by Anne Gracie
Lily smiled. “I can’t wait.”
* * *
• • •
Lily’s life in London soon settled into a familiar routine—riding in the morning with either Edward or her family, morning calls in the afternoon, walks in the park and parties, routs, concerts and balls at night—the season was in full swing.
The only difference was that now she was a married woman and it was her husband who usually escorted her, not her brother or sister-in-law. And that they were living in a hotel, which she could not get used to. It was very comfortable and luxurious, and anything she wanted was instantly provided, but it didn’t feel homey. The only thing she liked about the hotel was that the only suite that had been available to them was a one-bedroom suite, with one big, very comfortable bed.
Because of it, she and Edward slept together every night. He made love to her, then curled his big hard body around her and went to sleep. It was bliss, sleeping in his arms. And often he’d wake in the morning and make love to her again.
Most days she dropped in at Galbraith House to see the progress of the work. She and Rose had a lovely time visiting furniture showrooms, getting samples of wallpaper, examining rugs and so on. It was all most exciting. Sometimes George went with them, and sometimes Emm.
She talked to Edward about it, but it was clear he wasn’t really interested, that he listened only to please her. Which was nice, but not very encouraging. The house was coming together, and she wanted to share her progress with him.
Edward was increasingly preoccupied. He was away most days and even spent some nights at his club. Because of having to conduct his business, he said. Lily was coming to hate his business, whatever it was.
Do not expect your husband to live in your pocket, as your brother, Ashendon, does with Emmaline. It is unfashionable and quite unseemly. It seemed Aunt Agatha was right.
Still, when he did come in at night, he made love to her so beautifully, there was really nothing for her to feel upset about, she told herself. It was a fact of life: Men’s business was outside the home and women’s arena was the domestic, and the sooner she got used to it the better.
* * *
• • •
In the park one day, walking with Rose and George in Hyde Park, Lily heard someone calling her. “Lily! I say, Lady Lily!”
She turned and saw Sylvia Gorrie hurrying toward her, waving. Her heart sank. She didn’t really want to talk to Sylvia.
“Oh, lord, it’s that dratted Sylvia Gorrie,” Rose muttered. “Can’t stand the woman. Her tongue runs on wheels, and none of it interesting. Want me to get rid of her, Lily?” Rose always could at school. But Lily always felt sorry for Sylvia. She tried so hard, yet never seemed to have any friends.
“No, I’ll talk to her.” She couldn’t spend the rest of her life avoiding Sylvia, just because Sylvia’s cousin had abducted her. People weren’t responsible for the actions of their relatives.
Rose shook her head. “Too soft for your own good. Very well, when you’re finished, George and I will be over there with the Peplowes.”
Sylvia came rushing up. “Lady Lily—oh, I must call you Mrs. Galbraith now, must I not? A bit of a comedown, isn’t it, losing your title?”
“No, not at—”
“Well, we’re both ‘Mrs.’ now.” Sylvia linked her arm through Lily’s and began to walk. “Congratulations on your wedding, by the way. I was there, in the church, watching. Very pretty dress.”
“Were you there? I’m sorry, I didn’t notice.”
Sylvia pursed her lips. “Oh, I’m easily overlooked. You weren’t sick at all, were you? Those silly rumors about you running off with my cousin were obviously a ruse—so it was Galbraith all the time?”
“No, it wasn’t—”
“I don’t envy you, you know. He’s handsome enough, but I wouldn’t want a rake for a husband.”
“He’s not a r—”
Sylvia, oblivious as always, rattled on. “No, my husband isn’t much, but at least I don’t have to share him with a mistress. You’re holding up quite well, though, I must say.”
A mistress? “What do you mean?”
Sylvia gasped, then turned a distressed face to Lily. “You mean you didn’t know? I’m sorry, just forget I said anything. It was a mistake, a misunderstanding. Take no notice—”
“But what did you—?”
