“Because it’s not right. You should be with your husband for your first time.”
Lily snorted and stepped forward. He smoothly countered her by stepping around the end of the bed, putting an extra few feet between them. She stopped as though running into a wall, an injured expression settling on her pretty face. Her eyebrows lowered and her lower lip pushed out slightly, making Harry want to leap over the bed and bite her right there on her sweet, sulky mouth.
He clenched his hands together behind his back and held on for dear life.
“Look around you, Harry. I am twenty-five years old. Twenty-five! Do you see any husband? No. And there isn’t likely to be one, either. Most men consider me too old to take to wife, and the others won’t have me due to my lack of fortune. So, if you are concerned with cheating some man out of his husbandly right to a virginal bride, don’t be.” She folded her arms across her chest, looking exasperated and stung by his sudden withdrawal.
“I don’t care about that, I care about you.” Her expression softened and she smiled at him again, stepping forward. He stubbornly stayed on his side of the room, knowing if he went to her he would not be able to let her go again. “I can’t stay, Lily. I won’t stay, not in Yorkshire, not even in England.”
Questions rising in her eyes at his statement, he continued on hastily. “In a few days I’ll be gone, and I won’t be back. You deserve more than one night with a stranger. You deserve to marry some day and have a family.”
“I don’t want to marry, and this is exactly why!” She threw up her hands, her expression cross.
“I don’t need to be told what is best for me, like a child. I know my own mind –why is that so hard to believe? I understand you’re leaving, and that’s why this is so perfect. I won’t ask more of you, you won’t try to curb my freedom. See? Perfect.” She softened, stepping forward and holding his gaze, winding her arms around his neck. He stopped her by grabbing both wrists, holding them prisoner in a loose grip.
Harry stared into her wide, earnest eyes, before his gaze drifted down to her soft, kissable mouth. As he watched she bit her bottom lip with perfect, little white teeth. Everything about this woman seemed perfect to him. The urge to throw her on the bed and say to hell with it almost took him then, but he struggled to remember he still had principles.
Somewhere.
Lily gently tugged at her wrists and he distractedly let them go, lost in her gaze. She smiled and pulled him forward, capturing his mouth with hers. Their lips came together desperately, pushing and pulling, both needing what only the other could give them.
Lily backed up, and they tumbled onto the bed together. Harry twisted to the side to avoid landing on her and looked down into her mischievous face, lit with laughter. She grew quiet as he smoothed away a lock of hair that had fallen across her cheek. The air grew heavy with anticipation, their play suddenly turning serious. He leaned down and nuzzled her neck, nipping at her ear. She drew in a sharp breath and ran her hands down the muscles of his back, causing him to shiver with pleasure. He pulled back just far enough to focus on her face.
“You’re sure?”
She gave him a disbelieving look and he ducked his head, swallowing a chuckle. He started to reach for his boot knife on the bedside table, rolling his eyes at the tangled knot her robe tie had become. Lily pressed her palms against her mouth trying unsuccessfully to hold in the giggles, the mood lightening again as Harry made an exaggerated show of considering where to start.
Suddenly, there was a thundering noise from below. Someone was hammering on the front door. Faint yelling could be heard, floating up from the front yard.
“In the name of the Duke of Danby, open the door!”
A foreboding sense of dread coming over Harry, he followed Lily as she wrenched open his door and ran down the hall, smoothing her hair nervously. As she flew towards the stairs, her father called her name plaintively, but she didn’t stop until she reached the entry hall. She straightened her clothing, pulling the sides of her robe tight. Should he mention she had no slippers on her small, elegant feet?
“Wait! Lily, I…” Harry pulled her arm as she reached for the front door handle. She shook him off gently, and unbolted the short bar locking the door.
“You can’t keep the duke’s man waiting, Harry! These people are not like us. His Grace is powerful and rich, and he holds my father’s living –I cannot afford to upset him.” With that she pulled the door open, smiling as graciously as any society matron welcoming an afternoon visitor to tea.
