by Stacy Reid
Her sister’s eyes glistened with tears.
“What is it, Mary?” Lily asked, putting down the potato she had been peeling.
“I’m with child again.”
Equal pain and joy burst inside Lily. She wiped her hand on her apron and hurried to her sister and enfolded her in a warm hug. “I am very happy for you and David. Lizzie and Katie will be so happy.”
“We are hoping for a boy,” Mary said with a smile that wobbled. “Oh, Lily, how I wish you would find a similar happiness.”
Lily stepped away and went back over to the stone counter to pick up the knife and potatoes. “Mamma is expecting this stew to be ready soon.”
She could feel her sister’s stare, but Lily couldn’t bear looking at her, desperate to hide the pain that still lingered in her soul.
“David told me he informed you that it may still be possible,” Mary said softly.
The knife clattered onto the table, and Lily gripped the counter edges, steadying herself at the emotions that tore through her. “He did.”
“Then why not remarry and—”
“I consulted with David when I failed to conceive with Robert after a year of marriage. Though David’s words gave me some hope, it still did not happen.”
“David said the frequency of how—”
“Mary Rose,” Lily whispered. “I am not having this conversation with you!”
“Why not? I’m a married woman. I know full well what it takes to become with child,” she snapped, blushing. “I am weary of avoiding the matter, and I hate that I feel so wretched that David and I have been blessed three times and you are alone.”
Alone… An awful sensation took hold in Lily’s stomach. When Oliver finally selected a wife, they would probably have children soon after. “I will never be alone,” Lily said, facing her sister. “I have you and the children, and Mamma and Papa. I also have my shop. I am happy, Mary.” Her assurances sounded hollow to her ears.
“Have you considered that you may get with child now that you and the marquess are lovers?”
She stared at her sister, unable to explain the pain that had driven her from London. Lily had woken four days ago in her lover’s arms, her stomach cramping sharply, signaling her courses were near. “Lord Ambrose hardly leaves my bed, and I am still not with child,” she finally answered, swallowing against the sudden tightness in her throat.
“My husband is the best doctor in Derbyshire. If he says there is a chance, there is,” Mary said with a proud lift of her chin. “It took David and me four months after our wedding night before I got with child. How long have you been lovers with the marquess? A month? I daresay it is still possible, and you should turn your thoughts to what you would do if it happens. The resulting scandal would not be kind to you, or to our family, for a man of his station will not marry you.”
Watching her sister as she moved about the kitchen, Lily felt an intense surge of love for her. Their mother entered the cottage, thankfully putting a stop to a conversation Lily would prefer to never have. She had indeed consulted with David a few years ago when her hunger for a child had left her restless many nights. He had even impressed upon her that less stress and more frequent coupling with the vicar would see the job done. He had even recommended a few vile tonics she had consumed to aid the process, and nothing had happened. Everything had felt hopeless then because frequent coupling was not something the vicar had wanted with his harlot wife. But since Oliver had entered her life, he had taken her every night, and in the days, too. Yet she was still empty. Not that she could be too disappointed. Lily couldn’t imagine what she would do if somehow she ended up breeding. Her child would be a bastard.
Their mother withdrew the pie from the oven and set it on the cooling rack, then she checked on the stew.
“Vicar Smith and his lovely wife will be coming to dinner,” she said, smiling. Light brown eyes, a perfect replica of her daughter’s, twinkled. “I picked up a roast to add to the table.” Mamma touched Lily’s hand lightly. “I wore my new redingote, and it was so admired, my dear. I’ve been boasting about your shop in London. We’re all so very proud of you.”
Lily smiled, wondering what her mother would think if she knew it was the marquess that had made it possible.
I’m a mistress.
“Mamma! There is a carriage pulling in the driveway,” Mary said, peeking through the small window of the kitchens. She paused in the kneading of the dough and glanced at their mother.
