Mine, Forever and Always: Historical Romance Novella

by Tammy L. Bailey

  Miss Appleton sent him a forced smiled and blinked her lashes. “Only that Miss Scott has both vexed and fascinated you from the moment you first saw her. From where I stand, you have vexed and fascinated her, too. I’m just curious as to why?”

  Henry exhaled and glanced over to where Waverley stood close to Lily, his finger lifted to brush back a lock of her dark hair. Fire shot through Henry’s veins, rapacious and consuming. Had all this come from one kiss? No. His want had started a few years ago, building at a maddening pace and beyond his control.

  Jane popped up before him and Miss Appleton. “Henry, will you assist Mr. Waverley in moving the couches? For the scene, their backs must touch.”

  Shaken, Henry grasped at a chance to ignore Miss Appleton’s question and talk to Waverley, the sod. He stalked at a determined pace toward the man, stopping out of general earshot of everyone in the room. “So, how do you feel performing with Miss Scott?”

  Waverley glanced up and smiled. “Fortunate.”

  The answer kicked Henry in the stomach, and he couldn’t help but make the impact worse by striding the short distance to where Waverley’s partner stood. Uncaring of how it appeared, he reached out to grasp her arm in a firm hold. “Is this what you mean to do, madam, to make a mockery out of yourself?”

  She lifted her chin and gazed into his face, her green eyes bright with unspoken emotions. “I’m doing no such thing. It’s a play, Mr. Dalton, and if you find you cannot watch the performance, you are free to go.”

  She pulled away, leaving him frozen in place. Twenty feet away, she and Waverley sat down on the couch while the audience gathered in high-backed chairs. Resigned to watch, Henry leaned against the mantelpiece, his jaw clenched and his gaze never leaving Lily’s face.

  With the wet day casting a dim light on the room, everyone waited for the play to begin.

  “It is a lovely evening so far, Mr. Mortimer, is it not?”

  Waverley smiled, but his chin remained elevated as if her company were beneath his. “Let’s not waste our time tonight with trite conversation, Miss Gravehart.”

  Lily bent her head to her hands. “That’s right, sir. Forgive me. I forgot how you are a man who doesn’t waste time with women of my station. I also know you have little patience with triviality in life or with idle conversation.”

  Waverley rotate in dramatic fashion toward Miss Scott. “No, I’m a man who knows what he wants.”

  “God, he’s atrocious, isn’t he,” Henry muttered, causing Jane to spin around and shush him.

  The play continued with Lily lowering her voice to a smooth, seductive whisper. “I must ask, though, does what you want, include me, Mr. Mortimer?”

  Henry straightened from his languished stance. At the same time, the small audience gasped in surprise at her question.

  “It appears your boldness has caused a few eavesdroppers to suck in a large amount of air, Miss Gravehart. Perhaps my coming all this way was a mistake.”

  “Are you saying that the few instances of intimate conversation, the night that we danced, not one, but three dances together, were also mistakes, Mr. Mortimer?”

  Henry pulled forward; surprised he wanted to know Waverley’s answer. Of course, in continuous dramatic fashion, Waverley shot up from his seat. In a blink, Lily stood to block his path, her hands reaching out to stop him.

  “You loved me once, sir. Don’t you remember?”

  “No, I did not love you, Miss Gravehart. It was you who loved me.”

  Henry sliced a glance toward the audience, observing as everyone held their breath. When he twisted back to Lily, her hand was raised and caressing Waverley’s enamored face.

  “Yes, sir, I did love you.”

  Henry could only stare as she lifted on her tiptoes and touched her lips to the side of Waverley’s mouth. She pulled away, blinking, a stray tear caught in her long lashes and glittering in a single candle’s flickering light. Henry’s heart squeezed inside his chest.

  “I am to be married tomorrow, sir, and after today, I shall never think of you again,” she said, shifting to kiss the other side of Waverley’s mouth.

  The room remained cloaked in silence. After a few moments, Henry realized Waverly had forgotten his godforsaken lines. Jane, in heroic fashion, glanced down at the book, leaned forward, and whispered the line in the man’s direction.

