Chapter Six
Lily and Marianne took the stairs down to main floor of Carbury Manor.
“I hope there’s tea,” Lily whispered.
“With fat cucumber sandwiches,” Marianne said.
“Frankly, I could do with a shot of brandy.” She hated being caged with a dozen people she did not know for four solid days. Worse, the Duchess of Seton was here and her greeting to them had not been warm. “Especially when facing a certain gauntlet.”
Lily and Marianne had arrived minutes behind the lady and her daughter, pretty Lady Elanna. All four had politely recalled their meeting at the opera in Paris. When Marianne, bless her for her ingenuity, had inquired about the health of Lord Chelton, his mother was quick to add how well he was and that all could soon see for themselves, as he would be along soon. Lily feigned serenity at that news, while her stomach did a little flippity-flop. Thankfully, Lord Carbury kept the introductions brief and summoned the housekeeper to show the ladies to their bedrooms.
“How long does tea last?” Lily asked Marianne.
“Forever,” Marianne said, as she took the last step into the marbled foyer.
Lily stifled a groan as Carbury’s butler appeared from the service entrance.
With an officious nod, he showed them into the drawing room.
The party had already assembled and they alternately stood or sat, sipping tea and nibbling biscuits, looking as jovial as if they’d been stuffed for mounting. Carbury shot to his feet, offering his chair to Marianne and showing Lily to the sofa beside Lady Elanna. Carbury began the introductions.
“Her Grace met you earlier,” he said and they exchanged polite nods. He went on to bring them to the three older ladies sitting like well-dressed little dolls in three separate wing chairs.
“Lady Struthers. Lady Summersfell. And Lady Fielding. I wish to present Mrs. Marianne Roland and her cousin, Miss Lily Hanniford.”
The three ranged in age from sprightly to doddering to snoozing.
“What? What?” said the last one when she heard her named invoked. “Yes. Yes, I see you.” She struggled to loop her glasses over her right ear. “Pretty things. American, aren’t you?”
“We are, my lady,” Lily said, smiling at the woman’s delicate skin, pale as parchment and just as pure. “We’re delighted to meet you.”
“Don’t be silly, girl. If Carbury has his way, we three will take to our beds for four days.”
“Now, madam,” Carbury began, flustered.
“Tut tut, Gruffyd. We’ve known you too long.”
“These ladies,” he said as color rose to stain his cheeks, “are my great aunts.”
“We love him,” proclaimed Lady Struthers.
“He needs a wife,” announced Lady Summersfell.
“And he’s unlucky in love,” mourned Lady Fielding with a shake of her head. “But you could do.”
Lily smiled. “Thank you for the compliment, madam.”
“Aunt, please, do not press the young lady.”
“Nonsense, Gruffyd. Thought you said you wanted a wife. Is this not the one?”
Lily swallowed the urge to laugh. But from the corner of her eye, she saw Elanna freeze, her teacup midway to her mouth.
Lord Carbury cleared his throat. “Aunt—”
“Tell me which is the one, Gruffyd. I must know so I can give her my dancing slippers. A gift from the Prince Regent, they were. Magic slippers.” Her thin white brows shot high as she rolled her eyes back and forth in a merry beat.
“Madam.” Marianne leaned over to take the woman’s tiny wrinkled hand. “You must keep your slippers.”
“Oh? Why?
“They fit you best. No one could mark the steps as you do in those shoes.”
“Hmm. That was so. Brought me my William, they did.”
“William was your husband?”
“Oh, no.” She leaned closer to Marianne and cackled. “My lover.”
Carbury cleared his throat. “Well, now, let me introduce the rest of our party—”
On he prattled, introducing three ladies, all young, one painfully so. That last was a blonde English girl with the chiseled features of a classical goddess. Mary Northridge was a distant cousin of Carbury’s and meek as a mouse. The other two were Americans, older than Mary by one or two years and with the self-assurance of old Knickerbocker New York. Hilda Berghoff, quiet and flirtatious, was a brown-haired sylph with the slit-eyed look of a rodent. Her father, a Manhattan banker, was an associate of her own father’s and Lily knew his reputation to be as mean as a rattlesnake. Priscilla Van de Putte was a plump redhead with a hearty laugh. She was making a spectacle of herself and Lily surmised her parents had given her specific instructions to find a lord and make him hers. Quickly.
