For the Love of Lila

by Jennifer Malin

  Her gaze shot to meet his. “What do you mean?”

  He gave her a reassuring smile. “I shall be wrapping up my business here in the morning. Naturally, my offer to escort you back to London still stands. We can leave by mid-afternoon.”

  “Why would I leave?”

  At first he thought she must be joking, as startling as her timing seemed. But rather than amused, she looked baffled, shocking him yet more. “Lila, you have to leave.

  Her jaw took on a familiar set. “I don’t have to do anything of the sort.”

  He could scarcely credit his own ears. “Of course you do. Perhaps Felicity has the wool pulled over Mrs. Danby’s eyes, but I’ve no doubt that the more discerning members of society have gleaned the truth. If you remain here, your character is sure to suffer. Your cousin’s ruin will reflect on you.”

  “Oh, la, Tristan.” She waved a hand past him. “Felicity’s ‘ruin’? This is the city of light. I believe we can expect a bit more understanding than we might from a medieval village.”

  Hot anger suffused his face, but he reminded himself that her upbringing had sparked this recklessness. Inwardly cursing his mentor, he said, “This city is visited by many of the same people who frequent London. They do not, I assure you, condone women like your cousin and Mrs. Stark. Residing under the same roof—or even keeping their society—you will be condemned right along with them.”

  “Oh, no doubt.” She put her hands on her hips. “After all, here you are lumping Tess into this dreadful group of women, simply because she is my cousin’s friend. And has Felicity truly done anything so horrid? So what if she has an illegitimate child? How many men do you know among the ton who have committed the same crime? If my cousin were male, you wouldn’t even blink at this news, let alone insist that I return to London with you.”

  “Indeed, I would. If you were living in the same sort of close association with a male cousin and his licentious friends, I would demand you come back with me.”

  “You would demand it?” Sparks nearly blazed from her eyes. “And you call my cousin and her friends licentious? How can you, supposedly an impartial lawman, make such a judgment with so little evidence? I will grant you that Felicity was likely never married to the man who fathered her daughter, but that alone does not makes her licentious. You and I know nothing of their relationship. Perhaps they intended to get married but he died before they could.”

  He opened his mouth to tell her what else he had observed of Felicity and her associates during the evening but, before he could speak, she continued.

  “There are other possibilities, as well. Perhaps Felicity had priorities that led her to reject marriage. Perhaps this man demanded that she behave in a certain manner, and she chose to retain her freedom rather marry someone who disregarded her intelligence.” She folded her arms over her chest and turned her back to him.

  Though he had waited for his chance to speak, he promptly closed his mouth. This argument was going to require all of his skills as a debater. After taking a moment to evaluate his approach, he cleared his throat.

  “You are right,” he said quietly. “I apologize for letting my emotions take over my speech.”

  She glimpsed back over her shoulder but turned away again before truly meeting his gaze.

  “All I ask is that you retain the same objective stance you have asked of me,” he said. “You have raised some valid arguments, but the fact still remains that neither your cousin nor you are completely cut off from society’s influence in Paris. You may even find that your reputation could affect your writing career. Suppose you and I both gather more evidence about Felicity’s situation, then weigh whether you should continue residing with her?”

  She spun around. “I shall learn more about my cousin’s ‘situation’ when she is good and ready to discuss such a delicate matter with me. But when I consider any further information she gives me, her gender will not figure in my judgment of her.”

  “Nor should it,” he said. As she studied his eyes, he added, “Nor will it figure in my appraisal of further information.”

  Her mouth twisted. “Then you will reserve judgment until you know my cousin better?”

  Clearly it was not the time to introduce what further facts he had—not while Lila was still volatile. “Until more evidence is brought to light, I shall reserve my opinion.”

  She frowned. “I suppose that is fair enough, as long as you have agreed not to judge her by her gender.”

  “Thank you.”

