by Lydia Dare
"Aunt Lily!" he cried, running toward her.
She laughed as she embraced him. "Well, you obviously enjoyed yourself."
Oliver pulled back from her and nodded. "I do wish you could have seen it."
So did Lily, but seeing Oliver so happy, she felt her annoyance melting away. "Do tell me about it," she said as they walked toward the coach.
Simon stepped from the conveyance at that moment, his eyes light with merriment. "Isn't St. Mary's lovely?" he asked.
Lily nodded as he took her hand. "I can see why Byron enjoyed his time here."
Simon chuckled, helping her into the coach. "You'll have to ask Will about him some day."
"Oh?" Lily asked as she settled herself against the squabs. "Did he know him?" She couldn't keep the scandalized tone from her voice. As lovely as Lord Byron's poetry was, he'd very recently been exiled; the offenses were too shocking to speak of in polite society.
Simon took the spot next to her, just as he had the entire journey, and draped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him. He smelled of sandalwood and the outdoors. "They were in the same year."
Oliver climbed inside the coach, sat across from them, and rolled his eyes. "Must you go about touching her
all
the time?"
With a warm laugh, Simon squeezed her arm. "As she's my wife, I don't see where you have anything to say about it, Maberley."
Oliver groaned, closed his eyes, and rested his head against the wall of the coach. "It's enough to turn a fellow's stomach."
"Well, we'll give you a reprieve tonight then, my boy."
"Oh?" Oliver asked, sitting forward in his seat.
"I believe I will take Her Grace to the theatre tonight. I can trust you to stay out of trouble for one evening, can't I?"
Lily looked up at Simon. "The theatre?"
"We have a box at Drury Lane. I believe
Richard
III
is on stage. At least it was when I left Town a few weeks ago."
Shakespeare? Drury Lane? Giddiness spread through Lily.
***
Simon loved seeing Lily's expression of awe when they entered his home on Curzon Street. Having grown up with all the grandeur of one ducal home or another, Simon enjoyed seeing his world through her eyes.
The Rutledge family was landed gentry, but foolish investments had left them penniless. He'd been surprised when Daniel had insisted all those years ago on marrying Emma. They were both so young at the time. She hadn't had fortune or connections to lend him, only herself. She was a quiet girl with simple tastes. But she spoke to a part of Daniel that Simon
was just now beginning to understand.
He wanted to give Lily everything. Jewels, gowns, new experiences, anything to make her smile and see her pretty eyes grow wide with surprise. To that end, he went to the safe in his study, certain he had more of his grandmother's moonstone jewelry there.
Pulling back a portrait of his grandfather, he worked the combination until a cough from the doorway halted him. Simon stepped away from the hinged portrait to find his butler, Anderson, standing just inside the study.
"Yes, Anderson?"
The middle-aged man appeared uncomfortable and shifted in his spot, which was not like him at all. Simon had never known the butler to hedge.
"Well, Your Grace, it is Friday."
Simon raked his gaze across the man. What was this about? "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"
The man barely met his gaze. "The, um, well, the society pages came out today."
Something Simon never cared about. "And?"
The butler gestured to his desk, where a small stack of papers sat, awaiting his perusal. "Well, Your Grace, I'd rather not have to speak the words aloud. Perhaps you could read them for yourself."
"Why don't you just tell me what's going on?" Simon barked. He really didn't want to waste his time like this.
The butler shook his head. "Speaking frankly, I've seen you in a bit of a temper in the past, and I'd prefer not to be the messenger. Though," he pointed again at the stack of papers, "I thought you should be aware
of the word about Town."
Thoroughly annoyed, Simon dismissed the man and sat at his desk. He first opened the
Mayfair Society
Page
. He clenched his mouth shut after reading the first paragraph.
Bloody hell!
Thirty-Seven
Simon stepped from the coach and held his hand out to Lily. He smiled a smile she was sure he intended to be encouraging. However, it did little to ease her nerves. She'd never attended the theatre before, and, though she was excited, the prospect was a bit intimidating. She fingered the moonstone that rested right above her cleavage. She'd been shocked when Simon had presented her with matching earbobs before they left Curzon Street.
For years, the talents of Edmund Kean had been gushed over in one review after another, ever since he'd portrayed Shylock in
The Merchant of Venice o
n the stage in Drury Lane. Lily never imagined she'd see Shakespeare performed in a London theatre, and she certainly never thought she'd actually see Kean himself on the very stage where he'd made his name.
When Simon had informed her that they would watch the famed thespian in the role of Richard III, Lily could barely contain her excitement. Apparently, being a duchess had its advantages.
