“Gone, too. Left for France or wherever.” Allenbright heaved another big sigh.
“And how our friends would brag whenever they got an audience with Miss Wilson.” De la Mere rolled his eyes.
Allenbright winced. “Goodness, you might have thought she was the queen herself!”
“On the other hand, it’s not very likely they would have wanted to lock lips with the queen…”
The two men looked at each other and then dissolved into fits of laughter. Even Ronan the landaulet-driver allowed himself a quiet cackle.
These men were really the strangest of creatures! Her hands primly folded in her lap, Lillian sat and waited for the merriment to subside.
“Oh dear,” giggled Lord Allenbright. “I am sorry, my lady. We probably shouldn’t be talking like this with you present and all… and talking about the goddesses of the demimonde, on top of that.” He had to stop to overcome another burst of gaiety. “Oh dear. Oh-dear-oh-dear. Troy would take us to task for this…” He shook his head, obviously trying to restore his control.
Mr. de la Mere, by now all suave impassiveness again, raised one brow and commented dryly: “In that case, we would blame it all on the Cornish wilderness and lack of civilization. At least dear Troy was not one of the chaps swarming around Miss Wilson’s carriage. So, my lady, you can rest assured that your husband’s foolishness has certain limits.” He gave her a strangely unfathomable smile.
Lillian wondered what he was getting at, yet Lord Allenbright’s restless gaze had already bounced to another object of curiosity. “Oh, look at that!” he cried, as excited as a small boy in a candy shop.
Over the next hour, the two men took turns pointing out the more interesting members of society enjoying outings in the park. There was Lady Bumbleham, who not only had a queer name, but also a tendency to adorn herself with the strangest of hats—hats with generous, wide brims and opulent flower arrangements. On that particular day she even had a stuffed bird nestled among the wilting blossoms. Then there was the Green Man, a gentleman who went around dressed in shades of green. Even his hair had been dyed green, a fate that had also befallen his unfortunate poodle.
“He looks like a wandering fir tree,” Allenbright muttered.
The Honorable Mr. Beran, by contrast, sported the most enormous moustache in all of London, carefully groomed and twirled. A bit further down the path, surrounded by her liveried footmen, her driver and her pale companion, the old Dowager Duchess of Deary sat in her carriage and peered at the world through an overdimensional monocle, which made her look like a strange insect.
Ravenhurst’s friends were charming and courteous, and apparently eager to please Lillian and to make her smile. They enchanted her with their witty humor, their obvious affection for each other and the constant cheerful banter they so much enjoyed. They enquired after the dinner parties she had visited, the balls she had attended. When she told them that she only had been presented at court a second time since returning—this time, not as the granddaughter of the Marquis of Larkmoor but as the wife of the Earl of Ravenhurst—they appeared scandalized.
“What!” Allenbright exclaimed, his clear green eyes round as saucers. “You have spent all these weeks in that town house? But surely you’ve been shopping at least?”
Lillian shook her head. She would not know what to buy anyway, even if she could.
Mr. de la Mere frowned, his gaze far too sharp for her liking, as his next words revealed. “He has forgotten to give you money.”
“Who? Troy? Surely he would not—” Allenbright shot a glance at Lillian’s hot face. “Oh.” All at once, his expression darkened. “Sometimes I truly believe he needs a good thump on the head so he stops behaving like a ninnybrain!”
It would be horrible if even his friends criticized him. “Oh please,” Lillian said quickly, “promise me you will not say anything to him about this. It is nothing, I assure you. I am”—she swallowed—“quite happy…”
“And a terrible liar.” De la Mere sighed. “But if you prefer to play the role of the martyr…”
Lillian felt her cheeks grow even hotter. “I beg you, do not say anything to him.” She only could imagine how devastating it would be for him to lose the support of his friends. “The dowager countess called yesterday. My husband’s family is… very hostile, I believe. He needs you.”