The small group of liveried servants gathered behind the well dressed middle-aged man who had knocked eyed her appreciatively. Harry clenched his fists, but held his tongue, glaring at them. To a man, they dropped their gazes or looked up in the sky, suddenly busy elsewhere. Grimly satisfied, he transferred his attention to the man studying him intently, ignoring Lily completely.
“How may I help you, sir?” Lily asked the man. He deigned to look at her then, noting her nightclothes and disheveled hair, clear in his disapproval that she should have the audacity to speak to him. Harry stepped forward, partially blocking her. She poked him in the back with her finger, but he refused to budge. He would not leave her open to ridicule by this arrogant prig who obviously worked for his grandfather.
“I am Mr. Lionel Dryer, one of the Duke of Danby’s solicitors, and I have come to fetch the duke’s grandson.” Harry stiffened at the man’s words. Despite his best efforts to shield her from the duke’s officious lackey, Lily popped her head out from behind him.
“I’m sorry to inform you that you have wasted a trip, but he is not here, sir. ‘Tis only myself, my father, and Mr. Connelly at the vicarage this evening. Perhaps you were given the wrong address?” She sounded puzzled. Harry closed his eyes, knowing what was coming even before the man opened his mouth, as the pompous man with sly eyes smiled knowingly at him.
“Why, then it is not a wasted trip, after all. For Mr. Harrison Connelly is the duke’s eldest grandson. Isn’t that right, Mr. Connelly?”
~ 7 ~
Harry stood outside his grandfather’s study door, trying to decide if he was going to knock or turn around and leave. Just get in a carriage, find a ship, and leave the whole blasted country. He was beginning to wish he had never come. Had never received the letter from the duke, had never thought up his idea to extract money from the man… had never met Lily.
She wouldn’t speak to him.
He had tried, last night, to tell her his side of the story, but the woman just froze him with an icy look and told him that she understood perfectly. She then turned around and left him standing there, in the front hall, with his grandfather’s men. She had not reappeared while he was packing his meager belongings, nor when he knocked on her father’s door, thanked him for his hospitality, and explained he was leaving. Harry had lingered in the hall a few moments, staring at the door to her silent room, willing her to come out, but she did not.
And so he left.
How could he make things right when she wouldn’t see him? He was astonished at the sick feeling in his stomach during the carriage ride to the castle, as he ignored the supercilious, nattering Mr. Dryer and stared out the window at the passing landscape. He kept seeing her white face over and over, her eyes huge and hurt, as she shook her head and backed away from him as though he had suddenly caught the plague. He had reached out, but when she flinched, he had dropped his arm and let her walk away. Now he was beginning to wish he hadn’t, that he had followed her up the stairs and made her listen. Because he was starting to think that maybe she was the one good –the one pure and untouched and innocent –thing in his life. He felt sick, and angry with himself all over again just thinking about it.
He started as the door to the study suddenly swung open.
“Are you going to stand there all day, boy, or are you going to come in?” called out the old man sitting behind the large, ornate desk. The estate steward, whom Harry had met just that morning after breakfast, waited unti
l he stepped into the room. He then turned to the duke, gave a short bow, and silently took his leave. The door shut softly behind him. Harry just stood and looked at his grandfather, who sat in his plush chair and stared right back at him.
The old man was still strong. His body was unbent by many years of life, his head held high and proud. Eyes unreadable, he watched Harry but said nothing.
“Do you know who I am?” Harry asked, his palms damp. He stepped forwards awkwardly at the duke’s short nod. He waited a moment, but there was only silence. Opening his mouth, he was shocked at what came out.
“Why did you not send for her? You know she would have come. She died knowing you never forgave her. She didn’t have to die at all, if you had forgiven her and let them come home.”
Harry was suddenly angry, enraged, bitter.
The old man sat unflinching, his expression impassive, but his hands were clenched together, white-knuckled, on the desk.
