Lillian closed her eyes.
The summer idyll was over.
PART IV
All precious things, discover’d late,
To those that seek them issue forth;
For love in sequel works with fate,
And draws the veil from hidden worth.
—Tennyson, The Day Dream
Chapter 11
After the lush green of the countryside, London seemed gray and dreary. The smells of the streets, the smoke that stung one’s eyes and nose, the noise of the carts and carriages, of the people and the animals, came together in a shrill symphony of discord and made Lillian yearn for the peace and quiet of the gardens of Bair Hall.
She missed not just the gardens, but the house, too, that vast, empty building where she had not met her husband for days or even weeks. In London, by contrast, they lived in a narrow town house, too small for her to keep out of his way, to stay hidden in shadows. Time and again she was thrust into his presence, was confronted with the signs of strain and weariness on his face. As tall and dark as he was, always impeccably groomed, Lillian still saw traces of the man in the prison cell, the man chained to Camille’s construction.
Every time she met him on the stairs or entered the breakfast room when he was still taking his coffee, her heart would constrict in her breast, a funny, little pain, which for a moment would cut off her breath. He would look up, his eyes so blue, those same eyes she had seen clouded with pain, and then he would pretend to look through her as if she were not there. Yet he never succeeded very well. His eyes would become all stormy, his lips compress into a thin, tight line, deepening the grooves that bracketed his mouth. He looked old and haggard then, and the pain inside Lillian would intensify until she wanted to cry and scream.
Of course, she never did.
Instead, she witnessed his pain in silence, a penance for the hurt she had inflicted upon him all those months ago. Her responsibility… While at the Hall she had been able to flee into the gardens and the fields, here in London she had nowhere to go. She could not roam the streets on her own; she had no friends to visit; she was stuck in the house, was stuck in the churning of shame and guilt.
How she missed the easy chatter of Aunt Louisa and the quiet presence of her grandfather! Nanette urged her to sit down and write a letter to her family. “You should have done so weeks ago,” the old woman said. “But, of course—”
“Yes,” Lillian said quickly. She did not want Nanette to worry more than necessary. Nanette had taken up again her work for the sick and the poor, sewing blankets, knitting socks and scarves. In the afternoons that dragged so endlessly along, Lillian would sit down with her in the morning room to knit, to sew, to create things that would keep other people warm in the winter to come.
But she also wrote the letters to her family. Her grandfather would spend the autumn and winter at Abberley House before he would return to London for the opening of Parliament. Aunt Louisa stayed with her eldest daughter, who was coming down with her fourth child, and asked Lillian to light a candle in church for mother and babe. So Nanette went with Lillian to a small church nearby, a Catholic one, where they lit a candle at the feet of a smiling Mother Mary and her chubby baby son.
~*~
During their second week in London, the Dowager Countess Ravenhurst honored Lillian and her grandson with a visit. Clad all in black, she sat enthroned on the only chair in the drawing room and watched with eagle eyes as Lillian poured tea. Calmly, Lillian passed her a cup and tried not to notice the proximity of her husband’s body beside her upon the settee. He sat near enough, though, for her to feel the heat radiating from him and to be enveloped in the alluring scent of sandalwood and oakmoss. Such a lovely smell.
He cleared his throat. “We are very happy, granddame, that you’ve found the time to call.”
The old woman sniffed disdainfully. “It is a disgrace, Ravenhurst, that you chose to return to your bachelor lodgings instead of moving into Ravenhurst House.” She pierced her grandson with a withering glance. “I told you I would move out if need be.”
“And I told you that this would not be necessary.”
“Do not talk rubbish, Ravenhurst!” Her thin nose quivered. “Not necessary? How do you plan to entertain in this… this house?”
Tension radiated from his body, and Lillian felt her own muscles stiffen in sympathy. “I did not realize that entertaining would be part of the obligation,” he said through gritted teeth.