There was no mistake that the three men in the party were the three young ladies’ quarry. Lord Pinkhurst, who’d escorted Marianne and her to the Montmarte cabaret, was in attendance, delighting all with his banter. Tall and rakishly tow-headed, he cut a fine figure of athletic build. That his dancing eyes retuned to Lily time and again was a compliment, but rather embarrassing. Priscilla Van De Putte rolled her eyes, put out by his attentions toward Lily. Though she tried to divert him, he seemed content to storm her defenses.
As for the other two men—Lords Torrington and Godophin—Lily questioned their abilities to court any lady. They were clumsy and nervous. Swarthy and intense, cousins, too, they grasped Lily’s hand, each in turn, with unreserved enthusiasm. Their one talent was in the art of trivial conversation. That drew Hilda Berghoff toward Torrington like a fly to honey. Godolphin focused his comical smiles on Priscilla Van De Putte. Alas, that lady cared only for Pinkie.
Lily commiserated with the man. He must have felt her sympathy because he made his way to her side. “Have pity on me, will you?”
She bit her lip.
“I can see you hide your giggles.” His mouth thinned. “I do the same.”
“I bet that she’s really quite nice when she isn’t…um…”
“Stalking? That’s the word you want, isn’t it?”
“Hush, Pinkie.”
“It’s you I want. I could be out of my misery, if you’d only accept me.”
He’d proposed marriage to her last week after tea. Complimented, she’d been flabbergasted and put him off. Indefinitely. “We have our understanding, do we not?”
“We do. I don’t like it.”
“I understand,” she said on a whisper. Accepting her tea from the footman, she looked up as the butler appeared in the doorway.
“Lord Chelton, my lord,” the man announced.
And in the tranquil room, cheerful in its yellow Chinoserie draperies and ivory appointments with its company of old and young, infirm and vibrant, seeking and sought after, the air changed. Fascination lent a fragrance to the atmosphere. She forgot Pinkie.
Who wouldn’t?
Lord Chelton, Julian Ash in all his glory stood tall and smartly attired for the afternoon, each fold of his cravat in elegant perfection, his pin in place, his buttons done up, his trousers finely creased, his smile for each in turn, lazy and genuine. His eyes rested in hers, and with the greeting there, despite Lily’s admonition to ignore him, bubbles of delight rose from her toes to her head.
Julian pushed aside the drapery and opened the casement window in his room. Dawn broke. Would that it might improve his sour mood. He gazed out upon Carbury’s stable yard and the path to his block. One of the best in the county for good horseflesh. Unable to sleep, he’d decided to take advantage of it and ordered his valet to put out his riding clothes.
The Carbury house party had begun with tea two days ago. Julian’s mother was in attendance and stayed well away from the younger set along with three other older ladies. They served as chaperones for the rest of the fifteen guests, plus their very solicitous host Lord Carbury. Among the chatty throng, he’d had not a moment with Lily. The lack made him testy, restless.
“Your coat, sir.” His valet Richard
s offered it to him.
Julian shrugged into it, eager to be gone and out the door before any others. If ever he needed to exercise his mind, it was now. The guest list consisted of five young ladies, including his sister Elanna, Lily and her cousin Marianne, and, aside from him, three young men. All he had met on previous occasions the ladies from social circles in London and the men from school. The men were as eligible as he and as financially wanting. Carbury had planned the numbers to his own advantage, making matched sets. That permitted the man to track Elanna like a hunting dog after a fox.