  “Alas, it’s just—”

  Waverley jerked out of his stupor, causing the women to snicker. “Yes, yes of course. Alas, it’s just as well since…since…”

  Jane whispered again. “Since we have—”

  “Since we have nothing in—”

  His patience spent, Henry stalked toward his sister, plucked the book from her hand and strode to where Waverley stood, shoving him out of the way. Henry didn’t miss the glow of rage in Lily’s face as he stepped close, his gaze half on her, half on the neatly printed words.

  “Since we have nothing in common except the kiss we shared, madam.”

  Chapter Seven

  Lily had never wanted to smack another human so hard in her entire life. Henry Dalton had done nothing but cause her grief since he’d stolen her heart right from underneath her seven odd years ago.

  “Must you ruin every one of my aspirations?” she said, unable to keep in character.

  “And which aspiration would that be this time, Miss Scott? Is it kissing a man so thoroughly that he is left powerless and can think of nothing but finding a way to solicit another?”

  In the deafening silence, Jane softly projected, “she’s Miss Gravehart.”

  Lily, aggrieved and shocked by Henry’s words that were nowhere in her play, could only lash out in a low tone. “Do you not see any fault in what you do, Mr. Dalton?”

  “He’s Mr. Mortimer,” Jane corrected her.

  Henry's chin lifted as if his white cravat had become too tight around his neck. “I see only a woman who cannot decide if she wants to marry or remain a flirt all of her life.”

  Ungloved, Lily reached up and slapped Henry across his handsome, pompous face. The sound echoed between the small audience, past Mr. Waverley and out the doors into the foyer. The crack even jerked Aunt Sophia awake, her loud snort causing an obnoxious ricochet.

  In the humming silence that followed, Lily stared at Henry’s reddened cheek before lifting her gaze to his hard, steel-gray eyes. Her palm stung from the impact, and her throat hurt from years of unshed tears. “How dare you assume anything about me, sir, when you have made no effort to speak to me for more than two minutes, once a year at most, since we were—”

  She halted her tongue, causing his head to tilt at an intrigued angle. “Since we were what?”

  She exhaled, dropping her shoulders in a defeated manner. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, curtsying, and spinning toward the audience. An enthusiastic round of applause followed her departure from the room and into the wet afternoon. She needed air, and she needed to be alone.

  She walked the soggy path toward the line of yews by a nearby pond, her body shaking with disbelief and disappointment. The air hung thick and wet, chilling her bare skin and what remained of her pride. On a neglected bench, behind an arching dog-rose bush, she sank down. She wished she’d never come to Hadley Manor or accepted Jane’s invitation. Although the banns had not been read, Lily had allowed her father to encourage John Gibbons to pursue her hand. She would marry Mr. Gibbons to unburden her parents, and he would marry her to unburden his pockets.

  A sob tore from her throat at the prospect of such a loveless future. Lily supposed if she had not stood before God and nature all those years ago and promised herself to one particular man, her gaze blurred with fanciful innocence, she might not care whom she married at this point.

  “You will catch your death if you do not come back inside.”

  Lily glanced up to find Mr. Waverley standing beside her, his light hair damp and darker across his forehead.

  “You should not be here,” she said to him. She was unaccompanied, and h
e was a single man whom she’d kissed not more than ten minutes ago. All anyone needed to do was speculate, and she would be calling herself Mrs. Waverley and not Mrs. Gibbons or Mrs. Dalton.

  “May I?” he asked, stretching out his hand toward the empty seat beside her.

  She nodded, unable to deny him. He sat down, his motions slow and meticulous. She tried concentrating on the quiet tap of water as it fell from one pink dog-rose petal to another, a few feet away.

  “I heard Dalton speak of you once, several years ago,” he said, staring straight ahead, his profile more striking, now that she had a chance to view his face in the filtered afternoon light. His sideburns were shorter than what was in style but still longer than Henry’s.

  “I’m sure you are mistaken, sir.”

  Mr. Waverley twisted on the bench toward her, his gaze stern but soft. “When he’s in his cups, he’s a different person, and he recites the most horrid poetry anyone can ever imagine.”

