by Anne Gracie
“Finn,” Lady Georgiana said crossly. The dog thumped a lazy tail but didn’t move. Ned had found the perfect spot needing scratching—just behind the ears.
Lady Georgiana gave Ned a narrow look, but it seemed to him that her glower had lightened somewhat.
“Ah, Mr. Galbraith!” A thin, immaculately dressed elderly lady stood in the doorway. Lady Salter, Lily’s aunt. Ned braced himself for another ladylike death threat.
She raised her lorgnette, made a comprehensive sweep of the room with it, then said, “Well, is it to be a wedding—or from the faces you’re all wearing, a funeral?” She turned to Cal. “The gel has done the sensible thing, I hope?”
Cal said, “Lily and Mr. Galbraith are betrothed.”
“Excellent.” She swept toward Ned like an angular, full-rigged galleon. “Mr. Galbraith, let me be the first to welcome you into the family. I am delighted, simply delighted that you have agreed to rescue my foolish niece from the consequences of her imprudence. I hope the gel will strive to be worthy of the honor you do her.”
The atmosphere in the room bristled with silent indignation.
“It is Lady Lily who does me the honor,” Ned responded coolly. “And I’ve already been given a most memorable welcome by the other members of her family. And if you will forgive me for correcting you on one or two points—”
Lady Salter raised her lorgnette with ominous significance.
Ned continued, “Lady Lily was not in the least imprudent; she is totally without blame and has shown nothing but grace and courage in dealing with a scandal not of her making.”
Lady Salter boot-button eyes snapped with irritation. “Nonsense, she—”
“In fact, if there is any blame to be assigned, it must go to your old friend, Lady Ampleforth, who has been most assiduous—”
Her bosom swelled. “Henrietta Ampleforth is no friend of mine—”
“Yet you must accept your fair share of blame for Lily’s predicament. It was to punish you that Lady Ampleforth attempted to blacken Lily’s good name.” He took Lily’s hand and kissed it lightly. “But I hold no grudge against the two of you—”
“Against me?” Lady Salter drew herself up, a praying mantis in high dudgeon. “It has nothing to do with—”
“It is Lady Lily’s forgiveness you must ask.”
“What? Ask Lily’s forgiveness?” She spat out the words like chips of glass.
“She is a generous-hearted girl. I’m sure you need not fear her disapproval,” Ned finished smoothly. Leaving Lady Salter sputtering with indignation, he turned to Lily. “Now, my dear, do you favor a long engagement or a short one?”
“Long,” said Lily’s relatives in a chorus.
“Short,” Lily said with a smile. Her eyes were shining. “The shorter, the better. How long does a special license take?”
“No special license!” Lady Salter rallied. “A quick marriage is what’s required, but not a hasty one. Ashendon, you will arrange for the banns to be called at St. George’s, Hanover Square. And send a notice of the betrothal to the Morning Post and the Chronicle. That should stop the gossip, or at least turn it into more acceptable channels. Lady Ampleforth”—she directed a waspish glare at Ned—“you may leave to me.”
Ned took his leave a short time later, feeling quite as though he’d escaped from the lion’s den. What a formidable pack of women. Thank God he’d ended up with Lily. She was the pick of the bunch.
Three and a half weeks and she’d be his wife. A married man; he couldn’t quite imagine it.
He’d been more or less alone since his first weeks in the army. Since that first battle. Surrounded by men, but essentially alone. A few friends, but not the kind of friends he’d had before.
And since he’d returned to civilian life, he hadn’t been close to any women, either. A few liaisons here and there, but again, no one close. An escort to the theater or to parties, a dance partner, a bedmate, but no intimacy other than physical. It was an arrangement that had suited him well.
The question was, could he achieve the same kind of balance in his marriage?
* * *
• • •
“I must say, Lily, Mr. Galbraith was quite impressive in there.” Rose linked arms with Lily as they climbed the stairs together.
