by Olivia Kelly
Isabel pierced her with a formidable stare. "We expect to see you tomorrow evening at the ball, and will accept no excuses."
"But—" Lily began.
"And I am sending a dress ‘round later which you will wear, Lily Beaumont."
Taken aback by her friend’s sudden show of steel, she could only nod. Isabel’s expression softened a bit and she leaned forward to hug Lily. She clung to Isabel for a moment, her throat tight at the show of concern from the twins. Emma hugged Lily too and started to follow her twin out of the parlor, but paused in the doorway, her expression thoughtful.
"He’s absolutely miserable, you know."
Lily did not pretend to misunderstand her friend, but she didn't know how to respond. There was nothing to say to that... until she remembered there was something to say.
"He lied to me. About who he is, what he is." He had broken her heart. She had trusted him, and all along he had lied. "And he left, and has not been back since."
"I understand." Emma nodded, her beautiful face solemn. "And I did not say you shouldn’t make him suffer for it. But perhaps you could consider that he is hurting as well. I think he is aware of how badly he misstepped, and he misses you, Lily. I can see it in his eyes."
Lily nodded tightly, not offering more than that, and Emma turned to go again, but spun back before even taking a step. "He is staying. Grandpapa has offered him stewardship of several of the unentailed estates, the ones which were originally meant to go to his mother's children anyway. I think he wants to accept, but something seems to be holding him back."
Her friend raised her eyebrows, a smile dancing on the bow of her mouth. "Whatever do you think he could be waiting for, Lily?"
With that, the very clever Emma Heathfield left her friend standing in the middle of her drawing room, hope rising in Lily's chest like the dawning sun.
~ 9 ~
Harry slouched against the wall with a disgruntled sigh, staring out at the couples waltzing on the marble dance floor. It was past midnight and it was obvious Lily wasn’t going to make an appearance, no matter what the twins had promised.
He still wasn’t even sure how he had gotten roped into attending the damn ball in the first place. His cousins were crafty and sly, masters at playing the innocent while tying a man up in guilt and confusion. Isabel and Emma had become like the sisters he never had, always underfoot and never content to leave him sulking in a corner or brooding in the conservatory. They prodded and poked and teased… and chattered until his ears rang.
He adored them.
Not that he would let them know that, it would only make them worse. He narrowed his eyes at Isabel as she twirled by, giving him a wide smile. God knew the pair didn’t need any boost in confidence.
A clap on the shoulder knocked him a step forward and a drink was placed in his hand. Harry glanced sideways to see Emma’s new husband, Viscount Heathfield, standing next to him. The two men just stood for a moment, watching the dancers laughing and twirling. Harry threw back the wine the viscount had brought him in one long swallow and looked around for somewhere to put his glass. He settled for the potted miniature orange tree next to him. Heathfield cocked an eyebrow, patently amused.
"All right, Connelly, spit it out. What’s got you so twisted up?" When Harry maintained a stoic silence, the viscount merely turned back to survey the room. "Emma’s convinced it's Miss Beaumont, the local vicar’s daughter. She believes that you carry a tendre for the woman. Is this true?"
"A tendre? Hell, I don’t think I’ll ever learn to speak like that." Harry grinned, momentarily shaken out of his black mood.
He liked Heathfield and was glad Emma had married him. The man would be good for her. He’d keep her grounded, as his cousin had a tendency to formulate improbable plans that invariably seemed to get her into trouble. The scheme she had concocted to bring Heathfield to the castle was a perfect example.
"I like Miss Beaumont, yes." Harry snorted. If only it were so simple. "To be embarrassingly honest, I love her. I don’t know if it makes any difference however, because she made it pretty clear she wants nothing to do with me."
"Royally messed up, did you?" Heathfield asked, his tone idle as he scanned the room for his wife. Spotting her at the dessert table, he caught her eye and sent her a melting smile. Emma turned bright red and promptly knocked over a tier of little iced cakes, then stepped in them. Harry rolled his eyes.
Newlyweds.