Obligation? From underneath lowered lashes, Lillian risked a glance at him. His face was granite, his jaw set; in fact, he did not look happy at all to see his grandmother—and small wonder, if all she did was berate him. Could she not see how desperately he needed her support and understanding?
“I do not know what has come over you, Ravenhurst!” the old woman snapped. “The way you behave I could almost believe that your cousin is right and that you have truly lost your mind!”
It was only for her years of exercising self-control that Lillian managed not to flinch. How could the Dowager Countess speak in such a way to her grandson? Lillian’s heart ached for her husband, who did not deserve such cruelty. Had he not been hurt enough in the past? The tip of the branding iron pressing against his skin, the smell of scorched flesh…
Her responsibility.
“Granddame—”
“Be quiet, Ravenhurst! I have not brought you up to bring shame over the family name time and time again!” The corner of her mouth turned down, making the woman look even older, like the witch in the fairy tale. “After you destroyed your cousin’s happiness and after all the scandal, the least you could do is to make some sort of effort. You have lived as a recluse long enough.”
Lillian looked up. In the past few months she had seen enough hurt inflicted upon this man, and now she’d had enough. “But Lady Ravenhurst, do you not think that after all the years at war, Lord Ravenhurst has deserved some months of rest?” Her voice rang loud and clear in the sudden silence of the room. She made herself smile at the old woman, whom she would have happily thrown out of the house. If I were the real mistress…
Her outburst earned her a look of contempt. “And what would you know about it, young miss? Years at war? He went and got himself imprisoned in some nameless village in France. It is time now that he acted like a man instead of—”
“Lady Ravenhurst.” Lillian stood, her back straight, her hands clenched into fists to keep them from trembling with anger. “I have just remembered that I have urgent business with my dressmaker to attend. I am sure you know how it is.” Her smile sweet, she looked the old woman straight in the eye.
The Dowager Countess raised one white brow. “Well, what is this? This is most unusual, young woman. I am not used to such inconsiderate behavior.” Her eyes narrowed. “But then, what can one expect from a young miss who encouraged one cousin and had her merry way with the other? In any case,” she turned to her grandson, “you will have to throw a ball for her so that there won’t be any talking. And she needs a carriage. People will wonder if she does not go out for a drive.”
Lillian lifted her chin. “You can rest assured, my lady, that I have no wish for either a carriage or a ball.”
“Your wishes, young woman, are of no concern here. I will not sit by and see how the family goes to ruins because of a flimsy young miss.”
“Granddame, this is quite enough,” Ravenhurst said stiffly. “You were in favor of this marriage.”
“In order to curb the scandal!” The old woman rounded on him. “Have you any idea how your poor cousin suffered? I would not have thought you so selfish as this, Ravenhurst. I am displeased, very much displeased.” With that, she stood and swept out of the room.
They heard how she hailed the butler on the stairs to bring her pelisse and call the coach. The high-pitched voice echoing in the hallway made Lillian shiver.
“That was not very clever,” Ravenhurst said. Lillian turned to look at him. He had crossed his arms in front of his ch
est, his face dark and brooding. “She would have supported you in society.”
Lillian squared her shoulders. “I do not need her support.”
“You could have used it.” His mouth curled into an ugly sneer. “It was not wise to rouse her enmity.”
Lillian calmly held his gaze. “I have lived with worse,” she said. “As you well know.” And with that, she left, before the feelings of guilt and shame engulfed her wholly.
~*~
The next afternoon, while Lillian and Nanette sat in the small drawing room, both of them knitting, the door opened to reveal the rather red face of the butler. “My lady, the carriage,” he said in dignified though slightly breathless tones.
“The carriage? Which carriage?”
“Why, your carriage, of course, my lady.”
Nanette’s needles kept clicking merrily, even when she looked up to glance at Finney. “Now, don’t talk in riddles, Fred.”
At the butler’s longsuffering expression, Lillian had to bite her lip to prevent it from twitching betrayingly. Some days ago, Nanette had cured Finney of his aching back, and since then he had been putty in the old woman’s hands.
