Nobody's Lady

by Annabelle Anders

  And then he would make no further efforts to see her.

  ****

  Arriving at the achingly familiar townhouse, Lilly and Glenda were greeted with enthusiastic affection by Lilly’s aunt, Lady Eleanor Sheffield. Lilly hadn’t seen her since her mother’s funeral and was saddened to see how much the lady had aged. Her eyes still sparkled with mischief, however, as she exclaimed over Glenda that she would be the talk of the ton this season. Aunt Eleanor pulled them into her cozy drawing room and sent Mary and her own servants to assist in bringing in the luggage and unpacking it in the girls’ rooms.

  The weather had cooled that evening, and the fire roaring in the overlarge hearth was welcome indeed. Tea and sandwiches were brought in as the three settled in to catch up with one another.

  Lilly hadn’t prepared herself for the memories that assaulted her the moment she entered her aunt’s home. Nine years ago, Michael had called upon her often. He’d come during receiving hours and taken tea with Lilly, her mother, and her aunt. He had also dined with them on several occasions with everyone expecting his presence among the family to one day become permanent. There had been a few moments when they had been left alone in this very room and managed to engage in various…other…activities.

  A lump lodged itself in Lilly’s throat. She was glad for Glenda to fill her aunt in on the events of their journey. Glenda told her Aunt Eleanor about the duke who had been robbed by highwaymen on his way to town. She told her all about how he had been handsome and very charming and had known Lilly before becoming a duke. She told her he had ridden in their coach with them for a day and a morning and had been very pleasant indeed.

  Aunt Eleanor was not so old she did not remember who this duke was. She watched Lilly in concern and then tentatively said, “Captain Redmond, now the Duke of Cortland, is to marry the daughter of a dear friend of mine in May. As I am the bride’s godmother, all of us, of course, shall be invited to the festivities.”

  Lilly schooled her features to hide her inner turmoil. She did not want her aunt to suffer guilt for celebrating with her friend. But, oh, God, life could be cruel indeed. Lilly had not bargained for such a complication as this!

  “It is Lady Ravensdale, then, who is your friend?” Lilly maintained a peaceful demeanor.

  “It is, dear. I’ve known Josephine for years. Along with their daughter, the youngest, there are four sinfully handsome sons.” Pausing in her enthusiasm, she peered closely at Lilly. “This connection, does it cause you distress, my dear? If so, then we must avoid the family. I was hoping enough time had passed, but if not, be truthful. I’ll not cause you torment over it.” The older woman’s eyes regarded her in concern.

  Lilly refused to deprive her aunt of her dear friend Josephine Spencer—who just happened to be Lady Ravensdale—who just happened to be Michael’s betrothed’s mother. “I shall be fine, Aunt. I am, however, weary from the long drive today. Would you be disappointed if I excused myself early? I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

  “Oh, but of course, you must go right up to bed! You remember the room you took before? I have put you in the same. And I still have Betty with me, and she is so pleased to act as your maid again!” Aunt Eleanor rose to her feet and placed her hands on both sides of Lilly’s face before Lilly could exit the room. “I am so very, very happy you have come to stay with me. We are going to have the most delightful of seasons!” She looked Lilly straight in the eyes, searching for any misgivings or second thoughts. “Everything is going to turn out fine. It always does. Get a good night’s sleep, and then we will discuss our plans tomorrow!” She kissed Lilly on the cheek and then shooed her off to bed.

  Lady Sheffield, never considered a beauty, even in her prime, was nonetheless attractive in that she was confident in both manner and bearing. Despite having lived alone since her husband’s death, decades ago, she was never seen in any manner of dishabille. With her gray-steaked reddish hair upswept in a regal style, Aunt Eleanor hadn’t really changed at all. A little grayer, perhaps; a few more wrinkles…But she was the same woman who’d brought her Miss Fussy. A heartening warmth welled up in Lilly’s chest upon this realization.