“None of them would be dead if you hadn’t been so stubborn, so full of your own pride. Their deaths are on your head,” Harry spat, stepping forward blindly, not knowing what he was going to do, when the duke’s halting words stopped him.
“Do you think I don’t know that? I tried, Harrison, I tried for years to find her –to find them. But I had left it too late. I didn’t allow myself to recognize the magnitude of pain wrought by my mistake until years after, when your cousin Nicholas was born. I stood, looking down at him and wondering what had become of my darling Heloisa. I wondered if she had become a mother.” The duke leaned forward, his body tight with tension, his eyes intent on Harry.
“ I wondered if I would ever see her children. She was always my favorite. When I look back, I find it hard to believe she did not know, considered how I had spoiled her.” The duke rose, agitated, and came around the desk. He stopped a few feet from where Harry stood and gazed at him beseechingly, his lined face tight with suppressed emotion.
“I had never denied her anything, and so perhaps this truly is entirely my fault. She couldn’t accept that I had arranged an agreement with the Duke of Glastonbury, who was so much older than her. We fought over it bitterly.” The duke’s expression was raw, filled with regret and self-recrimination. “I should have seen right there that the marriage would be a disaster, but she ran off with your father before I could consider other options. At the time, I was blind with rage, thinking she had done it because she was spoiled and spiteful. But I was wrong, wasn’t I?”
Harry stared at the man before him, the man he had hated his whole life, whom he blamed for the loss of his family. Harry had blamed him while he had buried his father, and while his muscles burned and ached as he learned to conquer the forests of Illinois and fend for himself. He had blamed him as he grew into a man, during the long, lonely nights as he slept under whatever shelter he could find, during the rough early days before he earned enough to build the cabin. He had blamed him while sitting in a rainy ditch, covered in filth and other men’s blood, wondering if the next charge over the hill would be his last. He could not reconcile the old man before him –with the weary, saddened eyes and shaking hands –to the uncaring, cold villain he had always imagined.
He took a step back, scrambling to rearrange everything he thought he knew.
“You were wrong. My parents loved each other. My father never got past her death.” Now the duke flinched, and passed a quivering hand over his eyes. He seemed to fold in on himself, looking older by the moment.
“How did she die?”
“When I was a babe, she caught small pox from a neighbor. She had visited with the intention of helping nurse them back to health.” The duke looked slightly appalled, yet conversely proud his highborn daughter had become a woman of compassion and fortitude before her death.
“She was never what you would call hearty, according to my father, who regretted letting her persuade him that she should be allowed to assist the sick. Most of the settlement was struck down, although many were able to recover. Mother did not, and neither did my sister. By that time, though, I was already gone from our home. When Father realized which way the wind was blowing, he had me packed off to a friend up at Fort Knox. When he came for me a month later, he was alone.” Harry sighed wearily and lowered himself into a seat in front of the desk. The duke sat in the chair next to him, and the two contemplated each other in silence.
“I don’t know what to say to you, Harrison. Your life was not what it should have been. If it weren’t for my actions, you would have grown up here, in the lap of luxury and privilege. Perhaps your family would still be alive. I don’t have the first idea how to make this up to you,” the duke said, looking at Harry intently. He leaned forward. “I would like you to stay. For a little while, at least, I would like you to stay here at the estate. I would like the opportunity to get to know Heloisa’s son.”
“I understand if you cannot forgive me, but you have family here. Some of your cousins are in residence already, and many more family members are on their way. Please, Harrison, just consider it,” he added softly. Harry looked at him for a long moment, then away. He studied the drapes, his mind whirling as he tried to sort what he still needed to know. His grandfather sat tensely, waiting for his answer.
“Is that why you requested my presence for Christmas? Because you regretted your actions? Why now?”
“I couldn’t find you before now. I swear it, Harrison. Do you know how many Connollys live in America?” the duke insisted, at the downward twist of Harry’s mouth and cynically raised eyebrow.
