The Last Chance Christmas Ball

by Mary Jo Putney

  Nodding politely, Lily moved through the social conventions by rote. By now, such things were second nature. She was, however, happy she did not have to meet Miss Hayward again just yet. Having a face—all that red hair and rosy cheeks—to go with the vague rumor suddenly made it vividly real. Until she had some quiet time in which to reorder her thoughts and prepare for the inevitable, Lily feared she might not manage to mask her feelings.

  The countess announced a number of activities for the morning. The men were to tour the gun room, and she had organized a carriage for those ladies who wished to peruse the shops of Bellsburn.

  Lily demurred, choosing instead to explore the large conservatory built in the latter part of the previous century by the current earl’s grandfather, whose collection of exotic specimen plantings from around the world had been carefully maintained by the family. Edward, who had more than a passing interest in botany, had described it in great detail to her during their long-ago courtship, and so she couldn’t help but be curious to see it.

  As she pushed open the heavy brass-framed oak doors, a cloud of moist, warm air enveloped her, bringing with it the heady fragrance of life bursting into bloom—pungent grassy scents mixed with delicate florals and mysterious spices. Looking up at the soaring, sun-dappled glass, Lily stood very still and filled her lungs, hoping to chase away the shadows clouding her thoughts.

  Up ahead stood a cluster of tropical palm trees, the long-fingered fronds stirring lazily in the gentle drafts of heat set off by the copper braziers placed around the perimeter of the cavernous space. The ruffling sounds reminded her of India, and she moved closer, letting the leaves brush against her cheek.

  Strange how she felt suspended between two worlds. She had left one behind, but as yet was not sure how she fit into the other.

  “Are you homesick?”

  Edward’s low voice startled her out of her reverie.

  “No, not at all.” Lily composed her expression before turning around. “I never really thought of it as my home. I think I always knew that I would return to England.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  How to answer? She thought for a long moment before answering. “Because my heart is in England.”

  A muscle on his jaw gave a tiny twitch.

  “I suppose the place of our birth has a powerful pull on us, no matter how long and far we travel.”

  He came closer—close enough that his shoulder kissed up against hers. “Yes, I do believe that elemental forces do have a hold on us, no matter the passing years.”

  Lily didn’t dare look up to meet his gaze. As it was, the current connecting them through all the finely tailored layers of silk and wool was threatening to overwhelm her senses. Letting him see the emotion in her eyes would make her too vulnerable.

  They stood side by side, silent amidst the soft flutter and swoosh of the surrounding plants. From some hidden spot, a caged bird began to sing.

  “Tell me more about your life in India,” he asked abruptly. “Did you really hunt tigers?”

  “It is not nearly as adventurous or dangerous as you seem to think. There is a veritable army of servants beating the bushes and priming the rifles.” She made a face. “The truth is I did not enjoy seeing such a magnificent beast shot for our amusement. After being part of one hunt, I never went again.”

  “You’ve always had a sensitive soul,” he murmured. “Surely there were some activities that captured your fancy.”

  “The art is fascinating. . . .” Lily wasn’t quite sure how long they stood there within the leafy shadows discussing sculpture, which led to talk of books on the cultures and religions of the vast subcontinent. They had always shared an interest in intellectual pursuits and the spirited exchange of ideas seemed to come just as naturally as it had in the past. It was only after she finished describing a lengthy Hindu ritual that she realized she had gotten carried away by the subject.

  “You should have stopped me from rattling on like a loose screw,” she said, feeling a flush steal over her face. “I’m sure I’ve been boring you to flinders.”

  “On the contrary. I’ve found it all fascinating.” Edward took her arm and drew her toward the far side of the conservatory. “By the by, I think you might enjoy seeing the specimen plantings the family has collected over the years. Many come from India.”

  There were half a dozen long rows of teak tables, separated by narrow brick walkways. Each held a profusion of unusual bushes and flowering plants. The perfume was more intense here, the lush scents making her feel slightly woozy.

