Whitby shrugged out of his coat and tossed it onto the canopied bed—a massive structure made of old English oak, with a headboard that duplicated the turrets of the castle itself and bed curtains tied back at the posts. “There will be dancing, I presume?”
“Of course,” Sophia said. “Tomorrow night. Tonight, we will gather in the drawing room at seven and dine at eight, then we’ll play some cards afterward.”
She and James paused in the doorway.
“We will leave you to get settled,” James said.
As soon as they were gone, Whitby sank onto the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He inhaled deeply a few times, feeling shaky and winded after climbing the stairs. He probably should have eaten something.
Reaching into his breast pocket, he retrieved his flask and quickly unscrewed the cap. He took a sip and forced himself to swallow.
His valet walked in just then and saw his pained grimace. The man stopped suddenly in the doorway.
Whitby held up a hand. “Don’t say anything, Jenson.”
Jenson, who had been Whitby’s valet for more than ten years, walked to the bed and picked up Whitby’s coat. “I had no intention of speaking, my lord.”
Whitby watched Jenson hang the coat in the corner wardrobe.
“It’s a sore throat,” he explained, not knowing why he felt he needed to explain himself to his valet. But what could he say? He’d lost his father at the age of eight. Jenson, now sixty-one, had occasionally filled the role of father figure.
“Another sore throat, my lord?” Jenson said, disbelieving.
Whitby shook his head at him and downed the rest of the contents in the flask, finally feeling the welcome, numbing relief it offered.
It was close to seven-thirty when Lily stopped in the doorway of the crimson-and-gold drawing room. Inside, the heavy drapes were drawn, and the room was lit invitingly by dim lamps and candles. A few young ladies were seated on the sofa with their mothers in nearby chairs, while some of the gentlemen stood next to the piano. They were laughing over something.
Another group of guests, including Sophia and James, stood before a crackling fire in the hearth.
Lily wondered if Lord Richard had arrived yet. She would be glad to get the introductions out of the way.
At that moment, she felt someone approach from behind, and before she had a chance to turn, a large hand wrapped around her elbow. “Lily. Thank God, you’re late, too.”
She turned and found herself gazing up at Lord Whitby, dressed in formal black and white dinner attire, his golden hair thick and wavy. He was smiling down at her, waiting for a response. She noticed he looked thin.
Tongue-tied as usual, she gazed up at him and felt instantly lost in the deep blue of his eyes and the playful allure of his smile. He was so beautiful.
She wished she didn’t feel that way about him every time she saw him. She wished her stomach wouldn’t erupt into a wild flock of frenzied butterflies. She wished she could just see him as a brother.
“What do you say we sneak in together,” he suggested, leaning close, “and no one will be the wiser? Come on.”
He placed his hand at the small of her back and guided her into the room.
She went with him, more than a little aware of the fact that she’d not yet spoken a single word. She cursed this effect he had on her. The same thing had happened to her the last time she’d seen him—a few months ago at one of the London balls. He had flirted with someone else that night, as he always did. That particular night it was the Lady Violet Scott, who had been sure that Whitby was going to propose to her. Lily had not enjoyed herself that night.
“There,” he said. “No one even noticed us.” He nodded at the footman who immediately approached carrying a tray of champagne. Whitby took two glasses and handed one to Lily. “Cheers,” he said, then he took a few deep gulps.
Once that was done, he gave her his full attention. “So how are you, Lily? You look well.”
She swallowed hard and tried to smile, but a nervous shiver was scuttling through her. “I’m fine...thank you. Fine today. Are you fine?”
Someone should smother me with a pillow....
His eyes glimmered with amusement as he leaned forward ever so slightly. How charming he was—charming and handsome and full of life and exuberance. His lips were moist; it was intoxicating just to look at him. Lily became filled with the old familiar longings from which there was no reprieve.
“Fine, very fine, thank you,” he whispered in reply.
He was making fun of her. She should have laughed along with him. She should have tossed her head back and slapped his arm. But she couldn’t. Her stomach was wrenching into a knot. She felt as if she’d just been dropped onto her behind on the cold, hard floor.
At that instant, James and Sophia appeared beside them.
“I thought you might have forgotten about us,” James said.
Whitby turned away from Lily. “Heavens no. I simply wanted to look my best and thought I should take my time.” He glanced over James’s shoulder. “I see Spencer is here. I heard he has a new shotgun he wants to show off.”
“Indeed, he does,” James replied. “Come and say hello to him. He’ll tell you all about it.”
Without so much as a glance back in Lily’s direction, Whitby followed James across the room.
Lily watched him for a few seconds while the butterflies in her tummy continued to swarm, then she sipped of her champagne. When she looked up again, Sophia was staring at her.
“Are you all right?” Sophia asked.
Lily pasted on a smile. “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Sophia shrugged. “No reason. Your face just looks a little flushed.”
Wishing she didn’t feel completely mortified, Lily raised a hand to her cheek. “I was late. I had to hurry to get here. And perhaps Aline tied my laces a little too tight.”