  Betty awaited Lilly in the familiar chamber, having already turned down the bed and unpacked her nightgown. Lilly was grateful to see her, but in truth, she wanted to be alone. One of her blasted headaches was threatening.

  She needed to recover from seeing Michael again.

  Even so, she gave Betty a hug and accepted her assistance in preparing for bed.

  The maid confided to her that her ladyship had been thrilled to learn of their upcoming visit. The winter had been drab and dreary. After brushing out Lilly’s long silver-blond hair and plaiting it in one long braid, Betty went about the room, organizing items on the dressing table and collecting the clothing Lilly had worn that day. When she finally departed, closing the door behind her, Lilly sighed in relief.

  It had been too much. Too many memories. Too many reminders of what could have been. The headaches had set in shortly after marrying the baron and still came upon her when she was overwrought. Life was cruel and unfair, and the baron had been a monster, but she had survived.

  Learning the truth, learning Michael had come back for her after all, shook her to the core. Because she’d learned it was she who was to blame for their separation. She could not blame her father, nor her mother, nor Michael himself.

  It had been her own fault.

  In this room, she’d experienced both euphoria and devastation. Euphoria early in their romance and devastation when Michael had failed to return—failed to come and speak with her father. They had waited two weeks in London before her father insisted upon returning to Plymouth. Once she was home, there had been another week before her wedding. And when he’d still not contacted her in that time, she gave up hope completely and married a man she did not love.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A Reluctant Bride

  1815

  Mr. Bishop arrived at Aunt Eleanor’s town house the day after Lilly, her mother, and her aunt returned from Michael’s estate. Her father had been anxious to get home to Plymouth but, upon speaking with his wife, reluctantly consented to await Captain Redmond’s return. He would not consent unless he wholeheartedly approved, he informed them both sternly.

  Lilly was nervous and excited for her father to meet Michael. Once she’d told her mother Michael intended to speak with Father upon his return, it seemed, all talk turned to an impending wedding. Lilly and her mother even discussed where the ceremony ought to be held. They concluded since the family chapel in Plymouth was not so far from the Duke of Cortland’s home in Exeter, it would be the logical and sentimental choice.

  Her mother’s excitement nearly eclipsed Lilly’s. She would have dragged Lilly over to the modiste to order a wedding gown, but Lilly drew the line. A niggling part of her thought it might be bad luck to anticipate matters so completely.

  She would await Michael at Aunt Eleanor’s. How long could it be? And so she waited one day…

  Two days.

  Three days.

  Four days.

  Where was he? Had there been problems at Edgewater Heights? Did he encounter difficulties while travelling? Alternately, Lilly would be mad with worry and then outraged that he dallied. Did he not realize how anxious her father would be to return home?

  In defiance of society’s sometimes unreasonable expectations, Lilly sent a missive to his London bachelor’s quarters at the end of the fourth day.

  Captain Redmond,

  My father is in London and anxious to meet with you. He wishes to return to Plymouth immediately, so please make your visit soon! I do not know how much longer we will be staying at my aunt’s townhome, so expediency is of great importance.

  And I miss you very much.

  Yours,

  Lilly Bridge

  Not one word. Lilly hadn’t heard a single word from Michael. It had been nearly two weeks, and he had failed to appear or even send a letter explai
ning his absence.

  Doubt set in.

  Had he actually told her he loved her? She couldn’t be certain now, and the more she thought about it, the more she questioned her memories. Had he? Surely, she would remember the exact time and location. She would remember what she was wearing and the exact time on the clock. Wouldn’t she? Surely she would!

  Dear God, what had she done? Could it have been only she who was in love? Had she been so blinded by his charm and good looks?

  And then she remembered special moments with him, magical moments, filled with secret smiles and tender looks. He’d trembled when he’d held her.

  Surely that had been true emotion.

  Or, as a niggling doubt entered her mind, did all men tremble when they were sexually aroused? Could he have possibly been only physically stimulated while being indifferent to her emotionally?

