His mother had continually attempted to cajole him into finding a lady to marry so she could have grandchildren, even going so far as to trick him into meetings with the latest debutante beauty. He had resisted. It was not that he did not wish to marry, but what woman would want to have a man who screamed in terror during the night?
He had admired Lilian’s and her sister’s pluck that fateful day. Avalon’s wife had planned to introduce her daughters and had had the audacity to invite both Max and him to join her in the parlour when her husband’s meeting ended. He chuckled, thinking about the empty parlour. The girls had escaped, taking to their horses before she could gain their attendance. Although Lady Avalon did not seem one to let her temper get the better of her, the tight-lipped smile the Countess had worn while she made small talk and served tea to them both had told him there would be more to come. This mother had planned a reckoning with her daughters.
Harlow appreciated a woman with a streak of independence, although that could not be said of many of his friends. When he spotted Avalon’s daughters galloping neck and neck along the ridge that day, he was further intrigued. Both horses reared at the sudden shot. Max’s and his horses neighed in alarm but were more accustomed, due to service in the war, to loud noises, and the men were able to maintain control. The girl in the blue habit lost her seat and disappeared from his view.
The shot sounded close, as if it had come from his left. Luckily the bullet missed them all. However, since that fateful day he had often wondered if the shot had been accidental? Had the bullet been meant for them?
Chapter 3
Lilian had seen the handsome gentleman glance her way more than once and always with a heart-melting smile. She tried her best not to stare in his direction, yet found her eyes drawn to him, nonetheless. As dancers swished their way across the floor, she strained to catch sight of him from the corner of her eye and made small excuses to herself each time she realized what she was doing. Seeking her mother’s whereabouts was the last excuse she offered, a ridiculous pretence quite unworthy of her intelligence.
Mama had not left the side of the hostess, Lady Smyth, and her friends since she had returned to them following Lilian’s own introduction to Lord Harlow, barely an hour ago. What was even more distressing, each time she looked in her mother’s direction, Mama and her friends were looking in hers, forcing her to give what Mama referred to as her pretend smile. No matter, she justified, it would have to do since she was not interested in being here. Well, she thought, with a tiny twitch of her lips, she had not been until an hour ago.
If she had not become such a cynic this past year, she would have believed—no, she would have wished—John Andrews to be her Prince Charming. Indeed, he looked every bit the gentleman she would have imagined. His thick, wavy brown hair hung to the top of his collar, framing a square, dimpled chin. His broad shoulders accentuated a smaller waist, drawing her attention to his very athletic body. He stood taller than many of the men in the room, a quality that, as she perused his body from the vantage of her chair, looked imposing.
A flash of red caused her to look in his direction. Is he leaving? Quickly, she turned her head away from him, in case he looked back, and realized she had barely noticed anything or anyone other than him since she had made his acquaintance. She shook her head, summoning the will to think of anything else except his sparkling blue eyes and the smile that warmed her to her toes whenever he flashed it in her direction. Think of…anything but him, she ordered herself. Lilian squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, hoping she would see something different when she opened them.
This cannot be happening. She groaned inwardly. Lord Harlow’s red uniform was too easy to spot, and she watched him make his way towards the front of the room, stopping to speak with the hostess, her two daughters, and Lilian’s own mother. A woman dressed in a red satin and gold gown, with reddish-blonde hair in an elaborately jewelled chignon, sauntered from behind him and hastily placed her gloved hand on his arm. She must have said something to the other women, because they immediately stepped back from Lord Harlow, and walked away, whispering. How will I ask Mama about her without it becoming a point of discussion with her? Lilian allowed herself to think about that, certain her mother had information, while she studied the correlation between them all from her safe vantage point; watching their body movements with keen interest. She was becoming adept at predicting people’s moods by watching their body and their expressions. The wheel-chair provided plenty of opportunity for her to perfect this skill.
