For the Love of Lila

by Jennifer Malin

  The clerk lowered his voice to a tone of confidentiality. “‘Tis said that she had male tutors rather than a governess. ‘Tis said–”

  “Send her in, and I’ll see what she has to say.” He picked up his notes, annoyed that he hadn’t cut Humphries off from the start. By waiting, he had wronged Lila Covington and his late mentor. He would make it up by doing whatever he could to advise the woman.

  “Of course, sir.” Humphries bowed and left the room.

  The door opened again and Tristan stood to present himself. But when Miss Covington entered, his note papers slid through his fingers and fluttered to the desk.

  The scholar’s daughter hardly conformed to his idea of a bluestocking. Instead of the bespectacled spinster he had expected, he saw a youthful beauty with sleek black hair and large onyx-like eyes. Her slender body wasn’t shrouded in gray but trimmed in a fashionable bottle-green spencer. Not that she fit the role of debutante, either. She bore herself with too much dignity and offered him no affected smile, only her hand.

  “I am Lila Covington.” Rather than hold her fingers limp in his, she clasped his hand. “Thank you for seeing me. I promise not to take up much of your time.”

  “Tristan Wyndam,” he said, unable to look away from her eyes. Her father had possessed that same intense gaze. Tristan had always taken the trait for a sign of intellect. Now he wondered if there might be something to the old man’s estimation of her, after all. “Please, have a seat. How can I be of service?”

  She sat in the sole other chair and handed him a packet of papers. “This is a copy of my father’s will. You will see that I have marked the section that concerns the trust he left me. The pertinent reference begins in the third paragraph. I am here because I should like to close that trust, and I need to know how to proceed.”

  He scanned the document. The provisions were fairly standard, except for the trust’s being rather large and invested exceedingly well. A holding like this would best be retained as long as possible, though Miss Covington seemed to have other plans.

  “I see that your uncle is named trustee,” he said, reading on. “He easily could have told you how to proceed.”

  He heard her clear her throat, but she made no reply.

  “I presume you don’t have immediate plans to marry, or your betrothed would be handling this.”

  This time she sniffed. “No, I do not have plans to marry.”

  A hard note in her tone made him look up. Bitterness? No, he read something else in the set of her jaw—determination.

  She fixed her eyes on his. “How soon can I receive my money?”

  He folded his hands on the desk. If she indeed took after her father, perhaps he could appeal to her sense of logic.

  “I don’t recommend closing the trust,” he said, watching her face. “Your father had a talent for investment. You won’t get a better return elsewhere.”

  “Profit is not always of primary consideration, Mr. Wyndam.” Her gaze didn’t waver, demonstrating a scrutiny that further convinced him she shared her father’s learning capacity.

  Pity his head for business had bypassed her.

  “What is your primary consideration?” he asked. She likely had no assets beyond the trust. If she meant to expend the money or reinvest it poorly, she could end up with nothing.

  “I’m sure you’ll understand if I choose not to share any personal information.”

  He did not understand, but he kept the thought to himself.

  He looked back down to the document, not yet ready to rest his case. Surely, an intelligent woman would not want to undermine her entire worth. “Perhaps you might withdraw only the sum you require at the moment. Indeed, I urge you to leave the majority of the principle intact.”

  “I shall require all of the money, Mr. Wyndam.”

  His gaze darted back to her face, and for an instant he saw her fine black brows tilt upward. Another second, and her countenance went stoic, but he suspected she had more doubts than she would admit.

  He searched her eyes for a hint to her motives. Why did she need so much money? Not for something frivolous, he felt certain. Might her uncle be in financial distress? If so, he did not like her giving up her security for a man who ought to tend to his own finances. With no money of her own, she would have to live as a poor relation forever, perhaps even be obliged to earn her keep elsewhere.

  “Your father intended this money for your dowry.” He turned the will around to face her and pointed to a sentence in the center. “Pray read what he stipulates here.”

