“Five minutes?” Natalie said doubtfully.
For the first time in recent memory, James’ mouth attempted to form a smile. The muscles stretched and tightened, pulling at the sides of his face in a way that was both familiar and forgotten. “Perhaps ten,” he said, acknowledging his disheveled appearance with a wry shake of his head.
After sleeping day in and day out on the hard ground, he’d grown accustomed to dirt. Smelling it. Tasting it. Wearing it. To him, the worn out trousers and tunic he was currently wearing were luxurious garments, but in reality they were far more suited for a beggar than a member of the gentry.
He had clothes, of course. More than he knew what to do with. But after being forced to wear a heavy, cumbersome uniform for longer than he cared to remember, James now welcomed comfort over quality. Unfortunately the rest of his peers still favored pomp and circumstance, which meant his current state of dress was a far cry from suitable for a formal ball. In all honesty he could give a flying fig what others thought of him, but he knew his actions and appearance would have a direct effect on Natalie, and so he would try – ‘try’ being the operative word – to engage in a manner befitting a man of his station.
The Rigby’s had never been nobility, but they were gentlemen, their wealth discreetly earned and just as discreetly spent. Their country estate was modest, their townhouse in London rented seasonally, but they had never wanted for money nor suffered due to lack of it.
“How is the marriage mart these days?” James asked as he walked around the side of his desk and out into the hallway. Candles illuminated the narrow passage, sending flickering spheres of light dancing up the walls and over the faces of his ancestors that now existed solely within the confines of silver edged frames. At the end of the hall, James knew, would be his parents, Harold Rigby on one side and Bernice Rigby on the other. Staring endlessly at each other in painted memoriam as they had never stared at each other in life.
James’ memories of his mother were vague at best, nonexistent at worst. She’d died of complications shortly after Natalie was born, and their father followed suit eight years later. Still a young, impressionable girl of nine Natalie had gone to live with an aunt while he… he had used his new inheritance to purchase an officer’s commission in the army.
“There is no one I am interested in currently.” Natalie trailed behind him, quiet as a mouse where she once would have made enough noise to wake the dead. James paused at the end of the hall and turned to face his sister. Even in the flickering shadows she seemed pale and withdrawn; a slim imitation of the laughing, rambunctious girl he remembered.
“What happened to you Natty?” he murmured, drawing on the name he’d used when they were children. His arm ached to wrap around her shoulders, to pull her close and banish the fear he saw in her eyes, but she was already so stiff he feared one touch would be enough to shatter the temporary alliance he’d built between them since his return.
Natalie stared at him, her expression guarded. “Not all wounds can be seen from the outside,” she said cryptically.
Something churned inside of James’ stomach. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. “Natty, what are you—”
“I will ask to have the carriage brought round and meet you in the foyer,” she said, cutting him off mid-sentence before she spun in a swirl of white silk and hurried back down the hall.
Watching her go, James wanted to pound his fist against the wall, his need to strike something tangible so great it was like a living thing clawing at him. I cannot fight your demons when you won’t tell me what they are, Natty, he thought helplessly. Not when I have my own to contend with.
CHAPTER THREE
32 days until Christmas
The Winswood Estate
Home of Sarah & Devlin Heathcliff
The very last thing Lily wanted to do was attend a ball, and had it not been hosted by her dearest friend in the entire world she would have skipped it without remorse. Unfortunately, the ball in question was being hosted by her dearest friend in the entire world, and thus she found herself dancing at midnight in the arms of a man who possessed both a wandering eye and a heavy instep.
Unable to contain her wince when he trod on her foot for the third – or was it the fourth? – time, Lily bowed out gracefully as the musical strains of the waltz drew to a close. “Thank you for the dance,” she said politely even as her attention wandered across the room to where Lady Sarah Heathcliff – best friend and former wallflower extraordinaire – stood beside her tall, dark haired husband, her face tilted up towards his and her doe brown eyes glowing with adoration.
The Viscount of Winswood seemed just as infatuated with his wife as she was with him if the hand resting daringly low on her hip was any indication, and Lily couldn’t contain her quiet snort of laughter when his hand slipped lower and was promptly slapped away.
Sarah had married Devlin Heathcliff the winter before after a scandalously short engagement. She’d loved the handsome viscount from afar for years, but had only gotten up the courage to finally make herself known to him after no small amount of urging from Lily. Now, nearly a year into marriage, the two were more in love than ever before and Lily took her fair share of credit for their blissful happily-ever-after.
If only finding a husband of her own could be so easy.
As she retreated to the refreshment table and helped herself to a handful of grapes, Lily could not help but scowl. Nearly every eligible bachelor in existence was in attendance tonight, but nary a one had managed to catch her eye.
They were either too young or too old. Too arrogant or too meek. Too talkative or too quiet. Too… well, too everything. She wasn’t looking for perfection. Truly she wasn’t. But surely there had to something better out there than the current crop of fop minded gentleman who wouldn’t know an intelligent conversation if it smacked them upside their hideous wigs.
The very idea that she would most likely have to pick someone from this very room to marry was so depressing she set her plate of grapes aside without eating a single one.
“Are they too sour?”