"I neglected to tell her that I’m the grandson of the man who holds her father's livelihood, and I then almost seduced her. Or, allowed her to seduce me. It's a bit murky on that particular point." He scratched his chin in reflection. "I’d say, yes, I've made a snarl of it."
Harry slumped against the wall, his mood deflating again. "If I had a chance to do it all over, I would have never left the vicarage without her."
How soon he might make his escape? Perhaps it wasn’t too cold to go for a ride tonight, say, about four miles. Perhaps it wasn't too late to make his stand.
Heathfield's lazy drawl interrupted his planning. "Well, Connelly, it looks as though tonight is your lucky night. Miss Beaumont has just arrived. Perhaps you might get your second chance after all."
Harry jerked upright, his gaze flashing to the entrance of the ballroom.
***
Lily took a deep breath and clutched her reticule with nervous fingers, looking around the crowded ballroom.
It was a maze of colored satins and velvets, jewels flashing in the light of what must have been hundreds of candles. The neighborhood wore their Christmas best, the most festive dress they could procure. The air was warm and fragrant with beeswax and the cloying sweetness from the masses of hothouse flowers covering every available surface. Everywhere she looked there were people—clustered in groups, talking and laughing, or dancing energetically. Off to the side there were two long tables groaning under the weight of the trays and platters of food; everything from duck and beef to sweets. She only wished her stomach wasn’t so tight with tension.
Lily blinked, then furrowed her brow as she spotted Emma, as her friend stood next to the table and furtively kicked some tiny cakes under the lacy tablecloth with her foot. The new viscountess glanced up and spotted Lily, starting toward her with a smile. But she had only taken a few steps before she raised her eyebrows and mouthed something. Lily shook her head in confusion. Her friend rolled her eyes and made odd shooing gestures.
What was she doing?
Did Emma realize how mad she looked? Lily shook her head again in bemusement and shrugged one shoulder. Emma's eyes widened even more, and suddenly Lily felt a warm presence behind her. She closed her eyes briefly, knowing who stood there even before she looked. Plastering a polite smile on her face, she turned to face Harry.
"Lily. You look lovely tonight." Harry took her hand and pressed his lips to the top of her oyster colored glove, causing her pulse to riot.
Lily had worn the creation that Isabel had sent over for her, despite her misgivings. Even suspecting that the girl had never worn it herself, and that it was much too expensive and fine for Lily, the dress was entirely too perfect to pass up. The snug, long-sleeved bodice and sweeping skirt were made out of deep sapphire velvet, and trimmed with seed pearls and jet beads. It fit as perfectly as Isabel had predicted, and Lily knew she looked her very best, which was some comfort. She drew herself up straight, resolutely squared her shoulders, and continued to smile serenely, even as her heart thumped madly.
"Thank you. I hope you are well."
His eyes narrowed at her formal tone.
She refused to let him see that her heart was breaking, as he stood there in front of her looking so fine, and right, in the lush elegance of the ballroom. His hair was trimmed and swept off his forehead, and his clothes were the epitome of genteel distinction. He looked every inch the grandson of a duke in that moment, and she was a fool to have come. She gave her hand a little tug, lips parting in surprise when he refused to let go.
Lily looked at him in alarm as he leaned in close, his voice lowered so as to not be overheard. "Oh no, my lovely Miss Beaumont. I’ve got you now, and this time I’m keeping you."
That smile did dangerous things to her, and by the way his eyes gleamed, Harry well knew it. Lily gave a harder tug on her hand, heat rushing to her cheeks, but he just drew her to his side and tucked her hand into his arm.
"Come. There is someone I would like to speak with."
"You can do it without me, then," Lily hissed out of the side of her mouth, nodding and smiling graciously at the curious onlookers as Harry towed her along with him. "Let go of my arm, Mr. Connelly, people are staring."