Bridges Street was clogged with carriages as drivers maneuvered their horses toward Drury Lane. Men and women moved en masse toward the entrance, all dressed in their finest clothes for their night at the theatre.
Lily glanced down at her own dress. "I suppose I should be eternally grateful to Prisca for making this gown for me." She felt a little chagrin at wearing the green silk dress again, but it was the nicest one she owned.
Simon pulled her hand into the crook of his arm and smiled down at her. "Tomorrow, we'll commission London's most expensive modiste. You deserve a grand new wardrobe."
"My reward for putting up with you, Your Grace?" she laughed.
"
My
reward is you putting up with me." His gaze traveled up and down her body. "Among other things."
"Simon," she scolded him. "Do behave yourself." But she couldn't hold back the smile that threatened to erupt. "You're positively incorrigible."
His eyes narrowed at her. "And I thought beastly was the only description you had for me." He made the comment and looked away without meeting her eyes.
"I have a lot more, Your Grace." She stopped walking and tugged his arm. She raised one hand to cup the side of his face. "Beastly is my favorite, though."
He leaned into her hand. "Would that it could be true," he said quietly.
"You doubt me?"
He looked away and changed the subject, just as she'd known he would. "I can't wait to show off my lovely wife at the theatre." His eyes caught hers. "But I must warn you…"
Before he could even finish his sentence, a booming voice said, "Well, there's the Duke of Blackmoor. Finally out of seclusion, I see."
The man approached slowly and extended a hand to Simon. His height was nearly equal to the duke's, and the family resemblance was unmistakable. He shared the same black-as-night hair and grey eyes. Lily wracked her memory to come up with a name, but it eluded her.
"Lily, this is Mr. Alstott, a distant relation on my father's side. Charles, meet my duchess." Lily's heart did a little flip when he said her new title with such pride.
"Lovely to meet you," Lily replied.
"Your Grace, I knew it would be a lady such as you who'd finally get Simon to the altar," Mr. Alstott said, pressing his lips to her gloved fingers.
"I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not," Lily said quietly.
Simon simply laughed and whispered dramatically, "It's a compliment, love. You may take it as one."
"Most definitely," the man boomed. "It would take a woman of great strength to finally collar
this pup."
Simon narrowed his eyes and shook his head slightly, almost unnoticeably, at his distant cousin. At first, Lily thought she'd imagined it, but she knew she had not when Mr. Alstott tilted his head to one side in confusion. Then Simon made his signature move and changed the subject.
"Where is your lovely wife?" Simon asked.
"She's gossiping with friends, as usual," Mr. Alstott answered, as he searched the lobby with his eyes. Then he caught his wife's attention across the room and gestured her toward them. "Mary," he began when she reached them. "Meet the Duchess of Blackmoor." After the introduction, he draped his arm around his wife's slender shoulders.
"Lily, please. I'm not quite used to the title yet."
"Charles and Mary will be sharing our box tonight," Simon informed her and directed her toward the staircase.
"Oh, how nice," Lily replied.
Beside them, Mary Alstott leaned toward Lily, her brown eyes wide. "I think it's quite brave of you to come out in society like this after the…"
Charles coughed loudly, interrupting his wife's statement. Mary stopped talking to place her hand on her husband's chest. "Are you all right?"
Lily frowned as she watched them. All the male members of the Westfield family seemed to share the same predisposition toward untimely changes of subject matter.
"Yes, yes, of course," he said. "I am a bit parched, however. Come, Mary. We'll find some wine."
"Perhaps we should take our seats," Simon suggested. He ushered Lily through the crowd and up the stairs to his box.
The number of theatre-goers was slightly overwhelming. Lily had never imagined such a crush. One lady after another looked at her out of the corner of their eyes, and Lily was certain she wasn't dressed nearly nice enough for this. "Perhaps we shouldn't have come," she muttered to herself.
Simon stopped walking and frowned at her. "Why?"
"I beg your pardon?" Lily blinked at him.
"Why shouldn't we have come?"
Lily shook her head. How was it possible he'd heard her? "I… um… Well, I feel a little underdressed."
A roguish smile lit his face as he directed her down the corridor past one box after another. "You're beautiful, Lily. And you're the Duchess of Blackmoor. You could walk in here wearing rags if you wanted."
"Rags?" She couldn't hold in a giggle.
"Personally, I prefer you wearing nothing at all."
"Simon!"
He ignored her rebuke, pressing her lower back toward one of the boxes. "Ah, here we are. Sit right near the front, love, so you have a good view of the stage."
Moments later, the Alstotts joined them and the theatre grew dim, signaling the remaining patrons to find their seats. Lily sat forward against the rail, excitement coursing through her veins as the stage captured her attention.
