by Anna Bennett
Lily snatched the paper back and shoved it inside her journal. “It’s horrible, isn’t it?”
“Not one bit. It’s beautiful … and gut-wrenching.”
Unable to meet her friend’s eyes, Lily strode across the room, pausing in front of one of Fiona’s paintings, a lovely portrait of a young woman on a swing. “I miss Fiona.”
“Lily Hartley,” Sophie scolded. “You’re avoiding my question. Do you have feelings for the duke? If you want to talk about it, you know you may confide in me.”
For a moment, Lily considered baring her soul to her friend. But speaking the words would make her and Nash’s relationship—and its disastrous ending—all too real. Better to let the time she’d spent with him linger in her memory like some pleasant but fading dream.
“I can’t,” she said regretfully.
Sophie shot her an understanding smile. “Very well. But if you should change your mind—”
“Pardon me, Miss Hartley,” Mr. Burns intoned from the studio doorway, “but you’ve a visitor—Lady Delilah Nash.”
Lily’s heart bounced with joy. “Delilah!” Lily ran to her and smothered her in a fierce embrace. “I was dreadfully worried about you. You have no idea how glad I am that you’re here.”
Delilah let out a muffled chuckle. “I have some idea. You’re hugging me so tightly, I can scarcely breathe.”
“Let me look at you,” Lily said, holding her friend at arm’s length. Her blond hair fell from her crown in a cascade of ringlets, and her pink cheeks glowed with happiness. “You don’t appear to be any worse for the wear.”
“I’ll bring another place setting for tea,” the butler announced smoothly.
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Burns,” Lily called over her shoulder. “Delilah,” she said, unceremoniously pulling her by the hand, “you must come and meet my dear friend Miss Sophie Kendall.”
Sophie surreptitiously scooped up the new column and set it facedown on a table before gracefully extending a hand to Delilah. “It’s a pleasure,” she said, her eyes crinkling in a warm smile. “But I should leave the two of you so that you may have a proper visit.”
“No!” Lily and Delilah protested in unison.
“I insist that you stay, for it is I who have barged in,” Delilah said, apologetic. “And I cannot remain long in any event. Nash told me that you recovered your memory and that I might find you here. The reason for my visit is twofold. First, I wanted to apologize for giving you a fright and assure you that I am, indeed, well.”
“Thank heaven.” Lily waved both women back to the sofa and offered Delilah a scone, which she gratefully nibbled. Lily was desperate to ask after Nash and would have devoured even the most mundane news about him—what color waistcoat he wore or whether he’d shaved that morning—like a mongrel lunging for dinner scraps. But Sophie and Delilah were far too insightful, and Lily feared any question she posed would reveal too much. “Your brother was beside himself. He must have been so relieved to see you.”
Delilah’s eyes welled. “Yes. I’m terribly sorry for upsetting you both. I knew I’d made a mistake shortly after I left, but I wasn’t quite ready to go home. I shall tell you all the embarrassing details another day, because I’d much rather discuss the second reason for my visit. Nash has decided to host a ball to properly launch me into society.”
Lily blinked and shook her head, incredulous. “I beg your pardon. It sounded as though you said Nash—that is, the duke—is hosting a ball.”
Delilah chuckled and nodded. “I could scarcely believe it myself—and I’m delivering the invitations before he has a chance to change his mind.” She pulled an ivory notecard from her reticule and presented it to Lily. “Please say you’ll come.”
“I don’t know,” Lily said. She was imagining how painful it would be to see him, breathtakingly handsome in his dark evening jacket, dancing waltz after waltz with the most beautiful ladies in London. She wasn’t sure her heart could take it. “I’m not certain that’s a good idea.”
“Please, Lily. It wouldn’t be the same without you.” Delilah’s pretty blue eyes pleaded like a puppy’s. “You know that all our guests will be judging me—scrutinizing my every move. I’d feel so much more confident with you by my side.”
Lily hesitated, searching her mind for some excuse. But Delilah was a true friend, and Lily couldn’t leave her to face the ton alone. It would be like stranding her in a den of hungry wolves.
