The innkeeper burst out laughing again but quickly checked himself when Michael glared in his direction. With his brows wrinkling, the feisty old man took a moment to assess him more thoroughly. And what did the innkeeper see? Mud covered him from head to toe, but Michael’s garments were expertly tailored, made of the finest linen and wool. Gold buttons fastened his shirt, and, ah yes, now the innkeeper saw it: the ducal posture and deportment. He might have saved them both some embarrassment if he’d only looked closer upon his first inspection. Mr. Jackson turned to Lilly and asked, “It is true, my lady? He is really a duke?” Concern laced his voice.
Kneeling beside her protective pet, Lilly peered up at Michael with a hint of sadness. “I’m afraid so, Mr. Jackson. I’m afraid so.”
Chapter Two
Saved by a Belle
Life wasn’t fair.
Although smeared liberally with sweat and dirt, half his hair standing on end, and befuddled with drink, Michael Redmond was more handsome now than when he’d first captured her heart. His current attire, or lack thereof, hid nothing of the powerful musculature on his frame, nor the pride of his bearing. He had been tall and fit at the age of one-and-twenty. At thirty, he pulsed with a vitality which nearly took her breath away. Even standing in a taproom barefoot, his demeanor was noble and arrogant. He’d been full of confidence before, but this was different. He was the same, and yet not. Much like herself.
Lilly reached up to touch the hair bound at the nape of her neck.
She was a widow, a matron, a chaperone to her stepdaughter—whereas he appeared a prime specimen for the marriage mart, drat the man. She knew he hadn’t married. Such a wedding would have been announced. As a duke, he likely was one of England’s most sought-after bachelors.
Well, they could have him.
Scooping Miss Fussy into her arms, she rose warily. She touched her lips to the soft fur on top of the dog’s head and looked at him from under her lashes. For a moment, their eyes held. His had mesmerized her from the very beginning. Like sunshine reflecting through cobalt glass, they glimmered. He was once again just Michael, and she was merely Lilly. But only for a moment.
Glenda stepped forward and elbowed Lilly. Returning herself to the moment at hand, Lilly gestured toward her. “May I present to you my daughter, Miss Glenda Beauchamp? Glenda, His Grace, the Duke of Cortland.” Glenda performed a sweet short curtsy, all the while keeping her eyes downward.
Lilly glanced sideways at Glenda and watched as romantic daydreams dawned behind her gaze. After seeing Glenda in such melancholy for the full year after her father’s death, it was a relief to see some excitement cross her youthful features. Glenda was taller than Lilly with layers of chestnut curls and warm brown eyes. Fair skinned and slim, she was nearly the spitting image of her deceased mother, Lilly’s older sister, Rose.
Lilly would make certain Glenda found a good match, somebody kind. She hoped for a gentleman with a sweet temperament and a tolerant spirit. Glenda wanted a love match, but Lilly had been compelled to warn her of the perils attached to such a messy emotion.
Lilly had known love and the resulting anguish of its aftermath.
Michael—the duke now, Cortland—bowed and addressed Glenda. “A pleasure, Miss Beauchamp. I assume you are traveling to town for the season?” He looked to Lilly questioningly.
It was Glenda who answered, however. “We are, Your Grace. I am to have my coming out. My stepmother is to sponsor me.” By now Glenda had found the courage to look him in the eyes. In fact, she fluttered her lashes as she spoke. “Were you truly attacked by highwaymen? How very brave to continue your travels on foot. We must assist the duke, Lilly! Especially after his harrowing experience!”
Lilly nearly rolled her eyes at Glenda’s words. But of course, Glenda considered Michael the epitome of everything a husband-hunting debutante desired.
Which was perfectly fine…or ought to be anyhow. What Lilly had felt for Michael, what she’d thought he’d felt for her, had all been an illusion. Best to leave such nonsense in the past.
Michael lived in a different world now.
As did she.
He did, however, appear to be in something of a pickle. Perhaps they could be of some assistance. But should she? She was torn. She had once felt very close to him. They had held each other in great affection.
Until he abandoned her.