Simon's hand clasped hers when the play began. With a sidelong glance, she saw his bright smile in the darkness and it warmed her heart.
***
Simon couldn't concentrate on the play even the slightest. He held Lily's hand clasped comfortably in his for fear that, if he let go, he would lose her. It was a foolish thought. She was safely seated beside him, entranced by Kean's performance.
Still, the worry persisted. Both Charles and Mary had very nearly told Lily the word about Town. The society rags were full with the news of his nuptials and rife with unflattering speculation. Not one column mentioned how wonderful Lily was. Instead unsubstantiated gossip filled the pages. One author after another suggested Lily was already expecting Simon's child before their nuptials, hence the swift wedding.
One enterprising columnist had discovered Lily's dowry. They wrote that when no one would take Blackmoor's bribe to take Lily and the child off his hands, he had no choice but to marry her himself.
To add insult to injury, not only was her virtue maligned, but there were many uncomplimentary comments about her appearance, from her hair color to her height.
Simon's gaze traveled over her body in the darkness. She was perfect. She was tall and lithesome. Every part of her fit every part of him.
At first, he'd wanted to cancel their excursion and return to Westfield Hall, but that would only give credence to the reports. It would be better for them to hold their heads high and ignore the lies all together.
When the curtain fell for intermission, Lily stood up to stretch, exuberance sparkling in her hazel eyes. "This is amazing," she gushed.
Simon caressed her knuckles. He loved seeing her so happy. "Would you like some refreshment, love?"
"No, but thank you. I'll return in just a moment, Simon," she said as she pulled her hand from his grasp.
"Where are you going?" he asked, rising from his seat, ready to trail her like a faithful puppy.
"Women have to have some secrets," Mary broke in. "Come along, Lily. I'll accompany you to the retiring room."
Lily hooked her arm with Mary's, promised to return soon, and stepped out of the box. Simon watched her go, and a feeling of dread seeped over him.
Charles brought his attention back to the present when he called Simon's name. What Simon truly wanted to do was go after his wife. But he couldn't imagine the scandal he would cause if he followed her to the ladies' retiring room. And though worse had been said about him, he didn't want to give the gossipmongers anything else to say about Lily.
"She'll be fine, Blackmoor," Charles chided. "Mary will take care of her."
"I just worry," he said, catching himself mumbling.
"I can tell. You remind me of my faithful old dog. He was always such a jolly fellow until someone threatened my existence. Then he came out with teeth flying."
Simon sank into his chair. Surely she would return soon.
***
"I must tell you how terribly brave I think you are," Mary said in hushed tones as they walked down the crowded corridor.
"Brave?" Lily echoed, suddenly ill at ease.
"Why, if I were you, I wouldn't even step foot in public yet. I would have waited until the scandal died down a bit." She smiled at Lily. "But then I would imagine Blackmoor would never have married someone without a strong backbone."
Lily stopped walking and turned toward Mary. "I have no idea what you're referring to. Please enlighten me."
"Oh, my," the woman breathed. "You don't know?"
A giggle sounded near them. Lily looked up when she heard someone whisper loudly, "I can't believe she's walking around in public!"
"Know what?" Lily asked, as she drew Mary to the side of the hallway.
"The society columns," Mary mumbled. "The rumors about you and Blackmoor. About why you had to marry quickly." The woman looked down at the floor.
"There are always rumors about His Grace in those pages. It's nothing new." Lily tried to sound light and dignified.
"Yes, but these were about you, dear," Mary said quietly.
Lily shook her head in disbelief. She'd never done anything to provoke a scandal. "What do they say?"
"I've said too much already."
"Please, Mary."
"You should ask His Grace," the woman hedged.
"I'll do just that," Lily said as she turned quickly and stomped back down the corridor.
She heard laughter to her right and looked over to find a group of well-dressed ladies staring at her, tittering behind their fans.
Honestly, didn't they have
anything better to do? Obviously not.
Then the crowd parted, and Lily saw the source of the laughter. Mrs. Teresa Hamilton, stunning as ever, stood amongst them, wearing a smug smile and a low-cut dress. Lily didn't know which was more offensive.
Lily resisted the urge to rip the perfect blond curls from her head. No matter how satisfying that seemed, it certainly wouldn't help Lily's current predicament. She tipped her nose in the air and continued down the hallway, determined to act the role of duchess even if she didn't feel it.
Simon's box came into view, and Lily increased her gait. How could he not tell
her what was being said? How could he parade her in front of the
ton
without any warning? In her haste, Lily stumbled just outside their box but managed to catch herself. She took a deep breath and adjusted her slipper.
Then she heard Simon's hushed voice filter through the curtain. "No, Lily doesn't know about me."