She squinted in the doorway, finally making Lily out in the dimness. “May I come in?”
“Of course. How do you do? How good of you to …” She trailed off, aware that this was not likely to be a social call. Elizabeth was glancing about the rough room, cool blue-green eyes missing nothing. “Won’t you sit down? The fire’s still lit, I can make a cup of tea in no time if you—”
“Please don’t bother.” She sat at the wooden table in the room’s only chair. Lily recalled the high stool by the bed; rather than stand over her ladyship, she went and got it, perched on it nervously, and folded her hands.
“I recognize you,” Elizabeth opened. “I believe you once served tea in my son’s drawing room.” Lily stiffened. So the interview was going to be as unpleasant as her worst imaginings had warned. But unexpectedly Elizabeth smiled, and her rather haughty features relaxed. “You didn’t do it very well, I noticed. It’s lucky for all of us that your career as parlormaid was short-lived. Clay has told me all about you, Miss Trehearne.”
“Sometimes Clay has a loose tongue,” Lily said faintly.
“Yes, he does. Which is fortunate, considering that Devon never tells me anything.” The two women regarded each other gravely.
“Whatever must you think of me,” Lily murmured.
Lady Elizabeth spread her hands. “Quite honestly, I don’t know what to thinkof you. You’re more intelligent than I though you would be; I can tell that from your face. No less beautiful—but Devon likes beautiful women.”
There was an uncomfortable pause. “Did you come to tell me something in particular?” Lily inquired finally.
“Yes, I did. But I imagine you can guess what it is.”
She didn’t look away. “I imagine I can.”
Her ladyship leaned forward earnestly. “My dear child, I wouldn’t dream of hurting you, but surely you can see that a marriage between you and my son is impossible.”
Lily’s expression didn’t change, but her heart beat faster. “Has Devon said something?” she asked evenly. “To make you think that such a thought has crossed his mind?”
“No,” she admitted, “he hasn’t. But as I told you, I’m not often in Devon’s confidence. But there’s a child involved; he may be contemplating marriage for the sake of the baby.”
Lily flushed, and didn’t answer.
“I’ve come to ask you to leave here, Miss Trehearne, before the baby’s born. Before Devon sees it and decides he wants it. I’ll give you as much money as you want.”
Lily stood up abruptly, although she wasn’t angry or even particularly surprised—this was only what she’d been expecting, after all. Then why did she feel so hurt?
Elizabeth rose, too. “I beg your pardon if I’ve offended you,” she said quickly, measuring Lily with her astute, penetrating eyes. “Forgive me for speaking so frankly, but you must know that if my son married you he would become a laughingstock. He’s only just begun to live down the scandal of his first marriage. You can guess what was said—a viscount marrying a governess, a woman who proved to be little more than a whore. Now, if he were to marry a pregnant girl who was once his housemaid—”
“Please,” Lily interrupted, face flaming, “I understand you perfectly. Devon has never offered marriage, and we have no understanding. I truly believe your fears are groundless.”
“But if he did ask you?” Elizabeth pressed.
Lily honestly couldn’t answer. She made a helpless gesture with her hands.
“Do you love him?” The older woman’s face softened.
“Please,” she said again, “there are things between Devon and me that I can’t explain to you.”
“I know what some of them are, I think. Clay has told me.
Lily almost smiled. Clay again. “I wonder if he’s told you about my inheritance.”
“Inheritance?”
“In a month I’ll come into quite a lot of money—by my standards, at least; by Dev’s, or yours, it probably won’t seem like much. Nevertheless, I’ll be able to support myself and my baby. Devon knows this.”
“So you intend to go away?”
Again she couldn’t answer.
Elizabeth folded her arms. “I like you, Lily Trehearne,” she said candidly. “I admit that surprises me. I like a woman with pride. And good sense, too—it must have been hard to forgive Devon for the things he did.”
Did she know everything, then? Lily could only nod, and murmur, “Yes, it… hasn’t been easy.”