  She stood searching his eyes a moment longer. “I presume I don’t have to ask that you continue to be civil to her?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Very well. I have faith that you will be fair in your assessment. I know you well enough to realize this outburst was not typical of you. And I admit I cannot entirely blame you for such a reaction. The news is...is rather startling.”

  He bit back a sardonic reply, supposing he had to be content with that understatement for now. But he intended to entice Felicity to expose herself for what she was, before Lila’s reputation was lost. “Thank you for your faith in me.”

  “I only judge you on what I know of you.”

  He nodded, not unsatisfied with her statement. She possessed both intelligence and rationality. Her upbringing hindered her judgment in societal matters, but she would assess the situation and eventually she would make the right decision.

  He only hoped she did it before he had to return to London—or her own reputation lay in tatters.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A click from behind Lila made her jump, but it was only the handle of the terrace door, opened by another of the Danbys’ guests. She pushed back a strand of hair from her cheek and managed a smile for the unfamiliar couple who stepped outside and wandered past her and Tristan.

  When they had walked beyond earshot, she looked back to Tristan but didn’t know what more to say to him. His revelation had shaken her more than she wanted him to know. To admit that Felicity’s secret had shocked her came too close to validating his preposterous reaction. She needed time to digest the news and sort through her racing thoughts. Rubbing her bare arms, she said, “The evening’s gone a bit chilly. Would you mind if we returned to the drawing room?”

  “Not at all.” He offered his arm and led her toward the door the other couple had exited.

  She kept her touch on his elbow feather-light, fearing that any stronger contact would give away the trembling of her body. When they stepped inside, she was relieved to see Mr. Douglas wandering toward them. Likely, he could introduce another topic of conversation more easily than she could.

  He bowed to both her and Tristan, then looked to her. “Miss Covington, did you enjoy your coze with Mrs. Shelley?”

  “I was charmed.” Even forming a simple answer required all of her concentration. “I can’t thank you enough for presenting me to her.”

  “My pleasure—and, evidently, Mrs. Shelley’s as well. She tells me she can’t wait to read the novel you are penning.”

  She managed a smile. “The prospect of that honor is certain to inspire me to write with greater care. I mean to look to your writing for inspiration, too, Mr. Douglas. Your friend recommends your work.”

  He gave her a shy smile, oddly reminding her of a demure debutante. She could imagine such an effeminate man having difficulty fitting into English society, and she wondered if that had something to do with his move to Paris. The world her cousin lived in certainly differed from the one she had abandoned.

  “What sort of works have you written, Mr. Douglas?” Tristan asked, breaking the silence her reflections had initiated.

  His attempt at discourse couldn’t have pleased her more, especially since she had already discussed the same subject with Mr. Douglas earlier. Before he could respond, she pretended to discover her hem coming down and excused herself to make for the ladies’ withdrawing room.

  She had intended only to steal a moment alone, but once she escaped the room, anoth
er thought occurred to her. Tristan had mentioned that the portrait of Felicity and her daughter hung in the main hall. She felt uncomfortable prying into her cousin’s secret life, but her curiosity outstripped her discretion. She changed direction and turned down the corridor, trying to appear casual as she swept a sharp gaze over the portraits lining the walls.

  Though small and not prominently placed, she had no trouble locating the one she sought. Her jaw dropped at the sight of the little girl’s face, so much like Felicity’s during her own childhood. Until Lila had seen the painting herself, the child’s existence hadn’t quite seemed real. But the dark, soulful little eyes that met her stare could not be denied.

  She inched forward and stooped for a better view. The familiar yet unfamiliar features of the girl primed a surge of childhood memories. From a younger relation’s standpoint, Felicity had always seemed poised, sophisticated and beautiful. The awe Lila had felt for her resurfaced, if indeed she had ever quite buried it. More than shocking her, the new knowledge of her cousin impressed her. The scope of Felicity’s experience ranged so much further than her own that she felt overwhelmed... and even a little envious.