“My Lady Ravenhurst’s new carriage is waiting in front of the door,” he elaborated. “Please, my lady, you have to drive through the park in it, else the dowager countess will hear and then we’ll all be well and truly cooked.” A fleeting look of despair crossed his kind, blotchy face.
“A drive in the park. What a lovely idea. Don’t you agree, chou-chou?” Nanette gave Lillian a wide smile, obviously all in favor of the new carriage.
Of course she would be. Lillian suppressed a sigh. Time and time again, her old nanny had implied how much she wished for Lillian to have a “normal” life. Yet after the delights of the Ravenhurst lands, a drive through a park seemed very tame. Nevertheless, Lillian forced herself to smile and say: “Very nice, indeed.”
“Good, good.” Finney gave an audible sigh of relief. “The carriage can depart whenever you are ready, my lady.”
“You should change into something more stylish, chou-chou.” It seemed to Lillian that even Nanette’s knitting needles had taken on a merrier sound. “And don’t forget your parasol!”
Fifteen minutes later, Lillian walked down the stairs to the town house entry. She had not changed her muslin dress with the floral print, which she liked very much, yet she had taken great pains to tame her wild curls so that only a few would fall from underneath her bonnet and tickle her cheeks. A reddish brown spencer jacket and gloves completed her outfit. Her frilly white parasol dangled from her arm and slapped annoyingly against her legs with each step she took.
How she wished she were back at Bair Hall.
Yet for the butler’s sake, Lillian plastered a smile on her face and stepped out of the door as if the prospect of a drive through a park was the most exciting thing in the world.
Officiously, Finney handed her into the shining black landaulet. “Be careful, my lady, the print of the coat of arms on the doors is still wet, I understand. We have put the back down as it is such a beautiful day today. I hope this meets with your approval, my lady.”
“Yes, thank you.” Lillian made herself comfortable on the soft, sandy-colored leather seat.
“And this, my lady, is Ronan, your driver.”
The tall, pale man on the driver’s seat turned around to bow. “At your service, my lady.”
“Lovely,” Lillian said.
“May I suggest a ride through Hyde Park, my lady?” Finney went on. “It is quite beautiful and safe—if you beware of the duelists and the deer.” He threw a look at her driver. “And as I am sure Ronan will beware of the duelists and the deer, there is no need for disquiet, my lady.”
“I am sure there is not,” Lillian agreed. Duelists and deer?
Finney’s worried eyes swiveled back to her. “Are you quite comfortable, my lady? Will you need a pillow or a blanket for your legs?” Now that he finally had her inside the carriage, the butler seemed reluctant to let her go.
“I am fine. Thank you.”
“Fine, fine.” The man nodded. “Well, then, off you go, Ronan. To Hyde Park Corner. And drive carefully.”
An expert crack of the whip above the backs of the two dun horses, and the landaulet jerked into motion. To the left and right, elegant town houses rolled by. When Ronan clicked his tongue at the horses, the landaulet gained speed and soon the gates of Hyde Park Corner rose in front of them. As it was still early in the afternoon, there were not yet many people and carriages crowding to get into the park. They passed through the gates, by a great stately house, and immediately the clean, fresh smell of grass met Lillian. Gratefully, she leaned back in her seat and took a deep breath. This was so much better than being shut inside Ravenhurst’s dreary house all day.
Lillian frowned.
It was not that she disliked the house; the rooms were sunny and snug. Nevertheless, she felt as if for a short and precious time she had escaped from prison.
Her frown deepened.
It had nothing to do with the interior of the house. It had nothing to do with the servants, either; they could not have been nicer or more attentive to her wishes. Still, the overall atmosphere was oppressive, stifling.
She recalled how uncomfortable she had felt the day before, when Ravenhurst’s grandmother had called. How the walls had seemed to draw in on her until Lillian had been ready to scream. How Ravenhurst’s grandmother had ranted at him, had taken him to task as if he were a stupid little boy instead of a grown man who had risked life and limb in service of king and country. How the old woman had scorned him for having fallen into the hands of the French before Waterloo. Lillian remembered that Perrin had frequently rambled on about the glories of the battlefield. Clearly, the grandmother cherished similar views of the war.