“He was wonderful, wasn’t he?” Lily could hardly stop smiling. She was betrothed to Mr. Galbraith. To Edward.
“Anyone who can stand up to Aunt Agatha so coolly can’t be all bad.”
“He’s not bad at all. I keep telling you, Rose—”
“Finn liked him,” George commented from behind. “But then Finn likes anyone who knows exactly where to scratch.”
“Just because he’s not intimidated by Aunt Agatha and knows how to pat a dog doesn’t mean he’s the right husband for Lily.”
“The decision is made. I’m betrothed to Mr. Galbraith and that’s that,” Lily said firmly.
“It’s not over until you’re married,” Rose muttered.
“It’s not over until his ring is on her finger and she wakes up in his bed in the morning,” George said. “That’s what my granddad made sure of when he forced my father to marry my mother.” She shook her head. “Forcing people is bad. My father didn’t want to be married—he left my mother soon afterward and it fair broke her heart. So much misery, and all to make sure I was legitimate. And so that Mama wasn’t ostracized as a fallen woman.” She gave Lily a somber look. “But I don’t blame you, Lily. Being a fallen woman . . .” She shivered. “I knew one once, nice girl she was too, from a good family. She ended up drowning herself rather than face a daily shunning from all those who used to be her friends.”
“George!” Rose interrupted. “You’re supposed to be reassuring Lily that she doesn’t have to marry Mr. Galbraith, not frightening her with grim tales.”
“No, I’m not,” George retorted. “It’s not up to me who Lily does or does not marry. It’s her life and her decision.”
“And yet according to you the alternative is daily shunning—not that that would happen. If anyone dared to shun my sister, I . . . I’d slap them. Or worse,” Rose said fiercely.
“Nobody will need to slap anyone,” Lily said. “George is right, Rose. It’s my decision, and whatever the consequences, I’ll deal with them. Myself.”
There was a short silence.
“You’ve changed,” George said. “Somehow, you’re . . . tougher.”
Lily glanced at Rose and saw that her sister agreed. “Being abducted and drugged and locked under a seat for several days, well, it makes one think. All my life people have looked after me, but when it comes to the crunch—to the big things in life—you’re essentially on your own. I used to worry more about what people thought of me, but now I realize how futile that is. People will think what they want to think, regardless. I did nothing wrong, and I still ended up in a mess.”
Rose pounced. “So you do admit it’s a mess. Then you don’t have to marry—”
“It’s done, Rose. Like it or not, my reputation is ruined. Stop worrying about me and consider the implications for yourselves. Remember how Emm used to tell us what one of us did reflected on the others?”
Rose gave her a worried look. “I hope you’re not marrying for my sake. It’s not worth it.”
“Doesn’t matter to me what people think.” George fondled Finn’s ears. “I don’t plan on getting married anyway.”
Lily glanced at Rose, but she said nothing more. Rose never talked about her marriage prospects these days. When they were girls at school she used to talk about it constantly—they both did, dreaming of whom they might marry. Now it was Aunt Agatha who harped continually on about Rose’s marriage prospects. Rose rarely spoke of it at all.
Lily slipped an arm around her sister’s waist. “I’m not getting married for your sake, Rose. I’m marrying Mr. Galbraith for
my own reasons. So stop fretting and be happy for me.”
Rose sighed. “I’ll try.” But she didn’t sound very confident.
* * *
• • •
Three and a half weeks to the wedding didn’t leave much time to order a new dress and make all the arrangements, but when the three girls and Emm arrived at the House of Chance, Daisy Chance, the owner, laughed at their anxiety and assured them she’d make something special in plenty of time.
“I’m thinkin’ lace, Lady Lily, over creamy satin—white’ll make you look sallow, but cream will make your skin glow like a pearl. Short puffed sleeves and a satin band here.” She gestured with her hands. “What do you think?”
“It sounds lovely.” Every dress Miss Chance had made her made Lily feel beautiful, and she trusted this would be the same.
