“There were clues it lay hidden in the attic,” he confided. “But there were many specters and creatures to fight to claim my treasure.”
“I’m sure Young Mr. Pennington was an accomplished swordsman.”
He wanted to tell her to call him William, but thought that might be pushing things a little too quickly. Instead he nodded gravely. “The best in all of England.”
Lillian finished her chocolate around a smile and set her empty cup on the tabletop. He truly loved her smile, it transformed her entire face. She shone with enthusiasm and interest, and William wondered if anyone had ever listened to him the way she did.
“Hmm, most certainly,” she agreed. “And did you find the treasure?”
William nodded and grinned widely. “I uncovered the treasure inside the box with a fortune teller’s note.”
Lillian raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt.
“The note said I’ll meet a hazel-eyed beauty one day.”
Lillian blushed but looked down. Before he could say anything, to make his intentions clear, to let her know he meant it, Mrs. Spriggs returned.
As grateful as William was for her departure, she might’ve timed her return a tad better. But he merely nodded to the woman and gestured to the serving girl for another pot of chocolate.
Chapter Five
William sat beside Miss Norwood in the back room of the assembly hall.
Ledgers and bills spread around them as they diligently worked through each invoice. He had to admit, he never had such fun working on such drudgery before. William knew Lillian had no idea how he enjoyed being in her presence.
She worked with the efficiency of a man, though she was a beautiful and intelligent woman. Lillian held a gentleness about her — she didn’t bark orders, but she commanded. He respected that about her. Admired it.
And he wondered when the majority of his thoughts during the day became solely about her. Then again, thinking about Lillian was a far more pleasant way to spend his day. Much more than normal.
In the last weeks, he spent much of his time admiring her one way or another. He also spent much of the last weeks refraining from leaning over and tasting her lips.
Refraining sounded as if he had a choice. The more time he spent around Lillian, the more he consciously stopped himself from acting irrationally. From touching her or standing too close.
No, he didn’t refrain from kissing her. He actively talked himself out of it every other minute of the day.
When Mrs. Primsby introduced them, William knew what the matchmaker was about. Everyone in the county knew what the matchmaker was about. And while he had not hired her, nor ever approached her to match him with a lady, William most definitely benefitted.
He wondered if Mrs. Primsby match-made for sport, to see what her little introductions yielded. She did seem to have made another successful match here, he thought, and he looked again at Lillian.
William found it increasingly difficult to look away.
He cared more for Lillian than simply for her efficiency and gentleness. The high necklines and dark colors she wore did not detract from her beauty, the paleness of her skin, or the green of her hazel eyes. Lillian held herself with confidence and grace, a grace that made all other women in the villages pale beside her.
Yes, he was fortunate Mrs. Primsby introduced them, fortunate to have found a woman such as Lillian. He’d all but given up hope for finding a true match for himself and was on the verge of settling for one of the young girls constantly throwing themselves in his path.
Those other women never mattered, mattered even less so now that he met Lillian. Oh, William knew he was lost whenever he thought of her. However, admitting it to Lillian was another quandary entirely.
William shook his head. Not that the move dislodged his thoughts about Lillian. He didn’t think anything could. But he did need to focus on the accounts.
They had to hand over their accounting to Mrs. Martins, the nattering woman who insisted on overseeing everything, even though William paid for the majority of the work himself.
Lillian shifted in her seat, and his attention shifted right back to her. Her dark head bent over one of the ledgers as she dutifully worked the numbers. One hand curled lightly over the page while the other held the quill and scratched each number quickly and competently.
His left thumb brushed over the back of his right hand, across the scar slashing just below his knuckles.
A lock of brown hair loosened from her bun. William wanted to brush the lock behind her ear. Sitting up even straighter, he fisted his hands on the table and looked down at his own pile of papers.
Miss Norwood — he needed to stop thinking of her as Lillian if he wanted to stop thinking about kissing her — remained a mystery. Town gossip was quite informative; however, there were questions he had that even Mrs. Miller had not thus far answered.
Why had she never married? He heard the rumor about the Earl of Granville, but now with that gentleman stamping out his own gossip, William knew he’d never hear what happened between the lord and Miss Norwood.
He thought to ask, but hadn’t wanted the entirety of the five villages to know of his interest. And there was, frankly, no polite way to inquire with Lillian.
It was a lovely name, soft and feminine, and yet hid the woman’s strength.
“Um, Mr. Pennington,” Spriggs said, shattering the quietness of the room.
William turned sharply, ready with a rebuke that died on his tongue. What could he say to the porter that didn’t sound like Spriggs interrupted an assignation? He blanched and sat straighter, his thumb rubbing harder across his scar.
“I’ll be, um, I’ll be heading off,” Spriggs said with a quick look between him and Lillian. “Wife’s, ah, wife’s expecting me. She’s made lamb stew. And, um, and has told me to tell Miss Norwood, she’ll send the pot over for midday meal tomorrow.”
Lillian smiled widely, a pleased look that brightened her entire continence and made her hazel eyes dance with happiness. “Please extend my thanks, Mr. Spriggs, and I quite look forward to the stew.”