  Or maybe it was the warmth of his hand lightly gripping her arm. Every time their bodies touched, she was aware of some ache stirring within her core.

  Oh, how she had missed his company. His voice, his laugh . . . Lily looked up and felt her breath catch in her throat. His smile.

  Desperate for distraction, she looked around wildly. Spotting a tall twisting mass of vines, she pulled free and went to finger the bright red clusters of tiny berries. “Oh, how marvelous. It’s Piper nigrum—a pepper plant.”

  Edward nodded. “The spice you taste at dinner will come from here.”

  She bent over and inhaled deeply. “We had masses of it growing on our grounds.”

  Perching a hip on the tabletop, he traced his thumb along the length of a seedpod. “You’ve told me all about the sights and the sounds and the tastes of India. What about your marriages, Lily? Were you happy?”

  Her hand tightened, snapping off the end of a pod. “T-They were both fine men,” she replied.

  His hand stilled. “That wasn’t the question I asked.”

  Lily sought to control the pounding of her heart. “Y-You know very well that for the ton, happiness is not something one is supposed to consider in the matter of matrimony.”

  To her dismay, Edward rose and set his hands on her shoulders. He drew her closer, and all at once the subtle scent of his bay rum shaving soap overpowered all the exotic perfumes in the air. She wanted to draw away, fearful that the thrumming beneath her skin would give her away. But her body wouldn’t seem to obey her brain.

  Just for this one moment, she would savor the scent and the feel of having him close. A memory to hold in her heart for the long winters ahead.

  “Lily . . .” Oddly enough, his voice seemed to betray a slight tremor, as if mirroring her own inner agitation. “But don’t you think it should be?”

  At that, she looked up, intent on asking why he was making such a query when clearly her thoughts didn’t matter. But as their eyes met, she found herself drawn into the depths of his gaze.

  Could one drown in desire? she wondered, feeling the chocolate-dark currents pulling her under. She had never thought brown could be such an infinitely alluring color.

  Perhaps expiring in a swirl of caramel and cinnamon wouldn’t be so terrible.

  Impelled by some unseen force, Edward slowly lowered his head, and all at once his lips were naught but a hairbreadth from hers.

  Her eyes fluttered half shut—

  And suddenly flew open as a loud metallic clink and clank shattered the fluttery silence.

  They both jumped back a step.

  An instant later, a housemaid clattered around the corner of the bench in pursuit of a rolling kitchen pot cover.

  “Sorry, sorry,” she squeaked, skidding to a halt on seeing them.

  Edward trapped the runaway lid with his boot, and then fixed her and the pile of pots in her arms with a quizzical stare. “Er, might I ask what you are doing in here with those?”

  “Umm.” Flustered, the maid looked down at her feet. “I, um, thought this was a quicker way to the kitchens, milord.”

  “You are one of the temporary girls hired for the ball, aren’t you?” he asked gently. “If memory serves me correctly, your name is Martha?”

  “Y-Yes, milord,” she mumbled into the jumble of metal. “I-I shall do better, I promise, if you’ll give me the chance.”

  “The kitchens are in the opposite direct
ion, Martha,” he pointed out. “And you need not look as though you’ve swallowed a mouthful of nails. You’re in no danger of losing your position.”

  The maid dipped an awkward curtsey as he carefully placed the lid atop her pile. “T-Thank you, milord.”

  In spite of her own jangled nerves, Lily smiled as Martha scurried off in a welter of clinks and clanks. “Poor thing. She seems so very nervous. I take it she has no experience serving in a grand house.”

  Edward lifted his shoulders. “I don’t know where Mrs. Taft found the girls, but my guess is she’s never been in service.”

  Her thoughts quickly moved on from the maid to . . . the kiss? Had he been about to kiss her? More likely, her overwrought imagination had taken a wild flight of fancy. Edward had always been the soul of honor—if he was engaged to another lady, he would never be unfaithful to his promise.

  And yet, a glance showed a very strange spark still lingering in his gaze.

  Caught up in a coil of confusion, Lily turned back to the specimen plants. “And what of your happiness, Edward? Surely you have someone special in your life?”

