She looked down at it, her mouth forming words, only because of a lifetime of training in politeness.
“Thank you, Mr Bigglesworth, this is exactly the book I wanted.”
The blue of the leather almost glowed. The gold embossed title and name shone – ‘Reflections on Living’ by Mr L Brooks. Cautiously, she opened it. The printing was clear, the paper of high quality.
But most importantly of all, the words were hers.
<<<< O >>>>
Trent had met with Lord Setford again, in that remarkable room above the bookshop, and discussed his progress. He had expected Setford to be disappointed at both the rate of his social activities, and the lack of useful discoveries. But Setford had surprised him, being jovial and unconcerned, even pleased by what had been achieved so far. After a lifetime of his father’s judgemental disappointment in everything that Trent had done, to have someone judge him adequate was a startling sensation.
He slipped back down the dusty stairs, still savouring the feeling, and stopped behind the faded curtain. It wouldn’t do to be seen appearing from the back room of a bookshop – not by any of the aristocracy, at least. Through the curtain, he heard a voice he recognised – Lady Lily Gardenbrook. Suddenly, his heart beat faster.
He carefully eased the edge of the curtain aside, and watched. She was buying a book. That was, in itself, not unusual. What was unusual was the look on her face as she opened the slim volume she had been handed by Mr Bigglesworth. Emotions flickered across her countenance – satisfaction, sadness, happiness, and annoyance, it seemed to him – all tangled up together. Not exactly a combination which he would expect a book to evoke, simply by being glanced at.
He waited until she had left the shop, and he was sure she was gone, before slipping out to speak to Mr Bigglesworth. He had to know what it was that she had bought.
Chapter Five
Mr Bigglesworth looked at Trent a little oddly, when he asked about what book Lady Lily Gardenbrook had bought, but answered willingly enough, with a little shrug which indicated that he never asked questions of things to do with Lord Setford’s business.
“A poetry book, my Lord. Lady Lily likes her poetry, she does – from many different poets. Although this one was a new book, the first by that poet.”
Trent considered his words a moment – a poetry book? Not what he had expected – ladies more often read novels. But still, perhaps this was good news – for a moment, upon hearing Lady Lily here, his suspicions had flared – for surely, finding someone associated with the house where odd correspondence with a publisher originated, here, so close to Setford’s secret meeting place, was of concern? But he shook his head – Ladies bought books all of the time – what could be more ordinary?
“Oh? Was it special in some way?”
“Not that I know of, my Lord, although it was a very fine quality edition, in a beautiful binding – the publisher has chosen only the best in materials and the most skilled binders, it seems. But it is the first volume ever released by that poet – a Mr L Brooks – I’ve never heard of him, myself, but I read a poem or two, and I must say, he writes well.”
Trent’s heart skipped a beat.
“Mr L Brooks?”
“Yes, my Lord. Do you know of him?”
“I… aah… a friend has mentioned him, I believe.”
“I did wonder how Lady Lily knew of him – for she ordered the book before it was officially released. I suppose someone among the ton has sponsored him, so that they can have him read poems at their soirees and the like.”
Trent swallowed hard, and pasted a bland expression onto his face.
“I am sure that you are right, Mr Bigglesworth. That must be it. But you have intrigued me – do you have another copy of the book?”
“Yes, my Lord, give me a moment.” He disappeared amongst the towering shelves of books, and returned a few moments later, a slim blue volume in his hand. “Here you are.”
Trent took it, and looked at its unassuming yet elegant surface – what secrets might it reveal? He paid Mr Bigglesworth for the book, and turned to go, his mind tumbling over with the possibilities.
<<<< O >>>>
Once home again, Lily pleaded a megrim, and retired to her room, claiming that she needed to rest if she was to be fit company at the Habersham’s Ball that evening. Once in her room with the door securely locked, she unwrapped her book, and set it on her desk. She took out her pen knife from the drawer, and set about carefully cutting the pages, until all were open and freely able to turn.
Then she read every page, twice over. It was real. Her book, her words, available to the world. She wanted to laugh and cry at once – for the only thing which would have made the moment better was if it had been her own name on the cover. Finally, she made herself set it aside on the small shelf near her bed, where all of her poetry books sat. Amongst them, no one would notice it – but she knew it was there.
Then she opened the secret drawer, and drew out her current journal. That latest poem sat there on the page, incomplete. Mocking her. She read it through from the beginning again, and winced a little. How could she improve it? For it felt clumsy to her, as it was, rather like the pathetic attempts at poetry that some of her suitors had written for her, professing their love. How had she come to write something so trite?
And yet… there was a sense in which it did convey some of her feelings, some of the odd and fluttery things that happened in her stomach, when she danced with Lord Canterford, some of the daydreaming and distractedness that happened all too often, drawing her thoughts unrelentingly back to him. She adjusted a few words, then inspiration struck – the final verse flowed from her – a twist of sad fate that transformed the poem from trite to poignant.
Satisfied, she copied it to its own sheet, in Mr Brooks’ hand, and added the sheet to the hidden pile. Once all had been put away, and the escritoire returned to its innocent appearance, she unlocked the door, and called for Nell to have a bath brought, and to prepare her for the Habersham’s Ball.