  During that awful two weeks, Lilly spent so much time crying into her bed linens, it was a wonder she hadn’t soaked the mattress completely. After a few days of this, Betty had wondered aloud that she had any tears left at all.

  Her eyes were puffy, and her stomach tied in knots. She would hear a carriage in front of the town house and feel a giddy sense of relief, but when inevitably it wasn’t him, she fell into an even deeper despair than before.

  Two full weeks passed, and her father announced he would wait no longer. It was time to return to Plymouth.

  And although she was devastated, Lilly also felt a sense of relief. He would contact her eventually. Unless he was dead. Which he had better be!

  No, no, no, Lord, she didn’t mean that! Everything was wrong now. Even her own thoughts.

  Having been too upset to eat much over the past few weeks, Lilly listlessly climbed into her father’s coach the morning of departure. A part of her kept watching, hoping. But there was nothing. No last-minute arrival with a perfectly reasonable explanation for being tardy. In a dress that hung loosely, now, on her diminished frame, Lilly departed London with little hope to cling to.

  Several times, as they drove, her mother pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “What did you do, Lilly? Why did he not come? Is it as I feared? Were you too forward? Were you too fast? Did you not listen to me when I told you a man would lose interest if you gave yourself to him too quickly?” And then she would moan and turn her head to look out at the window.

  With two days of this, Lilly’s mood plummeted further.

  Lilly’s father, who normally rode his own mount outside, traveled most of the distance inside of the carriage with Lilly and her mother. On the second day, he made an announcement.

  “I have received word from Lord Beauchamp. He is willing to take you on as his wife.”

  Lilly had been slumped pathetically against the side of the carriage with her face leaned against the window when her father began speaking. Upon absorbing his words, however, she sat up straight and alert.

  “But Papa—”

  He did not allow her to interrupt him. “I am not well, Lilly.” He looked to his wife who nodded in agreement. “I do not know how much longer I have on this earth. Something is growing inside of me, disrupting the functioning of my organs. Nothing can be done.”

  “That cannot be! You do not act as though you are sick!” And then looking at him, she saw that her father was much thinner than he had been when she and her mother had left Plymouth earlier that spring. How had she not noticed? Had she been so wrapped up in her own concerns she did not notice her father was failing? “Surely the doctor can do something!”

  But her father was already shaking his head side to side. “I have seen three different physicians, and all of them have given me the same prognosis. I will be lucky to survive till the year’s end.”

  Her mother was dabbing at her eyes again. Lilly sat silently, trying to absorb the truth of her father’s words.

  Lilly was torn by the shock of sadness upon hearing her father speak of his own demise and the fear of being forced to marry Rose’s widower.

  “You must see my predicament, Daughter. I cannot have peace until my affairs are in order. I must secure a home, a living, for you and your mother.”

  Again, Lilly went to speak, but he held out his hand. “I realize you believed this young captain of yours was planning on offering for you, but it is rumored both his father and brother have passed. If that’s the case, then he is now the Duke of Cortland. Which explains, of course, why he did not come as promised.” He sent her a hard stare and then spoke in a stern voice. “He is a duke now, Lilly, far above our social status. Even if he was still inclined to do so, he’s most certainly been advised against marrying so far below his station. You must accept the fact that he has not come. He is not going to. He may have planned on offering for you before but…His absence speaks louder than words ever could.”

  Lilly held her hand over her mouth. A duke? He was a duke now? And both his father and brother, dead! Oh, Michael, why have you not come to me? Why have you not come to tell me in person? Did you not think I would understand? Would she have? Could she have released him with her blessing?

  And then a sob escaped. He was not coming. He was never coming!

  Her mother crossed the space between the two seats and wrapped Lilly in her arms. “Oh, my darling, it will be all right. Remember the Lord doesn’t give us hardships we are unable to bear.” Lilly felt her mother’s lips upon her forehead and then soothing hands upon her back, but all she could think was that there had been no mistake. Michael had intentionally abandoned her.