  Lily’s question caught him by surprise. “I . . . I do. In fact, I have more than one,” he answered, quickly choosing to make light of it. “Mother, Father, Grandmamma”—a pause—“my brother Kim and my sister, Caro.” He stopped, aware that his voice had unconsciously pinched to a tight tone.

  Lily didn’t miss the change. “You speak as if something is amiss with them.”

  “Kim was badly injured in the war. Now that he’s home, he’s locked himself in the tower and refuses to see . . . any of his family or old friends,” answered Edward. “I’m deucedly worried about him. He seems to have lost the will to live.”

  She touched his arm. “Don’t give up hope. I have seen terrible injuries during my years in India. Such cases often take longer to heal, not only in body, but also in spirit. Love, patience, and time—I think you will find that very potent medicine.”

  Edward wanted to say that time was the one thing he had let slip through his fingers. “Perhaps you are right,” he mumbled.

  “Is your sister here? I have not yet met her.”

  “She arrives tomorrow with her husband. From her last letter I sense that all is not right between them, and well, I fear it is my fault. Piers is an old school friend and I should have pressed harder on them to wait. Caro was awfully young—”

  “And she didn’t know her own mind?” she said with a gentle wryness.

  He gave himself a mental kick. “I did not mean to imply . . . that is . . .” Hell’s bells, he seemed to be turning into a tongue-tied oaf around her. And if the confused maid hadn’t interrupted earlier, he might have made an utter ass of himself by kissing her.

  “I was just trying to tease a smile to your face, Edward,” she said. “I know how seriously you take your duties to your family and your lands. But no matter how much you yearn to, you cannot hold yourself responsible for the well-being of others. Happiness is not something that can be wrapped up in fancy paper and satin ribbons and bestowed at will.”

  His lips quirked, though not upward. “Would that it could.”

  “Yes, would that it could.” Sunlight caught on the curl of her lowered lashes. Was there a hint of moisture making it bead like tiny drops of tawny honey?

  Before he could make any sense of it, Lily had turned again and wandered a few more steps deeper into the facing rows of foliage. Pink and purple blooms framed her slender form. Her curves had grown more womanly, and yet the years had not robbed her of the girlish grace that he remembered so well.

  As she bent to sniff the flowers, he felt his heart clench. Lud, she was achingly beautiful. At that moment, he wished he had consigned all the confounded rules of Society to the devil and kissed her. No matter the consequences.

  Sensing his scrutiny, Lily turned. “Forgive me if I am acting a little foolish, but I am still adjusting to the starkness of an English winter. It is nice to have an oasis in which to savor the smells and textures of the tropics.”

  “I am glad you like it,” replied Edward. “I, too, find it calming to come here.”

  “Do you do so often?” she asked after a long moment

  He shrugged.

  The wordless gesture provoked yet another uncomfortable question. “I’ve prosed on and on about my life. Now tell me about yours. How have you passed the last ten years?”

  “Living a very quiet, ordinary life,” he replied. Without you. “Compared to your colorful experiences, I fear it has been rather dull.” As he spoke, Edward found an even more uncomfortable thought creeping into his head. Compared to the bold, colorful men she had met in India, he no doubt appeared rather dull as well. Even if he were not caught in the conundrum with Roxie, how could he imagine Lily would want to renew their old romance?

  They had both changed—and he not for the better.

  She had wandered to the end of the benches, and now turned to retrace her steps. “Taking on the stewardship of land that has been loved for generations cannot be called dull.”

  “There are no tigers or elephants in the backwoods,” he quipped, “merely foxes and stoats, which hardly excite the imagination.”

  Lily looked about to reply when the conservatory door swung open and a tentative call interrupted her.

  “Your pardon, milord,” called the butler. “But her ladyship wishes to speak with you about the flowers for the ballroom.”

