Because Lilliana had never been so terribly happy in all her life. She helped her mother convert an old ball gown into her wedding dress, laughed at her father’s complaints about the size of the wedding breakfast, and despite her mother’s disapproval, made an increasingly long list of keepsakes she must have for her trousseau.
When she wasn’t caught up in the activity of planning the wedding, she was making a concerted effort to see all the tenants and bid them good-bye. She rode recklessly across the fields, feeling very much like the hawk that circled lazily above—in a matter of days she would be free, and her ebullient anticipation spilled out with everything she did. The servants and residents of the Grange congratulated one another on the wonderful match Miss Dashell had made, as if it were their daughter who had landed such a fortune.
And what a handsome lord for their miss, they said. The Earl of Albright was as darkly handsome as he was mysterious. They caught glimpses of him quietly reading when Miss Lilliana worked on the invitations, or standing to one side as Miss Dashell and her father packaged her paintings for the journey. The earl would be a good husband, they said, not anything like the rumors about him might suggest.
Lilliana had to agree—her future husband was as marvelous as he was in her dreams. He smiled whenever she spoke, assured her that whatever she wanted to take was welcome in his home, and didn’t even seem to mind when she and Caroline practiced the wedding ceremony, collapsing into a fit of giggles on the settee.
None of the harried preparations or the sense of excitement building at the Grange seemed to fluster him in the least, not even Tom’s sullen behavior or her mother’s obvious disapproval of the whole thing. Every day that passed convinced Lilliana that she had made the right decision, and she could hardly wait for the day of liberation to finally come.
On the day of liberation, Adrian sat alone in the crowded assembly room, watching his laughing wife flutter from table to table. He had to admit she looked particularly radiant today. At the ceremony he had been mildly surprised by how lovely his undistinguished fiancée looked in her wedding gown. But then again, he had never seen an unappealing bride. At the conclusion of that mercifully short ceremony, he had cupped her face with one hand and had kissed her fully on the lips. It was a short, perfunctory little kiss, but when he had lifted his head, her eyes were shimmering. He had noticed then, for the first time, really, that they were pale, almost smoky green. For a single, odd moment he had been briefly fascinated with them.
A very brief moment, which he now shrugged off as he reached for his pocket watch. They needed to be under way if they were to reach Longbridge before nightfall. He stuffed his pocket watch away and scanned the crowd, wondering absently if Arlo had finished seeing to her portmanteaus. He had dispatched a hired carriage to Longbridge just yesterday, filled to the brim with her many trunks and paintings. It was nothing short of amazing to him that one could assemble such a large trousseau in less than a week—and of what? He was mulling that over when he caught sight of Benedict
Adrian started badly. When had he come in? It was unnerving to see his brother now, standing in the corner as he was. His eyes were fixed on Lilliana, and there was no mistaking the look of abject misery on his face. Adrian’s eyes narrowed speculatively … his brother was smitten!
Benedict was honestly smitten with her.
Adrian flicked his gaze to Lilliana, who had yet to notice his brother. He glanced at Benedict again; with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, he leaned against the wall as if he needed it to hold him up. Adrian swallowed hard; he had waited for this moment, had dreamed of the moment he would wrest something from that weakling, something that would avenge the loss of Kealing Park. Jesus, he wanted to strike back at Archie and hurt Benedict in the process! But he could take no pleasure in the expression of complete bewilderment on his brother’s face. He felt no sense of victory, no satisfaction. Just an odd feeling of disgust for himself.
And as Adrian was trying to understand it, Ben found his nerve and approached Lilliana. She looked as stricken at seeing Benedict as Adrian felt, nervously pulling at the trim of a dainty little lace handkerchief she had carried all morning. Just bloody grand, he thought miserably, and tossing aside his linen napkin, moved to rescue his wife.
This day had been absolutely glorious, far better than she had dreamed—until now. Lilliana kept her eyes fixed on the path as Benedict led her around to a small lawn behind the assembly rooms. He had not uttered a word since he had given her his congratulations and then had asked if he might have a word. She could hardly refuse under the circumstances—he was, after all, her brother now.