De la Mere stared at her, his dark eyes inscrutable. Then he leaned over and took her hand where it rested on the rim of the carriage. “Your husband, my lady, is a blind fool,” he said quietly, and then he bowed low to kiss her hand. Straightening, he said, “But in return, you must allow us to accompany you on your drives through the park.”
“I will gladly promise you that.” Lillian smiled.
“Very well, my lady, then we’ve got a pact.” De la Mere winked at her and released her hand.
“We don’t need to seal it with blood, though, do we?” his friend asked innocently. His question promptly got the desired effect.
“Don’t be absurd, Drake!”
Lord Allenbright chuckled. “You’re such an easy nut to crack, Jus!” His eyes twinkled mischievously.
Lillian looked from one man to the other. Their moods were so changeable and erratic in many ways. “But you will look out for my husband,” she pressed.
“Of course. We always do.” For a few moments Allenbright managed to give himself an extremely dignified air. “Just like Achilles and Patroclus.”
He held the pose until de la Mere dryly pointed out, “They were just two. We’re three. I’m afraid your simile is inappropriate.”
And as easily as that they were diverted and happily threw themselves into a heated discussion of classical mythology. Lillian listened quietly, marveling not only at their knowledge, but also at the fact that they could argue in such a merry way.
What was more, they remained true to their word: Each day, they waited for Lillian beyond the gates of Hyde Park and took their rounds with her. So perhaps it was due to their presence that no wounded duelist dared to come close to the Ravenhurst landaulet. When they met early, though—and soon they made a habit of meeting early—she could catch a glimpse of the deer and sometimes a rabbit lolloping across the lawn or munching on a flower.
Meanwhile, though, Lillian saw less and less of her husband. He left the house early and stayed out late, on some days never coming home in between. She knew that his behavior worried the servants; the housekeeper had talked to Nanette about it, perhaps in the vain hope that Lillian might have some influence over the earl.
Nothing could have been further from the truth.
Lord Allenbright and Mr. de la Mere sometimes met him at White’s, they said. He did not gamble, they were quick to assure her, at least not excessively. Mostly he sat in an armchair in the corner and looked all moody and distant. Yet Lillian got the impression that Allenbright and de la Mere did not visit the club that often anyway; something in the atmosphere seemed to make them uncomfortable.
Lord Allenbright, however, obviously enjoyed shopping. He could tell Lillian where to find the best snuffboxes—as if she needed a snuffbox—the best and most beautiful fabrics, the sturdiest walking sticks, the shiniest hats, the most delicate jewelry, and the most delicious cakes.
One day, he came to the house before they were due to meet in the park and gave Finney a parcel for her. It contained the most beautiful paisley scarf Lillian had ever seen. When she tried to explain to him later that day that she could not possibly accept his present, he just grinned and waved her objections aside. “It’s all the rage at the moment, I assure you. And if Ravenhurst is stupid enough to call me out over this, I will just tell him that in the future he should buy the presents for his wife himself. Do not worry so, my lady. Nobody needs to know, do they?”
Chapter 12
One morning, just as Lillian prepared for her daily drive in the park, Finney came panting up the stairs and knocked on her door. “My lady,” he gasped through the wood, “you’ve got a visitor.�
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“If it is Lord Allenbright—”
“No, my lady, it is the Viscount Perrin.”
Lillian laid down her gloves and opened the door. “Viscount Perrin, you said?”
“Yes, my lady.” Finney’s face resembled a large strawberry without the seeds. “Shall I tell him you’ve gone out?”
Resolutely, Lillian shook her head. “No, it is all right. Bring him to the drawing room, if you please.”
A worried expression rose in Finney’s brown puppy-dog eyes. “Do you think this is right, my lady? Would it not be better to wait for my lord—”
“No, Finney.” She reached out and gently patted his forearm. “Do as I say. Bring him to the drawing room.”
For a while she listened to the butler’s mutterings and laborious breaths as he went downstairs. Then she hurried to get her gloves in order to reach the designated room before the men. She wondered what Alexander Markham, the Viscount Perrin, would want from her. Her husband would probably be furious when he found out that his cousin had called.