Who is that woman? After a few minutes, Lord Harlow leaned in the woman’s direction and whispered…something. The woman pulled back, laughed and swatted his arm with her fan, but the scene seemed wrong—almost forced. The woman tapped his arm once again and nodded, almost imperceptibly, before she strolled towards a man standing by the refreshment table. Did she and Lord Harlow plan a later assignation? A strange feeling hit the pit of Lilian’s stomach and warmth shot up her neck. Was that jealousy? Impossible! She used the notebook in her reticule to fan her face before remembering her delicate white lace satin fan was hanging from her arm. She whipped open the folds, moving the object quickly to create a breeze across the sudden moistness on her face and neck. Scanning the room, Lilian spotted the open door to the terrace, wishing herself out there. Hundreds of beeswax candles had warmed the room miserably, and the dark pink colour of the walls added to a morbid fear of being closed into a small space.
Peering through the dancers, Lilian spotted her sister twirling about, now waltzing with Lord Richard Yarstone. Her soft, peach silk dress gently wrapped the sides of her legs as they twirled, her golden slippers protruding ever so subtly from beneath. Lord Yarstone was naught if not persistent where Lydia was concerned. Lilian thought they reciprocated each other’s feelings. And, if she counted correctly, that was the second dance for them—together. She smiled to herself. They might not be counting, however, it was a certainty Mama was doing so. She tallied everything, unfortunately.
Lord Yarstone would arrive promptly at ten of the clock. She expected the front parlour would be lined with white roses tomorrow, his usual choice. White roses signified new beginnings and everlasting love. It was everything that Lydia deserved.
A wistful sigh escaped Lilian, causing her to clap her hand to her mouth and look around, embarrassed. The surrounding girls were absorbed in conversation and had not seemed to notice her. That was part of the problem—she felt unworthy of notice. Lydia’s acquaintance with Lord Yarstone was becoming more serious. It was what she wanted, and Lilian was pleased for her sister. However, this only added to the lacklustre feeling which had crept over her of late about her own life, sitting here with naught except an oversized wheel-chair as her steady companion. Her sister, her best friend, would marry and leave home, separating them for the first time in their lives.
Suddenly feeling rather overwhelmed, Lilian was ready to leave. She had promised to come, and she had fulfilled her part of the bargain. She hung her head, as much for shame as despair at her thoughts. She was so lost in her thoughts she failed to see her sister and Lord Yarstone approaching.
“Are you ready to depart, Lilian?” Lydia’s eyes crinkled at the corners with mirth.
Already? “Truly?” Lydia is ready to leave? Unheard of. She subtly turned to the door in time to see Lord Harlow exit the ballroom, and a quiver ran up her arm. It was hard to be unaffected by his dashing presence, particularly so when he wore his crisp, red uniform. “Yes, Lydia, if you are prepared.” She smiled weakly, keeping her enthusiasm at bay on purpose. “It is a little warm on this side of the room, especially since there are no exits.” She gave a few more flaps of the fan, as if to emphasize her point, before putting it away.
“I agree, it is rather warm.”
“Lady Lilian, may I fetch your chair for you?” Lord Yarstone inquired.
Containing a sly smile, she nodded and watched him retrieve her chair from behind the small arch of potted plants. The plants were
delicately intertwined to affect a small garden of greenery that curved to embellish the corner of the room. Besotted was the word Father had used when describing Lord Yarstone.
“You must tell me all,” Lydia whispered softly, grinning. “I saw him talking to you.” She emphasized the word him. “And do not pretend you do not know of whom I am speaking, sister.”
Pretending not to know what she was speaking of made little sense. Her sister would be sure to wheedle out the story in no time. Feeling impish, however, Lilian determined to make Lydia wriggle a little first. “It was naught save a momentary conversation,” she said at last. A curious feeling of satisfaction rippled through her. Yet, when she looked back at Lydia, she saw her sister’s smirk of satisfaction. Blood rushed from her neck to her temples; she felt its heat. I cannot hide anything from her.