  Her gaze shifted from the child’s image to her cousin’s, a portrayal that captured the subject’s confident lifted chin and sparkling, playful eyes. Good Lord, Felicity had a child. She’d had a lover. She truly lived. Compared to Felicity’s lifestyle, Lila’s so-called independence was a fraud, a weak imitation of the genuine article.

  A throat cleared behind her, and she leapt to her feet. So much for appearing casual. When she swung around, the sight of Felicity herself made her start again. Dumbfounded, she stood staring, while her cheeks heated.

  Her cousin probably didn’t notice the blush, because her gaze barely brushed Lila’s before plunging to the floor. “I feared you might stumble across that portrait.”

  Lila hesitated, unsure whether to apologize for intruding, to reassure her cousin that she didn’t pass judgment on her, or perhaps even congratulate her on her daughter. No matter which course, she couldn’t think of a delicate way to begin.

  Felicity pulled her gaze back up to meet Lila’s, her face tilted in an uncharacteristically tentative manner. “I should have had a talk with you before we came here tonight—or, actually, when you first arrived in Paris. Instead, I took the cowardly route. But I...I was so pleased to have your company... to hear from my family after all these years. I didn’t want to lose you again so quickly.”

  “Oh, Felicity...” Lila’s voice came out strangled, a reflection of her garbled thoughts. “What is her name?”

  Her cousin’s brows drew together. “Her name?”

  “Your daughter’s.”

  Her look of confusion transformed into surprise. “Rebecca.”

  Lila’s temporary paralysis lifted, manifesting in a crooked smile and welling tears. “She looks exactly as I remember you—beautiful and full of life. Is she? Is she a lively girl?”

  After a moment’s pause, her cousin burst forth with a tense laugh. “Only too.” Her eyes filled as well. “You...you don’t despise me, Lila?”

  “Heavens, no! I believe wholeheartedly that a woman should lead her life as she pleases. You do, and I admire you for your courage. I myself can only aspire to such independence.” She leaned forward and kissed Felicity’s cheek. “My congratulations on a fine daughter.”

  “Thank you.” Her cousin laughed again, this time more naturally, and embraced her.

  A great burden seemed to lift from Lila’s shoulders. For the first time since she had arrived in Paris, she felt truly close to Felicity. She whispered, “Will I get to meet her?”

  “You certainly shall, the next time she is home from school.” They drew apart, and Felicity bit her lower lip. “But what about your friend, Mr. Wyndam? Will Rebecca have to remain a secret from him?”

  She hesitated, daunted by the vision of a confrontation between the two most important people in her life. If addressed on the subject, Tristan would offer an opinion, and her cousin would surely be hurt by his attitude. While Lila loathed to halt to the flow of frankness, the prospect of such a conversation made her feel sick.

  “Not indefinitely,” she said, “but I don’t think we should introduce the topic yet. It’s not that Tristan is judgmental. He is not, I assure you. But he does have political aspirations that constrain him to mind the dictates of society.”

  “I understand.” Her cousin gave a dismissing wave of her hand. “I know half a dozen such men in Paris alone. Though not prudish, they are so accustomed to the role, they are hard put to drop their playacting.”

  She frowned. “Tristan does not exactly pretend to be a prude—”

  “No, no, I didn’t mean to say he does. Truly, he has never appeared prudish to me.” She gave a broad grin that struck Lila as somewhat excessive under the circumstances. “Having lived in two of the most sophisticated cities in the world, I daresay I am more discerning than your average observer. I wager I have gleaned more about you and your friend than you imagine.”

  It took an instant before Lila completely understood, but then her confusion fled. Felicity had sensed the attraction between her and Tristan. That accounted for her big grin. Accustomed to keeping the truth concealed, she couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. “You have surmised the nature of...of our relationship?”

  “Oh, I think so.” She winked. “You didn’t arrive in France with a maid at all, did you?”

  Lila gasped before she reminded herself she was speaking to her cousin—not a prattling society gossip.

  “How did you—” She stopped herself, suspecting that even in this case Tristan would not want her to discuss their travel arrangements. “Felicity, it will be better all around if I say nothing further. I hope you can understand why.”