“Lily, my dear,” her mother said, joining them. “Come and meet the other guests. There are a few you don’t know.”
Lily followed her mother to the other side of the room, privately humiliated over the fact that she was still shaken from her brief and utterly insignificant encounter with Whitby. She had promised herself she would forget him. She had wanted to feel nothing, but the reality was very different. Unfortunately, whenever she saw him, she felt everything—every nerve in her body, every emotion in her heart, every impossible wish and every agonizing desire.
Her mother led her across the room to the gentlemen who were gathered by the piano. There were a few familiar faces, but some new ones, too. One in particular stood out—a young, dark-haired man who was not unattractive. He was watching Lily with apparent interest.
Lily’s mother made the introductions, and sure enough, the young man was Lord Richard—her potential future husband if her mother had her druthers.
Lily smiled politely, then listened to the conversation rather than joining in, while at the same time stealing discreet glances at Lord Richard. A few times their eyes met, and he gave her a smile. She began to feel more at ease. Her pulse slowly returned to its normal pace.
A short while later, the conversation was clipping along, and Lily was smiling brightly at all the people in the group. She forgot about her flushed cheeks. She forgot about Whitby. She did not look across the room, perhaps because she was very aware of Lord Richard’s interest in her, watching her and evaluating her. She did her best to be charming and friendly, laughing at witty remarks that were made, gazing with interest at whoever was speaking at any given moment. Then, when the dinner gong rang and the time arrived to proceed into the dining room, she smiled candidly at Lord Richard before taking the arm of her elderly neighbor, Mr. Horton, for they were to line up two by two according to precedence.
They entered the vast, formal dining room, lit by dozens of cand
les set in silver candelabras, spaced evenly down the long length of the white-clothed table set for thirty guests. Colorful bouquets of flowers trimmed each place-setting and filled the room with the delightful fragrance of a summer garden. Before long, everyone was seated, and the extravagant service began.
Lily sat at a diagonal across from Lord Richard, so they were unable to speak to each other directly, but it was a fine opportunity to observe him and see how he behaved with the others around him. He seemed very polite. Occasionally he smiled at Lily, and she smiled back.
On other occasions, she found herself gazing up at the other end of the table where James, Sophia and Whitby were laughing and engaging in more animated conversation. Whitby was seated next to Lady Stanton, who was very beautiful and evidently very amusing. Everyone laughed at the things she said.
Lily forced her gaze back to her plate and resolved to keep her attention on the people sitting beside and across from her.
After dinner, the ladies returned to the drawing room for coffee, while the gentlemen went to the library for claret and cigars.
“It’s nice to see Lord Richard here,” Lady Stanton said to Lily’s mother, while the coffee was being poured. She leaned forward to pick up her cup. “He has become quite handsome of late. Indeed, I believe he would be a very good match for the right young woman—a woman who enjoys country life.” She directed her smiling gaze at Lily, who said nothing as she picked up her coffee cup and stirred it with a spoon.
“He is indeed an upright young man,” Lily’s mother said. “Any young lady would be fortunate to catch his interest. Very fortunate indeed.”
Lily glanced across at Sophia, who was watching her. Sophia smiled warmly.
Later, after the gentlemen had joined the ladies in the drawing room, Sophia approached Lily who sat alone on the settee by the window.
“You look lonely over here,” Sophia said, sitting down and touching Lily’s knee.
“No, not at all. I was enjoying watching everyone else talk.”
With a quiet, gentle voice, Sophia said, “You know, Lily, there was a time when you enjoyed social gatherings like this. You used to long for excitement and a new face now and then. A handsome face.” She gave Lily a knowing, sidelong glance.
Lily managed to reach the edges of a smile, though she felt little joy to go along with it. “That was when I was young and innocent and knew nothing of the wicked ways of the world.” She spoke with mocking humor, though there was more than a little truth to it, and they both knew it.
“So, what do you think of Lord Richard?” Sophia asked, thankfully changing the subject. “Your mother thinks he would be a very good match for you.”
“I am sure she’s right,” Lily replied. “I’ll look forward to getting to know him over the next few days.”
Sophia stared intently into Lily’s eyes. “Will you?” The skepticism in her voice was unmistakable. Sophia had always been direct. “Or would you prefer to get to know someone else?”
A thick cloud of uneasiness descended upon Lily as she sat speechless on the settee.
Sophia knew.
How long she had known, Lily had no idea. She remembered telling Sophia three years ago that she had once fancied Whitby when she was a girl. Lily had thought she was over him at that time. She had sincerely believed she was. In fact, she had thought of him very little over the year prior to that.
But something had changed lately. Lily had gone to London in May and thrown herself back into the scorching crush of the Season. She’d seen Whitby over and over at balls and assemblies after not having seen him for almost two full years—the years after Pierre, when she had retreated from society in general. She had skipped the London Season altogether during those years.
