by Anne Gracie
All Lily seemed to be able to think about these days was Edward Galbraith and what he might be doing. And thinking. And it was pointless wondering. His actions—or lack of them—showed what he was thinking: not about Lily.
He hadn’t called once or sent anything apart from those flowers. She’d pressed some of them between the pages of a book. The best use she had for a book.
But there was no use brooding about him. To him she was just a parcel he’d had to deliver—Rose and George had told her about the note he’d sent Cal.
As for the kisses that haunted her dreams? He was a rake, after all. He probably had that effect on all the women he kissed.
She needed to forget about Edward Galbraith. She needed activity, entertainment, distraction.
So when Sylvia Gorrie came calling, Lily hurried to the looking glass, decided a dusting of rice powder would sufficiently conceal the fading bruise and asked Burton to show Sylvia up.
Cal and Emm had assured her that Sylvia had known nothing about her cousin’s plans, but Lily wanted to talk to Sylvia herself, in private, just to be sure.
“Mrs. Arthur Gorrie,” Burton announced, and Sylvia hurried in, talking nineteen to the dozen.
“Oh, you’re out of bed already! I’ve brought you some candied licorice root. It’s supposed to be marvelous for colds—I had the impression—but no matter, you seem to be almost recovered. No red nose, I see—it’s the worst part of a cold, I think, that scabby redness from all the disgusting blowing and sneezing. But you are looking pale.” Lily waved her to a seat, and Sylvia sat, saying, “I’m so very relieved to see you, dear Lily. I was so worried.”
“It was just a cold,” Lily began.
“I don’t mean that—though I’m glad you’re recovering; no, I meant—I suppose you heard about your brother bursting into my house in the wee small hours, demanding I produce Cousin Victor. He planted such horrid suspicions in my mind about you and my cousin—he actually believed you two had eloped—well, how ridiculous, when you had barely exchanged more than half a dozen words. But such things weigh on one’s mind, you know. And Victor had disappeared—and so had you.”
“Yes, I—”
“Oh, I know, you took ill and ended up in the wrong bed—Rose’s, was it not?—and confused everyone. I was never more relieved when I ran into Miss Wes—Lady Ashendon in the park the next day and she told me you were ill—not that I was pleased you were ill, of course, but I was so relieved to find that you hadn’t run off with my cousin.”
“As a matter of fact—”
“You must think it strange of me to feel such doubts about my cousin—”
“Actually—”
“But I don’t really know him that well. He only came to England recently and when we became reacquainted—well, there was I with my stick-in-the-mud husband, and here was this charming and personable new cousin. I cannot tell you how delightful it was to have a handsome young relative to squire me around the parties that Arthur—that’s Mr. Gorrie, my husband—refuses to attend.”
“Yes, but—”
“My husband is furious with me, because Victor owed him money, but it seems he’s disappeared off the face of the earth, and I can’t say I’m sorry. Some embarrassing things have come to light since he left, and—oh, I forgot, I brought you some ice cream from Gunters—nothing is as soothing for a sore throat as a delicious creamy ice, don’t you think?—although your voice doesn’t sound too bad. When I had the influenza my throat was so hideously painful, I sounded like a rusty saw!” She laughed. “Your butler should be bringing it up shortly—well, what perfect timing. Here he is now,” she finished as Burton entered with a tray containing two bowls of creamy ices. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you. I do adore ice cream but my husband thinks it a frivolous indulgence.”
Lily, who had been about to confront Sylvia and inform her that her cousin was every bit as big a villain as Cal had suspected—and more—subsided.
She examined Sylvia’s face as she handed Lily a bowl of ice cream and dug happily in herself. There was no shadow of guilt or even self-consciousness in her eyes. Surely if she’d known or suspected anything about the abduction, it would show.
In any case, why would Sylvia conspire with her cousin to commit such a dreadful act? There was no benefit to her in it that Lily could see.
Lily didn’t particularly like Sylvia, but she’d never been unkind to her. Quite the contrary.
