One Night for Love b-1

by Mary Balogh

Lily felt as if her insides had somersaulted. But it was exactly the way he had talked at Newbury. Nothing had changed. If he were to ask her again what he had asked there, her answer would be the same. It could not change.

  "I have brought you the gift I mentioned last evening," he said, walking a little closer to her. Glancing at him she could see that he carried a package. He held it out to her.

  He had said it was nothing personal. If it were, she must refuse it. He had bought her clothes and shoes when she was at Newbury Abbey, and she had kept them. But that was different. She had thought herself to be his legal wife at that time. Now she was a single woman in company with a single gentleman and could not accept gifts from him. But she lifted one arm and took the package.

  She knew what it was as soon as she opened the wrapping, even though it was faded and misshapen and unnaturally clean. But she asked the question anyway as she set her hand flat on top of it.

  "Papa's?" she whispered.

  "Yes," he said. "I am afraid the contents are all gone, Lily. This is all I could retrieve for you. But I thought you would wish to have it anyway."

  "Yes." There was a painful aching in her throat. "Yes. Thank you. Oh, thank you." She watched a dark wet spot spreading on the pack and blotted it with one finger. "Thank you." She stumbled to her feet and had her arms about his neck and her face among the folds of his cravat before she realized what she was doing. His arms came firmly about her. She clutched the pack tightly in one hand and felt the link of security there had been during those years in the Peninsula—her father, Major Lord Newbury, and herself. They had not been carefree years—war could never be anything but horrifying—but nostalgia washed over her nonetheless. She had her eyes tightly shut almost as if she were willing herself to be back there in that life when she opened them.

  He let her go when she had recovered herself, and she sat on the stool again.

  "I am sorry about the contents," he said. "I am sorry you will never know what your father kept there for you."

  "Where did you find it?" she asked.

  "It had been sent to your grandfather at Leavenscourt in Leicestershire," he told her. "He was a groom there. He died before your father, I am afraid, and his son, your father's brother, died soon after. But you have an aunt still living there, Lily, and two cousins. Your aunt had the pack."

  She had relatives of her own—an aunt and two cousins. The thought should excite her, Lily supposed. Perhaps in time it would. But she was too full of grief for her father at the moment. She had never properly grieved for him, she realized. She had married a mere three hours after his death, and a few hours after that the long, long nightmare had begun when she had been shot above the heart. She had never had a chance fully to realize the enormity of her loss.

  "I miss him," she said.

  "I do too, Lily." He had gone to lean against the far end of the pianoforte. "But you have at least something now by which to remember him. What happened to your locket? Did the French take it—or the Spanish?"

  "Manuel," she said. "But he returned it to me when I was released. It is broken, though. The chain snapped when he tore it from my neck."

  She heard him suck in his breath. "You always wore it," he said. "Was it a gift from your father or mother?"

  "From both, I suppose," she said. "I have always had it, for as far back as I can remember. Papa used to say I must always wear it, that I must never take it off or lose it."

  "But the chain is broken," he said. "You must wear the locket again, Lily, as a more personal remembrance of both your parents. Will you allow me to take it to a jeweler to have the chain mended?"

  She hesitated. She would trust him even with her life, but she could not bear the thought of allowing the locket out of her possession again. She had been stripped of clothes when she was first taken by the Spanish, but she had felt most naked when Manuel had torn the locket from her neck. She had felt that part of herself had been ripped away.

  "Better still," Neville said, reading her hesitation correctly, "will you allow me to escort you to a jeweler's, Lily, to have the chain mended? I would not doubt it can be done on the spot while you watch."

  She looked at him and trusted him and forgot for the moment the barrier that must forever be kept between them. "Yes," she said. "Thank you, Neville." And she sucked her lower lip between her teeth as their eyes met and held. She felt as if she had spoken an endearment; he looked as if he had heard one.