“For myself, I don’t think I could have forgiven him,” Elizabeth confessed. “If it weren’t for what the doctor told him, after all, he might still think the worst of you. I’m afraid I could not forget such a thing—or offer affection to a man who had shown so little faith in me. But I’m not much like you, Lily, I don’t think. I’m harder, and more selfish. But do you know, if my husband were alive today—” She broke off. “Well. That’s neither here nor there, is it? I’m—are you all right, child?” Lily was holding onto the back of the chair with both hands. “I’m not sure I know what you mean,” she said carefully. “What did the doctor tell Devon?”
“You don’t know?”
She shook her head. Lady Elizabeth paused uncertainly. “I would be grateful if you would explain it to me.”
“I’m sorry, please believe me, I thought you knew; otherwise I wouldn’t have spoken.”
Lily waited.
“Clay’s doctor, Dr. Marsh.” She stopped again.
“Yes, I know him.”
“It was he who told Devon that Clay could not possibly have written anything in a note in the moments after he was shot. The wound to his head was devastating—he would have been incapable, of it. The injury was so severe, so traumatic that, as you know, he’s only beginning to recover the simplest faculties. So—obviously someone else wrote the note, trying to implicate you.”
She went to Lily and touched her arm. “I’m so sorry; I can see I’ve upset you.”
“Would you please excuse me?” Lily whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth repeated helplessly. She waited a few more seconds, then took pity and left without another word.
Her ladyship’s worried gaze was on the ground; she was startled when her older son accosted her in the middle of the gravel drive.
“Mother?”
“Oh, Dev—I’m afraid I’ve done something … rather unfortunate.”
Devon was familiar with his mother’s habit of ironic understatement. He prepared for bad news.
“That girl, Lily—”
“You spoke to her?”
“I did; I thought it best.”
“What did you say to her?”
“I told her I thought the two of you ought not to marry.”
He relaxed, even smiled with affectionate tolerance. “That was ever so slightly presumptuous of you, don’t you think? I trust Lily took your advice in the way it deserved to be taken—politely but very sparingly.”
Elizabeth looked more uncomfortable than ever. “Are you telling me you would marry her?”
“If she’ll have me,” he answered immediately.
Elizabeth put a hand to her forehead; she looked shaken.
“I love her, Mother,” Devon said quietly. “And she’s carrying my child.”
“Maura carried your child.” She put her hand on his arm when she saw his expression. “Forgive me for that! I hardly know her at all, and yet I can see this girl is nothing like Maura.”
“No, she’s nothing like her. But it took me a very long time to understand that. You must let me make my own happiness,” he said more gently. “I can imagine what you told Lily.”
“No, I don’t think—”
“But I care less than ever what the world thinks of me. Lily’s everything to me. All I want is to live with her and our children, here at Darkstone, for the rest of my life.”
Elizabeth’s smile was troubled and happy at the same time. “Then that’s what I want for you, too. But I’m afraid I’ve done
something stupid. But—I didn’t know she didn’t know, you see, and it just came out—”
“Mother, what are you talking about?”
“I thought she knew what Dr. Marsh told you about Clay—that he couldn’t have written the note that blamed her because his poor brain was so badly injured that he wasn’t able even to move, much less perform thought processes as complicated as …” She trailed off, chagrined anew by the look on Devon’s face. “I’ve done it, haven’t I? You hadn’t told her. I’m sorry, I just assumed that you had.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said grimly; “in fact it’s for the best. I’m glad you told her, glad it’s out.” He rubbed his face with both hands. “But you’ve set me a formidable task. Mother.”
“Yes, she … seemed quite upset.”
He could imagine. He looked over his mother’s shoulder at Lily’s cottage; a thin trail of smoke rose from the stone-and-mortar chimney in the thatched roof.
“I like that girl, Dev. I hope she comes around, because you could do much worse.”
“I have done worse,” he reminded her dryly. Then he gave her a quick kiss and walked off toward Lily’s house.
There was no answer when he knocked. A bad sign. He started to turn the knob and walk in uninvited, but then he didn’t. “Lily,” he called out, “it’s Devon. May I come in?” Nothing. “Lily!”