  Lily giggled in spite of herself. What a glorious thing to imagine after she’d just experienced the very worst of him.

  “Of course, he does say a few lines that are memorable. My favorite will always remain about the maid with forest green eyes and dark brown hair, her lips like silk, her name a flower.”

  Waverley lifted his gaze to her face before dropping it back to her mouth. She froze, her heart tumbling over in her chest.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kiss you,” he said, pausing to bring in a deep breath. “I’m not a scoundrel, although life would be much more fun if I were.”

  Lily had to admit, Mr. Waverley did have the most adorable pout. When he stood, he reached out his arm for her to take. “Now, I have been summoned by Miss Dalton to come and fetch you from this dreary afternoon. If I return without you, she has promised to put dear Aunt Sophia’s name inside the bowl for me to draw.”

  Lily laughed and stood, resting her palm upon his sleeve. As they rotated around to walk the muddy path back to the house, she paused. “Mr. Waverley, I was…under the impression, you and Jane were—”

  He threw back his head and laughed. When he’d sobered, he tugged his arm gently to get her to start walking again. “Oh, I do adore Henry’s sister, that is clear, but she is too occupied, and I am too single-minded.”

  Mr. Waverley’s confession was not what Lily expected to hear, not with a letter tucked under her pillow intended for him. “Are you sure?”

  This time, he halted. “Why?”

  Lily exhaled and shook her head. “I just thought…with both of you being so…handsome and amiable—”

  He chuckled, showing a tiny dimple on his right cheek. “For now we are both satisfied to toy with one another, remaining free and careless with our feelings.”

  Left more confused, and with the air growing muggier by the minute, Lily merely smiled and stepped back inside the large manor with its marble-tiled entrance hall, grand parlor, and ornate plastered ceilings. Everything about Hadley boasted an importance of finery and wealth. Although the Scotts had a modest income, to some extent, it didn’t compare to the Dalton’s or how they chose to live. She believed the only reason she was allowed to “play” with Jane was that their grandmothers were close friends who had ended up marrying on different ends of the social spectrum.

  Once settled in the parlor, Lily began—discreetly, of course—searching for her book of plays. The rest of the afternoon had her visiting every room at Hadley Manor that wasn’t locked. By early evening, she’d deduced that Mr. Dalton, wherever he was, still held on to them. Of course, she soon discovered, he had also left Hadley Manor, for a quick ride to survey the land he was to one day inherit.

  “It’s my guess he will keep riding north, unlikely to return,” Jane said with a sigh. “Oh, I don’t know what has possessed my brother to make him so disagreeable these last few days.”

  Lily clamped down on her lips, unwilling to divulge the fact Jane’s brother had read the letter Lily had written to Mr. Waverley and had assumed the very worst.

  “What’s the matter, Lily? You’ve grown quite pale. Are you ill?”

  Lily shook her head. “No, Jane. I’m just…I’m a little confused about you and Mr. Waverley. When you asked me to write the letter, I assumed there was an ardent regard between the two of you. Since that time, you have allowed me to be his partner and then sat, without protest, while I proceeded to kiss him in the play.”

  Jane’s smile widened. “That reminds me; I meant to ask you about his lips.”

  “Jane!” Lily exclaimed, a little too loudly. She cleared her throat and guided her friend away from Aunt Sophia. Out of earshot, Lily asked her question.

  “I’m wondering, after spending some time with Mr. Waverley in the garden,” Lily continued, trying to keep her voice from carrying, “if I should consider tearing up the love letter I wrote to him?”

  Her friend’s smile disappeared, her gaze diverted to a spot just above Lily’s right shoulder. A cold wave of realization sliced up Lily’s spine as she recognized the cause of Jane’s distraction was, without a doubt, the sudden appearance of Henry Dalton.

  Chapter Eight

  “I suppose I should be surprised, but I’m not.”

  Lily squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before rotating to find Henry’s steely gaze bearing down on her. She supposed, to keep him from judging her, she could have called Jane out, thus subjecting Mr. Waverley to a duel with his best friend.