Julian took pains to hide his tension watching his sister ward off the earl’s interest. Consumed with ensuring Elanna could escape Carbury whenever she wished, Julian had not played well his role as guest. He’d done his duty to be polite to any of the young ladies’ conversations. But his efforts were muddled, all due to his uncontrollable focus on Lily Hanniford. Still, he hadn’t even had the opportunity to sit next to her. Though Lord Pinkhurst had—and she appeared to enjoy his attentions. Curse the man.
“I should count myself lucky,” he muttered, buttoning his coat.
“Pardon, sir?” His man paused from brushing any lint from his shoulders.
“Nothing. Sorry, Pendley. Talking to myself.”
“Yes, sir. I think you’ve a good morning for it, sir.”
“Talking?”
“Riding, sir. The ground will be firm from the sun yesterday.”
“That it will.” He took his gloves from the valet’s hands. “See you later.”
He took the main stairs to the foyer and strode toward the back of the house and down the servants’ stairs. At this hour, only they would be awake and working.
“Oh, my lord, I say!” Carbury’s butler pushed from the long wooden table in the servants’ hall. “You’re up early. I’ll send up a footman with breakfast.”
“Please don’t. Adams, is it?”
The butler nodded.
“I’m in no rush.”
“But…tea? Before you ride, sir?”
“Thank you, no.”
“Forgive me, my lord, but is this a new habit before riding?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Miss Hanniford left a few minutes ago, as well. No tea for her, either.”
“Is that so?” Under those circumstances, Julian didn’t want anything to delay him. “I’ll dine when I return.”
“Very good, sir. With Miss Hanniford, perhaps?”
“Well, Adams, I cannot say. That depends on the lady. I think these American girls do as they wish.”
“You’ve got that right, you do. She left alone, my lord.”
“Did she?” He glanced toward the window, alarmed. “No maid?”
“Nor her cousin, either, sir.”
“I see. Well, thank you. All the more reason why I should hurry in case she should flush out a fox or break a leg.”
“Right you are. I will have the footman lay out the full service, say, in an hour?”
Julian agreed and turned for the stable block.
Carbury had a fine selection of horses and when Julian rode on succeeding days, he’d take more time to choose the best one. For income, he’d recently sold his own best stallion. This morning, he cared not a fig for the biggest or fastest. Two grooms obliged him, saddling up one large black beast, and pointing him in the direction of the lady who’d ridden off minutes ago.
She had ridden east toward a forest glen he knew well because it abutted his own land of Willowreach. The budding branches rustled, dappled by the rays of the rising sun. The path through the thick growth was well-traveled and he was out only half a mile when the stallion he rode came up hard behind her.
She must’ve heard him approach because she looked back, and slowed her mount to a walk. He soon caught up.
“Good morning,” he said, doffing his hat. Sitting side-saddle, she looked like a queen. An uncomfortable one. “You’re up early.”
“As are you.” She nodded and he could not tell if she were happy to see him or not.
“Do you always ride this early?” He would keep this light and friendly.
“When I can.” Her clear sky-blue eyes met his and beneath the navy velvet veil of her hat, she appeared fresh as the dew on the grass, not a hint of rouge or powder to her cheeks nor black to her incredibly long dark lashes.
His body tightened with interest. What a rebuke of his intentions to remain neutral toward her.
“Do you?” she asked.
“Do I what?”
“Ride this early always?”
“No.”
“Are you escaping, too?” she asked, smiling as if they shared a secret.
He chuckled. Perhaps it was so early in the morning, she’d not acquired all her ability to stand off. “Indeed, I am. I’m doing my social duty, but I find it…”
“Tedious?”
Frustrating.
She tipped her chin, the light of teasing in her eyes. “I would imagine you attend many engagements like this.”
“Not if I can help it,” he told her. “Shall we walk on?”
“Of course.” She led her mount to his side and they headed down the lane. “I’ve enjoyed visiting with your sister.”
“Elanna’s a dear.” He was grateful for the new topic. “Everyone likes her.”
“She tells me she must marry soon.”
“Does she? Well, it’s so.”
Lily gazed at him with curiosity. “Do I detect you’re shielding her from Lord Carbury?”
