by Anne Gracie
She raised a well-plucked eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“It is,” he said firmly. “I trust you’re satisfied that there’s nothing more to it than that. Gossip—especially when misplaced—is such a bore, don’t you find?”
She drew herself up to her full five foot one and gave him a militant look. “I quite agree. I abhor gossip, especially when misplaced. Convey my respects to your grandfather. I trust he’s in good health.”
“I shall, thank you, and he is. Good afternoon, Lady Ampleforth.” He bowed to the old lady, collected the flasks of tea and coffee and left, cursing silently.
“We had a narrow escape,” Lily informed him as he climbed into the coach again. “There was an old lady in the inn who knows my aunt Agatha.”
“Lady Ampleforth? Yes, I spoke to her.” He knocked on the roof to signal Walton to resume the journey. The coach moved off with a jerk.
Lily looked aghast. “You know her?”
“She knows my grandfather. All that generation seem to know each other.”
She groaned. “I know. She and Aunt Agatha made their come-out the same year, and have been at daggers drawn ever since.”
“Really?” He decided not to tell her that Lady Ampleforth had recognized her. It would only worry her, and if Lady Ampleforth was as discreet as she claimed there would be no problem. “The good news is she’s traveling in the opposite direction, leaving London rather than going there, so you won’t encounter her when you get home.”
“Home,” Lily echoed quietly. “How long now till we reach London, do you think?”
He did a quick calculation. “About seven hours. Shall I continue reading?” She nodded, and he resumed the story.
* * *
• • •
Edward finished reading Persuasion just as the light was starting to fade. Lily was glad of the happy ending—she liked Anne and thought she deserved to be happy with her captain—but there was a growing hollow feeling inside her—and it wasn’t hunger.
They hadn’t stopped for dinner; there was enough food left over in Mrs. Baines’s basket to keep them all satisfied. Not that Lily ate much. The closer they got to London, the more nervous she became.
Three hours to London.
At the last change of horses, Walton, the coachman, had lit the carriage lamps. Not many people traveled at night; it was too dangerous. But Edward was determined to get Lily home as soon as possible, and she could only be grateful.
She was desperate to see her family.
Walton had also sent young Jimmy down—much against the boy’s will—to travel the last few hours inside the coach. How could Walton stand it? Lily wondered. Sixteen hours driving a coach—she was exhausted just from traveling, and she’d taken a nap or two along the way. But when she raised it with Edward, he’d shrugged and said he’d offered to hire Walton an assistant driver and he’d refused.
After Jimmy joined them, they played guessing games and memory games, and told a few stories, but everyone was tired, and soon Betty and her brother curled up in a corner of the coach and slept.
Lily wished she could sleep too. Edward had said he hoped they’d get to Mayfair before midnight. She was exhausted, but nervous energy kept her awake.
* * *
• • •
The coach pulled up outside Ashendon House just before midnight. In the faint light of the gas lamps in the street outside, the occupants of the coach stretched, and straightened themselves. Ned was a little surprised. He’d expected Lily to be out of the coach in a flash, up the stairs and into the arms of her family. Instead she was tidying her hair and tugging her borrowed dress into place, as if she were nervous or something.
Walton let down the steps and opened the carriage door. Lily took a deep breath. “I don’t know how to thank you for everything you’ve done.”
“Then don’t. It was my pleasure.” Ned didn’t want her gratitude. He climbed out to hand her down, and at the same moment the front door of Ashendon House opened and Cal and his wife came rushing out. Lily practically fell out of the carriage into their arms.
Hugging, kissing, laughing, weeping, they walked slowly back into the house. Ned gave Walton an enormous tip, gave him the next two days free and sent him off with the horses and carriage for a well-earned rest.
“Coming in?” Cal stood at the front door, waiting. It was less an invitation than an order.