“Look, isn’t that the former Sally Destry over there, the countess of something now, I forget what. Such a spotty, insignificant little thing she was at school.”
Lily wasn’t to be distracted. “Are you saying my husband has a mistress?”
Sylvia waved to Sally, who didn’t notice. “Quite the fashionable lady is La Destry now. Too grand for her old friends.”
“Sylvia!”
Sylvia dropped her arm. “Look, I’m sorry I mentioned it. I assumed you knew. Put it out of your mind. There’s nothing you can do about it anyway—men will be men, the horrid beasts.”
“But why do you think so?”
Sylvia made an airy gesture. “How does one learn anything? On-dits. But rumor is often wrong, as you and I have good cause to know, and I’m sure this one must be too. After all, you’re so recently married. He can’t be bored with you yet, can he?” She linked her arm through Lily’s again. “Now, let’s just walk and chat and forget about it. I wish I’d never said anything, but you know me, my silly tongue runs away with me at times. My husband is always complaining of it.”
They walked on. Lily thought about what Sylvia had suggested. It wasn’t true. She didn’t believe it. Edward wasn’t bored with her. He came to her bed almost every night.
Almost. But that didn’t mean anything—certainly not that he had a mistress. No, Sylvia had it wrong—again.
Lily had had enough of rumors and counter-rumors. She would clear one thing up at least. She glanced around to see who was nearby, and saw they were well out of earshot of the other fashionable strollers. She stopped, withdrew her arm and turned to face Sylvia.
“You’re wrong about that, and about other things, as well. Your cousin did abduct me.” Lily hated that the whole thing had been hushed up. She wanted—no, needed—to tell Sylvia the truth.
Sylvia blinked. “I beg your pardon—what did you just say?”
“On the night of the Mainwaring rout your cousin abducted me.” Lily waited a moment for it to sink in. “He tricked me—that note wasn’t from Rose at all—he drugged me, and he tied me up and imprisoned me under a seat in his coach.” Sylvia stared, her expression horrified, her mouth opening and shutting silently.
“Your cousin’s plan was to take me to Gretna Green and force a marriage on me—I presume for the sake of my inheritance. He must have learned about that from you.”
Something flickered in Sylvia’s eyes and Lily froze. She said slowly, “You knew he did, didn’t you? You helped him.”
Sylvia shook her head frantically. “I didn’t know, I promise you.” She gave a guilty grimace. “I might have told him about your inheritance—I don’t remember. But he could have learned it from anyone. After all, it was no secret when we were at school. But I did not help him. I had no idea what he was planning. He tricked me, just as he tricked you.”
Lily wasn’t convinced. “He knew about my reading difficulties.”
Sylvia hung her head. “Yes, that was me—but how was I to know what he would do with a tiny piece of information I innocently let drop? I told him all sorts of things about all sorts of people—he was interested in all my friends, and kept asking me questions, and . . . and I was flattered. Yes, what of it? He’s a handsome man and I’m a married woman, but not many people like to listen to my chatter. My husband certainly doesn’t. He calls me a silly gabble-tongue. But I’m sure Victor meant no harm.”
“He drugged me, Sylvia. He tied me up and gagged me—I almost suffocated—and he shoved
me in a compartment under his carriage seat and kept me there for hours and hours. I thought I was going to die.”
There was a long silence. Sylvia’s eyes narrowed as she considered what Lily had told her. Then she tossed her head. “I don’t believe you. Victor is a gentleman; he would never treat a lady so.”
“But he did!”
“No. I might believe that he kidnapped you—he must have been utterly desperate, poor boy—but he wouldn’t do anything so, so brutal.” She made a distasteful gesture. “Or so sordid.”
“Well, he did. I’ll spare you some of the truly sordid aspects, but I’ll tell you this—he hit me across the face. Hard.”
Sylvia snorted. “Rubbish!”
“He did. Hard enough that the bruise was visible for days. My family kept me indoors for nearly a week after I got home, because of that bruise.”