He stopped in the middle of the lawn and glanced around them, unseeing, before he finally turned to look at her. He eyed her face and her gown before finally settling on her hands, which she held tightly together at her waist. “You look beautiful, Lilliana,” he murmured.
Heat flooded her cheeks at the sound of misery in his voice. “Thank you,” she choked.
“Why?” he whispered, and slowly lifted his lashes to look her directly in the eye. “Why did you do it?”
“It is as I wrote you,” she whispered faintly.
“You honestly expect me to believe you have harbored some … childish adoration for him all these years?” he snapped. “You have not seen him in fifteen years or more, Lilliana. It is inconceivable to me that you would have an affection for him after all that time!”
That was fair, because Benedict could never hope to conceive how she adored Lord Albright, or why. How could she possibly make him understand that Adrian was the key to her living, the very sort of free spirit she longed to be? Or that he was the exact opposite of that ideal? Yes, for Benedict it must be inconceivable. “I have held him in great esteem for a long time,” she forced herself to respond. “I am truly sorry if I have hurt you, Benedict, but it was against my very nature to refuse him. And … and his offer was … very generous.”
Benedict’s brown eyes hardened. “His offer? What was it? Did he convince you with expensive jewels?” he snarled sarcastically.
Lilliana quietly lifted her chin at the insult. “He offered to save my father from debtor’s prison and ensure that my family would never want again. And he did not require Blackfield Grange in exchange for his generosity,” she said calmly.
Benedict’s eyes widened, and he suddenly looked away. “I see,” he muttered coldly. “Then I suppose there is nothing left for me to do but wish you happiness, is there?”
“That would be very kind of you,” she murmured.
Benedict frowned and forced himself to look at her again. His gaze locked with hers for a long moment, until he winced and looked at her hands again. “God forgive me. Lilliana … I am sorry. I am so very sorry. I had honestly hoped that you and I—”
“Benedict, please don’t,” she softly warned him.
He drew a deep breath and made a halfhearted attempt to straighten his shoulders. “I wish you well, Lilliana, and I pray you will not be terribly disappointed by what you’ve done.”
Oh, she would not be disappointed. This was the miracle of all miracles, and it had happened to her. She glanced at the simple gold band on her finger, unable to suppress her smile. She would never be disappointed.
“What a wonderful surprise. You honor us with your presence, Ben.”
Lilliana jerked toward the sound of his voice. Adrian was standing at the edge of the lawn, his hands clasped behind his back. “Lilliana, it is time we began our goodbyes,” he said casually, and held out his hand to her. Lilliana did not hesitate; she went to her husband and slipped her hand into his. Adrian brought it to his lips before gracing her with an exceedingly charming smile. “Go on ahead. I should like a word with my brother.”
She glanced over her shoulder at Ben—he was watching her closely, watching her smile at Adrian. “You … you will come to say good-bye, won’t you?”
“Naturally,” he said tightly.
Adrian squeezed her hand, drawing her at
tention back to him. “I’ll be along shortly,” he said, smiling. A delirious sense of happiness washed over her with the warmth of his smile, and Lilliana beamed at her husband before walking inside, her thoughts already on their departure.
Six
LONGBRIDGE
LADY DASHELL ALLOWED her rigid spine to bend long enough to sob hysterically when the couple’s departure was announced. Lord Dashell tried to comfort his wife with a pat or two on the shoulder, but the man was overwhelmed himself. And it was not particularly helpful that Caroline hung on to her sister—sobbing alternately for Lilliana or Mr. Feather—until Adrian was forced to pry them apart. It took a good half hour of tearful good-byes and promises to write from Bath along with Adrian’s cajoling—and, finally, demanding—before he was able to pull Lilliana from the bosom of her family and put her into the coach that would take them to Longbridge.
Good God.
Worse yet, that scene was immediately followed by the uncomfortable discovery that the new Lady Albright chattered like a magpie.
