by Meara Platt
“Mother?” Lillian entreated. “Do you not think it would be best to have this discussion sitting down, in the drawing room perhaps?” It was possible that bringing Christian along had not been the best course of action after all.
Her mother nodded and then, as though she’d not just nearly fainted dead away, turned and gracefully walked in the direction of their most formal of public rooms. “This way, Your Grace.”
Lillian glanced over at Christian but before she could get a word out, her mother’s voice broke into her thoughts. “And bring your husband, as well, Lillian.”
Her own mother had just “Your Graced” her.
Christian smiled tightly and then shrugged as though to ask if she’d expected anything different.
Entering the elegantly furnished sitting area, Lillian grasped Christian’s hand and tugged him to sit beside her, facing her mother.
Mr. Williams closed the door behind them.
“What is the meaning of this?”
“It was not well done of us, and all fault falls squarely upon me. Please do not blame your daughter, Your Grace.” Christian flicked a fond gaze in Lillian’s direction. “We simply got carried away.”
That morning, the two of them had decided it would best if her mother was to believe they’d been swept away in a whirlwind of love. Even as a child, Lillian had not been good at dissembling—especially to her mother—and yet she could not help but send a loving smile in her husband’s direction.
This morning had been lovely, indeed…
“My daughter does not get carried away,” her mother countered in clipped tones. “She has always been quite levelheaded.” She shifted her gaze to Lillian. “This is why you were asking me about the Warwicks? You did not see fit to direct your questions toward the man himself? And will you come running back to your mother when you realize you have married into a family of reckless rogues? A duke, Lillian? Really?”
“Mother!” Lillian nearly burst to her feet, but Christian gripped her arm so that she remained seated beside him.
“My wife need never worry on that account.” Something in his voice had Lilian turning to read his expression. “It happened quite suddenly, but I am irrevocably, wholeheartedly, head over heels for your daughter.” She nearly dropped her jaw at the sincerity in his voice.
Was it possible?
He twisted his lips into an almost apologetic smile.
Her mother sat up straighter. “Might I ask then, what your plans are for the future?”
Lillian did not want Christian to answer this question. He would have taken more time to plan out his future if he could count on having one. And then he most certainly wouldn’t have married her — definitely not in such a great hurry.
“Have you a contract that I might go over? Or did you fail to consider your wife and future children’s security? I’d imagine—”
“Enough. Mother.” Lillian held up one hand to halt her mother’s unkind interrogation.
But Christian did not seem angry, nor upset, even when her mother continued right on with her tirade.
“They are all reasonable enough questions, Lillian. Marriage is for life and ought to be entered into—”
“He is dying! Mother! He is ill!” Lillian interjected in hopes that her mother’s kinder nature might make itself known.
Christian turned to stare at her. “What?”
Her mother frowned and stared at Lillian’s husband. “Is this true, Your Grace?”
But Christian was frowning and staring at Lillian. “I am not ill. Wherever did you get that idea?”
Did he not want his illness to be made public? Surely, telling her mother was not inappropriate? “But from your…?” Lillian trailed off.
He tilted his head and then shook it slightly before turning back toward her mother. “I have made more than adequate provisions in the contract, Your Grace, and I am happy to have the documentation delivered to you as soon as possible so that you and your own solicitor can go over it. If you find anything disagreeable, I am not opposed to amending it to your liking. It was, indeed, quite inconsiderate of us to enter into our marriage without your approval and I do hope you will not hold it against me for the entirety of our relationship.”
Christian was saying all of the right and proper things to her mother, but Lillian could not help but feel unsettled at his unwavering contradiction of the condition of his health. She was not mistaken. He had told her he was going to die.
She had asked him how long he had left to live.
“That may or may not begin to rectify some of this…” Her mother fluttered one hand a moment and made a harrumphing sound. Lillian could not remember the last time she’d seen her mother at a loss for words “It remains to be seen whether you deserve my forgiveness. And my daughter owes me a most abject apology.”
“That is not so very unreasonable, is it, Lillian?”
Caught in an odd combination of confusion and guilt, Lillian stared at Christian. Was it possible he was not dying after all? Had he lied to her? But why? There was no logical reason for him to have done something so underhanded.
“Lillian?” He stared back at her with questioning eyes.
“Yes?” She finally brought herself to answer him. What had he and her mother been going on about?
“An apology?” He winced slightly and communicated by shifting his gaze in her mother’s direction and then back again.
“Oh, yes. So sorry, Mother. I shan’t do it again.” It would be wonderful news, indeed, if Christian was not dying, but it would also mean that he’d lied to her—and used her. But why?
“I should think not,” her mother responded. “I suppose your belongings require moving to Master’s House then.” She turned back toward Christian. “And I expect to see that contract without delay.”
“Of course.” He had taken Lillian’s hand and squeezed it. Lillian stared down at it. It did appear to be a rather healthy-looking hand. Strong, and firm, and… she remembered. He’d displayed an amazing amount of vigor in her bedchamber last night.