“A carriage? Oh, dear me,” her mother fussed. “It could be Squire Elkins and his daughter. I saw them at the butcher, and the squire hinted they might stop by for dinner. Everything has been so dreary for that family since his wife died.” She pushed aside their curtain and peeked. “Upon my word, I do believe it to be the Marquess of Ambrose!”
The knife clattered from Lily’s hand, the carrots she had been chopping forgotten. Why was Oliver there? She had left him at Belgrave Manor with the promise to return in a few days. Had something happened with the marchioness? Hurrying from around the worktable, she went to the water and basin and washed her hands.
“He’s coming up to the door,” Mary Rose gasped, her eyes rounding.
Their mother rushed from the kitchen. Lily untied her apron, balled it up, and dropped it on the counter before hurrying behind her mother into the small parlor where her father took his afternoon tea.
“What is it, my dears?”
“Lord Ambrose is coming to call,” Mamma said, looking harried and excited in equal measure. Moving with quick efficiency, she fluffed the cushions on the sofa and put away her sewing basket and needles. “Mary, dear, put on the kettle and slice up the cake.”
“The one for dinner?”
“Mary!”
Biting back her grin, Mary scampered away to do their mother’s bidding.
A few moments later, a knock sounded. Squaring her shoulders, her mother left the parlor and then returned with Oliver. His eyes swept the small and tidy parlor before settling on Lily with such wonderful intensity. She blushed, certain her parents would correctly assess their tendre.
Papa bowed. “Lord Ambrose, it is an honor to have you in our home.”
“Forgive me for calling so unexpectedly.”
“Not at all,” Mamma replied, turning on her heel to face the marquess. Lily knew the entire neighborhood would talk about this visit for weeks and her mother’s importance would soar.
Lily stepped forward and faltered. How had she not noticed his jacket was grass stained and there was a tear in his trousers? “My lord! What happened? You are a mess.”
“I raced with Radbourne along the lanes, and a dog appeared in the path. It is all murky, but I crashed my curricle.”
“Good heavens, are you well?”
He gave the barest ghost of a smile, his gaze alarmingly intent upon her. “More so than I have ever been. For you see, I realize what a damn fool I’d been,” Oliver said softy, his expression tender, and far too intimate with their watchful audience.
“A fool, my lord?”
He stepped closer. “A damn fool, Lily.”
She endured a strange ache in her heart, and how Lily wished to rush to him and confirm that he was indeed well.
Mary Rose entered carrying a tray with cake and tea and placed it on their small walnut table. Oliver shifted and dipped his head in acknowledgment of her sister, and it was then Lily saw the blood at his temple.
“You’re bleeding,” Lily said, hurrying over to him, uncaring of her family’s avidly curious and fascinated stares.
“It’s nothing,” he said smiling.
She glared at the blood pooling along his neckline. Clearly the accident addled his senses. “You have gone daft. We must return you home at once and summon the doctor. Or may I send for my brother-in-law, Dr. David Evans? He is our village doctor, and he is quite knowledgeable and proficient.”
He placed a finger under her chin and lifted her gaze to his. His touch, so light it was barely a breath
of sensation, seemed to pierce her like an arrow. Her breath caught at the mix of emotions chasing his handsome features—hope, a hint of fear, and something that looked frightfully like love.
“Lily?”
A fine tremble went through her body. “Yes?”
He pushed a loose tendril behind her ear, his actions slow and tender. “Marry me, Lily Layton.”
Her mother gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth, Mary Rose gaped quite unbecomingly, while her father slowly lowered himself to a chair, shaking his head.
Shock held Lily for long seconds, stealing her breath. She stared at Oliver for precious, heart-wrenching moments. “Upon my word, did you hit your head?”
He laughed, and she had never heard him sound so carefree and happy. “I did, but I assure you my wits are intact.”
“I…” Lord above. He seemed sincere and eager…and in love. With her. A lump formed in her throat, and she wanted to shout with happiness but couldn’t. “I cannot, my lord,” she said stiffly, refusing to unravel and burst into raw, ugly tears.