Inside the house pandemonium reigned. As Ned entered, two young women dressed in bedgowns and loosely fastened dressing gowns came flying down the stairs in bare feet, shrieking. They embraced Lily repeatedly, hurling questions at her so fast they would have been impossible to answer, even if they hadn’t all been laughing and weeping and hugging and exclaiming in dismay over Lily’s bruised face.
A little overwhelmed by the outburst of female emotions, Ned was relieved when Lady Ashendon finally said, “Come along up to bed, girls. It’s late, we’re all tired and poor Lily looks completely worn out. Your questions will keep. Plenty of time in the morning to hear what happened.” She made arrangements for one of the maids to provide beds for Betty and Jimmy and whatever else they needed, and ushered the three girls upstairs.
The girls hurried ahead in a tight clump, still talking. Just before Lady Ashendon reached the first landing, she glanced back at Ned and said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Galbraith, you must think us complete savages—we are all at sixes and sevens in the joy of Lily’s homecoming—but let me say how truly grateful we are to you for returning our darling Lily to us.”
Ned bowed. He hated being thanked.
Lady Ashendon added, “You will call tomorrow, I hope?” Again it wasn’t quite an invitation.
He glanced up, saw Lily looking down at him and heard himself say, “Of course, Lady Ashendon.”
The ladies disappeared, their voices died away and silence fell. Ned turned to take his leave. “I’ll be off then, Cal. I’m—”
“Step into the sitting room a moment, Galbraith, if you please.” Cal seemed a bit stiff. Ned wanted to find his own bed, but assuming Cal had questions he wanted to ask without the ladies present, he entered the sitting room. A cozy fire was burning and he crossed the room to warm himself in front of it. “So, Cal, you have questions for me, I presume?”
“The messenger who brought your note—”
“Oh, you got it. Good. No problem about paying him the extra, I hope. He must have ridden through the night.” For a man whose sister had just been returned safe and sound, Cal seemed very tense.
Cal dismissed the matter of the money with a curt gesture. He didn’t offer Ned a seat; he just stood with his legs braced apart, eyeing him with a grim expression.
“The messenger told me when you carried my sister into that godforsaken village inn, she was naked but for a fur rug.”
“Not naked—under the rug, she was wearing one of my shirts.”
Cal’s fists clenched. “Why was she virtually naked? Did that bastard—?”
“No, that was my doing. I made her strip—”
“Your doing?” Cal took two steps and grabbed Ned by the throat. “You stripped my baby sister naked, and—”
Ned broke his hold and pushed him away. “Calm down, you fool, it’s not what you think. She stripped herself.” Some demon of provocation made him add, “And if you haven’t noticed, she’s no longer a baby.”
“You bastard.” Cal threw a punch.
Ned blocked it and shoved Cal backward. “Oh, don’t be such a fool! She was soaked to the skin and half frozen, so what would you have me do? Let her catch her death of pneumonia? Besides, she stank to high heaven.”
Cal said belligerently, “My sister does not stink!”
“She does when she’s fallen in a ditch full of God knows what. She was covered in mud and stank like a pigsty.”
There was a short silence. Cal’s fists remained bunched,
the red light of battle in his eye fainter but still present. Ned, who’d kept a rein on his temper until now, felt it slipping. Much could be forgiven a man still on edge because his sister had been abducted and he hadn’t yet heard the full story, but Cal ought to know better.
“Dammit, Cal, what kind of a man do you think I am? Do you honestly believe I would debauch any vulnerable innocent, let alone my friend’s younger sister? I might have a reputation as a rake, but I’ve never dallied with innocents of any kind—and you know it!” He glared at his friend. “You mule-headed fool! Why the hell would I bring Lily home—let alone hire a chaperone for her—if I’d debauched her?”
“What chaperone?”
“Betty, the innkeeper’s daughter—short young female, freckles, blue dress. Your wife just arranged for one of your maids to find beds for her and her brother.”
“Oh, her.”