<<<< O >>>>
As Trent stepped down from the carriage in front of Habersham House, he found himself wondering if the Duke of Elbury and his daughters would be attending. Or rather, if he was to be honest with himself, wondering if Lady Lily would be present. The thought of seeing her again delighted him, and the thought of dancing with her sent a little shiver through him.
He shook his head, irritated at his reaction. He was only socialising with the family for the purposes of his task from Setford, to spy, to determine whether the secret correspondence represented a risk to Crown and Country in any way. He should be utterly focussed on that, not mooning after Lady Lily like a green boy. But his thoughts refused to leave her.
He had to know – had to determine the identity of Mr L Brooks, and discover the reason that the poet’s correspondence went via Elbury House, by clandestine means. For he simply could not believe that Lady Lily, and her family, could be complicit in anything nefarious – perhaps it was a servant in the house, who sent secret letters?
But then, why would it be secret? What possible cause could there be for a poet who wrote well enough to be published, in such a prestigious edition, to hide themselves, and to correspond secretly? For his men had confirmed that the publishers had never met Mr Brooks in person.
Trent had spent the previous evening reading the volume of poetry, in its entirety. He had found himself drawn in by the poet’s skill, by the fine balance between form and structure, and the ease of language. The work shone – it was easy to read, and yet strong in its rhyme and rhythm, classically and technically correct in its forms. He doubted that even his tutor at Eton would have found fault with any of it – and the man was obsessive on such matters.
He reached the head of the receiving line, and was greeted by Lord and Lady Habersham. He realised, with a start, that this whole process was becoming easier – the more events he attended, the more comfortable he felt with it – with the gracious and flattering small tal
k he offered his hosts, with the crowd of people around him, and with the need to interact with them all.
He moved on after being greeted, and slipped into the crowded ballroom, working his way across the room towards people he knew, greeting others as he went. He was becoming part of the ‘expected attendees list’ at any event, and had ceased to be a curiosity for most. When he reached his target group of people, all of whom had been introduced to him by Lord Setford, he felt himself relax.
He stood casually conversing with them for a while, all the time watching the room – observing who was in attendance, who was talking to whom, who was dancing with whom, and who was casting surreptitious glances at whom when they thought that the other was not looking. It was all most informative – before accepting this role from Lord Setford, he had not realised just what a hotbed of intrigue most society gatherings were.
As he watched, a new group of people entered the room. The Duke and Duchess of Elbury, and their daughters. As always, Lady Lily seemed to stand out from the rest – more beautiful, more poised, and yet not seeking attention. She was remarkable, simply by being herself.
Trent found that his mouth was dry, and his breath suddenly came short. He swallowed, watching them approach. With her beauty before him, he could not believe that Lady Lily, or her family, might be engaged in something underhanded – yet the disturbing fact of the secret correspondence remained.
The family approached, moving through the swirling press of people, obviously popular and well-liked by all. It took them some minutes to cross the room, so often were they stopped when others greeted them, but, after a time, Trent realised that they were coming directly towards him, and the others he stood with. His heart beat faster, and he could not seem to turn his eyes away from Lady Lily.
When the Duke and his family reached them, it was as if the room stilled. Trent’s eyes met Lady Lily’s green-gold ones, and he felt that he could fall into them and drown. Somehow, he managed to take her hand and bow, to greet her, and her sisters, with perfect composure, all the while feeling as if no one in the room really existed but her.
Once the greetings were done, and her father and mother had launched into conversation with the Earl of Porthaven, and her sisters with various of the others present, he found himself standing beside her. An oddly comfortable silence ensued. But as it stretched, he felt compelled to break it – for he could not, politely, simply stare at her.
“Lady Lily, might I presume upon your kindness, and beg a dance of you tonight?”
The words slipped from his mouth before any thought of what he would say had occurred. He awaited her reply nervously, sure that he was being foolish – he should not care what her response was, should not care about her opinion of him, should simply focus on the task required – the identification of the mysterious Mr L Brooks, and the reasons behind the clandestine correspondence coming from Elbury House.
That was, of course, the only reason that he was so intent upon her company – at least he tried to convince himself of the truth of that.
Those green-gold eyes held his, and a soft blush rose in her cheeks, even as she smiled – but there was something else in her eyes, some uncertainty, some doubt that he did not understand. Then she nodded, and spoke softly.
“Of course, Lord Canterford, I would be delighted to dance with you.”
She cast her eyes down, and the world sped up around him, sound returning to normal.
“Thank you, Lady Lily.”
Before he needed to say anything more, the orchestra struck up for the next set. He offered her his arm, and she placed her hand upon it. It was only when they reached the floor that he realised that it was to be a waltz. It seemed that she realised at the same moment, for her hand quivered upon his arm, its shifting touch sending warmth flowing through his body.
He turned her towards him, and took her into his arms, savouring the warmth of her, so close to him.
