Marry in Scandal

by Anne Gracie

* * *

  • • •

  Friends by day, lovers by night—or whenever the mood struck. It was more difficult than Lily expected, keeping her feelings in check. They wanted to spill from her, to bubble up like a fountain. But all he wanted from her was friendship.

  He made love to her almost every night. And if not at night, then he came to her in the morning. That was Lily’s favorite, coming slowly awake to the feel of Edward’s mouth and hands caressing her, feeling ripples of pleasure coil through her.

  And then his possession, sometimes slow and dreamy, as sweet a thing as Lily had ever experienced, sometimes swift and fast and . . . glorious.

  Of course it engendered emotion, and she refused to deny it. If he wanted to, he could, but Lily knew what she felt. She learned not to speak of it, for anytime she so much as hinted at an emotion, he withdrew, like the sea anemone he’d shown her in a rock pool, closing up at the slightest touch.

  She was loving the seaside in all its variations. Most mornings they rode down to the beach before breakfast, long, leisurely rides together, sometimes racing—he nearly always won—sometimes just walking the horses quietly. And occasionally talking.

  At least Lily talked. Getting information out of Edward was like talking to an oyster. He was a hard man to know. It was as if he’d built walls around certain aspects of his life and placed Keep Out signs all over them. Even with the things he was prepared to talk about, any details or feelings were sparse; he stuck to a few bare facts and left her to fill in the gaps.

  “My father and I didn’t get on,” he’d told her one time. “Never did. I went to live with Grandpapa when I was six. The old man raised me.”

  “And your father and mother?”

  “Dead.” That was it—his life in a nutshell. With no embellishments. It was quite frustrating.

  She knew better than to probe him about his wartime experiences—his grandfather had warned her about that—but even on the subject of his years with his grandfather and the things he’d done as a child, up came that wall with its big Keep Out signs.

  Questions she thought would be harmless, about boyhood mischief, or playing Robin Hood that he’d once mentioned, made him clam right up, as chatty as a doorpost. He’d change the subject, or make some excuse, remembering something he needed to be doing.

  It was a mystery. She had her own secrets and that kept her cautious, but she kept trying.

  “How old were you when you went away to school?” she asked him one morning as they walked their horses in the shallow waves. Up to now, the conversation on his side had been a series of one-word answers.

  “Twelve.”

  “Did you like it or hate it?”

  He shrugged. “Neither.”

  “Didn’t you resent being sent away?” She’d had an impression that he’d enjoyed living with his grandfather.

  “Not really. I didn’t want to go, but schooling is necessary for boys. I was lucky. Most boys are sent away much younger.”

  With a little smile she edged her horse closer, reached out and placed a hand on his forehead.

  He jerked his head back. “What are you doing?”

  “That was four sentences in a row. I thought you might be delirious.”

  His mouth twitched. “You little—”

  “Catch me if you can!” Laughing, she urged her horse into a gallop. The sand was firm and they flew across it, her horse’s hooves splashing in the shallows. She could hear his horse coming up fast behind her. “First one past that stump is the winner,” she called back, and pointed to a tree stump lying high up on the sand past the tide line. It was low and smooth, about two feet high.

  She raced toward it and readied herself for the jump. But at the last instant her horse balked, and Lily found herself flying through the air.

  She landed with a thud. And lay still. Unmoving.

  “Lily!” Ned, just seconds behind her, flung himself off his horse and knelt down in the sand beside her. Her eyes were closed. She lay still and pale, not breathing.

  “Lily, oh, God—” He grabbed her hand.

  Her eyes flew open and she dragged in a long ragged breath. “Winded,” she gasped, and Ned’s own heart began to beat again. She gasped painfully for air and he could do nothing to help her.

  She was alive, that was all he knew.

  “Where are you hurt?” He ran his hands feverishly over her body.

  “Not hurt, winded,” she wheezed. She sat up, still gulping in air.

  Ned sat back on his heels and watched her. His heart was thudding crazily. He’d thought he’d lost her, thought she’d killed herself.

  “That was a stupid thing to do. Never do that again!”

  She shrugged. “Most horses refuse a jump at some stage.”

  “You shouldn’t be jumping at all!”

  She frowned. “Why not?” Her breathing was smoother now. His pulse was still wildly erratic.

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  She looked at the fallen stump. “It’s barely two feet high. My first pony could have jumped it in his sleep.”

  “I don’t care.” Ned drew in a slow, deep breath, seeking to present a calmer, more controlled appearance. “You are not to jump again.”

  “Because I fell? I’m not hurt.”

  He stood and put out a hand to pull her to her feet. She picked up the skirt of her habit, walked across to where her horse was calmly cropping grass and gathered the trailing reins. “What do you think you’re doing?” he snapped.

  She looked surprised. “Getting back on, of course. Will you give me a boost, please?”

  “No, you’ll ride back with me.”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “Are you angry with me?”

  “No.” Ned didn’t know—or want to consider—what he was feeling. All he knew was that for a few appalling seconds he’d thought she was dead. “But you’re not riding that wretched beast again.”