Lillian doubted her husband did.
No, there were still shadows under his eyes, weariness written in the lines of his face. She could only imagine how much the dowager countess must have hurt him yesterday. If not even his family gave him their support…
Lillian knew what it felt to be lonely, lost in a world that had stopped making sense. There was no one her husband connected to, except, of course—
“Lady Ravenhurst!”
Lillian looked up.
—his friends.
The men rode matching brown horses that shone with health and care. They even wore matching riding outfits, long beige coats over dark brown jackets and caramel-colored trousers. While Mr. de la Mere’s face showed merely the faintest hint of a smile, Lord Allenbright positively beamed at her. “What a lovely surprise,” he said when he came level with the carriage.
“Be careful, the paint is still wet.” Lillian leaned over the side of the landaulet to throw a glimpse at the drying coat of arms.
“My, my,” murmured de la Mere, “if that isn’t a nice little demi-landau. I could’ve sworn that I saw a similar—”
Whatever else he wanted to say was lost as Lord Allenbright waved impatiently. “Don’t be a pest, Jus! My lady, it is a pleasure to meet you here. Would you allow us to accompany you for a while?”
Surprised, Lillian blinked. “Yes, of course,” she murmured. Yet she could not imagine why they wanted to further their acquaintance.
“Is this not a most beautiful day?” Allenbright continued, his voice as cheerful as his smile. “Normally, London is quite dreadful in autumn, of course, but this year—”
“You generally dislike London, Drake,” de la Mere cut in, his brows raised.
“Ah well, all that hustle and bustle and all these odious balls and dinner parties and matchmaking mamas.” Allenbright rolled his eyes, making Lillian giggle. Quickly, she stifled the sound with a hand over her mouth, but to no avail. Allenbright’s green eyes had already alighted on her face. “Ah, that lovely laugh is back!” His pleased appearance grew. “You should laugh more often, my lady,” he said gently. “It becomes you.”
To her consternation, Lil
lian felt a flush stain her cheeks. She lowered her face and mumbled something unintelligible.
“The next Season is going to be a very dull one, I believe,” de la Mere smoothly interjected. “With both Brummell and Byron gone.”
Allenbright gave him a wry grin. “I am sure the Prince Regent will be happy to provide society with a scandal or two.”
Lillian could not interpret the look the two men exchanged. Their gazes locked and held for a few heartbeats until Allenbright’s eyes fastened on some new marvel.
“Oh, look at that!” he cried, then burst out laughing and nearly fell off his horse.
Mr. de la Mere glanced heavenwards. “Really, Drake! One should think that this is your first visit to London. Remind me next year to keep you locked up at home.”
Still chuckling, Allenbright wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. “Don’t be such a spoilsport.” He grinned. “It’s not every day that I see the Red Dove holding court.” He pointed at the strange assembly on the path to their right.
In the middle of the group, a dark-haired woman sat in her chic little phaeton like a queen, all cast in ruby red to match the upholstery of her equipage. A small red hat was balanced high on her carefully arranged curls, and in the lobes of her ears diamonds glinted in the sunlight. Flitting around her carriage like bees around honey, several men on horse or foot tried to catch her attention. There were men in their forties or fifties, their hair thinned and gray, men in their thirties, of portly inclination, and young men with fresh, flushed faces, their curls as artfully arranged as the woman’s.
“Ah,” Lord Allenbright sighed. “Reminds me of the old days when the Three Graces used to grace the green of this park with their presence.”
“Yes,” his friend agreed, his drawl even more pronounced than usual. “It was great fun to watch all those fellows make complete fools of themselves. Even our great national hero, the Iron Duke himself, became all sappy near Miss Harriette Wilson.”
The Lily Brand Page 15