by Cari Hislop
“How dare you suggest Mamma would do anything so wicked? You’re a rude beastly man and I never want to see you again.” William was dismissed with a flick of her head as Grace smiled at Morley. “My wounded heart longs for comfort; pray who is this perfect man looking for a wife my Lord?”
Penryth silently escorted his white lipped nephew back out of the Philips’ house and into their waiting carriage. His nephew sat with his back to the horses staring out the far window as London slowly unrolled like a painted scroll. There was no elation in being right, but there was relief. If any man deserved to marry Grace Philips it was the Earl of Morley.
When the younger man knocked on the carriage roof with his stick to stop the carriage and get out Penryth restrained the impulse to ask where he was going. The footman closed the door and William disappeared into the night without a word. He’d get drunk and do something stupid; hopefully he wouldn’t run off to Scotland to marry a pretty demi-rep in search of an easy retirement.
As his carriage pulled up outside his London town house, Penryth was reminded that he had troubles of his own. It would be a long uncomfortable night in his chair by the fire worrying about William and dreaming of forgiveness. He stopped by his bedchamber door and stood there imagining what might have happened if he hadn’t left the breakfast table to visit Melisande. Hating himself, he forced himself to walk away. He’d ask Mrs Jones to let him help make one of Lily’s favorite cakes. With each bite she’d consume an invisible portion of kindness. That would be the start. He’d fill her life with so many kindnesses that she’d eventually forget that she hated him. One day she’d smile and ease the hellish ache.
Chapter 13
Lily woke in the middle of the night, her stomach protesting numerous missed meals. Lying on her back, she was wide awake and hungry. Staring at the dark ceiling, she inhaled thoughts of Mr Bowen. How could he kiss her as if he loved her and then go and… The thought of Mr Bowen lying with Lady Gillingham made her feel nauseous. How could he sully himself with such a heartless woman? Of course Mr Bowen had admitted before Lady Gillingham’s visit that he didn’t love his mistress. He’d admitted he was just using the woman, not that that made it any less sordid. And if he didn’t care, why had he kicked in her door and begged her forgiveness? Why didn’t he demand her forgiveness? He’d rescued her from Rosamund and married her. He could have rescued her and packed her off to his country house to be a servant. He could have arranged a small annuity and sent her off to anywhere. He didn’t have to marry her, but the man appeared to desire to make her happy. Why? Perhaps the riddle of Mr Bowen was wrapped up with the enchantment that had turned a swan into a man. Lily’s imagination wandered until her thoughts looped back to the fact he’d chosen to marry her. She could hardly blame him for breaking her heart when she’d accepted his proposal knowing there would be other women. Since her parents’ death, Rosamund had taken a particular delight in revealing all the sordid details of Mr Bowen’s love life.
Lily sighed as she pushed away the sickening thought of Mr Bowen in that woman’s arms. He’d sounded contrite, but his mistress had verbally attacked his wife and he did have a fat lip. Had he really made love to that woman pretending she was Lily? The thought cooked her cheeks with mortifying heat. Why would he do that? Did he really want to make love to his fat wife? He’d denied Lady Gillingham’s scandalous claims that Lily was too fat to share his bed and he had promised he’d never see Lady Gillingham again, though he didn’t promise not to find another mistress. But the man had married her out of pity.
Lily sighed in longing. It was stupid to think he’d ever fall in love with her even if he did like orange frizzy hair and that’s what really hurt. She’d live the rest of her life with her cheek pressed against a gold door that could only be opened from the inside. The door would never open. She’d stare into strange eyes that seemed to shift between dark brown and dark blue depending on the light and know that no matter how kind he was, she’d remain shut out of his heart. She was being stupid again; allowing her dream world to collide with reality was only making her miserable.
Her stomach rumbled again demanding attention. It had a painful emptiness that suggested she’d been sleeping for several days. Did she dare sneak down to the kitchen and find something to eat? She hadn’t yet visited the kitchen. She didn’t know where anything was kept. She reluctantly rolled out from under her warm bedding and pulled on her thin dressing gown. She shivered as she watched her breath form a faint haze in the darkness. After little more than a week of physical comforts her body was forgetting how to endure deprivation. The key in the lock was ice cold as she opened the door. She unconsciously walked down the hall to her broken door; the room was cold, the bed empty. Had he found some other woman’s bed to warm? She wiped away annoying tears and tiptoed over creaking floorboards in the direction of the hall until the faint smell of a coal fire drew her to Mr Bowen’s sitting room.
