by Lavinia Kent
Lily loosed a reproachful laugh. “Haven’t you been listening? We weren’t attacked. He put those marks upon me, his fists, his whip, his boots.”
“But . . .” Arthur still clung to his own version of reality. “I was told he was attacked and killed, set upon by outlaws.”
Lily watched the fixed rigidity of his features. His eyes never moved from hers, searching deep within her soul.
“Outlaws! There were no outlaws, no bandits, no ruffians of any kind. I was there, alone, when he went over the cliff.” She played with the embroidered edge of the blanket, seeking the words that would make him understand. The first tear rolled down her cheek at his solemn stare.
“I’d wanted him dead for so long. I used to lie in bed at night and dream of all the horrible accidents that might befall him. I imagined him crushed beneath his horse, shot dead in a duel of his own making. I even thought of the damage a bolt of lightning might do. I’d seen a tree shattered that way once.”
Arthur’s eyes regained focus and he looked down at her with growing apprehension and disbelief. A tremor shook his hand.
She continued. “It was such a beautiful night. I felt Simon stirring within me and I was in such hope for the world. Surely even my husband would come to understand the gift we had been given.
“When he entered my chamber that night I ignored all the signs. He was reeking of whiskey and unsteady on his feet. His fists were clenching at his side. When he came closer, even over the stench of the whiskey, I could smell cheap perfume and stale musky sweat. It hung about him in a cloud. Still, I was convinced I had to try.
“When he came near, I dared as I had not dared in a long time. I reached out and, clasping that larger hand between my own, I drew it to my belly, willing him to feel the wonder that was growing within. Surely, I thought, if he just feels it, he’ll understand.
“I don’t know how I could have been so foolish, so full of dreams. The moment the baby moved against him, he drew back his arm and struck me hard, knocking me to the floor. I tried to rise, but I stumbled back as his booted foot swung, hitting me hard. In that moment, all I could think of was Simon. There was no way I could let him be hurt, maybe killed. I scurried back as best I could while shielding my stomach. I reached the edge of the bed and forced myself to stand, ignoring the pain radiating through my body. I don’t know why he was slow to follow. Most often, after the first blow, the others came fast and furious. Maybe it was the whiskey, although he’d certainly been foxed many times before without it slowing him. In any case, I made it to my feet, and then tried to get away. He only laughed at my efforts.”
Lily let her voice die off as the horror of her memories overwhelmed her. She remembered the fear, the hopelessness, and the knowledge that nobody anywhere cared about her or the fate of her child. In her mind, she could see Worthington’s cold eyes and how he’d stared at her as he’d unleashed that chilling laugh. Never before had she felt so hopeless. She wondered if there was any way to let Arthur understand the depth of fear that had driven her to such desperation.
“I was so frightened as he moved towards me. I knew I couldn’t let him hurt my baby. When he surged towards me, I grabbed my paperknife off the table. He laughed again. Apparently the sight of me holding a knife no larger than my palm was a great amusement to him.”
Lily lifted her hand away from Arthur and stared at her own fingers. Her own palm could easily be swallowed by one of Arthur’s, and Worthington’s had been far larger.
“When he started to laugh in earnest, I ran as if the very hounds of hell were at my heels. I ran from the room and down the stairs. At the time, I wasn’t even aware of leaving the house. All I knew was that I had to get away. At first, I wasn’t even sure if he followed. I wasn’t aware of anything, except the desperate need to escape. I was forced to draw up when I reached the edge of the cliffs. I hadn’t even known where I was headed. I almost sailed over the edge myself in my desperation.
“When I stopped and turned, he was there, still caught in the same laugh – a smile of actual pleasure filled his face. I felt frozen as I have never felt before or since. I could see my death in his eyes, and what’s more, the death of my child. He started to move forward. Step by step he pushed me towards the cliffs.”
Lily could feel the cold of the night rise about her as she relived that terror, and the icy mists rising off the sea below.