“Surely, ’twas not just a conversation. It was deliberate, purposeful. I insist you tell me everything! That was Lord Harlow. Every debutante in the room had her eyes on you when he walked in your direction,” her sister whispered. “Your Prince Charming!” Her head bobbed slightly with happiness. “And you stalked him afterwards. Do not try to deny it; I saw you.”
“Do not be silly. How could I do such a thing when I am tied to a chair?” They caught me!
“You still have eyes, dearest.”
“Lydia, may we please discuss this in the carriage?” Lilian pleaded softly, her face beginning to burn. She heard rustling and turned her head to see all the wallflowers, heedless of good manners, were craning their necks in her direction.
Lord Yarstone cleared his throat. “My ladies, your mother has seen us and appears to be saying her goodbyes. Would it be permissible to escort you to the door?”
“Thank you, Lord Yarstone. We would appreciate that greatly.” Lydia smiled and moved in front of her sister’s chair.
Lilian lifted her arms and allowed Lydia to pull her to a standing position as Lord Yarstone exchanged the chairs behind her, allowing her to settle into the wheel-chair. I hate this part. It is humiliating. She mustered a faint smile, a false smile, but a smile all the same. She would not give them anything to talk about on purpose. She could only imagine the number of people watching the awkward exit. Lydia claimed she would walk again, pointing out her ability to stand. Frankly, Lilian understood none of it. She felt trapped in this chair. Lord Yarstone waited until she was seated and then escorted their small party to their carriage.
A little over an hour later, the girls were back at their father’s town house, in their suite of rooms. Lilian liked the fact that Father and Mama had made their rooms into adjoining apartments. Each had their own bedroom with a small retiring area attached, joined together by a larger private parlour. As children, this room lent itself as a small nursery or room for their nurse, should their health demand it. Lilian’s rooms were in subtle tones of blues while her sister’s rooms were pink.
“Lilian, once I have changed my gown, I will come back. Do not expect me not to beg for all the details. You must tell me.”
“Really, Lydia…there is little to say,” Lilian responded.
“Nonsense. Do not prevaricate. There is much to comment on. I watched you.” Triumph gleamed in her eyes. “I only wish the steps of the dance would have brought us closer to where you were sitting, so I would not have to wait.”
Lilian winced. “You would not have heard a thing. The music was loud,” she murmured. “Besides, since we are on the subject, I noticed Lord Yarstone’s particular attentions towards you. Mayhap we should place bets on what type of flower he will send tomorrow. He must get up very early, as I think on it, to buy all the white roses in Town.
“White roses are lovely and convey such beautiful messages. Do you remember the halls full of flowers we had last year?” Lilian reflected, musing aloud about the bouquets the two of them had received the previous Season.
“And you will soon have flowers again, my beautiful sister,” Lydia retorted. “Heed my words,” she added in a prophetic tone.
“I love the roses he brings you. I cannot wait to see what tomorrow brings,” Lilian murmured, as much to herself as to her sister.
“I hope ’tis nothing too romantic. I am not sure I want to commit myself to any gentleman this early in the Season.” Lydia’s voice trailed after her as she left the room—leaving Lilian to her thoughts.
The door to her bedchamber opened again and Clara entered, followed by two younger housemaids carrying water and a tray. She stoked the fire and then addressed the two underlings.
“Abby, do fill the basin with fresh water, please? Mary, my girl, put the camomile tea and biscuits on the table next to Lady Lilian’s bed if you will.” The maids did as bid and left. Clara was always very respectful in her dealings with the other maids. The servants all loved her—the women, especially because of her many kindnesses towards them. Every Christmas, she added a small box of treats to their gift, usually ribbons, which she had purchased with her own money throughout the year and tucked away for the festivity.
“My lady, how did you enjoy the ball?” Clara made quick work of removing Lilian’s hair pins and jewellery, carefully tucking her grandmother’s pearls back into the jewellery case.