  She didn’t bother looking down. “Mr. Wyndam, I am well versed with the contents of the will. Had I married in the two years since my father’s death, the money would have served as my dowry. But at five-and-twenty I become entitled to do what I please with it. Well, today I am five-and-twenty, and I am pleased to collect my inheritance.”

  He turned the paper back around and stared at the words, though he, too, knew what they said. Damn, he hated to see her make such a poor decision. He always seemed to feel the cases he took on too personally—an unfortunate tendency in a barrister.

  “Happy birthday,” he mumbled, stalling while he decided what to say next.

  “Thank you, sir. I intend to enjoy it well.”

  Another minute passed while he pretended to study the document, trying to persuade himself to allow the chit her foolishness. But she was Sir Francis’ daughter. The man had spent countless hours reviewing Tristan’s theses and contributing his own vital insights. Besides, he could not quite erase the vulnerability he’d glimpsed in her face. Though she had determined to close her trust, something about the plan worried her.

  “Without a dowry, you will greatly diminish your chances of marrying well,” he said quietly, aware she wouldn’t appreciate his counsel.

  “I shall not be getting married, Mr. Wyndam.” She pursed her lips, but one corner of her mouth tugged upward, giving her a look of satisfaction rather than petulance. “If nothing else, my age should make that apparent.”

  “Not at all.” He had to force his gaze from her pout, noting that his thoughts had taken yet a more personal turn. As he returned to her eyes, their depth struck him again. He glanced over her creamy complexion and hair the color and sheen of coal. She was among the class of beauty his mother would call an Incomparable, yet she thought herself unmarriageable. Perhaps her education had chased away a few would-be suitors. Men often felt threatened by intelligent women.

  “Is your birthday at the root of all this?” he asked. “Society has some daft notions about when a young woman ought to marry. Men are not expected to wed until their thirties. Why should a female consider herself past marriage any sooner?”

  She raised one eyebrow. “I commend you on your reasoning, sir, but you mistake mine. I don’t wish to marry. My decision is based on my principles, not my age.”

  “What principles?”

  Her lips parted, but for a moment she said nothing. When she did, she dropped her gaze. “I don’t believe I need discuss my private beliefs with a stranger.”

  “No, of course not.” His let out a long breath. He supposed he had no choice but to let her ruin her life. At such moments, he could hardly wait till the day when he would put the office of barrister behind him. When he attained a seat in Parliament, he would make laws, change laws, influence a society, not simply expedite the whims of a few. And not have to feel anguish for each individual who made a bad decision.

  He had just picked up his quill when his clerk knocked on the open door, ducking his head through the frame.

  “Beg pardon, Mr. Wyndam.” Humphries held up a handful of papers. “You still haven’t signed your traveling documents for Paris. If they aren’t processed this afternoon, you won’t be able to depart on time.”

  “Leave them on my desk, Mr. Humphries. I shall get to them in a moment.”

  The clerk set down the sheets and exited, and Tristan looked back to Miss Covington. She lifted her gaze from the traveling document
s to his eyes and wet her lips as if about to say something. Instead, she looked back down into her lap.

  “What is it, Miss Covington?” he asked, hoping she would confide her misgivings—or at least tell him why she needed so much money.

  Her large eyes grew yet a trifle wider, the only hint that she felt any trepidation. “You are traveling to Paris?”

  He held back a sigh. After such a crescendo, nothing but idle chatter. “Yes, the day after tomorrow.”

  She stared down at her folded hands. “I myself am...on my way to Paris.”

  He watched her averted face with renewed curiosity. Perhaps she had a purpose to this speech, after all. “When do you leave?”

  “Well...I have not yet made the arrangements.” She met his gaze, her face still inclined so that she looked at him through long lashes. “I have limited experience with that sort of thing. I wonder if, perhaps, you might tell me how one goes about obtaining a passport and securing passage across the Channel. I also need to hire a companion, maybe a groom as well. I could use some guidance in all these areas.”