  Repressing an oath, Edward took in a measured breath and answered, “Tell her I shall be there in a moment, Munton.” His gaze angled back to Lily, but she was now occupied with examining a bush bearing scarlet-colored berries. “It appears I am needed—though why is a mystery. Mother and Grandmamma have always had very strong opinions on how the decorations should look. May I escort you to the drawing room? There is a blazing fire in the hearth, making a pleasant reading spot.”

  “Thank you, but I think I shall stay here for a bit longer.”

  “I shall see you later, then.” But in his heart he was sure that somehow he had mucked up the moment, and later would be far too late to make amends.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Lily passed the rest of the day quietly, and dinner was a small gathering which demanded no more than the usual polite pleasantries. To her relief, Lady Holly’s godson, Lord Gabriel Quinfoy, was both witty and charming, and his bantering with the dowager saved her from having to make much conversation with the people seated next to her. The local vicar uttered nothing more than remarks on the weather, while Miss Finch seemed intent on remaining silent as a mouse—which suited Lily perfectly as she was in no mood for making idle chatter.

  The meal was over quickly, allowing the ladies to move on to the drawing room while the men enjoyed their postprandial port. Hoping to avoid having any further contact with Edward, Lily planned to plead fatigue and return to her rooms early, However, as Lady Holbourne prepared to serve tea, the dowager summoned Lily to her chair with an imperious wave.

  “Well, ten years abroad seem to have done you no irreparable harm—assuming your flesh is not permanently burned to that nut-brown hue,” observed the dowager with a critical squint.

  “The color will fade, Lady Holly,” murmured Lily as she bent to kiss the parchment-pale cheek. “Alas, the wrinkles will not. But it doesn’t matter. No one gives a widow a second glance.”

  “Hmmph.” The dowager gave another low snort, and then beckoned to the countess. “On second thought, I find myself fatigued, and wish to take my tea in my rooms. My goddaughter will assist me upstairs and keep me company.”

  Lily dutifully offered her arm, though she had a feeling the elderly lady was spry enough to sprint up the curved staircase.

  A maid was dispatched to follow with a tea tray, and in short order Lady Holly was enthroned in her favorite berry red chair by the sitting room’s blazing fire, a cup of her favorite smoky lapsang suchong warming her frail hands. The fire screen shielding her from the direct flames displayed a finely w
rought vase of flowers. But Lily remembered Edward telling her that it could reverse to show a gaggle of half-naked Grecian athletes. A great beauty in her youth, the dowager was still very fond of handsome young men.

  “Sit,” she ordered, indicating the chair beside her. “And tell me about India.”

  Lily had repeated the tale often enough on the long voyage home to have refined the account to a manageable list of highlights.

  “Interesting,” responded Lady Holly when she was done. “You have, of course, omitted all the most meaningful parts. But we shall discuss that at another time. Right now, I am more concerned with your future, not your past.”

  She forced a smile. “My future is not all that exciting, Lady Holly. I have leased a cottage for several months in Ashington, with the intent of finding a suitable place in the area to purchase. I intend to lead a quiet country life, tending to my gardens.”

  “Alone?” queried the dowager.

  “Yes.”

  “You are still young and lovely. Why lock yourself away in widow’s weeds?” Lady Holly narrowed her eyes. “And do not try to gammon me with talk of pining away for either of your late husbands. I read enough in your letters to know you held them in regard, but did not love them.”

  Lily did not attempt to argue. Her godmother had always been a sharp judge of character. Perhaps if she had been in London during the time Edward had proposed, his parents would not . . .

  “So, for whom are you in mourning?” pressed the dowager. “And don’t bother trying to fob me off with fiddle-faddle. I see that look of longing in your eye, gel.”

  Was it so very obvious? Lily thought she had long ago learned the art of masking her true feelings.

  “It can’t be someone you left in India—unless, of course, it was a Moghul prince,” mused Lady Holly. “So it must be someone from your past. . . .”

  Her face must have betrayed some telltale tic because the dowager’s gaze sharpened. “What happened between you and Edward?” she demanded. “I’ve always thought the boy became even more quiet and serious after that Season. Did you break his heart?”