“We were almost at the edge when he pulled out his crop. I don’t know where he’d had it. He swung it once across his palm. The echo of the sound ate through me, breaking the shell that had encased my soul. When he moved forward, raising the crop, I stepped to the side and tried to dart away. He moved so that I couldn’t get by, but neither was I nearer the edge. We moved back and forth as if in a dance. It must have taken only moments, but they felt like hours.”
She paused then, remembering those dreadful final moments.
“Time slowed, and I watched the thoughts move across his face, saw as he realized how close I was to the cliff, what little it would take to end me and my child. No more inconvenient wife. He lunged forward, whip up-swung. I knew my fate, but dodged. I struck out with the knife. It caught hold and held, wrenched from my fingers. He did not pause. I turned back, weaponless, ready to meet him again.
But, he was gone. I stood there, I don’t know for how long, unable to understand what had happened. It seemed hours before I was able to inch forward, to see . . .”
“My God, Lily.”
She lifted her face to him, scared to meet his eyes, to see his disgust.
“Say nothing more of it.” His voice whispered.
Lily drew in a deep breath, filling her lungs to capacity.
“Don’t say anything more.” He bent his head until their brows touched. “I need time to comprehend, to understand what all this means.”
Lily clenched her eyes closed.
“You said you were alone.” He spoke again, pacing across the room. “Did anybody else see you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so, but maybe St. Aubin knows. He hinted he did. He has my wedding ring. I threw it over the cliffs after Worthington. St. Aubin took it from his jacket, when he was here, and showed it to me.” Lily could hear the tight slurring of her words.
“The money for the witness . . .” Arthur spoke to himself. This makes it all the more important that I find the man – be sure he can offer no threat – of any kind.” He came and stood above her.
“No, I told you this so you would stay.” She reached out and gripped his hand. “He did not kill Worthington. If he cannot take Simon from me then he is no threat.”
Arthur brushed his thumb over her palm. “I would not say that. There is reason to suspect him of other mischief. I am still concerned for your safety and that of Simon.”
“But . . .”
Arthur moved his palm up and cupped her face. “No buts. I shall do what I must, and when I return we will sit down and have a long talk. No, don’t look at me like that. I do not mean it as a threat. After what you have told me today, I understand even more of your . . . hesitance. It is something we will need to find our way around.”
Lily knew she was blushing deeper than a rose. A moment ago her words and thoughts had drained her color, and now she could not meet his eyes. “I am sorry.”
“There is nothing for you to be sorry about after what you have told me. I will simply need to make some adjustments. I have pushed too hard.”
“But you haven’t pushed. I’ve wanted –”
“Don’t lie to me.” For the first time he sounded harsh.
“I am not. I just haven’t . . . I don’t know . . .”
He turned away and she could hear the slow release of a long breath. “Somehow we will find our way through this, this problem but, to be honest, I need some time away. It is too difficult being here, knowing I can’t –”
“Then we will. I’ve told you before, I will not refuse.”
“And I have told you that is not enough.
I cannot be responsible for making you freeze up in fear again. I thought I was capable of anything, but that, that is too much.”
“I’ll try to –”
Arthur turned back to her and she could see her prince in his eyes. “No, you have tried enough. After what you have just told me I would be a monster to ask for more.”
“But –”
“No, it is both necessary and best that I leave. It will give us both more time.” He laid a soft kiss on her brow, turned and walked through the door.
In an instant Lily was out of bed and following towards the doors. Looking down at her nightdress, she let loose a stream of curses she had not realized she knew. Hurriedly, she rang for Gertrude.
He could not leave that quickly.
Gertrude took an insufferable amount of time to arrive and by the time she tapped at the door Lily was rifling through the wardrobe herself.
“I am sorry for the delay.” Gertrude said as she entered, a tray of chocolate in her arms. “His grace asked me to wait while he scribbled a note.”
“Never mind that. I must catch him before he leaves.”
“But, he’s already gone.”