Lilliana had begun the moment the post chaise rolled down Kealing’s main thoroughfare, reviewing every single detail of the ceremony and the breakfast, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was the only one participating in the conversation. She had then segued effortlessly into a discourse on the things she had forgotten, although Adrian would have sworn she had packed every inch of the Grange into one of the dozen or more trunks already at Longbridge. Tiring of that, she had begun to chatter about all the things she would do at Longbridge, beginning, apparently, with a thorough cleaning. Why she thought the place was in such disarray, he had no idea, and as she had rattled off all the rooms she supposed Longbridge had, including a ballroom, which it did not, Adrian had stared at her, quite simply fascinated.
It was the first time he had been alone with her, really alone with her. Hell, he thought as he watched her lips move, it was the first time he had been alone with a woman for any appreciable length of time that did not include a bottle of good wine and a bed.
This was new to him, completely foreign, and the woman’s incessant chatter was starting to frighten him. Was this what he was to expect? Did all gently bred women eventually show themselves unable to let a moment of silence pass? Moreover, was he expected to actually know what the hell she was talking about? He certainly hoped not, because he had lost track of the conversation somewhere between Newhall and the turn onto the eastbound road. But she kept looking at him as if she expected some sort of response, and feeling a little desperate, Adrian pulled a book from his bag and opened it, hoping that would silence her.
It did not.
Much to his morbid fascination, Lilliana spent the first half of the drive glued to the window and calling his attention to such engaging scenes as oh, flocks of sheep. Lord help him, he did not think he would be able to bear it if she talked so much on a regular basis. No matter how many ways he tried to dissect it, the drive was bringing home to him the fact that he had married an unremarkable country bumpkin who was enthralled with dairies, among other things. The Grange Princess was, he was slowly beginning to understand, as alien to him as one of those strange countries she had talked about all through luncheon. This marriage had been a monumental, irreparable gaffe, thank you, and the biggest mistake of his life—no small feat, that—and one with terrifying consequence. But he would find a way to deal with it, Adrian thought, and resolutely clamped his jaw shut. He’d be damned if he was to spend the rest of his life looking at trees and birds and, dear God, cattle.
After a while, fortunately, she apparently tired of her own chatter, and was at the moment sitting peacefully, gazing out the window.
Would that he could be so peaceful, he thought miserably, but he could not, not after having discovered his folly. And certainly not after seeing Benedict.
With a slight wince Adrian shifted his gaze to the book he held, pretending to read. He had expected a confrontation with his brother, but Benedict had surprised him by congratulating him. Nevertheless, he could not mask his expression, and Adrian knew by his eyes that he was distraught And instead of triumph, Adrian had felt nauseatingly contrite. The distasteful realization that he had snatched someone’s happiness, even if it was his oh so deserving brother’s, disturbed him far more than he would have imagined. Guilt, the one emotion that was becoming extremely familiar to him of late, had taken hold. Again.
Well, it was too bloody late to turn back now, he thought as he surreptitiously glanced at Lilliana. He had earned his victory over Archie and had wounded Benedict in the process, just as he had set out to do. These sudden feelings of contrition were annoying, as annoying as the prospect of having a wife he did not know or really cared to know. What an idiot he was! Recklessness was part of his life, but it had never manifested itself with such a permanent consequence as this!
He glanced at the pages of his book again, only to see Benedict and that pained look in his eyes.
He was a goddamned fool.
Adrian’s lungs were burning; he was being chased through the trees, along the stream where he had fished for trout as a boy. Phillip was close behind, firing that German gun above his head. Frantic, Adrian ducked behind a tree, and peered back. But it was Benedict he saw now, and terrified, he whirled away from the tree and struggled to run—but he could not move his limbs.
Suddenly his eyes flew open. After a brief, clouded moment of terror, he realized he had fallen asleep, propped awkwardly against the squabs. God, he was bathed in sweat again. He extracted a handkerchief from his breast pocket, and as he wiped his brow he realized the post chaise was slowing. Lilliana, he noticed, was pasted to the window, and he struggled to see over her shoulder.