The scent of her was intoxicating, and for the duration of the dance, he forgot about mysterious poets, forgot about secret letters, and dire suspicions, and simply allowed himself to enjoy the sensation of holding her. They barely conversed as they danced, yet he had the sense that she was as acutely aware of his nearness as he was of hers. The silence was not strained. When the music drew to a close, the magic of the moment shattered. Reluctantly, he released her from his arms, and escorted her back to her family.
<<<< O >>>>
When they entered the ballroom at Lord Habersham’s, Lily found herself scanning the room. She was just looking to see who was in attendance, she told herself – it was not that she was looking for Lord Canterford, not at all. But he was there.
Her father led them across the room, towards a group of his friends – which was exactly where Lord Canterford was standing. Her heart raced at the sight of him. He was so quietly elegant, compared to the fops and dandies who crowded the room, and the classically handsome lines of his face drew the eye. When they reached the group of people, she somehow managed to go through the greetings normally, all the while acutely aware of Lord Canterford standing mere inches away.
When he bowed over her hand, the warmth of his touch stayed with her. She met his eyes, and felt the blush rise in her cheeks – how irritating, that she should show so clearly how he discomposed her! Yet she could not look away. The sound of others in the room fell away, as if they were alone.
Then he spoke, his voice low and warm, sending a shiver right to her bones.
“Lady Lily, might I presume upon your kindness, and beg a dance of you tonight?”
She wanted to say yes, she wanted to say no – for he tempted her, as no man ever had – yet… there was risk in caring, for allowing herself to care, to eventually marry, would risk losing her poetry. But the words came from her mouth before she could stop them.
“Of course, Lord Canterford, I would be delighted to dance with you.”
She dragged her eyes away from his – what had she done?
“Thank you, Lady Lily.”
The orchestra struck up, and he offered her his arm. She placed her hand upon it, and they moved towards where couples where forming up on the floor. The tune slowly penetrated the haze that his presence created – it was a waltz! She felt herself quiver, and hoped that he did not notice. For she found the idea of being held in his arms more than appealing – in fact, she was rather shocked at how much she wanted it.
He turned her into his arms, and Lily forgot everything but the moment and the feeling – forgot even to speak. It was, she realised, rather rude of her not to converse with her partner, yet words had deserted her. He did not seem to mind – she had the oddest feeling that he understood – that he was acutely aware of her, as she was of him, yet that he asked nothing more than her presence, moving with him to the music. It was a new sensation and she discovered that she more than liked it.
As the music came to an end, despite her desperate desire that it go on forever, she began to understand what some of her friends saw in being held by a man – for when he released her, to lead her most properly back to her family, she felt bereft at the loss of his arms around her.
Chapter Six
“So, Lily, you like Lord Canterford? More than like, I suspect, for I have never seen you struck speechless by a man before. Will he speak to father about courting you, do you think?”
Hyacinth’s voice was amused, a little sharp, for she was fully aware that Lily would react strongly to what she had said. She was not disappointed.
“Hyacinth! Really, I barely know the man. He has danced with me only three times, and you are assumptive enough to think that he might wish to court me? How ridiculous!”
“Perhaps – but you do like him, don’t you? And I have seen how he looks at you – you cannot pretend that he does not show interest!”
“Liking a man is a long way from courting! I like him as well as any other man, and he is, at least, considerate enough to look at my face, rather than my other… attributes.”
Lily sighed. Hyacinth knew exactly how to annoy her. And it was hard to calmly deny any interest when, if she was honest with herself, she was interested in Lord Canterford. Rather more than interested. Hyacinth was right – no matter how much she had tried to push aside the thoughts, she was, truly, smitten. It was lowering to realise just how much the man affected her, just how much she enjoyed his company – even if he could render her speechless.
It was also quite terrifying. For allowing herself to care inevitably would put her in a situation which risked her poetry, risked everything that she had worked so hard to achieve. And now, now that her work had been published, she could not bear the thought of having that taken from her – yet she knew that most men of the ton did not want an intelligent wife, who did such scandalous things as not only writing poetry, but having it published, even if only pseudonymously. They wanted a genteel lady, who did the sort of things expected of ladies, who would host their events, and generally appear everything that was expected – and nothing more. She could not be that sort of lady.
She smiled, hoping that Hyacinth would let her be. She was not to be so lucky, although she tried to deflect it.
“Smitten? I hardly think so.”
“Definitely smitten.”
Camellia looked at them both, her normally smiling face creased with a frown.
“But Lily, don’t you want to have a gentleman court you? To marry?”
And there was the crux of it. For she did wish to marry.
To be loved seemed a deeply desirable thing – but only if she could have that, without losing her poetry.
<<<< O >>>>
Trent was, he admitted to himself, daydreaming. He sat at his desk, having dealt with the reports from his men, which brought nothing new to add to the information he already had about the mysterious Mr L Brooks, and stared blankly at the painting on the wall, the one that was not his father’s portrait. It was a pleasant enough landscape, a view of the gardens and lake at Canterford Grange, but he was not aware of it at all. His mind, instead, dwelt on Lady Lily Gardenbrook.
A Spinster for a Spy: Book 1: Lily - Clean Regency Romance (A Duke's Daughters: The Elbury Bouquet) Page 4