Spriggs bowed and, before William did more than mumble a farewell, disappeared.
“Are you quite sure we require seven footmen for the evening?” she asked, all thoughts of lamb stew and the Spriggses apparently forgotten.
William enjoyed her full attention and wondered when he’d become that man who required a woman’s full attention.
“It seems a bit excessive,” Lillian added, tapping a finger on her ledger.
“Soldiers are a messy lot,” he said, falling back on efficiency. He shoved aside all thoughts on Miss Norwood’s smile or how well she fit in with Pennington Hall. Hell, how well she fit at his side. “I’m concerned seven might not be sufficient.”
She smiled and shook her head. Not in rebuke but in enjoyment. William tried not to stare, though he found it nearly impossible to pull his gaze from hers.
“Seven is more than sufficient,” she insisted. “In my experience, five are capable of accommodating the largest balls.”
“Have you organized many such balls?” he inquired, seizing the opening with both hands. “We’ve labored on this project for a week now, yet I don’t know much of your tale.”
He mentally winced at his words, but stood by them. He was curious and he did wish to know about her. He had hoped to ask in a gentler opening, but alas, the words were now spoken. No taking them back.
“Has not Mrs. Miller and Mrs. Martins bent your ear with every detail of my life?” she asked.
Her head tilted to the side, and her hazel eyes danced with humor. But he saw beyond her outward facade. Saw the way she closed off. Just a little, a slight movement. Her shoulders hunched just enough, her chin tilted in defiance, and her fingers stilled on the ledger.
“No.” He shook his head. “I have not asked them.”
“Oh.” Her head ducked in consternation, but she looked up almost immediately. Her shoulders once more squared,
but her chin still tilted the slightest. “I shall share my pitiful tale if you share yours.” Her lips curled ever so slightly. “It is only fair, yes?”
He found himself leaning forward as if drawn to her, and before he realized what he meant to say, William smiled. “Agreed.”
Through the open door, he felt the fire, still going strong. This room, off to one side, still blazed brightly with a dozen candles and leant an air of intimacy. Pushing the papers to one side, William glanced around the small, unadorned room and gathered his thoughts.
“My great-grandfather had a shrewd mind and a sharp eye. He was a farmer of note,” William said. He neatly skipped over the various ups and downs his father and grandfather intoned about his family.
“He used his profits to purchase as much land as he could,” William continued. “My grandfather built on that until there was even more land, along with investments and income. I’m my father’s only child and was afforded privilege, but that privilege came with responsibility. I took that to mean I needed to serve my country.”
Lillian leaned forward, her head tilted. “Is that why you joined the Horse Guards?”
William nodded and angled his chair closer. What was that about an air of intimacy? It settled over them like a soft blanket and wrapped them together.
“I purchased my commission from Lord Severn’s son and chose to fight Napoleon.”
He shrugged, but his shoulders felt stiff. “It was far more difficult than I anticipated. I thought,” he admitted, his voice lowering, “it’d be a grand adventure. A heroic quest. I’d be the one to push back the French demon.”
He looked down at the table, his eyes tracing the deep grooves. He didn’t see the worn wood, however; he saw battlefields filled with blood. He heard his men screaming as they were tended by whomever was available.
“It was not?” she asked quietly. Her hand covered his, soft and sympathetic.
“No.” William cleared his throat. “I never expected to see death so violent, so close.” He cleared his throat again. “But I learned there, I possessed a very strong will.”
She removed her hand from his, and William immediately missed her warmth. “Is that how you acquired your scar?” Her voice was still quiet and soft, still holding that air of intimacy.
However, she no longer touched him and didn’t comfort him with her hand or trace his scar. She simply sat and waited, inviting him to share his story.
“Yes.” He stopped and swallowed. “I was in a building damaged by canon fire. I came upon a French soldier. We struggled, tried very desperately to kill each other.”
William swallowed, feeling the other man’s hands on him. The franticness of fighting for his life. Of struggling against another man to be the one left standing.
“The stairs were damaged and we fell. I barely held onto the landing. I thought he’d pull me down, that we’d both fall to our deaths. But I refused to let go.” He shook his head, banishing the images, and met Lillian’s gaze. “I survived with only this scar to remind me what happened.”
He breathed deeply of the closed-in room, the heated air, the hint of winter’s chill. Lillian looked at her own hands, refusing to meet his gaze.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I did not mean to share such an inappropriate story with you.”
“No.” She shook her head and finally met his gaze. “No. I’ve only now noticed your scar in a different light.”
William frowned, but she offered no more. “How so?”
“It’s noble,” Lillian said, the words a whisper across the sparse distance separating them.
William smiled in faint understanding. Lillian knew on a deep, instinctive level what it took to survive. Then he sat straighter and shifted the focus onto her. He had no wish to talk further of his past. One story was enough.
“And what brought you to Chesham?” he asked in a lighter tone.
Lillian released a long breath. “I was banished here.”
He thought she meant to say it ruefully, but it came out with a tang of bitterness. Confused, he frowned and waited. Lillian watched him for a moment then nodded. Whether in acknowledgement of their agreement or because she decided on her story, he didn’t know.