“But for now, we shall take tea.” Her mother tugged at the bell pull.
Lillian burst to her feet. She could not sit here a moment longer without knowing the truth, and she most certainly did not wish to discuss this in the presence of her mother. “We have an appointment, Mother. Don’t we, Your Grace?” She stared hard at Christian, who’d risen when she had, and dared him to deny her. “We will come for tea tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow will be much better.”
He appeared confused by her sudden desire to depart but turned to bow toward her mother.
In a surprising turn of events, her mother rose as well and rushed across the room to embrace Lillian in a very un-dowager-duchess-like manner. “I only want you to be happy,” she whispered. As she pulled away, Lillian spied tears in her eyes. “It is all I ever wanted for you.”
Her mother’s unusual display of emotion summoned tears to Lillian’s own eyes. She embraced her mother again, choking down an unexpected sob. “I know, Mother. And I will.” But would she? “I love him.” Could she?
Was it even possible to fall in love with a person in such a short time? She barely knew him, in truth. She had so many questions—too many!
She stepped away from her mother and allowed Christian to lead her outside and back into the carriage. He was as handsome as ever, the same gentleman she’d taken vows with just last night—less than twenty-four hours ago! He was also the same gentleman to whom she’d given her body. And yet…
Was he who she imagined him to be?
The footman closed the carriage door behind them, and Lillian sat silently on the bench as the vehicle lurched into motion. He’d grown tense beside her. Surely, he had not expected such an important issue to remain unchallenged. It was the very reason she’d accepted his proposal and not demanded that he give her more time!
She turned toward Christian. “If you are not dying, then why did you need me to marry you so quickly?”
Chapte
r Eight
Failure to Communicate
Christian’s eyes flew open wide. “But I never told you I was dying! Why would you think such a thing? Is that why you have continually asked me if I am unwell? I’m perfectly healthy.”
“You told me you were dying!” Lillian’s head swam. What was happening? Part of her was ecstatic to learn that he wasn’t suffering from some fatal affliction but the other part of her felt betrayed and… used. And it was this betrayed part of her that was fit to be tied in that moment. “You lied to me!”
“I never told you I was dying!” Christian faced her now, one arm along the bench of the seat, the other in the air, as though to emphasize his innocence.
“It is the reason for the ad! Do you take me for a fool? Why else—? What of all that business concerning your sister? And making an heir!” she sputtered. “I laid with you because of that lie! What kind of a person are you?”
“Lillian.” He pushed his spectacles higher onto his nose with one hand and reached out to pat her leg with the other. “Please, settle down just a moment, luv.”
How dare he call her luv? There was no one to see them now. He had no reason to pretend in that moment. She drew away from him, pressing her body against the side of the carriage.
He pinned his gaze on her intently. “I never told you I was dying,” he repeated. “I told you that I was going to die! You must realize I wouldn’t lie about something so important. I would never.” His shoulders dropped as he stared at her and he looked… sad. “I would never.”
Lillian turned away from him and stared out the window. She did not want to think that she had made him sad when it was he who had betrayed her.
He was making no sense at all. He had to realize that knowing one was dying and knowing that one was going to die were the same thing.
Weren’t they? But…
If one was dying, then one was physically deteriorating to the point of death. If one was going to die, then the same was not necessarily true.
She turned back to face him. “Are you dying or not?” And then she corrected herself. “Are you going to die soon? And if so, you’d better have a very good explanation for it.”
The coach pulled to a stop in front of Master’s House and a moment later, the door flew open.
“Drive around until I say otherwise.” His voice was clipped as he spoke to the footman.
Lillian had never heard him sound so angry, or was this him sounding frustrated? She wasn’t sure. She hadn’t known him long enough to recognize the nuances of his behavior.
The carriage lurched back into motion and Christian inhaled deeply.
“I am going to die, but I do not know when.”
Lilian shook her head. He’d yet to make any sense whatsoever. “How do you know this, Why? And how are you going to die? Have you done something illegal and expect to be hanged? Have you harmed another, and someone seeks to wreak revenge upon you?” Although it was impossible for her to imagine either of these explanations, not if he was the person that she had imagined him to be—a good man, a kind man—a man whose dog loved him with unwavering loyalty.
His foot was jumping frantically on the floor of the carriage. He removed his spectacles and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I just know,” he ground out, almost as though he was in physical agony. It was not physical though, she realized, but something else. “I feel it. Inside.” He replaced his spectacles and looked over at her. It was as though those lovely blue eyes of his were begging her to understand something he couldn’t put into words.
“Perhaps you’d best start at the beginning.” Lillian’s anger dissipated upon hearing such pain in his voice. “Why would you believe this?” She placed her hands in her lap and, setting the betrayal she felt aside, prepared to listen to whatever he had to tell her.