“Yes, her! Why do you think I brought a couple of young rustics with me? To show them the sights of London?” He snorted. “I also hired Betty to sleep on a trundle bed in Lily’s bedchamber at the inn while I slept on the stairs outside the door—and blasted uncomfortable it was too, you ungrateful sod!”
There was a short, fraught silence. Cal’s fists slowly unclenched. Tension visibly drained from him. He waved Ned to a seat and said wearily, “I’m sorry, Galbraith—I do know you’re a man of honor. It’s just that—”
“You’ve been beside yourself with anxiety,” Ned said. “I understand. She’s a sweet girl, your sister.” He dropped into a comfortable overstuffed armchair. “I’ll forgive you your stiff-necked, ill-conceived, downright insulting suspicions if you pour me a large—a very large—brandy. The last few days have been hell.”
“Believe me, I know it.” Cal unstoppered the decanter on the sideboard, poured two large cognacs and gave one to Ned. “So tell me—was it Nixon?”
“It was. Tricked her into going outside at a party and shoved her into his coach. Drugged her too.” He told Cal as much as he knew about Lily’s abduction and eventual escape, leaving out the more sordid details—they were for her to share if she wanted.
“She rescued herself, you know,” he finished. “Escaped, despite the drug, and hid in a filthy ditch until he’d gone. Bastard was trying to run her down in his carriage when I came along. Matter of luck that I was there to stop him.” Ned sipped his cognac and stared into the flames. “Brave girl, your sister. You should be proud of her.”
“I am.” Cal frowned into his glass a moment. “I’m stunned by what you’ve told me. It’s hard to believe that my little Lily was so . . . resourceful. I’ve always thought of her as a bit helpless.”
Ned thought of what Lily had told him, how she’d worked to keep the feeling in her feet alive so she could run, how she’d blocked the mouth of the bottle with her tongue to prevent being drugged further, how she’d caught the fabric of her cloak in the catch of the lock. And afterward, she’d never once fallen into hysterics or had a fit of the vapors—as she would have been quite entitled to do. Helpless? Cal might love his sister, but he didn’t know her very well. “Quite an ordeal that filthy swine put her through. She seems to have weathered it remarkably well, but as you and I know, sometimes these things can hit you later when the danger and the drama have passed.”
Cal nodded. “I know. I’ll warn Emm. She and the girls will take good care of Lily.”
They sipped the fine French cognac and listened to the fire crackle and hiss.
“You really slept across her door, like a faithful hound?” Cal said after a few minutes.
“Wipe that smile off your face or I might be tempted to give you that punch after all,” Ned said lazily. “It was for her protection. And”—he took another sip of cognac—“because Elphingstone was sniffing around.”
Cal sat up. “Elphingstone! That little—”
“It’s all right. He knew something was up—I’d told the innkeeper she was my sister, but of course Elphingstone knows I don’t have a sister. But he never saw Lily’s face and we never used her name.”
“I notice you don’t use her title.”
Ned gave him a hard look. “I dropped it for the sake of discretion.” He held out his glass for Cal to refill. “The only person who might cause us problems is Lady Ampleforth—she saw us when we stopped to change horses, and put two and two together.”
“Blast! That old harridan is my aunt’s greatest rival.”
“Rival?” Ned was momentarily distracted. “For what?”
Cal gave him a wry look. “Dominance of the ton.”
Ned snorted. “At any rate she was heading away from London—going home to Herefordshire, I assume—so I doubt she’ll cause any trouble.” He sipped his cognac. “You managed to stifle any gossip at this end, I presume.”
“We’ve put it about that Lily is in bed with the influenza.”
“Good move. So we’ve handled it, then, and her life can go on as before.” He finished his cognac and rose. “I’ll be off, then.”
Cal rose and held out his hand. “I can’t thank you enough, Galbraith.”
“Nonsense. Anyone would have done the same. Pleasure to be of service to Lady Lily.” They shook hands.
Cal opened the front door. “I suppose you’ll be heading back up to that house party now.”