“Very well,” Lily said, already dreading the ball. How was she supposed to greet Nash in a room full of people and pretend that they scarcely knew each other? How was she supposed to act as though she’d never kissed him or spent the night in his arms?
“I’m so glad that’s settled.” Delilah beamed. “Miss Kendall, I do hope you’ll be able to attend as well. Your friends and families are welcome too. It’s sure to be a festive event—if only because every member of polite society will wish to witness the spectacle with their own eyes: the notoriously private Duke of Stonebridge entertaining on a grand scale. If you’d told me such a thing was possible a fortnight ago, I wouldn’t have believed it myself.”
“I’m sure it shall be a lovely affair,” Lily said with forced brightness. “And I’m very happy to hear that the duke is indulging your wish to enter the social whirl.”
“He’s changed recently,” Delilah replied, thoughtful. “I believe you may be to thank for that.” She gave Lily a saucy wink. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I should be on my way. I’ve a few more invitations I want to hand deliver—but yours was the first.”
They stood and hugged each other tightly once more. “Everything is going to work out,” Delilah whispered in her ear. “For both of us.”
* * *
Fiona’s easel arrived early the next morning, and it was as exquisite as Lily had hoped. She spent a couple of hours in the studio, rearranging items on the shelves, organizing drawing supplies, and fluffing pillows. When every last detail looked perfect, she hopped off her stepstool, set down her dust rag, and massaged her lower back.
A final gaze around the light-filled room confirmed that her efforts had been worthwhile, but she was already looking forward to a bath—and perhaps a short nap.
She returned to her bedchamber and, while the tub was readied, pulled the baby bootie Serena had given her out of her bedside table drawer. She turned the little shoe over in her hand, thinking how strange it was that she’d had to forget who she was in order to figure out where she came from. And she contemplated the words Serena had told her: If you’re fortunate enough to find love, fight for it.
She slipped into the steaming, fragrant water and let the warmth soothe her aching muscles. When the water cooled, she climbed out of the tub and toweled off, rubbing her hair dry. And when her fluffy pillow beckoned, she slipped on her dressing gown, crawled into bed, and closed her eyes.
* * *
Lily rolled over on the mattress, hoping to block out the world a bit longer.
But the relentless tapping on her foot would not cease, no matter how many times she kicked beneath the coverlet.
“Lily,” called the familiar voice. “Wake up!”
Reluctantly, she removed the pillow covering her head and cracked her eyes open—just enough to see the silhouette of a woman sitting at the end of her bed. For a moment, Lily felt as if she were thirteen years old again, in the dormitory at Miss Haywinkle’s School for Girls. Fiona was nudging her and pulling off her covers, urging her to rise before she missed breakfast entirely.
“I’m not hungry,” Lily mumbled.
“No?” her sister replied, amused. “You might at least welcome your older sister home. You act as though you haven’t missed me at all.”
Dear Jesus. Lily bolted upright. “Fiona?”
Her sister shot her a radiant smile. Her emerald traveling gown complemented her auburn hair perfectly, and the pink glow on her cheeks was a testament to her happy marriage and devoted husband.
At the sight of her, Lily erupte
d into tears. The dam she’d carefully constructed to contain the torrent of emotion couldn’t withstand the sudden onslaught.
“Lily!” Fiona was at her side in an instant, wrapping her in a warm embrace. “What’s wrong?”
How could she tell her sister all that had transpired in the fortnight since she’d left? “I’m so glad you’re home.”
Fiona arched a skeptical brow. “I’m glad to see you too. But I confess I am somewhat surprised. Why aren’t you home with Mama and Papa?”
“It’s a long and convoluted story,” Lily said, sniffling. It seemed she’d cried more in the last week than she had in her entire life.
“Might it have something to do with this?” Fiona held up the baby bootie that Lily had left on her desk.
“It might,” Lily admitted. She patted the mattress beside her. “Take off your slippers and make yourself comfortable. It shall take more than a few minutes to explain what a spectacular mess I’ve made of my life.”