The dressmaker eyed her shrewdly. “I reckon you’ve lost a bit of weight, Lady Lily. If you’d care to step into the fitting room, I’ll measure you up again.” She drew back the green velvet curtains and escorted Lily to the fitting rooms at the back of the shop.
She bustled about, taking Lily’s measurements and making small talk, which Lily responded to absently. It was so uncomfortable, preparing for a wedding that none of her family was happy about. It should have been a joyous occasion, but instead, everyone was pretending.
Rose and George had conceded that Edward wasn’t quite as bad as they thought; yes, he’d defended her against Aunt Agatha—they did like that. But they knew he wasn’t in love—he’d made no pretense that he was—and they were upset that Lily would never get her happy ending. They were still certain she was infatuated with an imaginary version of Mr. Galbraith.
She couldn’t help what they thought. She would marry him, and then love would grow, and they would see what a wonderful, kind, protective husband he would be.
“You all right there, Lady Lily?” Miss Chance asked. “Something on your mind?”
“Oh, no, I was just—just thinking about a book I read recently,” she lied. She couldn’t possibly share her doubts and worries with Miss Chance, be she ever so nice and friendly.
“What was it called? Lift your arms, please—yes, that’s right.”
“Persuasion, by—”
“By the author of Pride and Prejudice.”
“Yes, have you read it too?”
Miss Chance wrote some measurements in a little book. “Not yet. We’ve started it, but we’re only into the first couple of chapters. How’s that Sir Walter—don’t he love himself? Mind you, I have one or two clients just like him. It’s what I like about her characters—they’re just like people you know.”
They chatted about the book for a few minutes, then Lily said, “You said, ‘We’ve started it.’ Who is ‘we’—if you don’t mind me asking?”
“It’s a group—a literary society I go to, run by me—by a lady I know. Several ladies take it in turn to read the books aloud, and the rest of us sit and listen and then talk about them in the interval—nothing too learned, though. It’s all just for fun. I take me embroidery sometimes.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Lily exclaimed. “I love having books read to me.”
“Me too,” Miss Chance said. “Well, that’s you done, Lady Lily.” She wound up her tape measure and closed the little book with Lily’s measurements in it. “You’ve lost a bit of weight, as I thought, but I’ll leave a good bit of seam in, in case you put it back on in the next few weeks. Now, don’t you fret, it will be ready in plenty of time. Now, what about nightclothes? Come through here and I’ll show you me honeymoon specials.”
She ushered Lily and the others through to another little room, an Aladdin’s cave of nightgowns and negligees in the softest, flimsiest silks and satins and gauzes, trimmed with lace and ribbons; they were the prettiest—and the most improper—garments Lily had ever seen.
“Oh, my, these are so beautiful,” she breathed. The thought of wearing one of these delicious nightgowns on her wedding night, and Edward’s eyes when he saw her in it, was at once exciting and nerve-racking.
“I wore one of Miss Chance’s beautiful nightgowns on my wedding night,” Emm said quietly. All three girls looked at her, and she blushed. “It was a wedding gift from one of my former pupils.” She stroked one of the silky nightgowns reminiscently, and the three girls exchanged glances and tried not to giggle.
“So how many will you want, Lady Lily?”
“Five,” said Emm. She caught Lily’s surprised look and said, “My own convenient marriage started with one of these lovely nightgowns. Let us give yours the best chance we can.”
“And wiv a gorgeous Chance nightgown, how can you lose?” Miss Chance finished with a grin.
* * *
• • •
Ned paused in front of the Bow Street office. He’d been going to hire a runner to track down Nixon. More than a week since he’d returned Lily to her family, and Cal still had no news of the swine.
Be damned to Cal’s stance that Lily was his own concern. Cal hadn’t seen the state of her when he’d found her on the road. Cal hadn’t seen Nixon give her a vicious backhander across the face. Cal hadn’t held her while she struggled against the filthy drug Nixon had forced down her throat.
