wrist in a gesture of support. His large fingers looked ready to wrap around Lily’s fine bones twice.
Arthur glanced about the room before replying, with glacial calm, “It has not been a trouble. I was glad to be of help to a . . . neighbor.”
The slight emphasis he placed on the last word made it very clear that, although these estates bordered each other, Arthur knew how little contact had taken place between the families in the last decades. Without saying a single word on the subject, Arthur drew a very detailed picture of the social ladder.
St. Aubin raised his chin at Arthur’s words. He stiffened, and clearly felt every tinge of veiled insult. “If that’s all, then, I’ll take Lady Worthington and we can return home. I know this whole episode has been most distressing to her. I am sure she’s eager to be back in familiar surroundings.”
“I am afraid you’ve misunderstood. Lady Worthington really isn’t up to travel yet.” Arthur did not know what had prompted the words, but seeing the glimmer of relief in Lily’s eyes, he added, “It may be as much as a month before she’s prepared to leave.”
“A month?” St. Aubin sputtered. “She appears healthy. I do have her best interests at heart.” St. Aubin gave a tug at Lily’s wrist.
“I beg pardon. Are you doubting me?” Arthur let the sentence hang. It may have been an impulse to keep her a little longer, but once spoken he would not have his word questioned.
For a moment St. Aubin looked nonplussed, but he quickly recovered. “Of course not, your grace. Nevertheless . . . well . . . the baby should be back at Marclyffe. He’s lord, now, you know and I am his guardian. And besides, Geoffrey’s funeral is tomorrow, and Lady Worthington wouldn’t want to miss that.”
Arthur maintained his calm. If it weren’t for Lily’s pallor and the way her whole body jerked at the mention of the funeral, he might almost have smiled. Rather, he drew himself to his full height and let the ducal tones spring from his mouth.
“Yes, I am very aware how entailment works. I hardly expect the child to start issuing orders or overseeing the estates today, however. I do not believe another month could matter. As for the funeral, it is my understanding that wives rarely attend funerals, or has custom changed while I’ve been domesticating?”
Arthur saw the deep breath Lily released at his words. She did not deny his assertions or express a desire to attend her husband’s service.
St. Aubin swallowed once, his large Adam’s apple jutting out, before trying again. “I can get a wet nurse. I am sure one of the dairy maids has a new bra . . . baby.”
Arthur watched Lily turn her head away. He tucked Simon more securely under his arm.
“I hardly think that’s necessary . . . or do you doubt my ability to provide care for them?” Arthur uttered each word with slow and careful diction.
St. Aubin stepped back as if avoiding a blow. “Of course, I don’t doubt your abilities, your grace. It is only my own grief and desire for family that prompted my foolish question.” With the utmost of civility he released Lily and walked to the door. He paused there for moment, and then turned back to Lily.
“Don’t worry, my dear sister. I’ll be back anon to check on you and my darling nephew. I wouldn’t want you to have to wait a moment longer than necessary to return to our beloved home.”
Then, as if upon an afterthought, he reached into his pocket and palmed something small. He tossed it in the air once, twice, gold twinkling in the soft window light as the delicate, gold ring spun. Lily’s eyes tracked it. She took a step down, and not a breath passed her lips until St. Aubin slipped the ring back into his pocket, one side of his lip curving up as he caught her frozen glance.
He turned and swung through the door Jeffers held open.
With each step St. Aubin took, Lily clutched the baluster tighter, until Arthur was sure it was the only thing holding her up. As the door closed behind St. Aubin, Lily swayed on her feet.
“Are you quite well?” Arthur asked. Why was she acting so strangely?
Lily didn’t answer, but only stared at Arthur with lost eyes. For a moment he thought she was beyond speech. She swayed once more, and then drew back her shoulders and raised her face to his. Carefully she dislodged one hand from the baluster and reached out to stroke the sleeping infant.
“I am fine. I was just distressed at the thought of returning to Marclyffe. You are correct. I am not ready for travel.”
There was something so forlorn in her voice that, for a moment, Arthur was tempted to question her further. He stopped himself as he became aware of Jeffers peering curiously at them from the door and of Nanny and one of the maids peeking around an upstairs corner. He should reprimand them for their obvious prying, as his father would have done, but instead he gestured for Nanny to come down and take Simon.