“He can’t be. It takes time to ready the carriage.”
“He had the black beast already saddled before he came to say his farewells.”
“But the carriage, he can’t leave without the carriage.” Lily refused to believe.
“He didn’t take the carriage this time. Hard to imagine him off without a carriage, not that he’s one of those who has to have every whim catered to. Well, actually, maybe he does. But, when he doesn’t, he just goes on. I’ve heard of gentry, even baronets and such, who let the servants know none too gently if everything isn’t just the way they like it. I’ll tell you, I heard one story about a viscount whose favorite teacup went missing and –”
“He’s really gone then?”
“Yes, he just handed me the note and mounted that beast. I’ve never been partial to horses – and that one is no exception. I hear even the grooms don’t care for him. Oh, forgive me, your grace, I forget you had your own encounter with him.”
“Never mind that, Gertrude.” Lily turned away, all desire for speed forgotten. “Would you pour me some chocolate? And then could you go see if Simon’s hungry?”
“My silly mouth! I’d be delighted to fetch the young master. I am sure he’s worked up a hearty appetite. Oh, and should I get you the note?”
The note. How had she forgotten? “You don’t have it with you?”
“I must have put it down when I picked up the tray. I won’t be a moment.”
The moment Gertrude was safely out of the room, Lily felt the starch leave her shoulders. They sank towards her chest, and her head fell forward. Why had Arthur departed so suddenly? Couldn’t he have waited for her to rise and give him a proper farewell?
A moment later Gertrude was back with Simon and the note. Lily’s smile was nearly genuine as she took the baby in her arms and inhaled his innocent scent. Simon was safe and Arthur had promised to return soon. She was upsetting herself over nothing – if only it felt that way.
With that thought firmly entrenched, Lily brought Simon to her breast and tried to lose herself in the wonder of her baby. Each suckle seemed to release her inner tensions, restoring – at least to some degree – a sense of calm.
When Simon pulled away with a sleepy smile and a bubble on his lips, Lily cuddled him close again before wrapping him up and handing him to Nanny, who bustled in with a smile.
“See, my little chickie? I told you it would all work out. All you needed was a little time for my boys to help you out. Between the two of them, I think they’ll take good care of you and keep you happy.”
It was not until Nanny had left, the lightly snoring Simon tight to one shoulder, that Lily realized that Nanny was referring to Arthur as one of her boys. Lily felt the first genuine smile cross her face since wakening, as she pictured anyone calling that tall righteous man a boy, and tried to imagine how he would respond to that appellation.
Only then did she dare to pick up the folded, heavy piece of stationery that Gertrude had place on the bureau. She glanced around to see Gertrude busy brushing out her dress, before picking up the note.
My Duchess, was scribbled in a forceful hand across one side. Well, that left little room for confusion, even if she couldn’t remember Arthur ever calling her that. She opened it with slightly shaky hands and tried to focus on the bold script.
Lily,
I know you will not be pleased that I have already departed. Please trust that it is best this way. I shall find St. Aubin and put everything to rights. I will return as soon as possible.
Take care of Simon.
Arthur.
Lily stared at the note, trying to read more into the words. Something was heavily crossed out between Take care of and Simon. She held the note up to the window trying to distinguish the missing words. It looked like it began with a ‘my’ but beyond that she couldn’t make out anything. At least he had signed it “Arthur.” The signature was inscribed less forcefully, as if it weren’t natural for him. She lifted the paper to her face, imagining she smelled Arthur in its weave.
But she grew somber as she considered the rest of Arthur’s note. He would find St. Aubin. There was no proof of what had happened. What could Arthur hope to accomplish? Lily could not bear to think what would happen if constables appeared, nor could she bear to be responsible for further violence.
As Gertrude approached, bearing a gown, Lily attempted a smile. She would just have to trust that her husband knew what he was about.