Fiona listened intently as Lily told her about the tavern brawl, her memory loss, Delilah, and Serena. And Nash. As Lily recounted every incredible and sometimes painful detail, concern flicked over Fi’s face, but never judgment. Clearly, all that mattered to her was that Lily was safe and sound.
When she’d reached the end of her long, pathetic tale, Fiona blinked—as if she were waiting for more. “Is that it?”
“What do you mean?” Lily asked, incredulous. “Weren’t the tavern brawl, amnesia, love affair, and brothel madam enough?”
“Oh, you’ve been through plenty,” Fiona said, slipping an arm around her shoulders. “And I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. But it seems to me that your story has yet to reach its conclusion.”
“You’re speaking in riddles, Fi.”
“While I was away, you were growing up and opening doors. You opened a door on friendship with Delilah and a door on family with Serena. You also opened a door on love with Nash—and no matter how dire things may seem, that door hasn’t slammed shut yet.”
Lily swallowed. “I don’t know what to do. He claims he’s incapable of loving me the way I need him to. Even if he could, how can I give my heart to a man who doesn’t respect my life’s passion?”
“I wish you could hear yourself.” Fiona tickled Lily’s chin with the baby bootie she still held. “You are one of the most determined, daring, and persuasive people I know. Of course, there are risks involved. There are no guarantees that all will turn out as you wish. But if anyone can turn this ship around, it’s you. And if you fail … well, at least you’ll know you tried.”
Hope shimmered in Lily’s chest. “I’m not at all certain I can convince Nash to open his heart to me, but I shall see him at a ball he’s throwing for his sister next week.”
“A ball?” Fiona grinned. “Why, all sorts of magic is bound to happen at a ball. You shall have plenty to write about in your diary, at least.”
Lily moaned and covered her face with a pillow. “I’m still catching up from the events of the last two weeks.”
“Well, I’m delighted to hear that we’ll have no shortage of material for our column.”
Lily let her pillow plop onto her lap. “That reminds me—have you been in the library since you returned home?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
She jumped out of bed, feeling lighter than she had in days. “Allow me to throw on a gown—and I’ll show you.”
Chapter 31
“A gentleman needn’t be excessively dexterous or graceful to be a good dance partner. Rather, he should move with a natural confidence and hold you with care. He should look at you with something akin to wonder.”
—The Debutante’s Revenge
Lily was aware she gripped Gray’s arm a bit too tightly as they stood outside the richly carved doors leading to Nash’s ballroom. When Fiona’s dashing husband had agreed to escort both his wife and Lily to the Duke of Stonebridge’s ball, he couldn’t have known what an ordeal it would be.
Gray turned to his left and arched an amused brow at Lily. “I was under the impression that you wished to attend this ball.”
Lily’s mouth felt like it was full of sawdust. “Yes,” she managed.
“Then why are your feet rooted to the marble?” he asked smoothly. “The other guests are bound to think it odd if I drag you into the ballroom.”
“Give her a moment, Gray,” Fiona piped up, and Lily shot her a grateful smile across Gray’s chest. Fiona looked stunning in a seafoam-green gown with delicate beading adorning the sleeves and hem. She’d always been lovely, but with each day that passed, she seemed to grow more confident—and more beautiful.
“I’m in no rush.” Gray looked over his shoulder at a few new arrivals. “But we’re blocking the entrance.”
Drat. “Very well. I’m ready.” Ignoring the pounding in her chest, Lily allowed Gray to lead her into the ballroom. She held her head high, refusing to apologize for who she was.
Daughter of Serena Labelle and the Hartleys.
Sister to Fiona and friend to Sophie.
Alumna of Miss Haywinkle’s School for Girls.
Authoress of The Debutante’s Revenge.
But mostly, she was Lily, a woman who happened to love the Duke of Stonebridge.
Embellished with delicate lace and feminine ruffles, her whisper-soft, white ballgown swished around her legs and floated around her feet. If this had been any other ball, she would have looked forward to dancing the night away.
But tonight was different. Tonight, she was risking everything for a chance at love.
The last time Lily had ventured past this ballroom—while she’d been living under Nash’s roof—it had seemed forlorn and empty. Dark and dusty.
But no more.