“I have a distant cousin, Lord Granville. My father always promised me Lord Granville would marry me one day — it was his duty and he’d protect me. That he would not allow the granddaughter of a viscount to leave her house in shame.”
Lillian broke off. She took a deep breath but kept her gaze riveted on the tabletop. William didn’t blame her and wanted to comfort her as she had him. However, he kept his hands to himself, uncertain if his sympathy would be at all welcomed.
“When I was young,” Lillian continued, “I believed my father. I met Edmund many times, and he was always good and kind. When my father fell ill, and I needed to stay and care for him, I always felt there was time, that I did not have to go to season and that Edmund would eventually marry me.”
She shook her head and snorted. Not in anger or envy, William thought, but he could not place the emotion.
“He fell in love with another. A woman who has become involved in a scandal that has hurt him, though he does not see it.” She stopped and sighed. “And I became an unwelcome reflection. And then, when Father died, I could not inherit the estate.”
Lillian straightened, her head held high, eyes sharp and direct, no hint of her previous grief or bitterness. Bitterness — that was the emotion, and William understood that all too well.
“Lord Granville’s steward arranged this cottage here in Chesham for me,” she said in a voice that clearly stated the end of the story.
“I hope we’ve made you feel welcome here in Chesham,” William said with a hint of understanding. Only a hint. No one enjoyed pity.
“You have.” She smiled, that same soft curve of her lips. Then she straightened and, her eyes wide, nodded. “Everyone has.”
She looked around the room and frowned. “If Spriggs left for supper,” she asked slowly, “who is left here in the hall?”
Standing, she broke the spell between them. William didn’t welcome that change, but didn’t know how to recreate it, either. He enjoyed their moments together, not only the productive ones but also these last, with shared intimacies.
“All the builders have left,” Lillian said as he followed her into the main hall.
The fire burned down, though it was not banked for the evening. Spriggs no doubt had something to do with that, and William was grateful for the man’s foresight. The curtains were drawn, but it was obvious it was quite dark out.
“I believe I should head home,” Lillian said even as she started back to the office. “It was a very productive day, Mr. Pennington,” she called through the door.
He heard her rush about, the flutter of papers and the scraping of chairs. With quick strides, he followed her back into the room. He could not, and would not, allow her to leave for home alone.
And it did not, absolutely not, have anything to do with his desire to spend time with her.
“However, I do believe it’s time for me to leave.” She rushed past him, and William stopped her. “We’ll continue with the papers tomorrow afternoon, yes?”
“Yes.” He dropped his hand as if she burned him. His fingers rubbed together, and he hastily clasped them behind his back. “There’s no need to rush off. May I offer you my carriage to take you back to your cottage?”
“No.” She shook her head, her gaze meeting his, only to bounce away. “I think we’ve tempted fate enough.”
“I insist,” William said in his best commander tone. He didn’t want her to hear that tone, but didn’t know how to soften it. “My driver will see you to your door.”
Lillian bit her plump lower lip and hesitated a moment. “Thank you.” She nodded.
He walked her to the door, where he instructed Fitzgerald, his driver, to see to her needs. William helped her into the carriage, reluctant to leave her side. It certainly wasn’t pr
oper to accompany her home, not at all.
And he realized he wanted their dealings — dealings? No, their interactions, their time spent together, yes. He wanted the time they spent together to be above reproach, to keep her name as free from gossip as he possibly could.
But as the carriage clipped away, he watched it longingly and raised his hand in farewell, though she couldn’t see the gesture.
William abruptly turned from the view and went back inside. He banked the fire, gathered their papers into neat stacks, and snuffed out the candles.
Yes, he could see her as mistress of Pennington Hall.
Chapter Six
Lillian barely remembered the last time she felt this happy, when her spirits were so very high. Her mind traced back years — seven years ago. That was the last time she truly felt such lightness, such happiness. Before Father fell ill and she returned to their estate in the midst of her very first London season.
She remembered that last ball very clearly, even now. She’d danced with Edmund and other eligible bachelors and had thought, for a brief moment, she made Edmund jealous.
Oh, that felt so very long ago.
Now, however, she recalled that time without longing or sadness. Today, for the first time in seven years, happiness burst through her again. She walked with a lighter step and breathed easier.
Lillian approached the assembly hall just as a burst of frigid December wind cut through her. Knocked off balance, she barely caught herself before falling on the frozen ground. Steadying herself, she breathed deeply of the freezing wind and waited another moment. Though she rushed to get inside the hall, to see William again, Lillian had no desire to fall.
She chuckled at her own predicament. The winds were harsh, and she suspected the winter was going to be very long and cold, but it simply did not bother her. She hoped for a future now, and she would hang onto that hope to warm her.
Still smiling, Lillian crossed to the hall’s doors and opened them. No, high spirits did not at all mean what she felt.
Last eve she shared a part of her past with William even her closest friends did not know. No one knew that part of her, the foolish schoolgirl who expected to marry an earl. The story William shared with her, of his fight for his life, touched a part of Lillian deep inside.
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