  “He’s all right. It’s the first time he’s balked. You should always get back on a horse after you’ve taken a toss.”

  “I don’t care.” He collected the reins of her gelding, mounted his own horse and rode to the stump. “Up!”

  She gave him a long thoughtful look, and for a moment he thought she was about to be stubborn, but then she gave a shrug and capitulated. She climbed onto the stump and gave him her hand. “On the count of three.” He swung her up in front of him so that she was sitting more or less across him, in his lap.

  They rode in silence. She was sitting bolt upright. He drew her back against him, and when her body softened against him and she laid her cheek against his chest, something inside him settled.

  Ned tried to think of something to talk about—other than what had just happened—and he recalled that they’d been talking about school. Before she’d almost killed herself.

  “When were you sent away to school?” he asked her.

  “It was after Mama died. Papa sent us—Rose and me—off to Bath, to Miss Mallard’s school there—the place where Cal and Emm’s wedding breakfast was held.”

  She continued talking. Ned wasn’t really listening. He’d had a shock. He’d thought he was immune, could keep himself separate and independent.

  He glanced down at the woman in his arms. His wife. Her hair blew about in the breeze. Without thinking he stroked it back off her face. And kept it there, cupping her head protectively.

  What had he done?

  His horse ambled along. Birds squabbled in the hedgerow. Overhead, a hawk circled.

  “Are you happy?” he found himself asking. He hadn’t intended to ask such a thing. He held his breath, waiting for her answer.

  She turned her head and gave him a smile he could not doubt. “Very happy.”

  He rode on in silence, his heart full of things he had no words for, things he did not want to feel but co
uld not help.

  * * *

  • • •

  When they returned to Tremayne Park, there was a letter waiting for Edward. He broke open the seal and scanned the letter. His face turned grim.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I have to go to London.”

  “When? Now?”

  He nodded.

  “Very well, I’ll start packing at once.” She hurried toward the stairs.

  “No, you stay here. You don’t need to come.”

  She turned around and stared down at him. “To London? Of course I do. I’m not staying here without you.” She met his gaze. “There’s no point arguing, Edward. I’m not staying here without you.”

  He stared at her a moment, then made an impatient gesture. “Very well, if you insist on coming, we’ll leave in the morning.” He disappeared for the rest of the day.

  She questioned him over dinner, and all he would say was that it was nothing, just business, men’s business, and was she sure she didn’t want to stay here?

  She was adamant that she didn’t. What was a honeymoon without the groom?

  He came to her that night, and made love to her with slow, intense deliberation, lavishing every part of her body with the most exquisite attention. She wasn’t sure whether it was a benediction or a farewell. Whichever it was, her climax—climaxes—came with tears because of the power of the feelings he’d engendered.

  He dried her tears tenderly. And made love to her again. And for the first time ever he slept the night in her bed, curled around her body like a big protective watchdog, warm and strong. And in his sleep he gathered her to him, holding her against him, skin to skin, so tenderly Lily felt like weeping.

  Something had changed that morning at the beach, when her horse had thrown her. Something was different in her husband, she was sure of it. She could feel it.

  “Trust your instincts,” Aunt Dottie had told her.

  She did, and she didn’t want this, this honeymoon, this magical private time together, to stop. Especially not now, when they seemed on the brink of something wonderful . . .

  Shortly after dawn he woke her, and two hours later they were on their way to London.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I speak what appears to me the general opinion; and where an opinion is general, it is usually correct.

  —JANE AUSTEN, MANSFIELD PARK

  The carriage pulled up outside the very grand Pulteney Hotel. “Why are we here?” Lily asked.

  “It’s where we’ll be living for the next few weeks.”

  “In a hotel? I assumed we’d be living in Galbraith House.”

  “We will, but it hasn’t been used for years.” He grimaced. “I inspected it before the wedding and realized it needed a complete refurbishment. They’ll still be working on it—I was hoping it would be ready by the time we’d finished our honeymoon, but since we came home early . . .” He frowned at her expression. “Didn’t I mention it?”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d be interested in the details. There was water damage, so the whole job was bigger than I’d imagined. They’ve had to fix the roof, replace a good deal of plumbing—I ordered some more modern installations while they were at it—and once all the repairs are done, they’ll need to replaster a number of rooms. And then there are the furnishings and decoration to arrange—the old furniture is completely out of date, and much of the wallpaper is water damaged and stained.”

  “I see.”

  He shrugged, his mind clearly elsewhere. “That’s why I thought you’d prefer to stay at Tremayne Park. But no harm done, we’ll live here until the house is ready. Now, if you’ll pardon me, my dear—”

  “Who is arranging the new wallpaper and furnishings?”

  He frowned. “I left the running of things in the hands of my man of business, Atkins. He’ll hire someone.” He paused. “Why? Do you wish to be involved? I thought you’d find it tedious.”

  Lily laughed. “Tedious? Setting up my own home and making it just as I would like it? Choosing wallpaper and curtains and furniture and rugs? I would love it.”