But when she saw Whitby again last May, she had remembered all too clearly the day he had come with James and Sophia to fetch her out of that horrible boardinghouse and bring her home and save her from certain doom. He had carried her down a flight of stairs and taken her into the safety of a private coach. He had not judged her—like she’d felt the others had, especially her mother after she had arrived home. And she couldn’t blame them. Even Lily had judged herself and continued to judge and condemn herself. But Whitby never had, nor did he seem to judge her now. It was all forgotten. He never mentioned it. Though he never talked to her about anything of consequence....
Sophia took hold of Lily’s hand. “You know you can trust me, Lily, don’t you?”
Lily nodded.
Sophia squeezed her hand a little tighter. “I like to think that we are close, and I believe that we are, but there is something you have been keeping from me—and everyone else, for that matter—for a very long time. I believe you care for Lord Whitby, but you haven’t wanted anyone to know.”
Lily looked down at Sophia’s hand upon hers and said nothing for what seemed like an eternity. At last, she sighed. “You are very intuitive.”
Sophia’s shoulders relaxed, as if she’d been preparing to coax it out of Lily with a large conversational pump.
“How long have you known?” Lily asked.
Sophia glanced around the room to make sure no one was listening, then spoke quietly. “I’ve known since the day you told me three years ago, when I was first married to James. But since then, I thought you were over him. I continued to believe that, until you left London unexpectedly when everyone thought he was going to propose to Lady Violet. But when James and I returned home, you never mentioned him or asked about him, so I thought perhaps I was wrong. Until tonight.”
Feeling exposed all of a sudden, Lily asked, “Am I that transparent?”
“No. If you were, your mother would know and Whitby would know, too. He has a very keen awareness when it comes to women expressing their interest.”
Yes. Lily knew how clever he was with women. She had been watching him for years. “Does James know?” she asked.
Sophia shook her head. “No. I’ve mentioned my suspicions to him a few times, but he has never believed it could be true. Perhaps because you’re his sister, he has a hard time imagining you being in love—with Whitby, at any rate, since you’ve known him forever. James most likely sees the two of you like a brother and sister.”
“But we’re not.”
“No, you are not, which is very clear to me.”
Lily couldn’t begin to express the elation that came from knowing that someone saw her as something other than a sister to Whitby. “I think you’re the only one who sees it that way,” she said, still finding it impossible to imagine anything coming of it.
Sophia grinned with gentle compassion. “Only for the moment.”
Lily’s heart bounced a little in her chest. “What are you saying, Sophia?”
“I’m saying what you think I’m saying. Perhaps the time has come to see if there can be more between you.”
Lily stared dumbfounded at Sophia. She had been talking herself out of loving Whitby for so long, she couldn’t even begin to comprehend the possibility of any other fate.
Her thoughts went immediately to all the reasons why she shouldn’t. “But mother despises him.”
“James doesn’t.”
“But Whitby’s so much older than I am.”
“Twelve years,” Sophia replied. “A mere obstacle, easily circumvented.”
Lily felt her eyebrows lift. “Easily circumvented?”
“Yes.” Sophia glanced discreetly around the room again. “Life is too short, Lily. You’ve cared for Whitby for a long time, and you haven’t seemed able to care for anyone else, even though you’ve tried. If you want him, you should pursue him and see what comes of it. Then at least you’ll know whether or not the two of you are meant to be together.”
Lily laughed out loud, then put her hand over her mouth, afraid she’d attracted the attention of the other guests. “Just like that? Pursue him?”
“Why, yes.” Sophia was looking at Lily as if she couldn’t understand what the problem was, which was very typical of Sophia. She had a tenacious will, and every Englishman knew that Americans had hard noses for getting what they wanted. Lily supposed she could do with a few lessons in diligence from her sister-in-law.
Lily dropped her gaze to her hands again. “But James is right in one respect. Whitby does see me as a child, and a sister. If he sees me at all.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. He barely notices me when there are other women around—women who know how to flirt with him. In fact, he barely notices me even when there aren’t other women around. Just tonight, he was far more interested in hearing about Lord Spencer’s new shotgun than he was in talking to me. Whenever we’re in the same room together, it’s like I’m invisible.”
“Have you ever tried to make him see you?”
Lily scoffed at the suggestion. “By doing what? Jumping up and down and waving my arms over my head?”
“No, silly,” Sophia replied quietly. “He’s a man. You’re a woman, and a very pretty one. All you need to do is flirt with him, but don’t be too available. Don’t chase after him. A good flirt will manipulate the man into thinking he’s chasing after her. And perhaps wear a more daring gown. Surprise him, so that he has no choice but to finally see that you’ve grown up.”
Lily gazed pensively at her mother sitting before the fire. “I was going to wear my blue Worth tonight, but Mother thought I should wear this. She thought it would be more suitable to meet Lord Richard.”
“Ah, yes,” Sophia said, glancing over at him. “Lord Richard.”
Lily looked over at him, too. He was talking to his father and a few others. “He seems very nice. I certainly won’t discount him.” Lily sat up straighter and studied her hands.
“Neither would I, if I were in your shoes. But you know, if Whitby sees that you have captured the interest of another man, it might be just the thing to make him notice you.”
In Love with the Viscount (American Heiress Trilogy Book 3) Page 25