  But the last thing Lily wanted to see was a bullet hole in Mr. Waverley’s dimpled cheek. So instead, she smiled and hoped, one day, Jane and Mr. Waverley might name a child after her. “There is something to be said, Mr. Dalton, about eavesdropping on a lady’s private conversation.”

  One dark eyebrow shot up. “And there is something to be said, Miss Scott, about perverse indiscretion.”

  Lily’s fingers curled inside her palms. He was the most intolerable man she’d ever met. “I’d thought you’d left, sir, unlikely to return.”

  His scowl softened, his smirking lips lifting to wreak havoc on her intolerant nerves. “I had some—” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “—unfinished business here.”

  Lily’s heart flipped and then sank. There he stood, calling her perverse and indiscreet, all the while plotting ways to compromise her character. Oh, she could only guess what he had in mind for her. For the first time since he’d discarded their friendship, or whatever one would like to call it, she mourned their innocence and the love she’d once felt for him. Now, it might do her well to quit Hadley Manor and tell her father to have the reading of the banns placed for her and Mr. Gibbons, directly. First, however, she needed to get her book of plays back from Henry, without him discovering she wrote them. A kiss would not work this time.

  “Since the weather has vastly improved, I say, we should all go for a walk,” Jane announced, stirring Aunt Sophia out of her slumber.

  “Marvelous idea, Miss Dalton,” Mr. Waverley said, coming up behind them. “And before you think about us drawing names, I claim Miss Scott here as my walking partner.”

  Lily didn’t know who to glance toward first, so she kept her gaze on Mr. Waverley, his dimpled smile infectious.

  “And I would like Mr. Dalton to escort me through the garden,” Miss Appleton projected a few feet away.

  “Then it is settled,” Jane declared and clapped, rousing the other couples from their card game.

  “Shall we?” Mr. Waverley asked, leaning down to offer Lily his arm. He was taller than Henry and thinner, not to mention far more polite and amiable. He was beginning to grow on her as well.

  “We shall,” she said, smiling and sliding past Miss Appleton and her disgruntled escort on their way to the foyer. Into the dissipating heat of the early evening, they ambled down a pebbled walkway, past a line of white peonies. They had lasted longer this year, through the end of July. On their way by, Mr. Waverley picked her a blooming flower, twisting the short stem between his long fingers before handing it to her.

  Th
ey engaged in small talk about the weather, the season, and his estate in Oxfordshire.

  “I should invite you there this autumn, Miss Scott, and we shall go for long walks and talk about absolutely nothing at all,” he said, his voice raised and his tone enthusiastic.

  Lily suspected she’d be married by the end of summer, unable to visit anyone—even her parents—for a long time. “I’d like that very much, sir,” she said, a tinge of sadness in her voice.

  Behind them, she heard the steady footfall of Henry’s Hessian boots and the crunch of pebbles under Miss Appleton’s voluptuous form. Lily remained so alert to their conversation about the latest gossip of the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire that she didn’t notice an aggressive mother swan until it spread its beautiful wings and hissed toward Lily.

  In dramatic fashion, Mr. Waverley, who must have thought her in danger, wrapped his arms around her waist and tried cautioning them to step backward. They had gone only two paces when her foot found a three-inch hole, causing her to lose her balance, taking Mr. Waverley right along with her. Lily landed on top of him, his arms still around her waist and his hands splayed upon her back. Blinking, she stared down at his striking face, his heart pounding against hers.

  “They can be quite hostile,” he said, his blue eyes wide, his words breathless across her heated cheeks.

  “Well, that was exciting to watch.” Lily lifted her head to find Miss Appleton bent toward them; her delicate eyebrows cocked in amusement. Behind her, Henry stood, his head raised at a haughty angle and the muscle in his strong jaw flexing with unspoken words.

  Convinced he had assumed she’d somehow plotted this entire clumsy scene, Lily pushed herself up, with Mr. Waverley’s awkward help. Only, when she placed her right foot down, an unbearable pain sliced through her ankle, forcing her to grab the closest object to her: Mr. Waverley. Thrown off balance, she slammed against him, the intermingling of their bodies making him grunt, a sound heard for at least a quarter of a mile.

  “You’re hurt,” Mr. Waverley said, his voice husky, but full of concern.