Sylvia stamped her foot. “I don’t believe you! Why would you say such vile things—oh, of course.” Her mouth twisted spitefully. “You’re angry because I told you about your husband’s mistress.”
Lily struggled to control her temper. “I don’t believe my husband has a mistress. I think you’re mistaken, or else you made it up—I don’t care which. But your cousin did drug me, he did abduct me and lock me away in a horrid box and when I tried to escape, he did hit me. Hard.”
“You’re a horrid liar, Lily Rutherford, and I refuse to listen to any more of your lies.” Sylvia stormed off.
Lily was shaking a little when she rejoined the others. She hated arguments but she was glad she’d confronted Sylvia at last. She felt lighter for having spoken the truth and, strangely, for having unleashed a little bit of temper.
She still wasn’t convinced that Sylvia was as wholly innocent as she claimed, but she had been genuinely shocked—and upset—by Lily’s reports of Nixon’s brutality.
That was something. Sylvia’s cousin was an evil brute and she needed to know it.
She thought about what Sylvia had told her about Edward. A mistress? She didn’t believe it, but why would Sylvia say such a thing if she hadn’t heard a rumor? And where would such a rumor come from?
“Everything all right?” Rose asked.
“Fine.”
“You look a bit upset.”
Lily made a dismissive gesture. “Oh, it’s just Sylvia. She can be quite annoying at times.”
Rose laughed. “And you’re only just noticing?”
Lily smiled. Rose was right, Sylvia was not worth listening to. As for her stupid suggestion about Edward and a mistress, Lily would not even give it the dignity of consideration.
* * *
• • •
Lily attended a ball with Edward that night. She heard no sly innuendos, noticed no significant glances, heard no whispered on-dits concerning her husband or herself. She hated herself for even thinking about such things, and silently cursed Sylvia for planting the seeds of poison in her mind.
Recalling Emm’s advice—take your happiness where you find it—she put the horrid idea from her mind and set herself to enjoying the ball.
“You’re in a good mood tonight,” Edward said as he twirled her around the floor. He only ever danced the waltz with her. He rarely danced with anyone else—Rose and George and Emm if they were present, even Aunt Agatha, once—but he made it clear he was not looking for partners, that Lily was all he wanted.
He was a beautiful dancer too, and Lily knew she was the envy of many.
“I’m happy, that’s all,” she said.
“I’m enormously relieved.”
“Relieved?” It was an odd thing to say. She tilted her head and gave him a quizzical look.
He gave a hunted glance around the crowded room. “As long as you’re happy, I’m safe from being gutted with a rusty blade.” His eyes glinted with roguish humor.
“What?”
“It’s true. Your demure little niece threatened me with that, the day we became betrothed.”
“George did?” She spluttered with laughter. “She can be a bit outrageous, but I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”
“I’m not so sure. Your sister threatened me too.” He added darkly, “The innocent-looking ones are the worst.”
They finished the dance laughing. It was the supper dance, and Lily began to make her way to the supper room. He detained her with a hand on her arm and a slow-burning smile. “Do you want to stay? Or shall we go home?”
His magnetic, half-hooded glance, light touch and lazy smile were an invitation she couldn’t resist. “Home, please.”
* * *
• • •
Sylvia called on Lily at the hotel the very next day and was directed upstairs by a helpful, if misguided, staff member. Having no choice but to accept her visitor, Lily showed her to the sitting room that was part of their hotel suite. The sooner Lily was in her own home, the happier she’d be. With a butler who’d tell unwanted visitors she was not at home.
Sylvia’s eyes were on stalks as she entered the lush apartment. “I must say, you’ve done very well for yourself, Lily. This place is positively—”
“What do you want, Sylvia?”
“Oh, sorry.” She settled herself in a chair and folded her hands in her lap. “I’ve been thinking over what you told me yesterday and though I find it impossible to believe my cousin could do such a thing, treat you with such cruel incivility—”
“Sylvia, I don’t want to talk about it any—”
She held up a hand. “No, let me finish—please. It is impossible for me to believe, but I know you wouldn’t lie to me, Lily, not about such an important thing, and so I must believe it. I’m so very sorry I doubted you, and if I was rude—”
“You were.”