  He would not marry her now—he could not marry her now.

  “I’ve notified the vicar, and he’s willing to perform the ceremony as soon as we arrive home. It will be a relief to know you and your mother will be cared for after I am gone.”

  These words only pierced her heart further. What would they do without Papa? She searched her father’s face. He believed this news about Lord Beauchamp was something she might welcome.

  Now that the scales had fallen from her eyes, she realized her papa did indeed look tired and somewhat haggard. Not only was his frame shrunken, but his hair looked thinner too. There was a yellowing around his golden eyes, so very much like hers. His gaze pleaded with her.

  “You will do as I ask?” Now he spoke to her in a voice that was vulnerable.

  “Marry Lord Beauchamp?” she confirmed.

  “Yes, it would ease my mind immensely.”

  Perhaps if he had less to worry about his sickening would slow. Perhaps all the worry he had felt for her these past two weeks had worsened his condition.

  “I will, Father,” she said. And with those words a light went out inside of her. That love she had felt for two short months was put to rest. She would marry Lord Beauchamp after all.

  Unless, a part of her whispered, Michael came to me after all.

  Please God! Please?

  ****

  Exactly one week later, following a brief and somber ceremony, Lilly rode in another coach. This time with her husband.

  A husband who was not Michael.

  She made a mental attempt at summoning some pleasure, anticipating a closer relationship with her niece, but she hadn’t the energy.

  She sighed.

  Lord Beauchamp glanced up from his reading with narrowed eyes. “You’re slimmer than you were last Christmas.” He spoke grudgingly. “Almost like Rose, only she was taller.”

  “I wish Rose was here.” If Rose were here, then Lord Beauchamp would not have needed a wife. Perhaps her father would not have sickened.

  Lord Beauchamp’s eyes seemed even glassier than normal for a few moments, then realizing he had not responded to her, he nodded and went back to his letters.

  Even while Rose had been alive, the baron had never been a particularly amiable man. And in the years since her death, he’d grown even more morose. His reddish hair, even his horrible mustache, were now streaked with gray. His eyes were dull, his skin white and pasty, and his lips pinched thin, always disapproving.
Lilly turned her head away from him.

  God help her, she was terrified to contemplate her wedding night.

  Surely her brother-in-law had no desire to consummate their marriage. Surely not! There had been no discussion on the topic, but of course, it was to be a white marriage, wasn’t it?

  When they arrived at Beauchamp Manor, Lilly climbed out of the carriage, stiff and tired. Since returning from Edgewater Heights, she had gradually come to feel her heart was exhausted from lost love.

  It pumped only what was required to keep her alive.

  Having rained for most of the day, the weather precluded the servants from lining up outdoors to greet their employer’s new wife. They stood in a formal line along the entrance hall instead. Lilly hadn’t paid a great deal of attention to the manor when visiting before. Her attention had been diverted by spending time with her sister, and then later, with her niece. Now, as she entered, she looked around and thought it gloomy and the air stifling. A life-size painting of her sister hung on the wall near the staircase—the perfect English rose.

  The painting had been commissioned around the time of her wedding, and her smile spoke of happiness untold. It ought to make Lilly happy, seeing an image of Rose like this, but on this occasion, it did just the opposite. In fact, Lilly turned her gaze away from it quickly.

  Except that Rose was memorialized throughout the house.

  On every pedestal was a vase. In every vase, roses. Fresh roses in some, dried in others. No wonder the air was thick with perfume. It was pungent with the scent of roses.

  Lord Beauchamp cleared his throat so he might have her attention. Lilly obeyed his nod and faced the servants.

  “Mr. Richards, Mrs. Bertie, this is the new baroness, Lady Beauchamp. Lilly, Richards and Bertie have the house well in hand. If you are in need of anything, direct your requests to either of them. Mr. Richards and Mrs. Bertie manage the household to my standards. You need not interfere.”