No, she decided as she ate her ice cream. Sylvia had been deceived by her cousin, just as Lily had.
* * *
• • •
Several days later, Aunt Agatha stripped off her gloves and directed an accusing look at Lily, who had been summoned with the rest of the family—the female members. Cal was out. “The rumors are proliferating! They should be abating by now—you sent out those thank-you notes, did you, gel?”
“Yes, of course.” Lily hadn’t written them herself, of course; Rose had written them for her—a note for everyone who’d sent something to Lily; George had addressed them and Lily had sealed them.
“And we’ve told quite a few people that it was only a severe cold, not the influenza as first feared,” Rose said.
“I included Lily in my acceptance for us all at the Peplowe Ball next week,” Emm said. “The bruising will have faded completely by then, and everyone will see that she hasn’t eloped and is her usual sweet self.”
“Show me.” Aunt Agatha raised her lorgnette with an imperious gesture, and Lily presented the offending cheek for her scrutiny. The old lady gave a grudging nod, then glared around the room, a tigress deprived of prey. “Then why are the rumors getting worse?”
Emm frowned. “Why, what are people saying?”
“A muddle of two stories—one that Lily ran off with a Mr. Nixon on the night of the Mainwaring rout—to Gretna or Paris, the versions differ. The other—and far more serious in my view—is that she eloped with Galbraith, who seduced her, then dumped her.”
“But he didn’t!” Lily exclaimed indignantly.
“Be quiet, gel! You are ruined! Whether he seduced you or not is immaterial.”
“How can the truth be immaterial?” Lily began.
The old lady snorted. “And there you show your youth and ignorance, gel. It’s what society believes that counts.”
“That stinks,” George said.
Aunt Agatha gave her a pained look. “Must you use such a vulgar expression, Georgiana? And refrain from commenting on what you don’t understand. A gel raised in a barnyard can have no idea of how polite society operates.”
George bristled, and Emm intervened before an argument could start, saying, “Why do you say the second rumor is more serious, Aunt Agatha? I would have thought both stories were equally damaging to Lily’s reputation.”
“It is the source of the rumor that matters, Emmaline. The elopement story is being circulated by an inferior class of people—people on the fringe of the ton—aspirants, mushrooms, hangers-on.” She made a distasteful gesture, as if dusting cobwebs off her fingers. “The Galbraith seduction-and-abandonment story is, however, on the lips of la crème de la crème—my own circle, in other words—the highest in the land.” She eyed them accusingly. “And that is far more damaging.”
“Who is spreading it?” Rose demanded.
“I have not yet tracked the rumor to its source. Nobody is willing to repeat it to my face.”
“But it’s not fair!” Lily was almost in tears. “Mr. Galbraith rescued me. He was a true gentleman in every way.”
Aunt Agatha raised her lorgnette. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Well, his reputation will be ruined too. And it’s not fair.”
“Pfft! Don’t be so naïve!” Aunt Agatha said. “His reputation may be a little tarnished, but it will do him no harm in the long run. A rakish reputation is expected of a yo
ung man, and one who is handsome and also rich—well, society will forgive a few peccadilloes soon enough.”
“Peccadilloes?” George began. “That’s outrageous. If he did seduce Lily and dump—”
“But he didn’t!” Lily almost shouted.
Aunt Agatha sighed. “You really are simple, aren’t you, gel? Have you understood nothing I’ve said so far?”
“I understand,” Lily began. “But why can’t we track down the source of the rumor and tell them to stop telling lies?”
Aunt Agatha rolled her eyes. “As well try to hold back the Thames with your hands. No, you foolish child, there is only one way out of this; we must announce your betrothal.”
Lily’s jaw dropped. “Betrothal? Who to?”
“To whom, child—have you no grammar? To Galbraith, of course, who else?”
There was a short, shocked silence, then a cacophony of objections. “That’s ridiculous. Lily barely knows the man,” Emm said.
“Lily is innocent! Why should she be punished by being forced into a loveless marriage—” Rose began.