Peeking inside, a fire cast soothing shadows over the wing back chair and black boots resting on the fender; the master was in residence. Sighing in relief she closed the door behind her and tiptoed closer. Her husband’s arms were folded across his chest. His hair jutted out in random unwashed clumps while a new beard outlined frowning lips. Whatever he was dreaming it wasn’t pleasant. Would he be angry if she disturbed his sleep? Her aching stomach urged action. She touched his arm as the large bracket clock behind her on the wall struck a quarter past three. “Lily?” He jumped out of the chair smoothing down his hair as if he needed to look his best in the half-light. “I was hoping you’d come. I’m so sorry! If there’s anything I can say or do…?”
“Do you know where Mrs Jones keeps the bread and cheese? I’m hungry.”
“Hungry? Oh…” His shoulders, dark against the firelight, visibly slumped; he’d obviously thought she’d come to forgive him. “With reason you’re hungry. You’ve been locked away for nearly three days…I’ll bring you a tray.”
“I don’t expect…”
“Sit down…please.” He reached out to touch her face, but withdrew his hand before he could be chastised. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He stood there looking at her for several seconds before abruptly hurrying out the room. Feeling emotionally and physically exhausted, Lily crumpled into his vacated warmth that smelled of sweet tobacco. She sat back and let the chair embrace her. If only its owner’s arms were equally innocent, but for a selfish cad he could be uncommonly kind.
And if he hadn’t meant to hurt her; did that make any difference? It didn’t magically ease the painful ache, but she hesitantly reviewed the situation from his perspective. Unless he was lying, which seemed plausible, he’d visited his mistress because he wanted to make love to his wife, but why? It didn’t make any sense, but whatever the truth, he’d managed to infuriate both his mistress and his wife.
Her stomach growled with pleasure as China chinked against a silver tray as it was lowered onto her lap. “I brought two cups…” Lily’s heart forgot its wounds as his fingers lightly brushed against her legs. She had to look at the tray to understand he was referring to a pot of tea. “May I remain?”
“If you wish…”
“No Mrs Bowen, what do you wish? If you find my company unpalatable…”
“It’s your house Mr Bowen. I’m hardly going to dislodge you from the only warm room and send you to freeze in the hall.”
“It’s your house too Mrs Bowen and if you wish to be alone I’ll leave.”
“You may remain.”
“Thank you…” His body slumped onto the fender, the movement stiff and inelegant. Her enchanted swan appeared to have a broken wing.
“Thank you for bringing me a tray.”
“It was my pleasure.”
“You take your tea black?” The words were inappropriately mundane.
“Yes.”
She handed him the cup and saucer without looking at him. She could feel him watching her as she lifted the silver cover off her dish to reveal a large piece of iced
cake, sliced ham and toasted crumpets. “Oh Mr Bowen…” She picked up a crumpet and took a large bite.
“I fear being my wife is a nightmare; stale bread and dry cheese on an empty stomach from my larder would only prove it.” Lily didn’t know what to say so she stared at the plate and slowly chewed her food. He was silent until she took her final mouthful of cake. “Lily…”
The solitary word conveyed a plea for forgiveness. Her hand shook as she picked up her cup, spilling tea onto her empty plate. “We’re both half asleep Mr Bowen.”
“That wasn’t sleep; that was torture. Every time I tried to kiss you, you’d pull a small pistol out of a reticule and shoot me in the chest. You cursed me to a living death; I couldn’t die and I couldn’t regain your good opinion.”
“I’d never shoot you Mr Bowen.”
“But if I tried to kiss you?”
“I might throw up.”
Mr Bowen’s cup and saucer fell from his fingers and smashed on the wooden floor near his feet. “You’d be sick? But I only made love to her because I wanted you.”
“Then why didn’t you make love to me? All you had to do was say, ‘Mrs Bowen I wish to claim my conjugal rights.’”
“I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“You could have tried. At least if I’d found it unbearable I’d have understood your visit to that…woman.”
“I’m sorry. Will you give me another chance?”
Lily eyes filled with tears. “Of course I’ll forgive you, you married me. What other man would saddle himself with a penniless orange haired heifer?”
“Don’t call yourself that!”
“I might as well get used to it. Lady Gillingham is sure to tell everyone you married a whale.”
“Melisande is a hateful cow. I wish I’d never met her.”
“I wish I was dead.”
“Don’t say that Lily!”
“What’s the point in living when a scrumptious piece of cake can’t make you feel glad to be alive?”
“I helped Mrs Jones make that cake for you.”
“You made a very nice cake.”
He covered his face with his hands. “I feel like I’ve thrown my most valuable treasure into a slop bucket. Your kisses were divine; I wanted to kiss you all the way up the stairs to my bed. Tell me you don’t hate me. Tell me one day you’ll smile at me again.”