“It is my destiny. All of the men in my family have died tragically, at a young age—all of them.” His throat moved, as though swallowing unwanted emotions. “And I know this doesn’t sound rational, but I cannot escape it.”
“It’s not rational, Christian. Please, do not lie to me.” Whatever the truth could possibly be, it must be horrible. Some villain must be after him. Perhaps this seemingly sweet man who was now her husband had, in fact, dallied with a married woman or swindled someone at the gambling tables.
He stared at her in earnest. “It is the truth.”
Sounds from the street penetrated her awareness as she sat in silence, trying to make sense of his nonsensical claim.
She would hear him out.
If his belief made sense to him — a seemingly rational gentleman — there must be a very good reason for it. He was an intelligent man, and until that morning, she’d considered him to be mostly sane.
“Will you explain it to me, then? Please?”
He closed his eyes, his foot jumping again. “I was the youngest of three boys. Firstborn, was Abron. Three years later, my mother gave birth to Calvin, and then a few years later, I came along. None of us ever fell ill. Each of us grew to be over six feet tall, and it was a family joke that I was the scrawniest of the Masterson brothers.”
At these words, Lillian raised her brows questioningly. Although he was not a hulking beast of a man, Christian was anything but scrawny. His shoulders were broad, and the muscles everywhere else were sinewy and apparent. She ought to know, she’d spent enough time ogling the strength of his thighs that very morning. Her gaze settled on those very same thighs.
But she could not allow herself to be distracted. “Go on.”
He exhaled loudly. “Our neighbors, and many of the people who lived in the nearby village, perpetuated something of a legend that the Duke of Warwick would never lack an heir. The succession had been secured, let the devil do his best to thwart it. I failed to see the arrogance of such boastfulness, initially. In fact, I believed the nonsense myself.”
Lillian dropped her hand onto his leg and the shaking stopped.
“And then came the day my father had to go to London to attend to Parliamentary business. He’d done this before but on this particular occasion decided to take along both of my brothers. Abron was seventeen at the time and Calvin fourteen. I was told I was too young. Besides that, bringing me along would have been a waste of time, as I would never be called upon to perform ducal duties.”
Christian shook his head and frowned.
He’d been very young, and Lillian feared where this story might be going.
“As they drove away, I hurled insults at them. They would be sorry when they all died and I was the only one left. They would be sorry that they never saw fit to bring me along.” He stared at the other wall of the carriage then, unseeing. “The horses spooked not a mile down the road and the carriage overturned, killing my father instantly.”
Lillian squeezed his knee but said nothing.
“My oldest brother took on the title then, but I never forgot my pettiness, my selfishness. I never forgot the last words I‘d spoken to my father.
“Abron managed the estates and Calvin went off to school. My mother died two years later. I rather believe she suffered from a broken heart.” He ran a hand through his hair and made a sound of self–disgust. “But you did not ask to hear my life story.”
“Tell me.” Lillian wanted to know everything about him and she hadn’t realized it until that moment. What had made him into the person that sat before her? Most importantly, right now, why did he believe he must die?
“Abron was not only an adequate duke; he was an astute businessman. He invested in shipping and enjoyed that aspect far more than the agricultural aspects of his duties. He became quite involved, in fact, but then died when one of the ships we owned went down. He had just turned two and thirty.”
Lillian did some mental math. Christian would been right around his majority.
“Then it was Calvin’s turn to take the reins. Calvin…” Again, he shook his head. “Calvin cultivated his fondness for women and spirits far more than the title—or for our fami
ly, it seemed. He scoffed at me when I made any mention of his responsibilities, to not only the estates but to Bernadette—God, even to myself. I was ill-prepared to take any of this on, but by this point, I’d begun to believe God was simply having fun with us now.”
Lillian’s eyes began to burn with tears for the second time that day. She could endeavor all she wished to convince her husband that his family only suffered from some bad luck and tragic coincidences, but his eyes blazed with certainty.
“And then Calvin died two months ago,” Lillian supplied.
Christian nodded. “I am next.”
His wife had thought he suffered a fatal disease! What a fool he was! Christian had been so delighted at her easy acquiescence that he’d not once questioned how easily she’d accepted that which everyone else dismissed. Instead of attempting to talk him out of his fears, she’d eagerly stepped up to assist him in finding a solution. He’d thought she’d seen something in him that everyone else had failed to.
He’d thought she believed him. Hell, he’d thought they could even come to care for one another. Being with her had caused him to forget his destiny, if only briefly. He would chastise himself a thousand times for being such a fool.
She’d answered an advertisement, for God’s sake. She wanted to live her life as an independent widow.
Everything that had happened over the past twenty-four hours had been too good to be true.
“Are you unwell?” she’d asked him on more than one occasion. He winced. She’d even inquired if he was in pain while they’d been making love.
Did he resemble an invalid to her?
“Christ, but what a mess.” He didn’t want to look at her. She’d pitied him before but now, she would for an entirely different reason. Like the colleagues he’d confided in, she’d think him mad.