“It was lovely. Greenery formed delicate corner arches that gave the impression that the room was rounded. The pale wooden floors shown like mirrors under the light of hundreds of beeswax candles. It was a crush and quite warm.” Lilian tried to describe the room, but all she could think about was a tall, handsome soldier in his dashing red uniform.
She efficiently unlaced the back of Lilian’s dress and lifted it over her head.
“I can brush out my hair, Clara. You have so much to do after these affairs, especially now.”
“Nonsense, m’lady. It is my great pleasure to see to both of my beautiful girls. What I would nay give to be a fly on the wall to hear the accounts of this evening, seeing the smiles the both of ye are wearing.”
“Saucebox!” Lilian playfully admonished her childhood nurse. The twins’ relationship with Clara had grown close over the years and she never hesitated to voice her opinion, a habit Mama abhorred. However, being accustomed to Clara’s forthright ways, Lydia and Lilian would think it odd if she did not speak her mind, so much like a second mother had she become.
“I heard ye had a gentleman ask for an introduction.” The older woman clicked her tongue softly and smiled.
“Who told you?” Lilian’s face heated. “I have not even discussed it with Lydia. Yes, Lord Harlow asked Mama to make me known to him.”
“Oh, the gentleman who saved your life? A true prince, to be sure. He is a good-looking chap! I declare, I should be mighty glad to receive him. Asked to meet you, did he?” Clara’s eyes twinkled. “I have heard he has asked after you each time he visits your father.”
Servants always talk. Yet who could have told her so soon? Mama! Lilian should know better than to be surprised.
“Clara, I shall tell Lydia in a few moments. Indeed, I shall receive no sleep otherwise.”
Clara tittered. “’Tis enough to know there is more, m’lady. I shall be away to your sister, for I fear she will be fit to burst, waiting to hear all about it.” She gently chucked her charge under the chin and scurried off to help Lydia, leaving Lilian feeling a myriad emotions. She was excited—and it scared her. To be sure, she had met with many young gentlemen…however, that had been last year. Not since she had had her accident, and been confined to a wheel-chair, had she entertained gentlemen callers. She was not sure she had the stomach for it. Moving her chair close to her bed, she locked the brake and transferred herself to her bed, something she found doable using the strength of her arms.
“I can see that you are trying to wriggle out of whatever wonderful thing is about to happen, and I will not allow it, little sister!” Lydia cheerfully bounded into the room in her usual hoydenish fashion and jumped on the bed beside her. “Tell me everything!”
“Little sister? We are the same age!” Lilian
playfully swatted at her twin. “You know quite well I am the elder…”
“By mere seconds. You took your time in greeting the world too, I will add. In fact, according to Mama, I chased you out! I was directly on your heels.” Lydia’s voice was full of cheer.
“I am ready to tell all.” As she recounted her time with Lord Harlow, she realized that she had a much better evening than she had imagined and looked forward to seeing him again.
“That cannot be all. I must hear everything. Hurry!” Lydia prodded gently. As she spoke, Lydia put her finger up and they stopped talking long enough to listen for anyone walking outside in the hall, making sure their mother had not heard their comments. She had a way of creeping up on them. When convinced her mother was nowhere near, Lydia continued, “Practice your fractious face. As you know, Mama can go from being gleeful to—figuratively at least—skewering a person in a heartbeat when crossed,” she said.
They dearly loved their mother but her overbearing presence of late had become difficult. Indulging an occasional, private joke was their only comic relief. Perhaps it was her way of dealing with Lilian’s disability. Whatever had provoked it, Mama had become fierce in her drive to find matches for both her daughters, and seemed to forget that she had, at one time, encouraged their marrying for love. Lilian realized that most of this effort was because of her injuries.
“Come on, then, blow the gab.”
“I beg your pardon?” Lilian feigned surprise, although the slang term was familiar from the many hours they had spent in the stables.
“Tell me. What did he say? I saw him sit next to you and speak. I stepped on poor Yarstone’s foot when Lord Harlow sat down.”
Romancing a Wallflower Page 3