Lillian lifted her chin a notch higher.
Well, it was his own fault for spending his days and nights all over town rather than at his house.
So she sat, her back straight, her hands demurely folded in her lap, and waited for the arrival of her husband’s relative. She did not have long to wait. Soon she heard Finney’s deep voice; then the door was flung open with a flourish and the butler announced in a dignified manner, “The Viscount Perrin, my lady.”
Lillian rose from her seat to greet her visitor properly, but he just strolled in, looking around the room with interest. His clothes were just a bit too rumpled, his cheeks just a bit too ruddy. He did not acknowledge her.
Neither his appearance nor his manner boded well.
Finney’s brows rose high, yet Lillian gave the butler a small nod to indicate he should leave. He threw her another of his worried glances and left, but without closing the door. Apparently he did not like the viscount’s behavior, either.
“My lord,” Lillian said firmly.
At that, Perrin turned his head toward her, his face registering artificial surprise as if he had just now noticed her presence. “My dear cousin.” He approached her, arms outstretched.
Lillian stepped aside to evade his embrace.
“So shy?” He smirked. “There have been times, I seem to remember, when my touch was not so abhorrent to your sensibilities. In fact, I seem to remember that you liked my hands on you exceedingly well.”
Lillian chose against dignifying this with an answer. If he had come in order to provoke her, he would fail. After all, she had learned the game from a true master.
Or rather, a mistress.
So she just gave him a stony look.
Unperturbed, he grinned and took up idly pacing around the room. “Where is my dear Cousin Ravenhurst? Gone out? A shame that, quite a shame. First he becomes a recluse on his own estate, and now I have heard he has gone even more mad. Is that so?” His spurs clicked on the wooden floor. “Of course, we all know that he was struck by the battle madness. It is quite natural, I have heard, for the vétérans de la guerre. Perhaps the family should send him to Bedlam so the crowds can suitably admire him.” He threw Lillian a sly smile.
With studied indifference, she sank down on the little settee. “Have you just come to heap insult on my husband?” she inquired in bored tones, while inside she felt her anger rise. How dare this fledgling boy talk like that about her husband, a man who had endured so much more than Perrin could possibly fathom!
“Ah, your husband.” Perrin stopped his wandering and waggled his finger at her. “Whose title is, of course, so much nobler than a mere viscount’s. And his fortune is quite something, too. How much does he have these days? Twenty thousand a year? Thirty?”
“Ah, I see, now you are insulting me.” Lillian gave him back smile for smile. “I will have you know that I do not know my husband’s fortune. Nor was this the reason I married him—as you well know.”
“The public ravishment. The baring of a pair of pale breasts at Almack’s.” His lips became thin as his face twisted into an ugly sneer. His eyes dropped to the swell of her bosom, all properly covered by her walking dress. “But tell me, did he ravish you for real before the vows were exchanged?” Perrin’s voice rose in synchronicity with the color in his face. “Did the two of you enjoy a romp in a secluded alcove? On this very couch, perhaps? Did he properly hump you? Did he?”
Lillian’s brows rose. She wondered how she could have ever considered marriage to this immature dandiprat. He reminded her of a small boy throwing a tantrum because his sweets had been taken away. “Are you drunk? I do not see how any of this would be any of your business.”
He took up his pacing again, but now his strides were short, and his spurs sounded an angry staccato on the polished floor. “I made some discreet inquiries, if you must know,” he informed her loftily. “At the inn where you spent the first night of wedded bliss.” With an almost triumphant expression he turned to face her. “And lo and behold, the next morning there was not the slightest trace of virgin blood on the sheets.”
“So we did not spend that night together.” Lillian’s voice remained cool and uncaring. Yet she did not like where this conversation was headed. He might behave like a small boy, but he might still present a danger.
“Oh, my pet, but he was seen leaving your room in a—how shall I put it—rather delicious state of undress.” Perrin smirked. “The maid was much taken with the sight of my cousin’s naked torso. So, of course, I now wonder, did he tail you even when I was courting you? Did you consent to let him shag you even when you accepted my presents?”