“Lily?” her mother questioned, her eyes glowing with worry and disbelief.
He stepped back slightly. “Lily, I—”
“Please, Oliver, I have nothing to recommend me to the honor of being your marchioness. I’m the daughter of a country botanist. My first husband was a simple soldier and my second, the vicar of this parish, a friend of my father. I have no connections to offer you,” she said hoarsely. “I have no money beyond the seventy pounds I’ve saved thus far. My reputation…” She cast her parents a quick glance, a blush heating her face. “We spend so much time together, Society possibly suspects I’m your mistress. I think…I believe that’s all I can be,” she whispered, wincing at the shock that bloomed on her mother and father’s face.
“If you would grant us some privacy, I would greatly appreciate it,” Oliver said to the room at large, seemingly unruffled by her rejection.
Her parents and sister discreetly left, closing the parlor door.
Lily’s throat felt tight, and tears swam in her vision. He reached for her, and she lurched back, her leg hitting the walnut table, spilling the teapot and cakes onto the floor. It shattered, the sound echoing through the parlor. “I cannot speak of this now.”
Ignoring Oliver, she skirted around the broken pieces and hurried toward the door. She could not face him now, and she desperately needed to be alone. Her composure needed to be regained, and the tearing emotions splintering through her heart must be controlled before she made a fool of herself. She flung the door open and rushed outside, not slowing her pace until she reached the gardens her father tended to so lovingly. There, she took several bracing breaths, but they did little to center her emotions. She had known being his lover would eventually end.
How I wish it were not so sudden and unexpected.
“Lily?”
She closed her eyes at Oliver’s concerned tone and took a deep breath. Snapping her eyes open again, she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and faced him.
His eyes skimmed over her face with piercing intensity. “Do you love me?”
“I cannot marry you!” But dear God, she wanted to so much…so much.
“Yes, you can.”
She opened her arms wide. “I’m…I’m nobody. I am without connections or the bloodline to make you a proper wife.”
“You are everything, Lily. Generous to a fault, sweet, passionate, intelligent—a woman I could see myself spending the rest of my life with. You are selfless, and I ardently admire you. I ask you to marry me, Lily Layton. I do not care about society’s expectations, and despite the knowledge of my position and status, I am falling helplessly in love with you, and I do not want to stop it. We are not of the same privileged society, but your character elevates you far above many of my peers. Even above my own. You need not fear that you will not hold your own amongst my friends, for they already love and accept you, and even if they did not, I would tell them to sod off.”
She slapped a palm across her mouth, staring at him helplessly.
“Today I raced along the lanes with Lord Radbourne. I crashed.” He felt the back of his head gingerly. “I got a solid hit here, and for a few moments, as my world swirled and blackness hovered, all I thought of was you, Lily. Nothing else, no one else. Just you, my love. I did not think of duty, or the difference in our wealth and status. I thought of your face, your smile, the warmth that burns through my soul to know you are happy. Allow me to stand by your side, and I promise to cherish your gift in this life and the next.”
My love… “Oliver,” she breathed, shaking her head, dazed and out of sorts.
“I ask you again, my sweet, do you love me?”
“I will not answer that. Why ever would you ask me such a question?” Tears burned beneath her eyelids, and she willed them not to fall. “You know I have no wish to remarry.”
“If you tell me you do not love me, right this moment, I’ll walk away and never trouble you again with my sentiments.”
He moved even closer to her, and there was no doubt in his eyes, as if he already knew the answer to his questions.
“What I feel for you does not signify. You are a marquess, a peer of this realm, and I—” She widened her arms. “I’m just a seamstress with no connection or money. What little reputation I had I already gave up by being your mistress.”
A beautiful smile curved his lips, and within two strides, he was standing before her. He cupped her cheeks and kissed her. “We care for each other. Do we need any more reasons to spend the rest of our lives together?”