Another pause, and then he heard her voice, faint, almost querulous, calling, “Dev, is that you?”
“Lily, let me in.”
“Well, come in, it’s not locked.”
He squared his shoulders and opened the door, expecting anything—except the sight of Lily sitting in front of the fireplace, calmly sewing embroidery on a child’s blanket. All his breath came out in a slow exhale. “Hello,” he said experimentally.
“Hello.” She looked up for a second, then back at her sewing.
“ ’Tis a warm day for a fire.”
“Is it? I was a little chilly.”
He plucked a sprig of heather from the jar on the table and twirled it between his fingers, watching her. “How are you today, love? Feeling all right?”
“Oh yes, perfectly. Well, maybe a little tired.” She smiled at him briefly. “Dev?”
“Mmm?” He crushed the heather blossom and held it under his nose.
“I was wondering if you might lend me some money.” When he didn’t answer, she went on, “Not much, just a little, and I’d pay you back when my inheritance comes.”
He laid the flower on the edge of the table with great care. “What do you need money for, sweet?”
“Oh, you know—things. For the baby, for me, just—things.”
Her voice was a parody of casualness. She was the worst liar he had ever known. He felt embarrassed for her.
“Lily,” he said quietly, “I’ve just spoken to my mother.”
Her hands went still. A long moment passed before she looked at him, and then her face was a stiff white mask. “Will you give me the money?”
“No.”
She stood up so quickly her chair toppled over backwards and struck the floor with a crash. She threw her sewing after it and faced him, fists up and clenched, teeth bared. “Bastard!” She came toward him fast, hissing, “Lying son of a bitch!”
Shock kept him motionless; he’d never heard her swear before. When he realized she meant to sweep past him and escape through the door, he put an arm out to stop her. She shouted another oath and hit him—actually hit him—a hard blow to the side of his chest, her hands clasped to make a club.
“Bastard!” she cried again—her storehouse of curses was limited. “You bloody bastard, get out of my way!”
“Listen to me, I was going to tell you about Marsh—”
“Liar!”
“No, I was going to tell you, but the time wasn’t—” She ran at him, a spitting, sputtering, pregnant battering ram, and pushed him out of the way. “Lily!” He caught her arm and held it fast. Thank God her dog was nowhere in sight; he had time to think before she yanked out of his grip.
“Your mother will give me money!” she hurled at him. “She tried to before, but I wouldn’t take it. Now I will!”
“She won’t give you any money—I won’t let her.”
Her rage flared higher, she was weeping with pent-up fury and could hardly speak. The urge to escape receded, overcome by the need to fight. “I should have known you were lying, it’s what you’ve always done! All you’ve ever wanted from me is sex. You lied so that you could seduce me again. Now you think you’ll have this child, but you won’t.”
“Lily, please—”
“ ‘I’ll never stop being sorry,’ ” she mimicked, lips curling nastily in disgust. “You bastard! ‘Love me again, I need you.’ You’re a—”
“For God’s sake,” he cried, “do you doubt it? Do you truly doubt it?”
“You don’t know how to tell the truth! But this is the end, it’s over.”
Somehow he kept his hands at his sides. “Lily, have mercy. There was a note, words on it—I thought Clay wrote it.”
“You should’ve known!”
“Yes. Yes, I admit it, I should have known.”
“It’s over, Devon. This is—not—forgivable.”
“But you love me.”
“I’ll stop. I have stopped.”
“Marry me.”
She laughed. “Never. And thank God you can’t force me. I’m leaving you, I’ll forget you as soon as I can. I’ll find someone else, a man who loves me and loves my baby—”
“You’d take the child from me?”
“Yes! Without hesitation! I would go now if I could.”
Now Devon swore, with a viciousness that made her back away from him. “I don’t agree to this,” he said through his teeth, “I don’t give you up.”
“It doesn’t matter—I don’t expect anything from you that would help me. But I’m leaving you, and you’ll never have this child, never even see it!”