  But the door opened at that opportune moment and Elizabeth came into the room, smiling cheerfully. "Oh, dear," she said, "Mr. Stanwick does like to talk when one gives him the opportunity. Do forgive me for abandoning you, Neville. But I daresay Lily has kept you entertained. She has become adept at social conversation."

  "I am not complaining," Neville told her.

  "Let us all go to my sitting room for tea," Elizabeth suggested. "There is a fire burning there. It is a rather chilly day for summer, is it not? Damp too."

  Lily's eyes went to the drawing room window. It was indeed a gray, cloudy day. There were raindrops on the glass though it appeared that it was not raining at that moment. The weather had depressed her all morning, she remembered. Yet she had had the distinct impression that the sun had been shining this afternoon. She had been mistaken.

  ***

  Elizabeth had always openly admitted to Neville that he was her favorite nephew. She wished for his happiness, he knew. He knew too that she was aware of the depth of his feelings for Lily. But she would not press Lily to come back to him. She had too great an integrity for that. She had set herself to giving Lily the opportunity to learn skills and acquire confidence so that she could choose her future for herself. If Lily chose to marry him, Elizabeth would be pleased. If she chose not to do so, Elizabeth would support her.

  Women, when they banded together, Neville thought ruefully, could be as easily moved as the Rock of Gibraltar.

  He was eager to take Lily to a jeweler's. He knew that the locket was precious to her and he wanted to help restore it to her whole so that she could wear it again. That was his main motive, he was quite sure. There was also, of course, the excuse the expedition would give him to spend some time with Lily again.

  But the following day would not do at all, Elizabeth informed him during tea on the afternoon he had brought Doyle's pack. Lily would be busy all morning with her lessons, and there was the Fogies' garden party in the afternoon. She would need Lily to attend her for that occasion. And the following day there were the morning lessons and a dancing lesson during the afternoon. It was also to be the day of the week on which Elizabeth was regularly at home to callers, and this week she would have Lily sit with her and help her entertain.

  The best Neville could do, since he had not received an invitation to the garden party, was call at Elizabeth's the following afternoon and sit drinking tea and conversing with a group of visitors that did not include Lily. It was not until the next afternoon that she was finally declared free to go with him to a jeweler's. And even then Elizabeth would have accompanied them if he had not been able to assure her that he would be taking an open carriage with his groom up behind.

  Elizabeth, of course, had always been a high stickler. But she was treating Lily more like a treasured ward than a paid companion. It was frustrating, but Neville found himself glad of it too. All too many young blades had called for tea at Elizabeth's with no other apparent reason for doing so than a wish to ogle Lily.

  The sun was shining again at last on the appointed afternoon, and Lily was wearing an attractive and extremely fashionable green dress with a straw bonnet. Neville handed her into his phaeton and took his seat beside her before taking the ribbons from his groom's hand and waiting for the boy to clamber up behind.

  "Tell me the truth, Lily," he said as they drove in the direction of Bond Street. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

  She considered her answer. "I feel… at ease," she said. "I feel that I can now mingle with almost any company in which I happen to find myself
during the rest of my life. It is a good feeling, my lord."

  "And are you learning all you wished to learn?" he asked her.

  "By no means," she said. "I doubt one can ever learn or even be in the process of learning all the fascinating facts and mysteries of life. I am learning far more slowly than I expected. I can barely read and yet I have been having lessons for over a month. Yet every day when I become frustrated and unhappy with myself I remember how I have always yearned for knowledge and skills. And I remember how very fortunate I am to be able to satisfy my yearning at last."

  He sighed. "I did not want you to change, Lily," he said. "I liked you just as you were. But when I told Elizabeth that, she pointed out to me how selfish I was being. And I must admit that it is a delight to see you at your ease, as you put it." He smiled across at her. "And I do like your hair that way."

  "So do I." She smiled gaily and raised one gloved hand in greeting to two ladies who were emerging from a milliner's shop. At the same moment George Brigham, who was passing on the street, touched the brim of his hat with his cane and inclined his head to Lily.

