“This is a letter from your friend Cindy.”
“It is.”
Lily could have done without her mulish tone. She handed the missive back. “It’s personal. What does Sophie have to do with it?”
“Didn’t you read it?” Willa moaned.
Lily ducked beneath her outstretched arm to avoid the jab of the paper. Unfortunately, her sister took that evasion as an invitation to chase her around the kitchen with it as she tried in vain to ready a pot of tea. When she lifted the kettle, it felt suspiciously light.
“Where’s the water?” They usually had a bucket at hand.
“The cobs haven’t come today,” Willa answered, waving her hand through the air in dismissal.
Lily gritted her teeth and tried to recall the last time she’d paid the water carriers. It had taken all of two days attempting to haul water from the nearest cistern on her own to convince her that the expense was a necessity. Although the family had been well-to-do before Papa’s untimely death, it would have cost a prodigious amount to build a pipe directly to the house. They’d always had footmen to do the work instead.
Until this past year, when Lily had had to dismiss the last of the staff with good recommendations.
“If you won’t read the letter, I’ll read it to you.”
She would do it, too. The nearest pump was a ten-minute walk away, though with Willa’s tenacity, she would have followed Lily all the way back to Bond Street. And she’d put on a production of it, too.
Sighing, Lily turned to her sister. “I promised Sophie I wouldn’t cast judgment before she rejoined us.”
A breeze might have tickled Willa’s ears, for all the consideration she gave the protest. “The letter references an invitation. Cindy has convinced her mother to add us onto the list of guests for her dinner party on Monday.”
Lily turned away from her sister. She didn’t want to see the hopeful expression on Willa’s face. Somehow, even after all of the hardships they had endured these past few years, Willa had never given up hope that their lives would return to the perfection they had been before Papa had died. Sophie was more practical, and Lily…
Lily was downright cynical. For good reason.
“Perhaps we still have water stashed in the scullery.” She usually reserved a bucket or two there to wash the dishes, but she wasn’t above appropriating them for tea. Especially after a day like today.
Willa chased after her as she left the kitchen.
“Lil, are you listening? Sophie thinks we shouldn’t go.”
We shouldn’t. Lily pressed her lips together and carried on down the narrow corridor and into the cool, dark room where they did the washing. She found a bucket which, upon inspection, proved to hold clean water. She hoisted it by the handle and turned.
Only to find her path blocked by the slender behemoth she called a sister.
“You can’t let her do this, Lily. This concerns our future.”
With a heavy sigh, Lily returned the bucket to the floor and eased the ache in her back. Her sister’s slipper tapped out a frantic tattoo on the worn wood floor. “Willa—”
“No.” Willa made a face, all the more grotesque because of the shadows. “Don’t Willa me. We must go!”
“Cindy is the daughter of a baron.”
“My point precisely,” came the soft, pointed remark in the corridor beyond.
Her face contorting into a mask of grief and irritation, Willa turned to address their older sister, out of Lily’s sight. “Cindy is my friend.”
Lily hefted the bucket once more and attempted to be the voice of reason before the pair degenerated into pointless bickering again. Huffing, she shoved her way into the corridor. Although Willa didn’t seem to care about her burden, Sophie stepped aside at once and gestured for Lily to pass into the kitchen. She did, both sisters on her heels.
Once she deposited the bucket next to the stove, she turned to look at the pair. “The party is in Mayfair.”
“So?”
Willa had always fancied herself of a higher position than her lot.
Gently, Sophie pointed out, “Mayfair is a neighborhood of lords and ladies. We are neither.”
“Neither was Papa. And why do you think he rubbed elbows with them? It wasn’t for pleasure. It was for business.”
When her sisters stared at her blankly, Willa put on a flirtatious air. She danced around Lily, her tone dripping honey as she trailed her fingers along the sleeve of Lily’s worn day dress. “Miss Bancroft, what a lovely necklace you’re wearing.” Willa faced her sisters and brushed her fingers over her bare collarbone, affecting a bashful look. “Why, this? My sister made it. She has a shop off Bond Street, you know the one.”
As Willa transformed from shy coquette to her usual boisterous self, Lily stared at her, flabbergasted. Had her sister’s insistence on hobnobbing with London’s elite been to further the business all along?
“Besides, Cindy isn’t like that,” Willa protested. “She doesn’t care if Papa didn’t have a title. We walk together when I attend Hyde Park.”
Lily frowned. “When have you gone to Hyde Park?” Unlike the lofty ladies of Mayfair, that esteemed destination was not within easy walking distance of the Bancroft house.
Willa huffed in derision. She clutched the letter to her chest, as if afraid they might shred it to pieces. “I go during the day while you’re at the shop. We have to keep up our connections, or we’ll never advance.”
Then again, maybe she, like so many young women, wished to ensnare a rich husband. At this point, Willa would do better to lower her standards. The family had been far reduced. No wealthy man would offer for a Bancroft sister, beautiful though they both were.
A crease formed in Sophie’s forehead, making her look pained. “We haven’t been invited because you’ve made friends. We’ve been invited as the entertainment.”