  “Mais oui. Mum’s the word—about that and Rebecca.” Felicity patted her shoulder. “I shall let you decide the best time to tell Mr. Wyndam, if at all.”

  Lila sighed aloud. “I apologize if I appear coy. I don’t mean to be less than frank with you. It’s just—”

  “Don’t mention it. I understand how much Mr. Wyndam’s good opinion means to you.” Her cousin gave her another wink. “And speaking of him, we should probably seek him out and see about making a night of it. We would not want him to stumble across this portrait as well.”

  Lila tried to smile her answer. That failing, she nodded and led the way back to the drawing room.

  * * * *

  Tristan nearly gawked when he saw Lila return with her cousin, especially when they proceeded in the direction of him and Mr. Douglas. For a second, he thought she must have confronted Felicity, but they both appeared too serene to have endured a nerve-shattering tete-a-tete. Evidently they had simply met up in the ladies’ withdrawing room.

  “I hope you were able to mend your hem,” he said to Lila when she got close enough for speaking.

  “Hmm?” she asked, strengthening his suspicion that her excuse had been fabricated. “Oh, my hem. Yes, it’s as good as new, thank you.”

  “You had trouble with your gown, Lila?” Felicity asked, substantiating his notion.

  “Nothing a couple stitches couldn’t fix.” She stole a peek at Tristan and then looked off across the room.

  He got the impression she was hiding something from him—and not simply the fact that her hem had not unraveled. Could it be that she felt embarrassed on her cousin’s account? If so, she had done a quick turnaround. But why else would she shy away from him?

  Mr. Douglas gazed beyond the two women to scan the room. “Did either of you happen upon Isabel in your travels? I haven’t seen her this past hour.”

  Lila shook her head, and this time Felicity looked away. Tristan got the sense that she knew Mrs. Douglas’ whereabouts but didn’t want to share the intelligence. Judging by what he had seen of the woman’s flirtatious manner—and plunging neckline—he imagined she might be occupying herself much as Mrs. Stark had earlier.

  Her husband f
rowned. “When it comes to parties, or indeed most activities, I simply don’t have the endurance of Isabel. I must confess, I have about had my fill for the evening. I had best have a look for her, or we will end up here till dawn.”

  The group exchanged good-byes and while he walked away, Lila said to Tristan, “Actually, Felicity and I were noting we are beginning to tire, too. Do you plan to stay much longer?”

  He bowed. “I will be happy to escort you home any time you want to go. Shall I send for the carriage now?”

  His gallantry earned him a coquettish grin from Felicity. “Thank you, Mr. Wyndam, but first we will need to fetch Tess. I have no doubt she is ready to leave, but I may have to have a look around the house for her.”

  “I’ll get her,” Lila said quickly. “I believe I saw her when we passed through the front hall.”

  Tristan found it surprising that she’d rather leave him with her cousin, knowing his mixed feelings about her—than let Felicity go after her own friend. She definitely was hiding something from him.

  Before he could think of a polite way to object to her offer, Felicity said, “If she protests at all, explain to her about my, um, headache, love.”

  Lila nodded and hurried off without another word.

  Swallowing the awkwardness he felt, he turned to her cousin. “I am sorry to hear you are unwell, Mrs. Childers. Can I get you some refreshment before we leave? A lemonade?”

  The offer won him another of her smirks. “No, thank you.”

  “Then I shall go and bring the carriage around. The sooner we can get you home, the quicker you will recover.”

  “No, no, it’s not all that urgent. Have a servant do it.” She promptly stopped a passing footman and gave him the order herself. When he had gone on his way, she looked back to Tristan. “I am glad we have a moment to speak, Mr. Wyndam. I’d like to invite you to a little soiree at my house tomorrow. I know my cousin will want you there.”

  Considering Lila’s current behavior, he wouldn’t count on it, but he had no intention of leaving her alone among Felicity’s circle. Not to mention that he simply wanted to be with her every moment that he could.