  She was looking like and she was being treated like a young lady of ton, Neville realized. Her own courage and Elizabeth's encouragement had brought her out of hiding and she was at ease. He would have sheltered and protected her and made her forever uncomfortable and unhappy. It was not a pleasant admission to make to himself.

  He escorted her into the shop of the jeweler he had selected as the best and explained that Miss Doyle would rather not leave her locket to be collected later, but would like to watch as the chain was mended. And so they were given seats, and the precious piece did not leave her sight.

  The locket was gold. So was the chain. It was not the sort of trinket one would expect to have been within the means of a soldier who had not even had a sergeant's pay when it had been purchased. Neville had seen it dozens of times about Lily's neck. It had seemed a part of her. It had never occurred to him to wonder about it. There was some sort of intricate design on the outside of the locket, but he did not attempt to lean close enough to examine it. For some reason Lily guarded its privacy. He would respect her wishes.

  He paid for the work when it was finished, and she put the locket carefully back inside her reticule.

  "You are not going to wear it?" he asked her as they left the shop.

  "I have not worn it for so long," she said, "that I wish to choose some special occasion on which to wear it for the first time again. I do not know when. I will think of the right time."

  "Let me take you to Gunter's for an ice?" he asked.

  She bit her lip, but she nodded. "Yes," she said. "Thank you, my lord. And thank you for having my locket mended. You are very kind."

  He stopped on the pavement with her and bent his head closer to hers so that he could look into her eyes.

  "Lily," he said, "do not deceive yourself into thinking I acted from kindness. I have been selfish again. When you wear the locket once more, I hope—indeed, I believe-that you will remember not only your mama and papa but also the man who will always consider himself your husband."

  "Oh, don't," she said quickly, gazing back at him with wide blue eyes.

  "But you will remember that, will you not?" he said.

  She did not answer him, but she nodded almost imperceptibly after a few moments.

  ***

  Lily had been dreading the afternoon. She had prayed that Elizabeth would go with them. After the question of the carriage had been settled, she had prayed for rain so that he would be forced to bring a closed carriage and Elizabeth would have to accompany them after all.

  She was so very weak. It was so difficult to see him, to speak with him, to be alone with him and not reveal her true feelings to him. It was an agony to know that these memories of him would cling about her with almost unbearable pain once he had gone home again. She did not need more memories. She already had far too many.

  But in the event she was finding the afternoon quite magical. The weather had turned summery again after several days of gloom and intermittent rain. Riding in an open phaeton and feeling the warmth of the sun and seeing its brightness gave a wonderful lift to her spirits. So did his company.

  But it was something else that created the magic. An idea had struck her and excited her, and she could not help but be buoyed up by it even though she knew she must return home and think carefully about it before in any way acting upon it.

  She had refused to marry Neville because she was uncomfortable in his world and could never fit the role of countess. She had refused for her own sake and for his too—eventually he would have been made intensely unhappy by her inadequacy.

  But the realization had come that she would no longer be uncomfortable or unfit in his world. Oh, she had not been transformed in little over a month. She still had a vast long way to go before she could function like a lady who had been born and raised to the life. But she was on the way. And slow and difficult as some of the lessons were, she knew that she could master them. She would never be a lady by birth, and there were those in the beau monde who would always hold that against her, but she would be a lady by training. And there were plenty of people—people she liked and respected—who would accept her.

  What was to stop her, then, from marrying Neville again ?

  She would not allow him to marry her out of a sense of obligation, she told herself at first. But she knew that was ridiculous. She knew that he still loved her even before he stopped her outside the jeweler's shop and said what he did about her locket. And she certainly knew that she loved him. She had not stopped adoring him since she was fourteen and first set eyes on him.

  She must think carefully, though. She must be very sure that she was not rationalizing. She must be certain that no lingering sense of inferiority would prevent her from seeing herself as his equal. She would not be his equal in birth or fortune. She must know for sure that that fact would never be a stumbling block for either of them—even after the first bright bloom had worn off their love, as it inevitably would in the course of their lives.