Willa thrust out her chin so high that Lily saw more of the underside than she did of her sister’s expression. “That isn’t true!”
The crinkles at the corners of Sophie’s eyes deepened. However weary, she drew herself up. Unlike Willa, whose voice could have woken the dead in Westminster Abbey, Sophie kept her voice as muted as the sun behind a nest of clouds. Ever sensible, Sophie’s soft contralto could shake mountains.
Although resigned to their plight, Sophie always seemed burdened with the hope that someday it would ease. However, unlike Lily, she did little to change their lot in life. Lily believed in hard work, not in wishful thinking—and not in their thin connections with the rich and powerful.
“Don’t be daft, Willa. We have neither money nor breeding. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“At least one of us has beauty.”
Despite the fact that Sophie was approaching thirty, she was more beautiful than half the young debutantes in London, but recent months had drawn lines of weariness around her nose and mouth, aging her.
Glaring, Willa turned to pin Lily under her stare. “What do you say? Should we go?”
We can’t.
Willa didn’t let her get a word in edgewise. As if Lily had already answered, she hugged the letter and spun in a circle. “We’ll need new dresses, of course. If we aren’t presentable, Sophie will be right.” She sounded as though she announced an impending death in the family. Her eyes, now bright with unshed tears, returned to Lily. “Everything I have is darned.”
Despite three years of rapidly dwindling means, Willa hadn’t yet adjusted.
Lily would have sacrificed every happy memory she’d ever had with Adam if she could have capitulated to the pleading in her sister’s eyes at that moment. She wanted the world for her sisters. Swallowing hard, she turned her face away.
On the small, worn table next to the door, on a tarnished silver platter that she was surprised they hadn’t yet sold, another letter rested. This one unto
uched. Everyone knew the seal. The largest of their creditors.
Her blood roared in her ears. Lily drew in ragged, halted breaths as she reached for the letter. She knew of only one reason for the man to be contacting The Esteemed Mrs. Bancroft. Thank heavens no one had given the letter to Mama.
I have more time. Lily had to have more time. Her wedding ring cut into her palm as she fisted it. Aside from that ring, she had sold everything from the cutlery to the carpets. She’d even used her sisters’ dowries to stem the stanch of the debt of keeping her father’s possessions rather than having them go to whatever man the Crown deemed deserving. Her hand trembled as she slipped her fingernail into the wax, breaking the seal and opening it. All of her hard work… It couldn’t have been for naught.
What would become of Mama if she were held accountable for her husband’s debts? She wasn’t a strong enough woman to survive debtors’ prison. The lump in her throat painful, Lily unfolded the page. The words danced in front of her eyes.
A hand gripped her by the elbow. A second later, she gagged on the bitter-smelling salts Willa carried with her. She gulped for air, blinking to rid the spots on her eyes.
“Lily, are you unwell?”
Her older sister’s form wavered just past Willa’s shoulder, lips pressed tightly together.
“Tea,” Lily croaked, shoving aside Willa’s arm as she struggled to rein in her spinning head.
“I’ll make it,” her younger sister volunteered.
The moment she turned away and corked the salts, Lily gulped for breath. Sophie grasped her by the elbow, but Lily no longer needed steadying. Perhaps she needed to have her eyes checked.
Too softly for Willa to hear above the clatter of her chore, Sophie whispered, “I know when you’re not well. You haven’t been well since you came home.”
Lily met her sister’s concerned gaze for only a moment before she dropped her eyes to the letter fisted in her hand.
Equally quiet, she whispered, “We can’t go to the dinner party. I can’t find money for new clothes.”
“I know.”
A world of understanding passed between them with those two words. As Willa poked at the coals in the oven, oblivious, Sophie confessed, “I was trying to play the villain to spare you the need.”
Sophie was the dearest, kindest soul in the world. Lily would do anything for her.
Except sell my wedding ring.
Perhaps she wouldn’t need to now. Cautiously, she hazarded a look at the letter again, afraid she’d misread.
Sophie stared at their sister, who hummed as she fetched three clean teacups from the cupboard. Willa walked from cloud to cloud, certain she would get her way in the end. But Lily couldn’t give it.
Or could she?
No. They hadn’t a penny to spare.
Sophie whispered, “I don’t think she has her heart set on this dinner party in order to see her friend.”
Lily made a questioning noise in her throat as she folded the page in her hand haphazardly.
Sophie exhaled shortly. For her, that was near to an exasperated sigh. “Willa. I don’t think she’s set on attending the party to see her friend. At least, not Lady Breeding’s daughter. I think she’s found a suitor—or fancies that she’s found one.”
Say it isn’t so. Lily searched her sister’s eyes, finding only conviction. This could prove disastrous.
Lily wanted to see her sister happy—of course she did. But the sort of man who met a woman in Hyde Park must assume that woman had money. A dowry. Something Willa no longer had. Her sister had been cut deeply when her well of suitors had dried up, following Papa’s death three years ago. If anything, this was a recipe for heartbreak.
And, like always, she would blame Lily for being too stringent.
Lily fiddled with the letter, folding down the edge. Not bothering to lower her voice as she joined Willa near the oven, Sophie asked, “Is it important news?”