“I will not allow this. I won’t let you go. The child is ours, Lily, you can’t take it from me.” She shook her head, green eyes as angry as hornets. “I’ll keep it!” he burst out, enraged. “I’ll take it from you, I’ve got the power! It doesn’t matter how much money you’ve come into, I’ve got more. I’m a viscount, I’m in Parliament, I’m the bleeding magistrate—”
“I knew it!” she crowed in sick triumph. “You don’t want me, you only want a child to replace the one you lost! But I swear before God, Dev, you won’t have it!”
She was crying hard, arms folded across her stomach in a desperate gesture of protection, panting with the violence of her emotion. Rationality returned to him in an icy rush. “Calm yourself,” he warned; “you’ll hurt yourself if you don’t take care.”
“Then get out. Get out! I don’t want to look at you.”
He couldn’t stand any more. He felt battered, physically ill. “I’ll send Lowdy,” he muttered, backing out the door. When his feet hit the gravel, he turned around and ran.
The gray afternoon was windy and warm. The Channel waves looked like long glass rugs spiraling toward shore, pausing for a breath in midair before smashing on the shale in a million watery slivers.
Clay held Lily’s hand as they stared out across the restless rollers. “Dev and I used to play here when we were boys,” he told her.
“I know. He brought me here once.” And kissed me. For the first time. What a child I was then. “He called it the drowning cove.” She gazed past Clay toward the cliff’s edge, and beyond it to the huge boulder below, almost completely exposed now in the low tide. The drowning rock.
“We used to play pirate in the caves under this cliff. One of the differences between Dev—Dev and me is that I grew up to be one.”
“You were never a pirate,” Lily scoffed, defending him. “You were a free-trader. A much nobler calling.” She put a surreptitious hand to the small of her back and pressed, trying to relieve the ache there. “Shall we sit down again?” she suggeste
d after a moment when the pain would not diminish.
They walked back to their blanket and the scattered remains of their picnic. Lily sank down gratefully; Gabriel flopped beside her and put his heavy head in what little space of lap she had left.
“I like this dog. There’s something about him. He never leave—leaves you, does he?”
“Never.” She shifted slightly, searching for a comfortable position. The low ache had started last night, and it seemed to be getting worse instead of better. Clay was watching her; she sent him a false smile.
“Are you mad at me, Lily?”
“No! Why would I be?”
“Because I wouldn’t give you any money.”
She mumbled something and hid her face by kissing the top of Gabriel’s head.
Clay spoke earnestly. “We’re friends, Lily, I’d do anything for you, I truly would. But Dev’s my brother, I owe him my loyalty, too. And anyway, if you went away now, what good would it do? It would only—”
“It’s all right,” she broke in, “I understand, and I don’t mind, honestly. I’m sorry now that I asked you—it wasn’t fair. Let’s forget it, Clay, let’s pretend it never happened.”
“But what will you do?”
She looked at him directly. “Wait.”
He shook his head, dismayed. “Lily, this is crazy. I would never have thought you could be so stubborn.”
She laughed, unamused. “Let’s leave it,” she warned again, coolly. “You really don’t know anything about it.”
“Ac-actually, I know all about it.”
She shifted, uncomfortable again; Gabriel heaved a long-suffering sigh and squirmed away. “Oh, probably,” she said irritably. “Let’s leave it, anyway.”
“All right.” A minute passed. “Dev’s miserable.” Lily made a move to get up; Clay’s hand shot out to hold her. “All right, I’m sorry! I’ll stop.” She settled back, face shuttered, and stared out at the waves, luminous gray cylinders winding tighter and tighter.
But he couldn’t leave it after all. Lily’s mouth tightened but she didn’t move this time when he whispered—as though if he spoke softly enough she wouldn’t run away—“Dev’s an honorable man, Lily. You must know that. He made a stu-stupid mistake, a terrible mistake, and he’s suffered for it. When will it be enough? When will you be sat-satis—Oh, Christ, I’m sorry.” He reached out to brush away the tear that spattered on her hand in her lap. She seized his hand and held it tight. He squeezed back, and fell silent at last.
Lily Page 38