Ned shook his head. “No, gone off the idea. Think I’ll stay in town for a bit, see what’s to do.” He paused on the front step. “I take it you’ll be hunting for that swine, Nixon.”
“I will.”
“I’d like to help.”
Cal shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but you’ve done enough. It’s for me, as head of Lily’s family, to seek justice for my sister. Good night.” He stepped inside and closed the door.
It was a clear dismissal—and fair enough, Ned told himself. He wasn’t family. He had no right to be involved in whatever justice—or revenge—Cal was planning. He’d done what he could—helped the girl and returned her to the bosom of her family—and that was that. End of story.
Ned walked to his lodgings. It wasn’t far and the night was fine. Lily was safe in her own bed and all was right with her world again. He was free to go back to his own life.
So why did he feel so unaccountably flat?
Chapter Ten
I know that’s a secret, for it’s whispered everywhere.
—WILLIAM CONGREVE, LOVE FOR LOVE
Lily stayed inside for the next few days, waiting impatiently for her bruise to fade. It was lovely to be home with her family again, but for some reason she felt restless and unsettled, and a bit bored.
It hadn’t helped that Edward—she had to address him as Mr. Galbraith now that they were back in society—hadn’t called. She hadn’t seen him since the night he’d brought her home. He’d sent her flowers—a small, exquisite bunch of primroses and violets—with a note saying he hoped she was recovering from her indisposition.
Indisposition? Emm’s view, when she read the note to Lily, was that he was being discreet, that he was maintaining the story they’d spread about Lily having the influenza.
Still, it was quite impersonal, coming from a man in whose arms she’d slept, dressed only in his shirt and wrapped in a soft fur rug, a man who’d kissed her on a cold and cloudy night.
Why hadn’t he visited?
She missed him.
Her family didn’t seem to think his absence in the least bit odd, even though Emm had specifically invited him to call the next day. They thought he had better things to do, and that such neglect was to be expected of a man of his reputation. He was almost never seen in polite company.
They were grateful to him, of course, but as Rose said, “Any gentleman would do the same if they came across a lady in distress.” Lily didn’t agree, but after several days she was forced to concede that his absence spoke for itself.
Her only outing
had been to show Betty and her brother, Jimmy, some of the sights of London. She’d talked Emm into letting her go out, heavily veiled, accompanied by one of the maids and a footman, plainly dressed.
Rose and George had wanted to go too, arguing that fashionable people wouldn’t be likely to be at the kind of places that Betty yearned to see, but Emm had pointed out that unveiled, they’d be recognized, and that three heavily veiled women would draw more attention than otherwise.
She’d also, with a shudder, firmly vetoed George’s suggestion that she and Rose could go dressed as men.
Those surreptitious excursions with Betty had been the highlight of Lily’s week, and Betty’s gleeful enjoyment of her visit had enlivened Lily’s dampened spirits. But Betty and her brother had been put on the mail coach back to Yorkshire, laden with parcels—Rose and George had taken Betty shopping for new clothes to replace the ones she’d lent Lily—food for the journey and souvenirs of their visit to the capital. Now Lily was feeling a little bit low.
Aunt Agatha insisted the others go out and about on their usual pursuits, where they were to casually mention—but only if asked about Lily’s health—that it wasn’t the influenza at all, but a severe cold, that Lily was recuperating nicely and should emerge from the sickroom quite soon.
Callers came and were thanked for their concern but told that “Lady Lily is still indisposed.” Well-wishers sent her notes and flowers, fruit and small gifts—quite a few of which were books. Burton read her the notes and took back a verbal message from the invalid.
With all this kind attention, it was completely unreasonable for her to feel lonely and a bit lost, Lily told herself. She’d survived a nasty experience and should be grateful to be safe and well in the bosom of her family. She was thankful, of course she was, but she was also fed up with waiting for the horrid bruise to disappear and allow her out. All she did was sit around, knit or sew and those occupations were horridly conducive to thinking.