As Nanny reached for Simon, Lily moved as if to intercede. Her hands jerked in the direction of the baby, but then she let them fall stiffly to her side.
Arthur took her icy fingers between his own. He rubbed them gently with warm palms, trying to restore the circulation to them.
“If you are worried that St. Aubin appears hard, it is surely merely the shock of his brother’s death.” He stated it as fact. “Just now, though, I need you to let Nanny take the baby up again, so that you and I can talk.”
Lily hesitated, and another tremor shook her slender frame.
“I am not sure what I have to say.”
“I am sure you’ll think of something once we have you sitting down. A cup of tea is called for.” He glanced in Jeffers’ direction, but he had already left to order the tea.
Lily allowed him to lead her back to the morning room.
As Arthur led her to the familiar chair and moved a blanket over her legs, Lily tried to recapture her earlier sense of peace, but the only images she could conjure were those of St. Aubin and the golden ring shining in the air. Her wedding ring. She had worn it long enough that she could not mistake it. Why did he have it? What did it mean? Surely if he knew, if he suspected he would have said something.
She knew she had to say something to Arthur, to explain, somehow, why she was frozen with fear. But she remembered too well the one time after her marriage that she had appealed to another man – her uncle – and how he had told her that she had brought these troubles upon herself, and that a wife’s place was with her husband.
If her uncle reacted like that how could she expect anything different of Arthur? No, she would rejoice in her month of freedom and then return to Marclyffe. She would give no hint that she was anything but a grieving widow.
She glanced through her lashes at Arthur, who lounged awkwardly on the settee, his broad frame disproportionate on the delicately framed piece. He stared at her with hooded eyes. A fresh waft of steam from the teapot by her elbow drew Lily’s attention. A cup had been poured for her. With hands that quivered only slightly, she brought it to her lips. It took all of her concentration to hold it still enough to drink.
“Are you going to tell me the meaning of that scene we just played?” The question hung in the air.
“I wasn’t ready to return to Marclyffe.” Good. That sounded calm and collected.
“Is there a reason?”
Her mind filled with the cruel memories. She had not known a moment of joy in that house. Of course she didn’t want to return, but she could not say that. It would only bring further quest
ions, questions she did not want asked.
Again she remembered her wedding ring hanging in the air, caught in the sunlight. What did St. Aubin know? Was she already lost? Was he even now fetching the law? Why had he not done so already?
Holding her head as straight as she could manage, and looking calmly into Arthur’s eyes, hoping he would take her words as spoken, she answered simply, “My husband died there. My memories are not pleasant.”
“Surely you can look beyond his death to the life you led there previously.”
She could. That was the problem. She needed to say something else. “My husband was not always kind. My memories are not all warm.” That was the truth if a trifle understated.
“Not a kind man.” Arthur gave a harsh little laugh. Lily could almost see him distancing himself from her. “I am not a kind man myself. I was raised to power, not kindness. You are being foolish.”
Lily stared at her lap and felt her hope ebbing. He would send her back, she would not have her month of freedom, her month to plan a greater escape. She had heard the old duke’s voice reverberating through Arthur’s and knew his mind was set.
“It really doesn’t matter, though,” Arthur added. “I gave into my own foolishness and told St. Aubin you needed a month before you could travel even as far as Marclyffe, and I am not a going to change that now. I suggest you use that time to prepare to return to your home, Lady Worthington.”
“Oh, call me Lily. I can’t bear the other.”
Arthur kept his face turned towards the window, ignoring her. Lily didn’t think he’d glanced at her even once as he said the words that sealed her fate. His voice stayed flat and steady.
“I realize now that you are still overly emotional. I am afraid that losing your husband and having been attacked so brutally must have left you shaken, and, perhaps, it is difficult to accept – even to believe – your sudden change of circumstances. That is understandable. It is why you seem frightened now, yes, I am sure that explains why you’ve seemed so unexpectedly calm and peaceful these last days. Your emotions are still not settled. That is the explanation.” Arthur’s voice faded at the end and Lily was not sure the words were meant for her ears. He looked stiff enough to break.