  He blinked. “Really? You could be bothered with all that nonsense?”

  “Truly I could imagine nothing better.”

  “Then do whatever you’d like.” He took a sheet of the hotel notepaper and scribbled a note. “I’ll have this sent to Atkins and tell him he’s to work under your orders. And now . . .” He picked up his hat and walked toward the door.

  “Wait,” Lily said. “Isn’t there anything you want to tell me before you leave?”

  He looked wary. “What sort of thing?”

  “Any furniture you want to keep, rooms you have a particular fondness for, anything you don’t want changed?”

  He snorted. “I haven’t lived in that house since I was six. As far as I’m concerned you could toss everything out and start new—in fact, that’s what I’d prefer. Whatever you do will be fine by me. Now, I really must go.”

  Lily was stunned by his apparent indifference. But he’d given her carte blanche to arrange his house—her new home, and she couldn’t wait to see it.

  Leaving Edward’s valet and her maid to see to the luggage and unpacking, Lily went immediately to Ashendon House, her old family home.

  Cal and Emm were out, but Rose and George, and even Finn the lugubrious wolfhound, gave her a rapturous welcome.

  “You’re back early,” Rose said once the initial greetings were over. “Has something happened? Has that man—”

  Lily cut her off. “There’s nothing wrong, Rose. I’m very happy.”

  “She looks well—even glowing,” George observed.

  Lily laughed. “I don’t know about glowing, but I am well, and very happy.”

  Rose looked skeptical. “Then why are you back early from your honeymoon?”

  “Oh, some business Edward had to attend to,” she said airily. She wished she knew what he was doing, but she had business of her own to see to now. “I have two reasons for coming straight here,” she said. “The first is, of course, to see you both—I missed you so much.”

  Rose exchanged glances with George. “And the second?”

  Lily decided to ignore their suspicions. They’d soon realize that Edward was good to her. It might not be the love match she wanted, but she was happy enough.

  “Edward is having Galbraith House refurbished. He arranged for the physical repairs to be done while we were away, and they’re not quite finished, but that’s not important. The thing is, he’s given me permission to make all the decisions about the decoration and furnishings. I have a free hand with everything: wallpaper, lighting, floor coverings, curtains, furniture—everything!”

  George frowned. “And you’re happy about this? Sounds like a lot of work.”

  “It’ll be fun, George,” Rose said.

  George gave her a doubtful look. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  Lily glanced out the window. “As a matter of fact, I thought I might go around to Galbraith House this afternoon while it’s still light, and see how it’s all going and get some ideas. Do you two want to come with me?”

  * * *

  • • •

  “All this is frightfully old-fashioned,” Rose declared. “Thank goodness Galbraith is allowing you to order new furniture.”

  “What is this stuff?” George wandered around, examining the furniture they’d found under dust sheets. “I’ve never seen anything like it. A sofa with crocodile legs, animal feet on everything, people who are half man, half beast . . .”

  “It’s the Egyptian style,” Rose explained. “It was all the rage when we were children.” She pointed. “That’s a sphinx, some of them are gods, I think.”

  “And this table and those chairs are dogs,” George observed, stroking the head. “
Aren’t they beautiful?”

  “Edward told me to throw everything out.”

  “You can’t throw these dogs out,” George objected, her hands going around them protectively.

  “You can have them if you want,” Lily said. “We’re going to have to buy everything new.” The prospect was delightful. “But first we must decide how to dress the walls—the head builder said they’d be ready to paper them in a few days.”

  They wandered through the various rooms, making suggestions and discussing possibilities. Rose wrote them all down in a little notebook. The light started to fade, and Lily suddenly remembered there was a place she wanted to see. “I need to see the nursery.”

  Rose and George immediately stared at her middle. “Isn’t it too soon to tell?” George asked.

  Lily laughed. “Not that, silly. Edward lived here until he was six. I want to see the part of the house he lived in as a little boy.”

  She hurried upstairs in search of the nursery. The others followed. They found it eventually in the attic, a big, bare, dusty room, with two small bedchambers off it, one for Edward and one for his nurse, Lily assumed.

  Not a very appealing place for a child, she thought. Gloomy gray paint, and no pictures or any decoration on the walls. Gas hadn’t been installed this high up, so the only light was coming from the slanted windows in the roof. No fireplace.

  That window . . . She glanced around. George and Rose were poking through a low row of cupboards. A few toys, a small wooden sword—just one—and a moth-eaten toy dog. Remnants of a lonely childhood.

  With some difficulty Lily forced open one of the windows, stood on her tiptoes and gazed out, thinking of the small dreamy boy who’d stood on a chair, gazing out over the rooftops and chimneys, as he explored mysterious imaginary lands half hidden in the swirling smog.

  It wasn’t mysterious, it was depressing. And this was no place to bring up a child, Lily decided.

  “Come on, it’s getting dark and there’s nothing here,” Rose said.

  George looked at Lily. “Still think this is going to be fun?”