Longbridge.
Nestled on the banks of a river, the eighteenth-century mansion was exactly as Adrian remembered—an ornate estate to which he had no real connection, no sense of belonging. As the chaise coasted around the long circular drive, Lilliana turned a beguiling grin to him, her pale green eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “It’s beautiful!” He nodded and shifted his gaze to the house, feeling a bad humor that had no basis in anything.
Mr. Brent Maximilian, Adrian’s longtime butler, was the first to greet Lord and Lady Albright, bowing respectfully as Adrian helped Lilliana from the chaise. “A pleasure to have you home, my lord,” he intoned.
“Thank you, Max. I trust your journey from London was uneventful?”
“Quite, my lord. I believe you will find everything in order.”
“Madam, allow me to introduce Maximilian, otherwise known as Max,” he said to Lilliana.
The poor girl was so excited, she actually curtsied to his butler. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Maximilian,” she said, and smiled brightly.
The usually fussy Max looked a little surprised—no doubt he had expected a woman of a more sophisticated countenance. “The pleasure is undoubtedly mine, my lady. I hope you shall find all at Longbridge to your satisfaction.”
“Oh! I am quite certain I shall! It’s so very lovely, don’t you think?” she chirped. Max inclined his head as he stole a fretful glance at Adrian from the corner of his eye. Hardly in a mood to entertain curious looks from his butler, Adrian grasped Lilliana’s elbow before she could speak further, and swiftly led her to the row of servants who had filed out to meet them in the early twilight. Much to his surprise and annoyance, Lilliana stopped to speak to every one of the twenty-two staff gathered, beaming as if she was being presented at court.
By the time he had managed to pull her inside, she was positively glowing with exuberance. As she pulled off her bonnet in the foyer, she gasped at the opulent surroundings. “Oooo, this is positively wonderful!” she exclaimed, and did a slow pirouette beneath the dome above the entry, painted with some scene from the Greek tragedies. Indifferent to all of it, Adrian removed his gloves and tossed them to a footman standing nearby in the black and gold livery of Albright. “This is just as I imagined it, you know! Caroline and I knew you would be surrou
nded by splendor!”
He had no earthly idea what she meant by that, and simply smiled as he glanced over his shoulder at Max. “Have a bath drawn for her ladyship and a light supper brought to her rooms.”
“Yes, my lord,” Max drawled. “My lady? If you will follow me?” he asked, and gestured toward a huge curving staircase spiraling upward beneath old portraits and coats of armor and one massive crystal chandelier. “This way, if you please.” As they trailed up the stairs with a footman carrying her bags close behind, Adrian heard his wife ask Mr. Maximilian if his name was Greek, if he had any family, and if he had been at Longbridge for very long. Remarkably, Max answered her questions with a lilt in his voice Adrian was quite certain he had never heard from the fastidious man. If the Princess of the Grange had that effect on his butler, then he could only surmise Max had been without the company of a woman for far too long.
Lilliana’s cheeks were beginning to hurt from the smile she forced to her lips so that Mr. Maximilian would not see how very mortified she was. Dear Lord, what had she done? She had been so ecstatically happy when they had left Kealing, so anxious to begin her life of adventure with the most magnificent man alive, she had feared she might very well float away. Naturally, she had assumed he would be happy.
If he was, he had a peculiar way of showing it.
From the moment they had begun the trip to Longbridge, she had tried to engage him in conversation. She could not say that he did not oblige her, because he did, and was exceedingly polite about it. But he didn’t really respond to her. His answers were short, or he responded with questions of his own, forcing her to talk of herself. He revealed nothing of what he really thought about anything.
As the drive to Longbridge was the first time they had been alone for more than a few minutes since he had appeared at the Grange, that botched attempt at conversation had made her extremely self-conscious. She tried to take solace in the passing scenery, pointing out interesting things as they rushed by. Adrian looked up every time she asked, nodded politely without really seeing anything, then returned to his reading. Of a French book. That made her just as self-conscious, and unfortunately, the more nervous she became, the more she talked.
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