Attempting to keep pace, Lily stumbled a little and he slowed fractionally, but did not stop until they stood in front of a small group of ornate chairs facing the dance floor. Her heart leapt into her throat when she realized that the duke occupied one of the chairs, and she tried to make herself as small as possible. His Grace had only spoken to her a few times in her entire life, and only then in passing. With his thick silver hair and proud chin, dressed in fine clothing that probably cost more than her yearly allowance, the duke was intimidation itself.
"Your Grace, may I have a moment?" Harry's smooth interruption diverted his grandfather's attention from the elderly woman with whom he was conversing. Lily wished the marble floor would open up and swallow her as the duke’s dark eyes swept over her, recognition lighting in their depths. Straightening her spine, she braced herself for the bite of his legendary, acerbic wit.
"Grandfather, may I present Miss Beaumont? Her father is vicar of Little Danby."
Lily’s face was hot as she dropped into a nervous curtsey.
"Your Grace," she murmured, her eyes trained on the floor at her feet.
"Miss Beaumont, yes, yes, of course I remember you." The duke's voice was gruff, but kind. "You’re a friend to my granddaughters. They could use a good influence, the minxes. You look well this evening. I trust you are enjoying yourself?"
Lily rose and nodded, mute with surprise that the duke had even ever noticed her, much less recalled any detail of their brief meetings. Perhaps she shouldn't have been. His Grace did not seem the type to miss anything in his purview.
"My grandson tells me that he’s made an ass out of himself and you won’t forgive him. Is this true?" A ring of scandalized silence fell around them at the duke’s question.
Lily looked to Harry with wide eyes, but he was no help at all, choking on his laughter, his emerald gaze dancing. He merely waved his hand as if to say Go ahead. With a frustrated noise, she wrenched her arm out of his and stepped away, her fledgling feelings of softening towards him evaporating like mist in the morning sun.
"I… well, I…" Lily lifted her chin and looked the duke right in the eye. If she was going to be slaughtered in battle, at least she wasn’t going down without a fight. "Yes, it is true. He lied to me."
There were a few gasps from their fascinated audience, but was she emboldened by the glint of amusement in the duke’s eyes. Harry's grin disappeared, and he glanced around, looking uncomfortable. "Well, now hold on a minute. I never lied. I withheld information I didn't think was important. Not the same thing at all."
Lily rolled her eyes, her agitation overcoming her shyness. "He withheld certain truths from me. I cannot abide a liar. Oh, excuse me, Mr. Connelly, I cannot abide a withholder."
He had the nerve to chuckle at that, but she kept her focus on the duke, who looked highly entertained, and ignored the large, warm presence next to her.
"Harsh, Miss Beaumont. I'm wounded by such accusations." Harry's gravelly voice was close to her ear, and he reached out to play with the ribbon dangling from her sleeve, giving it a little tug. Did he think he could just charm his way back into her good graces?
The possibility was not as unfathomable as she would have supposed an hour earlier, but she wasn't going to make it easy for him.
Lily swatted his fingers sharply with her fan, and Harry snatched them back with a soft curse. At his grandson's sulky expression, the duke broke out in a delighted grin and hooted with laughter. His companions stared in shock, murmuring behind their hands and open fans, but His Grace ignored them all. The older man shook a gnarled finger at his grandson.
"I like this girl, Harry; she has fire under that cool shell. I'll wager she is more intelligent than you and I combined." The duke was still chuckling. "Hold on to this one, if you can."
"Oh, I intend to." Lily sputtered in indignation when Harry inclined his head to his grandfather.
This was not at all how she had thought the conversation would go, and frankly, she wasn't sure how to respond to any of it. One did not simply tell a duke he was mad to advise his grandson in such a manner. Harry solved her dilemma by taking her by the hand and pulling her straight out the terrace doors behind them.
She must have been mistaken because it had sounded very much like the duke had given them his blessing. His eldest grandson and the local vicar’s daughter? Even though Harry wasn’t the heir to the dukedom, it was practically unheard of.
"Harry, we can't just leave the room together. The gossips will set the ball afire with their speculation. What are you thinking?" Lily protested, though most of her thoughts were still absorbed with the scene that had just unfolded.