A part of her wanted to leave him to walk the remainder of the distance to London. Barefooted even. Good manners however, won out.
“You were traveling with only one carriage?” she asked. Surely a man of his stature would have an entire entourage?
Instead of answering her question, Michael glanced around. Several of the inn’s guests, keen to know his response, listened to their conversation shamelessly. His arrival had certainly livened things up around here. “Please allow me to clean up, my lady.” And then he surprised her. “Will you and your stepdaughter join me for dinner?” He turned to the innkeeper. “You do have a private dining room available, do you not?”
Having come to terms with the fact that he had insulted an actual duke, the innkeeper launched into a series of bows and bobs. “Of course! Of course! And a suite for His Grace as well.” He waved toward the stairs for Michael and his men to follow him. “There was a gentleman here earlier, must have been your valet then, a Mr. Dunkin. He departed along with your other servants but left a portmanteau in my keeping for you, for Your Grace, sir. Because of the rain, we are short on rooms. He asked that we relay to His Grace, er, to you that is, that they would go ahead and meet up with you in London. I’m sorry for not knowing you were His Grace, er, Your Grace…heh, heh…But truly, I was expecting something of a fancier…not that you aren’t fancy, it’s just that…er…” He trailed off uncomfortably.
Best stop now, Lilly thought. Poor man! Michael did look rather vagrant-like. Mr. Jackson turned to lead the duke and his men toward the back stairs.
Michael bowed once again toward Lilly. “I’ll see you at dinner then, madam.” He’d scowled upon hearing the news regarding his baggage coaches. His shoulders slumped, and he rubbed a hand across his face wearily. He must be exhausted!
After they disappeared, Lilly sighed.
He’d called her madam.
How was it possible to feel so old when one was a mere six-and-twenty? She pinched her lips together and pivoted in the opposite direction. “We’d better get Miss Fussy outside, or there will be more than mud on this floor.”
Glenda trailed after her excitedly. “Is he really a duke, Lilly?” And “How is it that you know a duke? You’ve never mentioned knowing a duke before! Oh, Lilly, how delicious! Tonight, we dine with a real live duke! And we haven’t even arrived in London yet!”
Leading Miss Fussy outside onto a somewhat soggy, grassy area, Lilly ignored Glenda’s questions for the moment. The ground was saturated but not entirely muddied. Lilly untied the leading string and allowed her pet to explore. Miss Fussy would go to a great deal of trouble discovering the perfect location to do her business. She nosed around in somewhat of a figure eight, then circled back diligently and squatted. The familiar ritual was accomplished with a great deal of dignity.
“Lilly—” Glenda implored her. “You must tell me more about him. Is he married? Is he in search of a wife? Oh, I know a duke is far above me, and he is very old, but, oh, he is so handsome!”
“Take a breath, Glenda.” Lilly finally spoke. “If you would but give me a moment, I will endeavor to answer some of your questions.” And then she paused. “I met the duke before he was titled. He was a second son and had been on leave from the military. His father and brother died within a very short time of each other, shortly after Mich—shortly after the duke and I met. Just before I married your father, in fact.”
****
April 1815
“But why would you need a season?” Lilly’s father, Mr. George Bridge, had reasoned with her when she reminded him of the promise he’d made when she was but twelve years
old. “I’ve a perfectly sound match for you here.”
A landed gentleman, Mr. Bridge enjoyed a small income, but Lilly and her mother could not depend upon it to secure their distant future. For their home, their estate, most everything the family owned of any value, were entailed through the male line.
They didn’t speak of the precariousness of their situation often, but Lilly knew her father worried. Her parents had not been blessed with any sons. A distant nephew stood to inherit everything.
So concerned with financials as of late, Lilly’s father was now attempting to retract his promise for the London season. He’d asserted it wasn’t necessary.
Lilly’s sister, Rose, dead for three years, had left a grieving husband and a motherless eight-year-old. Everyone declared a marriage between seventeen-year-old Lilly and Rose’s widower to be the perfect solution. Everyone but Lilly, that was.