“It’s late Mr Bowen; I should go back to bed.”
He fell on his knees at her feet. “I’m begging you!”
“I thought begging made you uncomfortable.”
“I’m in agony. Lily…”
How could she deny him anything when he said her name like an adoring lover? “Of course I’ll smile at you again Mr Bowen.”
“And my kisses? Will they always make you sick?”
“No.” He appeared to moan in relief. If she didn’t say something she’d be sitting in the chair come daybreak. “I should go back to bed.”
He lifted his head and sighed again. He stood up and removed the tray from her lap to the fender. “May I help you up?” She stared at his extended hand with mistrust, but gave in to a foolish desire to touch him. His hand was warm, dry and strong. The same fingers that had gently washed her hair pulled her up out of the chair and held her captive without force. “May I kiss your hand?”
“If you wish…”
“No Mrs Bowen, what do you wish? If you find the touch of my lips revolting…”
“I’m your legal property Mr Bowen. Would you ask this chair if you could kiss it?”
“You’re my companion, not my chair. If you find the gesture repulsive then say so and I shall keep my lips to myself.”
Lily weighed possible outcomes against being polite; he had brought her a tray after having his sleep disturbed. “You may.” Lily forgot she was angry with the man as masculine lips lightly brushed her skin. When she didn’t try to pull free he carefully turned her hand over and pressed a reverent kiss to her inner wrist. Lily’s wobbly knees gave way sending her forward. Her cheek landed against his shoulder as a welcoming arm wrapped around her middle. Inhaling the disarming scent of sweet tobacco and Penryth Bowen she sobbed into his coat lapel. He didn’t mention his abhorrence for tears or try to stem the flood. He held her close, one of her hands still entwined with his fingers as he whispered soothing incomprehensible words in her ear that had no relation to English. Whether he was speaking Welsh comforts or chanting an ancient spell to make her forget Lady Gillingham’s bile; it was working. Shuddering into silence, her companion held her closer.
“So you enjoyed my cake?”
“It was heavenly.”
“Good. My secret ingredient is working. Lily…” She lifted her head off his shoulder as the arm around her waist pulled her even closer. His lips hovered several inches above. Standing on her tip toes brought them closer, but they were still out of reach. “You should be in bed.”
“But…”
“No, no, no…you’re still poorly; you need your rest. Tomorrow morning I’ll go buy a few dozen bonbons. Hopefully you’ll be kind enough to unlock your door and allow me to exchange a few of them for kisses.”
“You could kiss me now.”
“If I kiss you now you’ll lose more than a few minutes of sleep and you might wake up in pain and blame me for taking advantage of your fatigue and good nature. You might never let me touch you again. I won’t risk it; the last two and a half days have been hell.” He lifted her hand to his lips once more. “Now off to bed…before my baser instincts ruin my life.”
“But…”
“No, no, no, I insist.” The benevolent dictator had spoken. “Sweet dreams Lily.” She impulsively caressed his bristly cheek causing the enchanted swan to close his eyes and gracefully bow his head. “Oh Lily…” It was more a sigh than words. “Go!” Startled by his sudden harshness, she obeyed without looking back. On entering his room she found a large fire and a hot water bottle in the bed. Crawling under the covers she pressed her nose into his pillow. Hopefully she’d meet her husband in dreams where he wouldn’t be so reluctant with his kisses.
Chapter 14
The cloying scent of Lady Gillingham’s secret love nest conjured a men’s club with a delicate top note of roses and honeysuckle. William couldn’t remember how he came to be there, but there was no mistaking the identity of the naked woman lying in his arms. His alcohol soaked brain offered a puzzle of images that suggested he’d made love to his uncle’s mistress. Sunlight dazzled around the edges of the curtains heightening a painful throbbing in his head. Had he been awake all night or had he slept? It was all a blur. “Are you awake?” The words thundered through his brain like a coach and six.
“My head…”
“I’ll get you something.” William watched as she threw off the covers and walked naked over to a table, poured something into a glass and returned to place it in his hands. “Drink all of it; it’ll ease the pain in your heart.”
“My heart?” Had he revealed his shame to Lady Gillingham?
“You told me Miss Philips has jilted you in hope of becoming Lady Morley, remember?”
William’s heart shuddered. “I don’t remember anything. Where am I?”
“You’re in my secret refuge; I come here to relax and escape the sounds of screaming brats and squabbling family retainers. I was at home having dinner when an acquaintance sent me word that you were in her private gambling den trying to persuade her to let you gamble your heart. Luckily, Morley wasn’t present or he’d have taken you up on the offer. I rescued you and brought you here.”