"I’m thinking that it’s time to stop you from thinking so hard." With that, Harry halted abruptly and pressed her back against the cold stone balustrade, sliding his arms around her. Before Lily fully realized his intention, his lips were on hers, hot and hungry. He devoured her mouth as if he was starving, taking it in little licks and nips until she was moaning, fingers clenched in his hair.
"God, Lily, I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you," Harry groaned, pulling her head back and feasting on her neck. As she drew in a deep breath of cold air, Lily struggled to be sensible. They were on the terrace, in full view of anyone who might step out of the ballroom.
Madness must run in his family.
And she would be mad to allow it to continue. It was one thing to engage in a tryst with a man who she thought was just passing through, who she thought never to see again. But to have an affair with the grandson of the local lord? If anyone ever saw them together, even in passing, there would be no hiding it. She could never manage to keep her love for him a secret. She would be ruined, and her father would lose his livelihood.
And eventually Harry would walk away, leaving her shattered into tiny pieces that could never be mended. She could not walk down that path.
"We cannot do this." Lily pulled away and braced herself against the railing, her fingers biting into the cold stone. Tears burned in her throat but she must be sensible. He could not marry her, and she could not conduct an affair with him. There was nothing left. "I'm not the woman you need."
"You are exactly the woman I need." Harry reached out for her but she evaded his touch, backing away.
"I am not, Harry, and never will be."
"But I love you."
She was wrong. Her heart was already painfully, unavoidably broken.
"Don't say that." Her voice was low as she struggled not to cry, grief tearing through her chest.
"I want to marry you, Lily." Harry's hands dropped back to his sides. He looked bewildered, raking a hand through his hair. "I thought you would be happy. That you would want it too."
Lily couldn’t bear the look on his face. "Of course I do, but I cannot. I’m only a vicar’s daughter. You are the grandson of a duke. A duke, Harry!"
He looked unimpressed with her reasoning and crossed his arms over his chest. "Is that all?"
"Is that… is that all? Isn’t it enough?" Lily asked in disbelief.
He was slowly shaking his head back and forth, his eyes narrowed. He took a step forward and she stumbled back.
"No, I don’t think so. I wasn’t raised here, Lily, and I’m not part of all that." He waved his arm towards the ballroom, the noise and light muted by the terrace doors. "It doesn't mean anyt
hing."
A chill wind whipped around the corner of the house and despite her heavy gown, Lily shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. Harry immediately shrugged out of his coat and pulled it around her shoulders. Even as she sank into the warmth provided by the extra layer, still heated from his body, Lily shook her head and turned away.
"You are part of that and always will be. You should have a highborn bride, who can direct your servants properly and throw house parties… and be an asset to you. That is not me." Blinking back tears, she looked out over the frozen landscape, drifts of snow glittering in the moonlight. She stilled as his arms slipped around her and he pulled her back against his hard chest.
"You are an asset to me, angel. You’re warm and sweet, and you make me laugh. There hasn't been enough laughter in my life the last few years. I want you like I’ve never wanted anyone else. These past few days without you have been hell, and I don’t ever want to repeat the experience." He turned her and gazed down at her. Lily’s breath left her body at the look in his eyes, tender and heated at the same time. "I think everything I have survived has been worth it, because it brought me to you. The loneliness, the loss, the back-breaking work, even the horrifying battles in which I fought. I’d do it all again, if I knew I would end up here on this terrace, with you in my arms."
Lily raised her hand to his face and cradled his cheek, a sliver of hope swelling inside her. He turned his lips in to her hand and kissed her palm.
"God knows I’m not perfect, Lily, but I’m willing to trust in our future and take a chance. Can you not do the same? Can you not trust me?"
"I do, but… I’m afraid," she whispered, staring into his eyes. "I don’t want to shame you, by not being enough."
"You could never shame me, and you will always be enough." Harry touched his lips to hers as she closed her eyes, luxuriating in the feel of him pressed against her. "Do you think I don't have the same fears? I'm not English, I wasn't raised in a genteel manner. I'm as common as a laborer, underneath it all."