“Well, that’s why I’m here. To apologize.” She eyed Lily anxiously. “I really am truly sorry, Lily.” From the bag she was carrying she produced a large, flat box, wrapped in paper emblazoned with the name of a well-known shop. She offered it to Lily, and when Lily didn’t take it, Sylvia put it on a side table.
Lily recognized the wrapping. Sweetmeats, the finest you could buy. She sighed. She really didn’t want to make things up with Sylvia. She felt sorry for her, but she’d never much liked her. And there was a limit to how much she’d put up with.
But she hated to be cruel.
The silence stretched, and Sylvia’s lower lip began to quiver. She stretched out a hand in appeal. “Please say you forgive me, Lily. You’re my only friend—my only true friend—in London, and I could cut out my tongue for the things I said to you yesterday.” She produced a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. She scrunched it up. Tears glistened on her lashes.
Where was Rose when you needed her? She wouldn’t care about a few tears. But Lily wasn’t her sister, and she couldn’t stay angry for very long. She said with obvious reluctance, “Very well, I forgive you, Sylvia.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you, dear Lily.” Sylvia jumped up and embraced her. “So are we friends again?”
Lily nodded.
“Then you must let me take you out to tea.”
“No, I don’t think that’s nec—”
“Oh, but I insist. To show you there are no hard feelings.”
She really was the limit. Lily was the one entitled to the hard feelings. But if she did this—it was just a tea, after all—it would be worth it to get Sylvia off her back. “Very well. When?”
“Tomorrow afternoon? Now, where—oh, I know!—there’s a new tea shop just opened and it has the most divine cakes. Now, we’ll need to go in a carriage, and”—she gave Lily an apologetic look—“I’m afraid my husband won’t let me have the carriage, so perhaps you could pick me up in yours, and I’ll direct your driver. Will that be all right?”
“Yes, fine,” Lily said wearily. Already she was regretting it.
Sylvia stood. “Lovely. Then I’ll see
you at two. Don’t be late now.”
* * *
• • •
The tea shop was very pretty, situated in a street of elegant shops, opposite a large hotel called the Excelsior. It was a convenient location for people who’d been shopping to stop for tea and cakes and other refreshments. With gleaming tiled floors in a checkerboard pattern, a large, elegant bay window facing into the street and charming wrought-iron tables and chairs, it looked very appealing. If their cakes lived up to the rest of the place, she was sure the new business would succeed.
They ordered tea and cakes, which came quickly and were delicious. They drank, ate cakes and chatted. Lily was in the middle of telling Sylvia a story about the refurbishment of Galbraith House—every day a fresh discovery—when she realized that Sylvia wasn’t listening. She was staring over Lily’s shoulder at something out in the street.
“I don’t believe it,” Sylvia muttered as if to herself.
Lily, her back to the window, turned curiously.
“No, no, don’t look!” Sylvia exclaimed, putting out her hand to stop Lily. “It’s nothing, really nothing. Sorry, Lily, I was distracted for a minute. Tell me, what did the workmen do to the screen again?” She leaned forward with a look of interest so patently false, Lily couldn’t stop herself. She turned and looked out the window.
There was nothing of note, just a few people walking along the street. “What is it?”
“Nothing, no one. Turn away, Lily. I don’t want you to be cross with me again. Here, have a cake.”
But Lily’s curiosity was well and truly hooked. She turned and examined the people in the street again. Most were hurrying along purposefully, in twos or threes. The only single person was a plump, very pretty young woman in a crimson coat, lingering on the other side of the road. She seemed to be waiting for someone.
“I didn’t know she’d be there, I promise you, Lily.” Sylvia moaned.
“Who is she?”
“Your husband’s—the one they say is your husband’s—oh, no!” She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to.