Chapter Nineteen
Lily wished she could sneak down to breakfast. She was not looking forward to her encounter with Lady Smythe-Burke. Although the lady normally took a morning tray in her room, Lily was sure she would appear promptly this morning.
As if on cue, Lady Smythe-Burke entered the dining room. “You’ve managed to do it again.”
“Yes.” Lily made no pretense that she had not understood.
“The two of you have me doubting my own abilities. Not normal at all. Never had this problem before. You must not be telling me everything.” Lady Smythe-Burke sat at the table and reached for a piece of toast. “What do I need to know?”
“I am not sure what you mean?”
“Of course, you know what I mean. You simply don’t want to tell me. Not surprising, that. The young never do take the easy path.”
Lily shifted uncomfortably under Lady Smythe-Burke’s steady gaze. She played with her eggs.
“I’d have you after my nephew were it not for the young one. Pity about your son. Didn’t mean that the way it sounded. He’s a lovely lad, but a baby can be rather an obstacle. I’ll have to think about the proper course of action. The vicar’s wife was most complimentary about how you’ve comported yourself. Good to hear. My training, of course. Now I just need to teach you to manage a duke. My sister never did learn the lessons well. Refused to listen to me. I hope you’ll be a better pupil. There should be schools for dealing with men. We teach girls how to dress and flirt, and think that’s enough. Definitely need a school. Good idea, that.”
Lily nodded, and continued to nod. She ate her breakfast quietly as she listened to Lady Smythe-Burke. Once started, there was no need for Lily to do more than smile and concur. Lady Smythe-Burke would carry the conversation on alone.
Lily strove to keep her peace of mind through the first week. She survived the second. During the third, her doubts grew. He had said he would return soon. Why didn’t he at least write?
With each day the weather grew colder and darker. How was she to be a wife, as Arthur said he wished, if he wasn’t even there?
She stormed through the connecting door into his empty room. She was tired of being a timid mouse. She sat on the massive bed and bounced violently, once, twice.
That gesture availed her nothing.
She stood up again, and strode toward the empty fireplace. Perha
ps if she had a fire lit, banished the chill from the room . . .
No, that wouldn’t do it either. Nothing would do but to have her husband back.
Lady Smythe-Burke was right. He was a foolish, incomprehensible man. How could they possibly come to an understanding when he wasn’t here?
She sat in his wing chair and swung her feet up on the table, imitating a posture she’d seen him take. That made her smile. Now all she needed was a cheroot and a glass of brandy.
The cheroot she couldn’t manage, but the brandy . . . she leaned over the table and hefted the decanter. She grabbed a glass and poured a good measure. Replacing the decanter, she lifted the glass to toast her absent husband. She brought the glass to her lips and downed a gulp.
And choked.
Not on the burn, but on the memories. As the scent and taste filled her, so did Worthington. She could see him, smell him, feel him. The glass dropped to the floor and she huddled into the chair. She fought to pull air into her lungs, to push the memories back into the past.
Yet, the sickly odor of the spill reached her from the floor and threatened to send her back. On trembling legs, she scurried back to her room, shutting the door behind.
Then she knew. It was the brandy. The scent. The taste. It triggered her memories. That was why she’d been fine with Arthur’s kisses, his touches, his . . . . it wasn’t him. It was the brandy.
Her knees shook again. Why hadn’t she ever realized this before? She raced through the door. She had to tell someone. But, who?
“Where are you off to, racing like a banshee?” Lady Smythe-Burke stood at the top of the stairs.
“It’s the brandy.” Lily could not contain herself.
“What’s the brandy? Don’t tell me you’ve been drinking at this hour. It’s not much past noon. I do hope you haven’t been tibbling. A most unattractive habit. I’ve always believed a lady should never drink more than madeira or sherry. Perhaps a glass of champagne. I mean, there are instances . . . injuries, a bad tooth, death, perhaps even childbirth . . . I’ve never formed a firm opinion on that. Most unusual, but then I haven’t the experience and my observations have leaned in both directions . . .”