The crystal chandeliers overhead bathed the room in a twinkling glow; the honey-colored parquet floors gleamed. Lively music filled the air, causing toes to tap and bodies to sway. A rich rainbow of gowns, waistcoats, reticules, and ribbons created a festive mosaic everywhere Lily looked. She could scarcely believe it was the same cold, cavernous space. And it gave her hope.
Almost immediately, Delilah greeted them. In her dusty-pink gown with wine-colored trim and petal sleeves, she resembled a perfect rose.
“You are beautiful,” Lily told her earnestly. “The belle of the ball.”
“Thank you. I’m so delighted you’re here,” Delilah said, reaching out to squeeze her hands.
As Lily made the introductions, she searched the room for Nash, hoping she wasn’t terribly obvious about it. She didn’t spot his broad shoulders and handsome face above the crowd, however. And she wasn’t certain if she was disappointed or relieved.
“Where is Miss Kendall?” Delilah asked.
“Sophie and her mother planned to arrive separately. They may be here already,” Lily replied.
“I’m so pleased to meet your friends and family,” Delilah said, beaming.
“Well, you shall soon meet a few more,” Fiona said sheepishly. “Our mother and father returned from Bath earlier today. I hope you don’t mind, but I extended the invitation to them as well.”
“How wonderful!” Delilah exclaimed.
Lily blinked, disbelieving. “Wonderful?” she repeated. “Mama and Papa will be here? Fi, you might have mentioned it before now!”
Fiona shot her an apologetic smile. “I didn’t want to add to your worries.”
“And yet, you have.” Lily glared at her sister, then attempted a calming breath, which was vexingly and predictably futile. If Mama and Papa had an inkling of the mischief Lily had been up to, they’d ship her to the convent posthaste.
Lily cast an apologetic glance at Delilah. “Forgive us for overrunning your ball with our relatives.”
“You mustn’t apologize for having a large, loving family. I would give anything to have one.”
The truth of Delilah’s words hit Lily like a bracing slap to the cheek. “Then you shall be an honorary member of our family. We may not have an impressi
ve lineage, but we stick together.”
Delilah’s nose grew suspiciously pink. “Thank you. This promises to be the best evening ever.”
“Are there any gentlemen in particular you’re hoping to dance with?” Lily probed.
Delilah inclined her head, thoughtful. “Perhaps. But if the last few weeks have taught me anything, it’s that I shouldn’t give my heart to a man simply because he possesses good looks, charming manners, and an expertly tailored jacket. I plan to enjoy the rest of my season and use the time to get to know a few gentlemen on a deeper level. Only then will I know if any of them is deserving of my affections.”
“An excellent plan,” Lily said approvingly.
“That does not mean, however, that I can’t appreciate Lord Peckingham’s broad shoulders and a boyish grin,” Delilah said, focusing her gaze on the dashing earl.
“Oh?” Lily grinned. “If I’m not mistaken, he’s headed this way.”
Indeed, the first strains of a waltz soared through the ballroom as Lord Peckingham bowed over Delilah’s hand and gallantly escorted her to the dance floor. Gray asked Fiona to dance, and when she hesitated, Lily waved her on.
“Go,” she encouraged. “I’m going to fetch a glass of lemonade.”
“If you’re sure,” Fiona said.
Lily nodded enthusiastically, trying not to envy the way Fiona and Gray fit together so perfectly—her hand tucked into the crook of his arm, his head bent to whisper in her ear.
She’d had that once.
She made a slow turn, searching the room for a head of thick, light brown hair and a knee-melting, golden gaze. She’d almost made a complete circle when she felt it. An achingly familiar pull that could only be him. Nash.
A deep voice beckoned from behind. “Miss Hartley.”
Her heart fluttering like a hummingbird in her chest, she looked into his whiskey-colored eyes. Let their warmth soak into her skin. “Your Grace.”
* * *
Nash couldn’t believe Lily was standing there. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought she was an apparition—a vision dressed in gauzy white silk sent to torment him. To remind him of all he didn’t deserve. But Delilah had assured him Lily would come, and, thank heaven, she had.