“You promised me a season, Father. I will find my own husband.” She’d held her ground fiercely. She would never marry Lord Beauchamp!
Her brother-in-law had been obsessed with Rose and had gone into full mourning upon her death. Three years later, he continued to wear all black, going so far, even, as to carry black handkerchiefs. Although he’d always treated her politely, he came across as…pompous and somewhat eccentric. Marrying him was incomprehensible. Lilly found the entire suggestion repulsive.
She would find her own prince.
And so, her father had relented. One season, he’d said. If she failed to land a suitable and well-heeled husband by the end of it, she’d marry the baron.
Lilly was not worried. London abounded with eligible bachelors! And although not the beauty that her sister was, Lilly possessed reasonably good looks. And she would have the help of her aunt, Lady Eleanor Sheffield. Having marched with the ton for decades, Aunt would have received invitations to all the balls, garden parties, and recitals necessary for Lilly to find her prince.
She was to sponsor Lilly.
Hardly a week passed in London before the whirlwind began.
Nearly as excited as Lilly, Aunt Eleanor embraced her role as sponsor wholeheartedly. She had even engaged her favorite modiste to design a gown for her niece—special for tonight—for Lilly’s debut in society.
The dress, fit for a princess, consisted of white chiffon with a silver lace overlay. Aunt Eleanor had insisted it enhanced Lilly’s unusual platinum hair. Cut high at the waist, and the bodice demure, the dress flattered Lilly’s status as a debutante.
Not to be left out, Lilly’s mother purchased additional lace and threaded it through Lilly’s upswept hair. A string of pearls completed the ensemble.
The night promised magic!
Before she knew it, the three of them had stepped out of the carriage and then climbed the steps to the Willoughby Mansion. Her first ball ever!
Guests milled everywhere! It was most certainly going to be a squeeze.
Lilly stood silently as her mother and Aunt Eleanor chatted with a few other matrons as they all waited in the reception line to greet their hosts. Already, there was so much to see!
The giant foyer beckoned inhabitants with its marbled floor, but the ceiling, majestically painted with cherubs, angels, and heavenly clouds, nearly had Lilly falling over backward as she gazed up at the artwork. Could this really be the Willoughby’s home?
Statues balanced upon alabaster pedestals in out- of-the-way places, and gilded paintings hung along the full length of the corridor. In awe, Lilly’s curiosity did not allow her to ignore any of her surroundings. She would remember every second of this extraordinary night.
And then, she spotted him.
She was first caught by the beauty of his eyes. Like a lake reflecting a perfect summer sky, they mesmerized. Watching her, he appeared amused at her wonder, at her awe. She would have felt foolish except for something else in his regard. It lacked any mockery whatsoever. And when their gazes locked, he didn’t look away.
Neither did she.
He presented himself in military regimentals, which alone could make any girl’s heart flutter. But Lilly saw more than that. His face was friendly and handsome. At least a foot taller than she, he filled out his uniform nicely. His nearly black hair was tied back, but one wayward lock fell across his eyes. He didn’t use a pomade, so it appeared to be soft to the touch. Lilly held his gaze until he sheepishly dropped his lashes to stare at his feet. He hesitated a moment.
Then, running a hand through his hair, he slanted his eyes back toward her almost sleepily.
Lilly’s breath caught. She knew such boldness was not appropriate. She oughtn’t to allow him to eye her so, and yet paralyzed, she could not look away if her life depended on it.
And then he sent her a slow, lazy smile.
Barely aware of herself, Lilly’s countenance broke, and she grinned back. An unusual joy swept through her. They held each other’s eyes for only a few seconds, but it might as well have been a lifetime. Unable to bear the intensity a moment longer, she forced herself to turn away from him. She felt as though she had been burned. She was terrified to look at him again, and yet she knew it was not the end.
How could it be?
“You’re holding the line up, dear.” Taking her arm, Aunt Eleanor pulled her along the receiving line. Lord Whosit? Of Whatsit? A pleasure to meet this lord and that lady…In a daze, Lilly responded with practiced curtsies and, apparently, the proper greetings.