  He frowned. Did she truly believe an unmarried woman could travel abroad on her own? The idea was preposterous. But from what he’d observed of her so far, he had a feeling she wouldn’t want to be told so. He hesitated. “I begin to see why you want to close your trust. Such a journey will incur a great deal of expense.”

  “Yes. I confess I’d also welcome any suggestions you have for economy.”

  He drew in a deep breath. “Miss Covington, have you considered the dangers of this undertaking? You could be held up by highwaymen or, at the least, swindled by dishonest innkeepers. Not to mention the injury your reputation would suffer if society were to learn of your traveling without proper chaperonage.”

  She thrust her chin forward. “That, Mr. Wyndam, is my concern. I asked you only for guidance in making the arrangements. If you don’t see fit to help me, simply advise me about the trust, and I’ll—”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t help.” He also didn’t intend to, but before he told her that, he wanted to draw forth more details about her circumstances. “Why are you going to France?”

  “I have a cousin who lives in Paris. I plan to make my home there as well, which is why it does not matter what anyone here thinks of my leaving without a chaperon. As for your concerns about my safety, I am prepared to hire a footman or two, if you think it necessary.”

  Companion, groom, footmen...her expenses would soon consume much of her trust. “I don’t suppose your cousin can come for you with some of his servants, perhaps meet you in Calais, if not here in London?”

  “My cousin is a woman, and, no, she is not wealthy enough for me to impose on her any more than absolutely imperative.”

  “Yet she can take you in to live with her?”

  She hesitated just perceptibly. “I will have my trust to apply toward my support.”

  “Not for long, if you spend half of it getting to Paris.”

  Her mouth twisted a little, but she said nothing.

  “Are you not better off staying in England with the relations you have here?”

  “No! That is, I am not...quite happy with my aunt and uncle.” She sighed. When she spoke again, the tightness had drained out of her tone. “If you must know, they expected me to marry their son when he inherited my father’s estate. They have never quite forgiven me for refusing, and they are far from pleased at still being charged with the keeping of me, two years after Papa’s death.”

  The tilt had returned to her brows, and what little she’d said had been enough to draw the picture. Not only had she been living as a poor relation but a resented one.

  “You have no other relatives in England?”

  She shook her head. “No other near relations at all. The Covingtons are not a prolific family. My only other cousin, Felicity, is the one who lives in Paris.”

  He frowned. Her circumstances were pitiable, but the solution she proposed was unacceptable. “Miss Covington, I fear we shall have to come up with another alternative for you. First and foremost, you cannot travel unescorted.”

  Her gaze sharpened again. “Do you have an escort for your journey, Mr. Wyndam?”

  “Of course not.” The absurd question mystified him until he recalled Mr. Humphries’ telling him she’d been raised with a boy’s privileges. Suddenly, he understood this wild scheme a good deal better. “Ah, I think I see what you’re saying, Miss Covington. You feel you should be entitled to the same rights as a man.”

  “Do you contend that I should not?”

  He studied her features, now set hard. She met her obstacles with a determination he could not have imagined in a woman. As unrealistic as her view of the world was, he had to admire her spirit. “No, I rather think you should.”

  She opened her mouth and closed it again. After studying him for a moment, she said, “I can see why my father enjoyed exchanging views with you. You have quite a progressive outlook, don’t you?”

  “As long as my father isn’t within earshot,” he said with a humorless laugh. His neck ached from his earlier studying, and he kneaded the nape with one hand. If only life’s dilemmas had simple solutions, at least once in awhile. “It’s too bad you aren’t male. Then I could simply take you with me. You wouldn’t have to touch your trust.”

  Her jaw dropped, and he realized his thinking aloud must have shocked her. An image flashed in his mind of checking into a French inn with her at his elbow. He tried to restrain that line of thought and phrase an apology, but she spoke before he was able.