“My lord, you are forgetting yourself.”
“But then,” he mused as if he had not heard her, “perhaps there is quite another reason for the absence of your virgin blood on those sheets. Perhaps my cousin’s madness has affected him in other areas as well. Perhaps he could not perform…” His voice trailed off suggestively, while his eyes glittered with some wild emotion Lillian did not care to guess at. She had had quite enough of Viscount Perrin’s insolence.
She rose to her feet, head held high. “This is quite enough, my lord.” She made her voice icy cold. “I will not have you slighting your cousin in his own house any longer.”
“Do you threaten me? Do you really dare threaten me, you little doxy?” Quick like a snake to strike, he advanced and gripped her upper arms. His eyes, Lillian saw, were bloodshot, and his breath, when he opened his mouth, stank of mixed alcohols. “But perhaps the absence of the virgin blood has even other reasons. Tell me, how does my coz like it that his wife is carrying on with his best friend?”
“What do you mean?” Lillian asked, for the first time honestly puzzled.
“Why, my dear…” He smirked. “Your affair with Lord Allenbright. Quite the little hussy, aren’t you ?”
Lillian blinked. Dazedly, she realized that Ravenhurst had not entrusted him with his friends’ secret. But Perrin was not through yet.
“Shall I tell you what I have also found out? Interesting things, really, about your stepmother. Have you learnt your trade from her? All these gruesome things could quite ruin even the wife of the Earl of Ravenhurst.” The Viscount’s lips lifted in a feral smile, exposing his sharp, little ferret teeth.
A freezing coldness came over Lillian. She remained quite still in his grip. “I would take care, my lord,” she whispered. “I have seen much worse things than you ever could imagine. Do you really think I would let you threaten my husband and my family? You, my lord, are an innocent. A glaring, glaring innocent. You know nothing of my stepmother. And you should pray that I will never teach you any of it.”
At her words, his color rose even higher. A vein pumped across his forehead. Then he gave a bark that might have been a laugh, shoved and threw her across the settee. “Oh, you will teach me some, my pet.” He put both hands on either side of her and leaned down, leering. “If you don’t wan
t to be ostracized by society, you will let me shag you—until you bleed, if need be.”
Lillian’s hands clenched into fists. “My lord, get off me,” she warned him softly. A pup like him would not threaten her. And she would not let him drag her back into the darkness. Never again.
His fingers closed around her throat. “You will let me use you for my pleasure and—”
Quick as lightning she struck, raking her nails over his cheek.
Howling, he reared back, holding his cheek, while blood dropped through his fingers. “What have you done? You little hussy!” And he burst into tears.
Lillian stood and straightened her skirts before she advanced on him. Nonchalantly she leaned near and whispered into his ear, “Take heed, my lord. Do not meddle with me or my kin. It would cost you dearly. I know a hundred ways and more to bring pain to a man, and I could make you rue the day you were born. So leave my family and me alone.” She stepped back and forced her lips to curve in a satisfied smile. “Now go.”
Still blubbering and bleeding and holding his cheek, the Viscount Perrin hastened out of the room like a little boy who had been scolded. She heard him clomping down the stairs, the click of his spurs mingling with his sobs.
When the front door closed behind him, the tremors started in Lillian’s hands and knees and legs until they shook her whole body. She staggered to the settee and sank down. Wearily, she buried her face in her hands. Dear God, she thought. Dear God.
A moment later she heard Finney’s hesitant steps. “My lady? Are you all right, my lady?”
Lillian lifted her head and gave the butler a smile. “Quite all right, Finney.” And, with a start, she realized she was. It would have been so easy to let Perrin victimize her. But she had not. Instead, she had made a stand.
“You have another visitor, my lady.” Finney’s voice was still tentative, as if he feared she might shatter if he spoke too harshly. “Lord Allenbright. He asks whether you are ready for the afternoon drive.”
The Lily Brand Page 16