“Obvious, am I?” Had Lily also perceived how intrigued he was with her?
She shrugged. “No. Forgive me if I—”
“You noticed my attention to him. That’s fine.”
She searched his eyes as if to see he spoke the truth, then glanced away. “Carbury seems intent on courting her.”
“He is.” Julian had been fretting about it for days. Now at Lily’s mention of it, his worry doubled. “Too much so.”
“Is there some reason why he does not suit?”
“Yes.”
In the morning light, her exquisite counterpoint of her dark hair and her lustrous pale blue eyes struck him like glorious moonlight. She glanced away. “I’m sorry. I seem to have lost my sense of discretion.”
“No. You haven’t. And you asked. Lord Carbury is a fine gentleman. He’s many years older than our Elanna but he has a solid income, a fairly old title and a sizable estate. He’s respected in parliament and known for his prudence in his investments. He doesn’t gamble, drink or…”
She tossed her head and her glorious eyes gleamed. “Dally where he shouldn’t?”
“Exactly.”
“Still you hesitate to approve of him. Why?”
Lily Hanniford was forthright. So unlike English girls. So unlike those who hankered after a title for its own sake and money for the spending. God, he liked that. Her. “He does not excite her.”
“According to many, that’s not a requirement for a good marriage.”
“No, but it helps to put one on the path to a congenial union.”
She grinned. “For children, you mean.”
And sport. “Men need heirs and spares. Daughters, too.”
A frown lined her forehead as she looked down at her gloved hands on the reins. “It’s true then that love is not a requirement for a proper match between an English lord and a lady?”
“Prudence has its benefits. Passion can turn bitter. Here in Britain, we’ve not been able to afford such a luxury for centuries.” Not now, either.
Shifting in her saddle, she seemed perturbed. “So, love is irrelevant?”
“Hopefully it comes later.” He shrugged. His own parents’ bitter relationship was his poor model.
“But does it?” She seemed to ask a rhetorical question.
Had her parents married for love? Was she as skeptical as he of the possibility of such unions? “We have a few instances where love came first and no good came of it.”
“Ah
, yes.” She nodded once. “I’ve heard of the most famous one. Anne Boleyn.”
He laughed. “There is that.”
“And yet you advocate for a love match for your sister. How is that?”
“It’s not easy. Not favored by my father, either. Elanna’s sweet, charming. To her, the world is a treasure to be explored. I don’t wish to see her disillusioned by a pragmatic match. All she needs is time to find the right man.”
“Or the wrong one if she mistakes passion for love.”
“I believe she’s level-headed. Besides, I’d like to buy her that time.”
“Can you?”
He shook his head. Why not be honest with her? “Not much. Only to the end of this season.”
Her mouth dropped open.
They rode in silence for a bit.
Then very quietly she said, “So she’ll have to search diligently to put off Lord Carbury. Does she know this?”
Julian squinted into a brilliant ray piercing the treetops. “She does. And she accepts it. Although she hopes for a reprieve—”
“It’s not likely, is it?” she asked with some compassion.
“I’m afraid not. She’s had her debut. No men she’s met have appealed to her as husband material, sad to say. She’s had suitors but turned them down.”
“And now she’s being pursued by a man she does not want and must accept.” She sighed. “I hate to think of all the women who experience the same challenge.”
Are you one of them?
He scowled at the mere idea she’d belong to a man who did not value those eyes, those lips, the spark of rebellion in her. That blithe quality he so admired could lead him down a perilous path.
But he yearned to follow the trail. And he felt compelled to inject some memorable element into this or she’d return to the house concluding he was a dry piece of toast. To her, he wished, against all that was logical, to be at least memorable, if not irresistible. How to free himself of his fascination for her? “At home in Baltimore and Texas, how do you spend your days?”
She cocked her head. “Baltimore society is very much like this. Sedate, closed.”
“Interesting?”
She tipped her head to and fro. “If you like discussing ships in dock and the art of raising thoroughbreds.”
Wild Lily (Those Notorious Americans Book 1) Page 9