The Wallflower Duchess

by Liz Tyner

  The Duke glanced over the other theatregoers. Lily knew he’d expected his mother to be with Andrew and Beatrice. A family outing. His and hers. An announcement of sorts, with Beatrice along to make sure everyone noticed.

  She pulled her thoughts deep inside herself, ignoring the spinning feeling in her head. Edge put the actors on his stage exactly where he wanted them. She tried to pay attention to the actress speaking on the theatre’s stage, but she couldn’t keep her mind on it. Lily realised she didn’t even know what the play was. It hadn’t mattered. Nothing had settled in her mind earlier except that she would be spending the evening with Edgeworth.

  Beatrice’s arm flashed out, the large ring she wore over her glove visible. The one on her left hand. Lily looked at her own gloves. No rings were even under them. Then she looked across at Edgeworth’s hand. He was wearing the ring on his little finger again. The Lily one.

  He caught her looking and she could see behind his eyes. A smile.

  She couldn’t help herself. She gave a tiny shake of her head.

  One little flicker at the edge of one brow argued with her. She turned her head precisely, staring ahead. Ever so lightly, he moved in his chair and tapped his foot.

  She glanced at him again.

  He raised his brows in question and touched the ring.

  She squeezed her eyes tight, looked over the audience and shrugged.

  He let out a breath, loud enough for her to hear. When she turned his way, he tapped the ring again.

  This time, she nodded.

  She saw it. He grinned.

  Beatrice leaned forward in her chair, laughing at something onstage. The sound carried as well as the actors’ voices, or better.

  Eyes turned to them.

  Edge was aware. He turned to Lily, pulling the attention Beatrice had called their way. His head was only inches from hers. ‘Are you enjoying the play?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m enjoying the performance,’ she said.

  The actress onstage paused for a moment. Even she turned her head in their direction before resuming her role. Edgeworth laughed softly.

  Lily examined the faces looking in her direction and it didn’t matter. Being watched wasn’t so bad with Edgeworth at her side.

  Then one man from the pit around the stage tipped his head to her. She took in a breath. She forced her face emotionless, but acknowledged him with a nod.

  Edge caught the movement, eyes appraising her and back to the man. Edge shot the man a quelling glare. ‘That scandalmonger wrote the article about my father.’

  * * *

  Abigail lay on Lily’s bedcovers, sound asleep. The jewellery box lid was open and the contents scattered around it. A lamp lit the room.

  Lily shut the door, hard.

  Abigail jumped into a sitting position, rubbed her eyes and said, ‘What did you think of the play, Your Almost Grace?’

  Lily shrugged, smiling, pushing aside the memory of the man she’d seen watching her.

  Her sister swung around on the bed. ‘So did Edgeworth propose?’

  ‘That would be a personal matter.’

  Abigail grunted. ‘I guess I’ll ask Father. Or better yet, just listen and, if I hear him shouting it from the rooftop, then I’ll know. Not that it matters to him one way or the other as long as we’re happy.’ She stood and stretched. ‘And wealthy.’

  ‘Leave,’ Lily said.

  ‘No. I’m your sister and I know you plan to take a stroll later tonight into that unhealthy night air. But I’m not making it easy for you.’

  ‘You can stay in the room,’ Lily said, waving a hand. ‘Keep the light on for me.’

  Abigail examined her fingernails. ‘You will have to marry him if you start meeting him so often.’ She patted her stomach. ‘You’ll start looking plump.’

  ‘Be quiet.’

  Abigail shook her head. ‘No. I’ve listened to enough warnings from you. It’s your turn. I’m concerned for you. Besides, I brought Edgeworth right to the front door for you with the handkerchiefs.’

  ‘I’m still not finished with you over that.’

  ‘I did you a favour.’

  ‘No. You didn’t. Whenever he wishes to find me, he knows where I live.’

  ‘He certainly does. You’re making a trail in the grass. At night.’ Abigail crossed her arms. ‘I’m saying the exact same to you as you’ve said to me. Start out like Mother—end up like Mother.’

  ‘Be quiet.’

  ‘You hated it more than I ever did.’

  ‘I’m not like Mother. At all.’

  ‘Well, you’re not acting like yourself.’ She walked to the door and pulled it open. ‘Do as you wish. You will anyway. But you’d certainly be angry at me if I met Foxworthy—in his house.’ She opened her eyes wide. ‘Not that you’re doing that, of course.’ Then she pointed to the third finger of her left hand and left.

  Lily smiled at the memory of the ring on his little finger.

  She understood why he’d asked her now that she’d seen Beatrice gathering all the attention. Edge wanted someone who... Edge wanted someone who didn’t pull everyone’s attention. He wanted a proper duchess, one who could sit quietly and watch the others around her.

  Touching the last necklace she wore, she ran her finger over the chain. A simple one her mother had tossed into the waste bin because she’d not thought it grand enough. The only one Lily liked.

  Her mother had warned her. Once you start releasing your passions you can never call them back. They control you. At the time, hearing the admonishment had irked Lily because her mother hadn’t followed her own words. But now Lily understood. Her mother had been trying to keep Lily from following in her footsteps, the same way Lily tried to keep Abigail from erring.