  “If we were to travel together, I would insist on paying my share of the expenses.”

  A muscle in his cheek twitched. He stared at her, trying to comprehend her meaning. Was she jesting...or perhaps trying to assert that she was above taking charity? Surely, she could not possibly think they might...

  “I see you are stunned by my suggestion,” she said, confirming his worst fears, “but think of this from a purely logical stance. It is only a carriage ride—no worse than the Hyde Park jaunts taken by unrelated men and women all the time. The only difference is in the distance driven.”

  Good Lord! Sir Francis had done his daughter a grave disservice in raising her as he had. For all her intelligence, she hadn’t the least concept of what was proper—and safe—for a young woman out in the world.

  “We would both save a good deal of money,” she continued before he regained speech. “You seem an economical man, so I’m sure you can appreciate that. And you know what a difference this would make for me. I might even be able to put off using my trust by financing the journey with money I’ve saved from my quarterly allowance.”

  “Miss Covington!” he sputtered at last. He stood and turned away from the desk, unable to look her in the eye. “How can you suggest...Don’t you realize how some men might construe—”

  “Mr. Wyndam, judging by your reaction, I feel certain you’re not that sort of man.”

  He spun back around. “I am not, I assure you, but that hardly signifies. An unrelated man and woman cannot travel together. Logic or none, you must know that no one would accept it. We likely couldn’t even find an inn that would let rooms...” He broke off, his cheeks hot.

  “I realize we couldn’t expect society at large to view the matter rationally. We’d have to think of a way around that. Perhaps I could disguise myself as a boy—your younger brother. No, we don’t much favor each other. Maybe an orphan whom you are delivering to a relative? That would be based in truth.”

  He gawked at her impassive face, truly frightened for her safety. Between her unorthodox upbringing and her desperate situation, it seemed she would resort to anything to reach Paris. What scheme she would devise next? And who would she ask to aid her? The next man in whom she placed her confidence could easily have less scruples than he. He actually began to wonder if he should consider taking her.

  He looked away and went to the window, absently watching the carriages outside contend for the l
anes, much as the thoughts in his head warred with each other. After a long moment, he asked, “Do you believe you would be happy with your cousin?”

  “I believe I have my best chance for happiness with her.” Her tone grew low. “Possibly my only chance.”

  He winced. Since she had no other relatives, this likely did represent her only way to avoid going into a life of service. He put a hand up to one temple. What he contemplated was outrageous! If anyone ever learned of the two of them making such a journey, she would be ruined. Moreover, with his own aspirations, he could ill afford any scandal, especially on a business trip on behalf of his father, the man on whose influence he most depended.

  “I am sorry, but I cannot agree.” He turned around and walked back to the desk. “The risks to your reputation—and mine—are too great.”

  Her posture wilted, and she swallowed hard. “I understand. ... Well, I would still be obliged if you can offer me some guidance. Do you, for instance, know of a companion I might hire for the journey? No one I’ve interviewed is willing to travel to the Continent. Perhaps someone will agree if I offer more money. And what about a groom and a footman? Do you think two men will provide enough security? I believe my trust should cover three salaries—with some to spare for establishing myself in Paris.”

  He frowned. She would have so many expenses—and he didn’t know of any good servants to recommend to her. What if the ones she ended up hiring were untrustworthy? If she reached Paris at all, she might well arrive penniless, again destined to live as a poor relation.

  But if he saw her safely to her cousin, she could retain her entire trust. She could use it as a dowry to encourage French suitors, just as her father had intended. Sir Francis had expended a great deal of time and effort to help him. Could he simply allow the man’s wishes for his daughter to die with him?

  No, not when he had the power to do otherwise.

  “Suppose we make a bargain, Miss Covington.” He crossed the room and peeked into the outer office. Humphries had stepped away from his desk, but he closed the door anyway. He half-expected her to protest, but she remained silent, watching him with one eyebrow lifted.