“No.” Lily’s voice emerged like a croak.
Not a lie. Important couldn’t adequately describe the contents of the letter. If it was true. The news could be life altering. The shop, the house, every debt they had accrued. They had all been sold. And moreover, Lily recognized the name of the man who’d bought them.
Another man she hadn’t seen in four years. An absence she had felt almost as deeply as that of her husband. Was it a coincidence that he, too, was back in London?
And what did it mean that Reid had purchased their debts?
…
When Reid Chatterley had disappeared from her life without warning while she had been in Bristol on her honeymoon, Lily had assumed that he had finally escaped on an expedition to Egypt. They had been the fastest of friends growing up, although his family line, rich from investing in the coal mines up north, was infused with noble blood, whereas hers had none. Yet he had never sent her so much as a note.
She thought she’d put the sting of his silence behind her, but the resurgence of the hot, tight feeling in her chest as she stared at his door proved otherwise. The direction listed in the letter she’d received from the creditor was not his family’s address. It was a shambling, narrow townhouse in a barren part of London. Despite the men and women shuffling about, the street seemed as cold as winter.
A mustachioed man wearing a turban opened the door. Lily cleared her throat twice before she managed to speak. “Lily B-bancroft.” She stuttered over her maiden name, not certain which to give. Reid had vociferously protested her marriage.
For good reason, as it turned out.
In a small voice, she asked, “Is Mr. Chatterley at home?”
The shadows of evening reached out their tendrils toward her, threatening to swallow her whole. When had she turned into such a ninny? Setting her jaw, she thrust her shoulders back and lifted her chin.
“He’ll be expecting me. We have an appointment.”
The footman’s eyebrows threatened to disappear beneath the edge of his turban. Despite his incredulity, he stepped aside. “Of course, Mrs. Bancroft. If you’ll wait here, I’ll see if he is ready to see you.”
Lily clenched her teeth to stifle her relief. It was short-lived. What if Reid turned her away? He hadn’t had the wherewithal to send a letter for all these years. Why, now, had he bought the family’s debt?
Palpitations plagued her. She couldn’t remain here, in this barren entryway, while she waited for a response. She had to see for herself.
As the darkness of the corridor swallowed every part of the footman save his footsteps, Lily gathered her skirts and bolted after him. The light of the entryway faded as she followed, but ahead a spark flared as her quarry lit another candle. He didn’t appear to notice her but made his way up a narrow set of stairs to the first floor. She followed.
Although she might have imagined an absentminded man like Reid to have neglected to decorate his entryway, the farther she penetrated the house, the more uneasy she became. These stark walls and floors did not bespeak a man returning from an expedition. Where were the relics, the maps, the portraits? He’d left no volumes open on end tables scattered throughout the house, as if he’d forgotten them when something new caught his attention. The house might well have been a graveyard; even the cheery green wallpaper made her queasy.
At last, she reached the footman as he stopped in front of a closed door and rapped sharply. Frowning, he turned on her. “Madam, I asked—”
“Enter.”
Lily obeyed the second voice, muffled by the thickness of the door. She reached for the latch, throwing the door wide before the footman barred her way. As she strode inside, she expected to find everything the house was lacking, the telltale signs that Reid lived here.
The closest she found were the two narrow bookcases flanking the worn oak desk behind which Reid sat. Neither bookcase was full. No books piled atop the desk or spilled onto the floor
. A sad potted plant in a plain terra-cotta pot stood sentinel over a threadbare rug. Where were his relics?
Had he hidden them? His only motive for absconding without a word must have been in pursuit of his passions. Why, then, did he have nothing more to show for them save for the lines framing his eyes and mouth?
In the four years since she’d seen him last, Reid Chatterley had changed. The plump-cheeked man who’d had ink stains on his fingers, worn his cravat askew and his hair disheveled, had returned…austere. She recognized him from resemblance alone. The absentminded youth whose eyes had lit with hope and possibility every time he’d cracked open a book stared at her with his hands clasped neatly atop his desk, shielding the papers that had grasped his attention.
Lily didn’t know the man behind those eyes.
Her courage faltered a step into the room. The thinner cast to Reid’s cheekbones and his trim Brutus haircut gave him a rakish air. He lifted one hand in dismissal. “Shut the door.”
The latch clicked into place behind her, thundering in its implications. Although their families had been close, heretofore they had always adhered to the letter of propriety. Lily had no witness, no protection. When she’d slipped out of her house, she’d thought to find the Reid Chatterley she’d known four years ago, a man who posed no danger to her.
But this man was no friend of hers.
Despite the flutter in her chest, Lily feigned confidence. For the sake of her family, she’d entertained dangerous men. She’d even done business with them. Who was Reid but one more coldhearted man who thought less of her?
Without invitation, she crossed the room, the soles of her shoes rustling against the rug before she took the seat in front of the desk. She perched on the edge, clasping her hands on her knees and striving for the serenity that Sophie always wore like clothing.
Reid said nothing. His gaze raked her from her hair—drawn back into a tight bun—over her face and neck, down her plain dress to where she clasped her hands. The burgeoning silence swelled.
The Price of Temptation Page 3