  But the Duke didn’t have the passions of her mother’s friends. He put his duties first and planned what he did. He would never turn on her like her parents had turned on each other. Never.

  She could hardly wait until she could be with him again.

  * * *

  After her own house had settled into sleep, she left through the back door, kicked off her shoes, slipped her stockings away, tossed them to the ground and dashed through the dewy grass.

  She ran to the door, touched the wood and then the knob.

  He’d said he’d be waiting. He’d told her the door would be unlocked.

  Inside, she tiptoed and ran up the stairs, making no more noise than a mouse might.

  Right before she knocked on his bedchamber door, it opened. He pulled her inside, into his arms and against the chest that took up her whole vision.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ she said.

  ‘You can’t have missed me much,’ he said. ‘We just parted.’

  ‘A whole hour ago.’ Being a mouse was pleasant when one got to burrow into the chest of a lion and feel his arms securing her in an embrace that lifted her from her feet.

  The door clicked shut and he stepped into the middle of the room with her. ‘So tell me,’ he said into her ear, his breath sending ripples of shivers into her, ‘what have you been doing since we last met?’

  ‘Thinking of you.’

  He touched her face. ‘I’ve been thinking of you. I enjoyed being out with you. And I’m pleased you could tolerate Beatrice.’

  ‘I like her.’

  ‘Good.’ He gave her a squeeze.

  Joy thrummed through her heart. She felt beautiful. The only place in the world that she didn’t want to be a wallflower was in Edge’s vision. She stood in the centre of the room and the most important eyes in the world were on her.

  He stepped away and gazed at her feet. ‘Where are your shoes and stockings?’

  ‘I left them at my door,’ she said. ‘I knew they’d get wet with the dew and I didn’
t want the maid to notice.’

  ‘You cannot run around barefoot. You’ll hurt yourself,’ he said.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said. She twirled around and managed to stop against him, and rest in the shelter of his arms.

  He slid the shoulder of her dress and her chemise aside, just enough to put a kiss in the hidden location, then moved his lips up her neck, through all the shiver spots, and stopped at her lips.

  He lifted her and moved her to the bed, sliding down beside her.

  * * *

  Edge held her in the crook of his arm, knowing she slept. Absently, he rubbed the top of her fingers.

  He couldn’t describe her. Innocence. Softness. Holding pleasure against his chest and inside his chest. Fragile. Gentle.

  She stirred, waking.

  ‘Will your father be home tomorrow afternoon?’ he asked.

  She rolled against him, burrowing closer. ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘I’ll be courting you again. I’d like to speak with him. Would you let him know?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She squeezed him, but her breathing didn’t relax as it had.

  He would let her father know they planned to marry. Lily hadn’t yet spoken the yes, but she surely would, and this time he would ask her in front of her family. He wanted to marry soon. He’d already taken his brothers aside and told them not to be surprised if he should wed, and his mother had told him she’d not be surprised if she had a new daughter.

  Lily felt perfect at his side. Holding her now, the woman he’d dreamed of, made his life feel complete.

  He kissed her hair, letting his lips rest against her and savouring the floral-scented hair and the warm, alive, comforting scent that radiated from her.

  Sitting at the theatre with her, he’d been proud. He’d noticed the difference between her and Beatrice, who was one hundred per cent Beatrice and perfect for Andrew. But Lily fit her name and fit into his world in a way he’d not thought possible.

  The question of her parentage could be ignored or easily dealt with. He could bring the subject up, quietly, to the right ears and the right mouths, but really it didn’t matter what people believed.

  The night couldn’t have been better, if not for seeing the publisher. The vulture who’d published the rubbish about Lily and then later the story about his father. He could hardly believe Lily knew the man, but then her mother stayed one step from total ruin after she’d parted from Lily’s father.

  The peacefulness Edge felt evaporated at the thought of the publisher. The man had hurt Lily, destroyed Edge’s family and called Andrew’s wife a beast. Andrew had spoken to the publisher afterwards and the stories had changed.

  But Edge had said nothing to the man earlier when the story was printed about his father. Nothing. His mother hadn’t wanted more attention and Edge agreed. When he’d discovered the words were true, he’d spent his time dealing with the repercussions in the household.

  The lie about Lily was different.

  Edge realised where he must start with correcting the story of Lily’s birth. He knew how to get the word out—the same place the lie had started.

  He would think of how he wanted the story told and if the scurrilous publisher wished to live in London—if he wished to be able to continue to publish his paper—then he would find a way to make one very sincere correction to the past.

  Lily would shine. As she should. He knew she didn’t truly like to stand out from the crowd, but this time would be different.

  * * *

  Lily listened to Edge’s breathing. Rhythmic. Relaxed. She scooted away from him and he moved his arm. Her sleeping lion.

  She slipped from the bed. She took one look back at him, then took a second glance. She wanted this to remain in her memory for ever. Lamplight shadowed his face and she could see the lashes resting at his cheeks. A softness in the repose of his lips.