“Nor should her rescuer,” George added.
“—simply because an evil man abducted her?” Rose finished.
“A man forced into an unwanted marriage is bound to resent his wife, whether she does the forcing or not,” George said. Her parents had been forced into marriage. It had been disastrous for all concerned.
Aunt Agatha gave what in a less dignified person might have been called a shrug. “Life isn’t fair. But it’s nonsense to suggest anyone is being punished. Galbraith is a good match. He’ll inherit his grandfather’s title in a few years, and the estate is extensive.”
“She doesn’t need to marry for money or a title,” George argued. “She already has a title, and when she turns one-and-twenty, she’ll inherit a fortune—we all will.”
“Which makes her an excellent match for Galbraith,” the old lady said.
“But Lily has always—always!—wanted to marry for love!” Rose declared.
Aunt Agatha snorted. “Love? Pah! Love and marriage have nothing to do with each other.”
“It does in this family,” Emm said.
Aunt Agatha stabbed her lorgnette in Emm’s direction. “You made a marriage of convenience to my nephew—don’t try to deny it, Emmaline. And you must admit it has worked out very well.”
“It has,” Emm agreed, “because Cal and I fell in love. And I want the girls—all of them—to have that opportunity. I took a chance when I agreed to marry Cal. I never expected to love or be loved—only by any children I might be blessed with.” She placed a hand on her swelling belly. “I was long past my first youth, alone in the world—or thought I was—poor, and unlikely to be courted ever again. I expected to remain a spinster for the rest of my life—until Cal made his proposition.”
“And it turned out very well,” Aunt Agatha said irritably.
“Yes, but it could have been otherwise. We were lucky.” Emm caught Lily’s hand and squeezed it fondly. “Lily is young—just eighteen—with her whole life ahead of her. She has a loving family, financial security, and a growing circle of admirers—just look at all the flowers she’s been sent. I won’t allow her to be forced into marriage just to satisfy the sensibilities of a bunch of old gossips spreading false rumors.”
“Well said, Emm,” Rose declared. George clapped.
Aunt Agatha, unimpressed, curled her lip. “Those admirers will soon fade away once it’s known she’s soiled goods.”
“But I’m not!” Lily said indignantly.
Aunt Agatha sniffed. “In the eyes of the world, you are. Gossip is like acid; it eats away at the truth. Face it, child, if Galbraith doesn’t marry you, you are ruined.”
“If you say she is ruined one more time, I—I shall scream!” Emm declared.
Aunt Agatha directed a baleful glance at her. “Vulgar displays of emotion will not help the situation, Emmaline.”
Emm glared at her. “I’m not so sure about that.”
For a long moment, nobody said a word. Then George spoke up. “You haven’t said much, Lily. It’s all very well for everyone to be telling you what to do, but what do you want?”
Lily’s thoughts were in such turmoil she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Marry Edward Galbraith? Whether he wanted to or not? She looked at George and shook her head.
“Lily’s wants have nothing to do with it,” Aunt Agatha snapped. “The Rutherford name has been besmirched, and marriage to Galbraith is the only solution. She won’t be the first bride who’s found a husband thus—it is the way of the world.”
“And what if Mr. Galbraith doesn’t want to marry me?” Lily said.
Aunt Agatha snorted. “If we left it up to what men wanted, there would be precious few legitimate children born into the world.” Rose gave a choked cough. Aunt Agatha gave her a withering look and added severely, “We know what they want, but it rarely includes marriage. Mr. Galbraith will get what Mr. Galbraith deserves—a virtuous, well-bred wife of good family who, God willing, will give him the heir his family requires.”
It made Lily sound like a particularly large and indigestible pill.
“Whatever Mr. Galbraith deserves, this is about Lily, and I won’t allow her to be forced into a marriage she does not want.” Emm gave Lily a comforting smile. “She has just escaped that fate.”