In hindsight it was a very good thing Lily had put down the grapes, for if she was still holding them they would have certainly flown every which way. “My goodness,” she said with a laugh as she spun around.
The girl who had snuck up behind her was young, no more than sixteen or seventeen if Lily had to hazard a guess, with chestnut colored hair that framed a delicate, heart shaped face, sweeping eyebrows and pale, serious eyes. “You certainly startled me,” she continued with a bright, cheerful smile intended to put the visibly nervous girl at ease. “No, the grapes are not sour. Well, perhaps they are, but I wouldn’t know. I did not eat any. It seems I do not have much of an appetite this evening.”
The girl glanced down at her shoes peeping out from beneath the hem of her ivory gown. “Neither do I,” she whispered.
“Then why are you by the refreshment table?”
“Hiding,” the girl said succinctly, peeking up through her lashes.
She certainly was a pretty thing, Lily mused. Much too pretty to be skulking around in the corner of the room. Her shy, quiet demeanor reminded Lily of her own sister Elsa, a mouse like girl who was as different from Lily as the sun was from the moon.
Lily had urged Elsa to attend tonight but she had remained at home with their mother, leaving Lily no choice but to come with Aunt Fontaine as her chaperone, a dear woman in her mid-sixties who was half deaf and very fond of naps.
No doubt she was off dozing in a corner at this very moment, for Lily hadn’t seen her in nearly an hour which was plenty of time for Aunt Fontaine to find a comfortable chair, arrange her fan so it appeared she was watching all of the dancing, and fall promptly asleep.
“In hiding?” Lily echoed. “You really shouldn’t be, you know. Not when you look so stunning. Why, I remember my first few balls. I was an absolute mess! Hair every which way and you don’t even want to know what my dresses looked like.”
&nb
sp; “I highly doubt that,” the girl said dubiously.
Lily grinned and perched a hand on her hip. “Trust me. It took quite a while until I hit my stride. At least your come out is during the Little Season. You will have plenty of time to practice before London.”
Taking place in the country as opposed to the city, the ton’s Little Season ran during the holidays while parliament was on respite and the upper class needed something to occupy their time. It was a more subdued affair than its counterpart, but there were still balls and luncheons aplenty. Sarah and Devlin’s little soiree was but the first of a half dozen or so balls leading up to Christmas… and Lily’s deadline.
Suddenly her smile became more forced, and it fell from her face all together when the girl asked, “Are you married, then?”
“No… I am not.” The words tasted bitter on her tongue and she forced them out with difficulty. How easy that question used to be for her to answer! No, I am not married. No, I do not plan on marrying in the near future. Why not? Well, quite simply because I want to marry for love.
Marry for love… A luxury she could no longer afford.
Again Lily wondered why her father would do such a thing to her, and again she could not fathom a reason. He had loved her. She knew he had. But just as importantly he had understood her. He knew she was not one of those women who dreamed day in and day out of finding the perfect husband, having the perfect wedding, and raising the perfect children. She wanted more for her life. She wanted more for herself. She wanted to travel to all the places she’d read about in her father’s atlases and experience new cultures and learn new languages. She wanted to live to the fullest with no regrets, and die an old woman content in her bed knowing she had done everything she set out to do. She did not want to marry a man she barely knew and spend the rest of her days chasing children and making certain the good silver was set out for their dinner guests.
And yet what choice did she have? She could not allow everything her mother owned to be passed on to Cousin Eustace. Even if he wasn’t an insufferable old goat with a nasty streak, Lily could not countenance the idea of her sweet mother being forced to ask for every shilling and pence as though she were some lowly beggar instead of the lovely, gracious lady she was. Not to mention how it would affect Elsa’s debut in the spring, or their entire future.
Lily had seen first hand what happened when a family’s inheritance was passed on to a distant relative. The very same had happened to one of her friends from finishing school. The girl’s father died, leaving the fate of his wife and three daughters (not to mention his fortune) in the hands of his brother. For a while all was well, but within the year the brother married, had a child of his own, and gradually began to take more and more of the inheritance that should have been saved for his sister-in-law and nieces.
Since the law so heavily favored men over women there was nothing that could be done. The last Lily heard of her friend she was living with her mother and sisters in a small two bedroom townhouse and was looking for employment as a governess.
I shall not let the same thing happen to Elsa, Lily vowed silently. Come hell or high water, I will find a husband.
She needed someone handsome, but not in the pretty way she detested. Someone kind, but not overly sweet. Someone intelligent, but not boring. Someone… Well, someone exactly like him.
As her gaze scoured the crowded room, Lily found her attention inexplicably drawn as though by some invisible force to the far opposite corner where a tall, dark haired man stood slouched against a large potted fern. Staring at him, she felt the queerest of flutters in her belly and a flush the likes of which she rarely experienced bloomed across her exposed collarbone.
She did not know what drew her eye to the man. Except for his height, there was nothing of note about him. He was not dressed in the best of clothes, nor the worst. His hair, pulled back in a sleek tail, was neither the shortest nor the longest. His face, with its sharply drawn cheekbones and prominent nose, was a few rugged lines away from handsome. His mouth, slanted at one side in an unmistakable show of disdain, hovered two notches above cruel.