  This was the portrait no one could ever capture. The man, innocent and vulnerable in sleep. She hoped Genevieve hadn’t seen him so relaxed and was fairly certain she hadn’t. Lily doubted he fell asleep easily around others.

  She looked away—an unease creeping into her. She moved, trying to dislodge it from her body.

  She dropped a kiss in the air over him, knowing if she touched him he’d wake, and she didn’t want him to feel he had to dress and walk her home. Just a quick dart across the way and she’d be there.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Edge stepped inside the Hightower residence and noticed the reddened cheeks of the butler. The man’s face showed no recognition of Edgeworth, and he didn’t waver from his role, but his movements were too quick. He hurried, as if he wanted to rush away.

  Looking up, Edgeworth saw Lily standing, hand on the end of the bannister, watching.

  No welcome shown from her eyes, and yet, she waited for him.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, not caring if the servant heard because whatever it was, the butler already knew.

  ‘My mother’s here.’ Lily searched his face and then looked over him when she continued. ‘She’ll disrupt everything. Every day.’

  ‘Her presence doesn’t change anything, except she should know your future plans.’ He walked into Lily’s line of vision.

  His face locked into an impassiveness. Lily didn’t flinch, so he knew she couldn’t see the irritation that sparked in his chest, causing his hand to tighten.

  He took Lily inside the empty sitting room, led her to the sofa and released her arm from his and, with her hand in his, guided her to sit. But he didn’t join her. Instead he moved to the chair across. He started to sit, then changed his mind. ‘You’re using her as an excuse not to court or marry. What is the real reason?’

  ‘You can’t know what it is like to live in the same house with her.’

  ‘I’m not asking her to marry me—I’m asking you. And we’re not going to live in this house. Just next door.’

  ‘She’ll meddle. She can take one little grain of something and she feeds on it. Think of a piece of dropped bread and how the ants appear from nowhere and surround it.’

  He didn’t speak, letting the silence ask the question he wanted answered.

  She put her hands on the upholstery at each side of her. ‘I didn’t know what peace was until my mother left.’

  ‘Peace above all else?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Think about it. Think about how you felt in the past. Do you want to return to that?’

  ‘Never.’

  She glanced down and then at Edge.

  She rose and moved to him. ‘If you ask me to marry you, you’d better be certain it’s what you want. I’m going to say yes, and you’ll be acquiring a wife and her mother will be next door.’

  ‘Doors have locks.’

  She smiled, but it didn’t linger. ‘I just worry that you’ll be involved in her theatrics.’

  He took her hands. He would have a few words with the newspaper publisher. He wouldn’t let them say anything about Lily because of her mother. If her mother wished to run naked in the streets and the man reported it, Edge wouldn’t complain. But the newspaper had best not mention Lily in any connection to her. His and Lily’s family would stand alone and rise above everything on their own merit.

  ‘Send for your father.’

  ‘He’s here. I’ll get him.’

  In seconds, Lily returned with Mr Hightower, a stout man who Lily overshot in height. The thought bounced through Edge’s mind that she really didn’t resemble her father. He could understand the tales. Mr Hightower glanced at Lily while she watched her father’s face. In the two profiles, a similarity appeared in the directness.

  Her father’s attention returned to Edge.

  ‘Lily and I plan to be married.’

  Th
e years seemed to fall away from her father’s face. ‘You’re both old enough to know your own mind. It will be nice to have you in the family, Your Grace.’ He lingered on the words, letting Edge know he valued the title. But then his eyes changed into the steely glare of an equal. ‘I’m not concerned about the fine points of the marriage settlement. Draw up the papers as you see fit. If anything should happen, I will provide well for both my daughters.’

  ‘I arrived just in time.’ Lily’s mother rushed into the room, her eyes as bright as her red-stained lips and her laughter forced.

  * * *

  Lily’s fingers loosened from Edge’s tender clasp when she noted her mother’s face.

  ‘Welcome to the family,’ her mother said, beaming at Edgeworth. ‘I always knew you and Lily had a fascination for each other. Childhood sweethearts.’

  ‘I thought you were shopping,’ Lily said.

  ‘I am on the way,’ her mother said, ‘but I had the carriage return for a moment as I wished to change bonnets. The one I chose had been in the wardrobe for quite some time. And had a definite musty odour.’ She waved a hand in front of her nose. ‘I feel like letting every servant in this house go because, without me here, I can tell how much they’ve shirked in their duties. Perhaps my husband asked for my return because his daughters were of marriageable age and he wanted someone to oversee the housekeeper.’

  ‘It would be easier to hire a new servant,’ her father said.

  ‘I wish you had.’

  Lily glanced at Edge. No movement on his face.

  ‘Lily,’ her father spoke quietly, walking towards her and motioning with an arm to move Edgeworth along. ‘Why don’t you and Edge go for a walk? I’m sure you have plans to discuss.’ As he ushered them out, he reached for the small chain hanging beside the door.

  Before Lily realised what her father meant to do, she and Edgeworth were standing on the other side of the door and she heard the key click the lock.

  ‘He and your mother wish to be alone,’ Edgeworth said.

  Lily watched the wood, half-expecting it to splinter at any moment. ‘He’s never done that before.’