“I…”
“Do I make you happy, my sweet?”
“Oh yes,” she said, pressing her forehead against his chest. The words David had said to her so many years ago ghosted through her thoughts. What if her brother-in-law was correct in his assessment? What if…what if she could have this wonderful man and a happiness that had seemed so impossible, she had not even dreamed it? Hope bloomed in her heart so fiercely it hurt. “I cannot give up my shop.”
He rubbed soothing circles along her arm. “I didn’t ask you to, nor would I require it.”
“How unseemly it will be for me to own a business.”
“You’ll be my marchioness. Nothing will be impossible.”
Damn her foolish, foolish heart and impossible hopes. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
He crushed her to him in a fierce hug, and she returned his embrace, the happiness bursting in her heart none like she had ever endured.
Dear God, please let this be real.
Almost an hour later, Lily froze in the motion of knocking on the larger drawing room of Belgrave Manor. She had not been content to wait in the smaller sitting room while her love informed his mother of their news. Only now, perhaps she should have listened to her marquess.
“Upon my word, Oliver, you jest in poor taste!”
Lady Ambrose’s shocked incredulity could not be denied, and Lily flinched in embarrassment.
“I do not, Mother,” his deep voice rumbled.
“To take a commoner for your bride? Our ancestry is noble and our bloodline impeachable. Mrs. Layton has no connections, no dowry, and I cannot think you would recommend her to be your marchioness. I’ve seen the way she looks at you, but I never thought you would succumb to her wiles. Take her to be your mistress. If the rumors floating about in town are rooted in truth, you’ve already established her as your chèr ami. Let her keep that role.”
It was not as if she’d had any expectation Lady Ambrose would give her nod of approval to Oliver’s notion of marrying her, but to hear her objections still pierced Lily deeply. Valiantly preventing her lower lip from trembling, she knocked once and then gently eased the door open. Oliver was sitting on his desk, his arms folded over his chest, his feet splayed casually. He seemed undaunted, and perhaps even slightly amused at his mother’s complaints.
He glanced up, and the heat and love that flashed in his eyes stole her breath. Willing her gaze away
from his, she turned to the marchioness, who observed her with a narrow-eyed glare. A flush swept up Lily’s face, but she marshaled her emotion, lifted her chin, and sauntered farther into the drawing room.
“My lady, my lord,” she greeted, dipping into an elegant curtsy.
Oliver rose with fluid grace and strolled over to Lily. He laced their fingers together, and she glanced down at their entwined clasp, a lump forming in her throat. Somehow, she had thought his convictions would have trembled at his mother’s protest.
“Why are you marrying me, Lily?”
She snapped her gaze to his, and a shiver of delight went through her heart at the tender way he smiled at her. “Because I love you with a passion I’ve never felt for another,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with too many emotions—joy, apprehension, hope.
“I promise, Mother,” Oliver said, without taking his regard from Lily, “it is because I love Lily that I’ve asked her to be my wife, my friend, my marchioness, and no other will do. You will not make her uncomfortable in any respect. To wound her is to wound me, to deride her is to hurt me, and if you love me, you’ll love her, for she is more, far more than the social class she was born to.”
I may not be able to give you an heir… The words trembled on her lips, but Lily repressed the doubt and directed her attention to the hope her brother-in-law had given her. There was a rustle, and Lily shifted as the marchioness surged to her feet. She braced herself for vitriol that never came. Instead, Lady Ambrose smiled, her kind eyes crinkling at the corner.
“I never thought I would live to see you so happy, my son.” She walked over to them, her hands held forward. Lily grasped one, and Oliver the other.
The marchioness leaned in and kissed Lily’s cheek. “Forgive my earlier utterances. I must say, I was shocked, but now I see how you look at each other, and that is what I’ve always wanted for my son. I already love you, Lily. Surely you must know that. I must warn you, society will not be kind, and there will be those who are offended by your union. I will support you both because I love you.”