As Lily’s betrothed, Ned now had the right to act on her behalf.
But on the very steps of the Bow Street office, he realized that a runner wasn’t the answer. If Nixon was apprehended by an officer of the law, the matter would have to go to court. Lily’s name would be splashed across the newspapers and the gossip would be worse than ever. She’d endured enough of that. He would act privately on the matter.
He turned away and headed to the Apocalypse Club, where former and current military officers gathered to relax. London was full of former soldiers with not enough to do. He’d surely be able to find some reliable men who would track down Nixon for a handsome fee.
And after they’d caught him? He’d work out what to do later.
As he passed through Covent Garden he noticed a man and a young woman beside a flower stall. The sweet fragrance of the flowers drifted to him, even over the general odor of London. As he watched, the man picked out a bunch of creamy little flowers and handed them to the girl. Blushing with pleasure, she raised the bouquet to her face and inhaled the fragrance. The man paid and the couple walked off, arm in arm, their happiness visible to the world.
A courting couple . . .
Ned watched them go, then continued on to the Apocalypse Club. From the minute he walked in, the comments started, half joking, from friends and acquaintances alike, all variations on the theme of him being caught in parson’s mousetrap. It was all meant in good humor, he was sure, but it irritated him, all the same.
The inference was that he had no choice, that he’d been trapped, forced into marriage, which, while it was true, was also rather insulting to his own independence. It was also, by implication, particularly unflattering to Lady Lily, though no one was foolish enough to mention her by name.
He endured the jokes and banter with apparent equanimity, conducted his business briskly, found the names and addresses of several men who’d be glad of a little paid employment and left the club in a bad mood.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been irritated by the jovial commiseration of his fellows; he was widely perceived as the victim in all this.
Which made Lily the villain. She was the one blamed, the one seen to benefit most by the marriage, the one who was trapping him.
The thought left a sour taste in his mouth. On impulse, he walked back to the Covent Garden flower seller and bought a posy of the same sweetly fragranced little flowers that the courting couple had bought. He had them tied with a blue ribbon and made arrangements for them to be delivered to Lily’s address with a brief note.
He needed to make a more public show of courting her. Then it wouldn’t look to the ou
tside world quite like the scandal-forced arrangement it was. A man had his pride.
Passing Hatchards bookshop, he recalled how much Lily had enjoyed the book he’d read to her in the carriage. He went in and ordered a volume of poetry to be delivered to her as well. Girls liked poetry, and the bookseller assured him anything by Lord Byron would delight a young lady. He added a short note to go with it and was about to seal it when an idea occurred to him. He opened the note, scrawled a postscript, then sealed it shut.
He left the bookshop in a much happier frame of mind. The appearance of a courtship, that was what he needed.
* * *
• • •
“A parcel for you, Lady Lily.” Burton, the butler, presented it on a silver tray.
Lily seized the small oblong packet and unwrapped it eagerly. “It’s a book,” she said in surprise. “Who would send me a book?”
“There’s a note,” Rose pointed out.
Lily broke the note open, stared at it for a long frustrating moment, then passed it to Rose, who read it aloud. “‘To Lady Lily, with my sincere regards, Edward Galbraith.’ And there’s a postscript.” She squinted at it. “His writing is atrocious, but I think he’s asking to escort you to Almack’s on Wednesday.”
“Almack’s? But Galbraith never goes to Almack’s,” George said. “He’s famous for it.”
“Well, that’s what it says.” Rose pursed her lips and contemplated the note thoughtfully. “I wonder if he knows he must have a voucher to be admitted.”
“I’m sure he does,” Lily said. “Everybody knows it.” Emm had been granted vouchers for them all since the start of the season.
“Then there’s the question of whether the patronesses will approve him or not.”
“But surely they will,” Lily said. It would be terrible if they didn’t.
Rose shrugged. “He is a rake, after all. And they might wish to punish him for his refusal to attend in the past.”