“I was only able to find you due to the cousin of one of my barristers. My men have been on the lookout for any and all Connellys in America, which is quite a job, and apparently you made an impression on my barrister’s cousin. Something about threatening to find him and take him apart with your bare hands if he so much as lifted an amputating saw in your presence?” the duke said dryly, his own eyebrow raised to mirror Harry’s, showing a glimpse of the man he must be when he was on surer footing.
Harry snorted. The army surgeon’s face had been shocked as he hastily stepped away from Harry where he lay injured and bleeding in the medical tent after the massacre at the Indian village of Prophetstown. His eyes connected with the duke’s, and for a brief moment there was a glint of amusement and admiration in the older man’s gaze. Harry looked away again, not yet willing to accept the empathy. He was still slightly unnerved by the knowledge his grandfather wasn’t the monster he had always thought him to be. Given enough time, however, he might come to like the old codger.
He thought of his mother, and his father…and what they would want for him in this moment. He thought of Lily.
What would she say if she had been witness to the conversation?
His angel would undoubtedly tell him to forgive an old man for his mistakes, to understand that his grandfather was human and had lashed out at Harry’s mother the same as anyone who felt betrayed and hurt would. Obviously the duke regretted what his actions had wrought, and it was thirty years ago. More than a lifetime ago. Harry was so tired of being angry all the time, of never moving forward, always holding himself back. It was time to let it go.
Time to let it all go.
He stood, bringing his grandfather to his feet with his movement. The older man watched him with guarded eyes. Harry offered him a small, crooked smile.
“My mother called me Harry, Grandfather.”
~ 8 ~
Lily stepped into the house and shut the front door behind her. As she unwound her scarf and stomped the snow off her boots, voices came from the other room. She stiffened; her first thought was of Harry. But the voice that replied was high and musical, and without a doubt, female. She silently berated herself for the moment of wild hope that had flared within her at the thought of Harry returning to her. Of course he wouldn’t. He was the grandson of a duke. What did he need with the spinster daughter of the local vicar, except perhaps a little sport while he recuperated?
The rat.
> She made her way down the hall to the drawing room and poked her head in. Blanching at the sight of the two very finely dressed young ladies seated on the sofa opposite her chuckling father, Lily made to withdraw as quietly as possible. Her plan was foiled, however, when one of the women turned her head and caught her in the act.
Lady Isabel Whitton caught her eye and smiled smugly, as though knowing there was no way for Lily to escape or pretend she hadn’t seen them now. Lily ignored Isabel’s raised eyebrow and laughing gaze, as she stepped forward into the drawing room and greeted her father and Isabel’s twin sister, Lady Emma. Or rather, Lady Heathfield, as the entire village knew she had been married just the day before. As her father excused himself and left the parlor, Lily sank into a slight curtsey in front of the new viscountess.
“My lady, may I offer congratulations on your marriage to Lord Heathfield? You must be very happy,” she murmured.
She raised her head when only silence met her comment. The twins stared at her with slightly widened eyes, their lips parted in surprise. Although they were as different in appearance as a rose and a tulip, in that moment the sisters looked like an impossibly lovely set of bookends. Lily furrowed her brow and sat opposite the women, her back stiff, not quite touching the sofa.
“It’s worse than I expected,”Isabel said thoughtfully. She exchanged a glance with her sister and took a reflective sip of her tea.
“Truly. Well, at least we know now it’s mutual.” Emma said, pouring another cup of tea and sitting back with a sigh. Lily looked from one sister to the other in bewilderment. She was at a loss. Sometimes it seemed as if the twins had their own language.
“Lily, you are one of our dearest friends. Why did you think you needed to curtsey to me?” Emma asked gently. Isabel cocked her head to the side when Lily looked to her, obviously waiting for an explanation as well.
A Summons From His Grace (Regency Christmas Summons Collection 4) Page 11