Aunt Agatha stamped her ebony cane. “Bah! It’s not your decision to be made, Emmaline! Your husband is the head of this family—or has the whole world been turned upside-down and women wear the breeches? Don’t say a word, Georgiana! Ashendon will understand there is no choice. He will speak to Galbraith—he might be a rake, but he is also a gentleman—and they will make the only honorable choice. You’d best start preparing for a wedding.”
“We’ll see about that,” Emm murmured.
* * *
• • •
“Prepare for a wedding indeed—what nonsense!” Rose said later that evening as the girls were dressing to go out. “How dare she try to force you into a marriage with a man like that.”
“A man like what?” Lily asked quietly.
Rose gave her a surprised look. “Galbraith—he’s just like those men you say you cannot bear, the ones Aunt Agatha keeps producing for us: cold, clever, sophisticated and bored to death with everything. Horrid!”
“Mr. Galbraith isn’t like that really,” Lily said. “He’s much nicer than any of them.”
“Nice?” Rose was incredulous.
“Yes, he’s kind and nice and—”
“Are we talking about the same man? Galbraith—tall, dark, and with the coldest eyes you’ve ever seen. Like frost on green glass.”
“He’s not cold, he’s just . . .” Lily groped for the right word.
“I hope you’re not going to tell me he’s shy,” Rose said, and she and George laughed.
“No, he’s not shy,” Lily said with dignity. “He’s reserved. I know he seems cold, but underneath, he’s . . . different.”
“How so?”
“I can’t explain, but he’s more than he appears to be.”
Rose gave a snort worthy of her aunt. “Everyone is more than they appear to be.”
George cocked her head curiously. “Are you saying you might be willing to marry this man after all?”
Lily shrugged. “I’m not sure. In any case, he hasn’t asked.” Yet. She was all a-flutter about the possibility. She wanted him to ask her, of course she did, but not if she was to be forced on him, like a bitter pill.
Though pills could be sweetened . . .
“But he’s shown not the slightest bit of interest in you. If he did propose, it would only be out of duty.”
Lily bit her lip. “Cal and Emm weren’t in love when they got married.”
Rose eyed her narrowly. “You’re not in love w
ith Galbraith, are you, Lily?”
“No, of course not,” she lied. She wasn’t sure if she was in love or not. She was, to put it simply, in turmoil.
Rose gave her a long, thoughtful look. “I hope it’ll never happen, Lily darling, but if you gave your heart to that piece of granite, I fear he’d break it.”
* * *
• • •
Ned Galbraith had heard the rumors himself. At first there were just the odd few sly, suggestive hints, then one or two of his friends taxed him openly with it. He denied all knowledge of it and went in search of Elphingstone.
As luck would have it, he encountered the fellow as he was leaving his lodgings. Ned pushed him back indoors. “What the devil do you mean by spreading rumors about me and Lady Lily Rutherford?”
Elphingstone’s eyes almost popped. “So it was Lady Lily at the inn, after all? Fellows at the club said you’d run off with her but changed your mind after sampling the goods—awkk!”
Ned grabbed him by his exquisitely arranged neckcloth and shook him like a rat. “Speak of her with respect—or not at all—if you want to live to see another day.” He dropped Elphingstone back on his feet.
Elphingstone, his composure as ruffled as a cat dipped in water, smoothed out his rumpled clothing and fiddled with his crushed cravat, muttering, “It’s ruined, quite ruined.” Seeing Ned’s expression he said pettishly, “No need for violence—it wasn’t I who linked your name with Lady Lily’s. I never saw the face of the lady you were with at that wretched inn, so how could I? I’m just repeating the on-dit around town. The tale was already out there, entries made in the betting book at White’s before I even arrived in London—which was yesterday. That demmed village wheelwright took a week! A week to mend a simple wheel! A week at that dreadful inn!” He shuddered.
Ned still itched to strangle the man, but his story added up. If Elphingstone had only just arrived in town the day before, the rumors couldn’t have spread as far as they had. Bets in the betting book at White’s—damn, that was serious. “Very well. But if I hear you’ve been adding to any of the gossip . . .”