But she could not shake the effects of her earlier encounter…with him.
Dazed, she floated along beside her aunt and mother as the major-domo announced them. She’d been dreadfully nervous for this moment all day, and now that her name rang out in the ballroom, the buzzing inside her drowned it out.
Once inside, her aunt steered them to a carpeted area away from the orchestra and began introducing her to her oh-so-dearest friends, and her oh-so-dearest friend’s nephew, or son, or grandson, etc. Lilly’s dance card filled quickly, but her thoughts refused to stray from the gentleman she had seen in the foyer. Where was he? Would he find her? She wanted to dance with him!
As if conjuring his presence with her very thoughts, he appeared at her side in the company of another, older gentleman. She had already been introduced to the older gentleman, a friend of her aunt’s, but could not remember his name.
“Miss Lilly Bridge, it is my honor to present to you the younger son of my old friend, the Duke of Cortland, Captain Michael Redmond. Captain Redmond, this is Miss Lilly Bridge, the niece of Lady Eleanor Sheffield.”
Lilly dipped into a precise curtsy, tipping her head in reverence, for she was certain the man who stood before her would one day be her husband. The moment assumed a crisp clarity. Suddenly, everything in her life made perfect sense. Fate’s mission had been to bring her to him. He took hold of her fingertips and bowed. Even though they both wore gloves, warmth spread through her at his touch. He hadn’t been so bold as to touch his lips to her hand, but he’d thought about it. She could tell by the gleam in his eye.
“Miss Bridge, it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance. Are you new to London this season?” He spoke in low gravelly tones. Lilly wondered if he, too, understood the momentousness of the occasion.
“I am entering society for the first time tonight, Captain Redmond.” And then her mind went blank. It was as though she’d forgotten how to speak for all of fifteen seconds. But she must make some attempt at conversation! For he had already caught her gawking like a child in the Willoughby foyer. “I’ve never seen so many candles aflame in one room,” she finally commented, indicating the chandelier and sconces all around them. She gently waved her fan below her face. “It’s no wonder the room is so warm.” It was heating up in here.
“May I escort you to the refreshment table? I wouldn’t mind a drink, myself.” With a nod of permission from her mother, Lilly accepted. Turning, he winged an arm, and she tentatively wrapped her hand around it, just below his elbow.
His jacket was a soft wool. She absorbed hi
s strength and essence as they crossed the room.
“I’ve pondered the duplicitous nature of candles myself.” He glanced down with a dashing smile. “Hostesses in London trust the flames to bow to their wishes and remain safely upon the wick. They have been lucky so far.”
As they reached the refreshment room, Captain Redmond drew her closer, protecting her from the jostling crowd. And then, instead of procuring lemonade as Lilly expected, he scooped up two flutes of champagne from a nearby waiter’s tray.
Handing one to her, he steered them to a granite bench near the terrace doors. Without relinquishing his arm, Lilly sat on the cool bench sipping the intoxicating drink. What did one say when conversing with the man of her dreams? Well, she must say something, that was for certain.
Anything!
“Are you just returned from the continent?” Her voice came out sounding breathless. She fluttered her fan again. It was frightening, really, to imagine the future father of her children fighting in some distant land.
The specter of a shadow crossed his face. “I am. I have been attending matters in Brussels until a few weeks past. With the battles won, I found myself yearning for England.”
“How long were you there?” She hoped she wasn’t treading into a distressing subject. Many families had lost young men to the effort. It could be a touchy subject.
He grimaced. “Just over a year. I left Oxford before completing my studies.” Before she could ask if he intended to return to Oxford, he spoke again. “Where do you hail from, Miss Bridge?”
Oh, but this was something she would have no difficulty talking about. “The south, a small village near Plymouth. My father’s property is a day’s drive from the sea. I had never been far from there until a few weeks ago. And it is all so very different. London overwhelms me at times! So much humanity in one place! I’m still not certain how I feel, having so many people all around me. The sensation can be…unnerving at times.” Was she rambling? “I’m not finding fault though. Please forgive me if I sound ungrateful to be here.”
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