No, he was no one of note. But in one long, lingering glance Lily found herself utterly and irrevocably captivated.
“Do you know who that is?” she whispered, slanting a sideways glance at her silent companion who she had, in all honesty, forgotten about until this very moment. Not that it was her fault. The girl – whoever she was – made about as much of an impact as the wallpaper, and heavens knew the brown and white pattern was dreadfully dull.
“Who is who?” the girl asked, blinking her large eyes and reminding Lily very much of a tiny barn owl.
“That man standing in the corner over there by the plant.” In her usual brash style, Lily lifted one hand and pointed straight at the stranger who had managed to capture her undivided attention. “He is dressed all in black. Do you know his name?”
For some reason the question caused the girl’s cheeks to fill with color and her fingers to interlace so tightly her knuckles gleamed white in the candlelight. “I… I…”
“Well? Who is he?” Patience had never been one of Lily’s virtues. She was of half a mind to march across the floor and speak to the stranger herself, but with the faintest of tremors in her voice the girl finally answered.
“His name is Captain James Rigby,” she said with obvious reluctance, “and he is my brother.”
CHAPTER FOUR
James could feel the woman’s eyes on him. He willed her to look away but she persisted until he finally lifted his head and met her stare for bold, unwavering stare across the crowded ballroom.
She was stunningly beautiful, of course. Flawless ivory skin. Ebony hair coiled in an intricate twist at the nape of her neck. A navy blue dress so dark it could have been black if not for the shimmers of color revealed when she shifted her weight to the side. The gown fit her like a glove, tight around her breasts and nipped in waist before spilling out in a wave of soft fabric. Her features were delicate, from the curve of her cupids bow mouth to the slight tilt of her nose. And her eyes… James sucked in a breath. Even from this distance he would see her eyes were the loveliest violet he’d ever beheld.
“Fairy,” he murmured, knowing no one could hear him, not caring if they did. From the very moment he arrived he’d sequestered himself in a lonesome corner of the room, preferring the company of plants to people. He had planned on giving Natalie another hour at most – the poor girl wasn’t even dancing – before he made their excuses. He didn’t belong here. Not anymore.
Oh, once he had. Once he would have strolled across the room, taken the violet eyed beauty by the hand, and swept her into a waltz. Once he would have drawn her outside and seduced a kiss from those perfect lips under the silvery glow of the moonlight. Once he would have left her wanting as he was now left wanting.
Wanting for courage.
Wanting for normalcy.
Wanting for his bloody arm back.
His teeth clenched as the all too familiar throbbing in a body part that no longer existed began to plague him. One more hour be damned. He and Natalie were leaving now, whether she liked it or not.
Tearing his gaze away from the fairy he searched the room with the same hard eyed meticulousness he had used to search for bodies on the battlefield. When one circuit revealed nothing he straightened and took a step forward, his muscles coiling and tensing beneath the heavy wool of his jacket. By sheer happenstance he glanced at the violet eyed woman again… and this time saw Natalie standing beside her, her face pale and her hands clenched tight.
James did not charge through the crowd, but he might as well have. He walked with long legged purpose, his gaze never leaving the frightened countenance of his sister, not acknowledging the men and women who scrambled to clear his path with little squeaks of alarm.
“What is it?” he said roughly once he’d reached her. Ignoring the woman at her side entirely, he lifted his hand to touch Natalie’s shoulder, but jerked it ba
ck when she flinched and cowered. “Natalie, I…” Jaw clenching furiously, he turned to the side. “You do not have to be afraid of me.”
“Not afraid of you?” the fairy chirped. “After the way you came marching over here? Why, I would be positively terrified. Mayhap you should try it again. You are in a ballroom, Captain Rigby, not a battlefield.”
James spun around, disbelief widening his eyes and thinning his mouth. Of all the nerve… “I do not recall asking your opinion,” he growled.
The fairy batted her eyelashes – her incredibly long, incredibly dark eyelashes – at him. “What a coincidence, as I do not recall asking your permission. Lady Lily Kincaid,” she said, extending one slender hand enclosed in a satin glove. “I only tell you that because you seem to be at a disadvantage, as I knew your name before you came stomping over here. Please, no need to thank me.” Her lips quirked in a manner that irritated even as it aroused. “I can see social etiquette is difficult for you and I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”
James stared hard at her hand, but did not take it and after a moment Lily shrugged and let her arm drop. “What are you doing with my sister?”
Her lashes fluttered again, causing a long, low pull in James’ gut that he resolutely ignored. “Isn’t it obvious? I am making friends with your poor sister to get to you. That is what you are thinking, is it not?” She snorted and, to his disbelief, rolled her eyes. At him. When was the last time anyone, let alone a delicate slip of a woman who barely came up to his chin, had the audacity to show such disrespect? His brow furrowed. In all honesty, he couldn’t remember.
“That’s what all you tall, brooding types think,” Lily continued, nonplussed by his dark glower. “Your sister and I were having an absolutely fine conversation before you muddled into it, thank you very much, and we shall continue to do so after you’ve muddled your way back out.”
The Risqué Resolution Page 2