  But she would think when she was alone again. For this afternoon she would allow herself to relax into the magic and simply enjoy herself. And so she went to Gunter's with him, and she ate her ice and talked to him about all the lessons she had learned in the past month. She chose to amuse him with all the comical details she could think of—most of them at her own expense. They laughed merrily together, and she knew, perhaps with a twinge of unease, that the magic had taken hold of him too.

  It was something of a disappointment to have their tête-à-tête interrupted, but Lily smiled politely at the gentleman who stopped at their table to have a word with them. It was difficult to remember the names of all the people to whom she had been introduced since the evening of the Ashton ball, but she remembered Mr. Dorsey immediately, partly because he had been at Newbury Abbey for a day or two after her arrival, but mainly because it was over him that Elizabeth and the Duke of Portfrey had quarreled.

  "Ah, Miss Doyle. Good afternoon," he said, smiling and bowing and looking surprised, as if he had just spotted her. "Kilbourne?"

  They both answered politely but without any great enthusiasm. Neville wanted to be alone with her as much as she wished to be alone with him, Lily guessed. She was remembering Elizabeth's brief reference to the incident at the ball the morning after. She could not break a confidence to give a full explanation, Elizabeth had said, but she believed there was indeed good reason for Lily to avoid furthering an acquaintance with Mr. Dorsey.

  But he was an amiable gentleman and surely harmless, Lily thought over the coming five minutes, during which he sat uninvited at their table and chatted with them. He had heard that the Earl of Kilbourne had recently been at Leavenscourt in Leicestershire. He wished he had known. He was heir to the ailing Baron Onslow, who lived at Nuttall Grange a mere five or six miles away. He would have been delighted to go there himself to show the earl the countryside. Or perhaps his
lordship had been there on business?

  It was a rather embarrassing coincidence, Lily thought, that the Duke of Portfrey himself should happen to walk past Gunter's during those five minutes and, glancing in, see the three of them there. He paused for a moment and then walked on after touching his hat to Lily. Well, she thought, at least she would be able to assure Elizabeth that she and Neville had been given no choice beyond being rude.

  A minute or two later Mr. Dorsey took his leave.

  "A curiously amiable fellow," Neville said. "He would have gone all the way to Leicestershire merely to show me the countryside if he had known I was five miles away from his uncle's estate? And yet I scarcely know him. Perhaps he believes he owes me a courtesy because he was a guest at Newbury in May. But he came as an acquaintance of Lauren's grandfather. At least he has gone out of his way to show that he bears me no grudge."

  They smiled at each other.

  "You have not, I suppose," he said, leaning toward her, the interruption forgotten, "been to Vauxhall Gardens yet, have you, Lily?"

  "No." She shook her head. "But I have heard of them. They are said to be enchanted at night."

  "Will you go there with me," he asked her, "if I can get up a party?"

  It might well be a most dangerous place to go if upon careful consideration she decided that she could not after all change her mind about him. She should perhaps refuse outright now. Or at least she should say no more than that she would think about it and talk with Elizabeth about it.

  But she found herself leaning eagerly toward him until their faces were only inches apart.

  "Oh, yes," she said. "Yes, please, my lord."

  Chapter 21

  "I wonder," the Duke of Portfrey said, "what Mr. Calvin Dorsey's interest in you might be, Miss Doyle."

  Elizabeth and Lily were members of a party of guests the duke had invited to share his box at the theater. Lily had been enthralled by the whole experience so far—by the sumptuous elegance of the theater, by the audience in the other boxes, the pit, and the galleries, by the first act of the play. She had been swept away into another world as soon as the performance had begun and had lost all sense of her separate identity—she had become the characters on stage and had lived their lives with them. But now there was an interval, and the box had filled with visitors come to greet Elizabeth or other members of the party—and to get a closer look at the famous Lily Doyle.