Forever she’d have a piece of him, even though she would never have his heart.
And that would be enough.
It had to be.
Liliah strode to the door and took the stairs to the foyer, giving a curtsey to her father as he strode into the hall.
He barely gave her a nod before striding to the waiting carriage.
Liliah followed, wearing her determination like armor, daring her father to manipulate her.
He was silent for the first half of the carriage ride, then he shifted slightly, the movement causing her to take note. “You will not dance with Lord Heightfield tonight.”
Liliah tilted her head. “Is he planning to attend?”
“I care not,” her father replied hastily.
Liliah nodded, hoping her father would drop the subject.
“You will dance with Meyer, however,” he added.
She paused but a moment. “Yes, I will.” It was of utmost importance that she portray a solid engagement now, lest people suspect should she conceive.
“Good,” her father replied, then turned his attention to the passing scenery.
Liliah planned out the evening. At first opportunity, she would seek out Rebecca and suggest they meet during the week at the park, that she might notify her of the plan. Then, at the first waltz she would whisper it to Meyer, praying for his approval. It would be better to Rebecca once she had gained Meyer’s cooperation. Surely the plan would be in all their best interests?
As the carriage pulled up to Morrison Hall, the duke stepped out and all but abandoned Liliah as he sought out several other gentlemen, and then certainly would find the faro table. As she walked into the manor, she traveled down the hall and into the ballroom. A tingle skated up her spine and she turned to an Ace of Spades, the dowager widow Lady Markson, watching her closely. Apparently her father made previous arrangements for her to be chaperoned.
Liliah grasped the hand of a footman as she stepped out of the carriage and into the torchlight. Her soft yellow dress captured the firelight and made the fabric shimmer slightly. Her cap sleeves didn’t ward off any of the evening chill, but she had elected to keep her pelisse at home, expecting the ballroom to be overly warm with the sea of humanity within. Her slippered feet were silent as she took the stairs with several others. She nodded to those who welcomed her, and she found her way into the Morrisons’ grand ballroom. English lavender dotted the tables, lending a sweet fragrance to the room along with a muted splash of color. The room wasn’t well populated yet, as they had arrived just as the party began, and she didn’t see any sign of Meyer or Rebecca—or Luc, she thought.
She lifted a glass of lemonade from the table and took a sip of the sweet and tart liquid. While awaiting the arrival of her friends, she thanked Lady Morrison for the invitation, and conversed about a potential whist party for a few select friends. As she was finishing up the dialogue, she noted the entrance of Lord and Lady Grace, without their daughter.
Liliah tilted her head as she watched their entrance to the ballroom and then excused herself from Lady Morrison with a gentle curtsey. As she made her way to the door, she still didn’t see Rebecca. She approached Rebecca’s parents. After the formalities, she directed her attention to Lady Grace, who was standing quite regally in her pale blue gown with a peacock feather in her golden hair. “Is Rebecca well?” Liliah asked.
She didn’t miss the quick exchange of glances between the two, and awaited Lady Grace’s response. “She’s well enough, simply out of spirits for the day. I’m sure she will attend the Reimers’ rout next week,” Lady Grace replied, then made her excuses. Lord Grace offered his arm to his wife and they continued into the room, leaving Liliah perplexed and suspicious as to why Rebecca was out of spirits, though she likely knew the cause.
Yet she had hoped they had made some sort of tenuous peace.
But truly, how was Liliah to expect it to last? She needed to speak with her friend, and made a mental note to ask Lady Grace to convey a message to her daughter.
Liliah took another sip of her lemonade and watched as her father skirted the ballroom, shaking hands with several peers before entering one of the many gaming rooms. Thankfully she was more than aware of her father’s shrewd and miserly opinion of gambling, lest she be concerned he waste their fortune on faro. The man never bet more than a few guineas, though he had much more to spare.
It was a mystery, as much of her father was, yet she expected it was one of the few things he actually enjoyed in life—odd as it was.
The music began and several couples lined the dance floor in a reel formation. Lord Jaymeson approached her and requested a dance, which she readily accepted. He was a kind sort of fellow, one of the older bachelors and quite forthright about his search for a wife, but Liliah didn’t expect that he had turned an eye toward her as a prospect, not with her betrothal to Meyer being public knowledge. It was a carefree dance and a delightful and worry-free partner she found in Lord Jaymeson, who smiled encouragingly and easily continued light conversation when they happened to turn about together. All in all it was a delightful beginning to an otherwise unproductive evening.
Lord Greywick and Meyer arrived during the reel, and Liliah kept a mental awareness of Meyer’s position within the ballroom so that she might meet him after the dance. As the music came to an end, she clapped gratefully and nodded a kind smile to her partner as she took her leave of the dance floor.
The ballroom had grown considerably more crowded in the span of the dance, and it took some time to wind around the congregated London elite. The strains of the cotillion started, and Liliah neatly dodged a potential dance partner and intercepted Meyer.
“Good evening, Meyer.” She gave a friendly smile as her gaze flickered to the thwarted partner.
Meyer gave a crisp bow and nodded warmly. “Good evening to you.”
“Take a turn with me?” Liliah asked, offering a cheeky grin.
“Delighted to,” Meyer replied, offering his arm. Liliah saw Meyer dart a quick glance toward his father, Lord Greywick. No doubt being seen together would please both of their fathers.
As they gained some distance from Lord Greywick, Meyer started the conversation. “I know you well enough to anticipate that you have some specific topic of conversation on your mind. But I must first ask, how was your trip to the park? I trust you had little difficulty finding a suitable replacement for my company,” he said with a mischievous expression.
Liliah had quite forgotten about the park escapade. “Oh! You were quite clever indeed! I must admit my ineptitude to discover your intent, but I did suspect something, I just wasn’t certain what,” Liliah replied with a wide smile. “Clever man.”
Meyer chuckled. “I wish I had thought of it on my own, but I did have ample encouragement.”
Liliah’s face heated with a blush at the implication. Had Luc sought out Meyer simply to create a rendezvous? It was a delightful thought, and hinted at maybe some deeper attachment, but she pushed it aside lest she create the most dangerous creature—hope.
“It was a lovely afternoon,” Liliah replied calmly, even as her heart raced at the mere thought of Luc.
“I’ll bet.” Meyer chuckled. “So, what is it on your mind, minx?”
Liliah took a deep breath, fine-tuning the way she’d start the conversation, especially with potential eavesdroppers surrounding them. As she opened her mouth to speak, she met Luc’s searing blue gaze from a few paces away. She had not seen his approach. The air left her lungs and her body grew warm all over. A slow smile started in his gaze, then tipped up the edges of his full lips, illuminating his face in a seductive grin that made her belly flutter.
“Liliah?” Meyer’s voice broke through the spell, and before she could answer, Luc approached and bowed.
“Good evening, Meyer.” Even as he spoke to Meyer, his gaze never left Liliah, and she was quite content with it.
“Heightfield,” Meyer replied. “I’ll . . . leave you to it then.” Meyer
released Liliah’s arm and gave a smart bow, a smirk on his lips as he walked away.
Liliah cast a teasing grin to her departing friend and turned back to Luc, feeling the power of his regard like a touch that awakened all the senses. “Good evening,” she said, rather unremarkably.
“It is now.”
Liliah couldn’t restrain her laughter. “I’m not sure whether to be insulted or flattered at such a comment,” she teased.
“Foul, why would you say such a thing?” Luc asked, offering his arm.
Liliah gladly took it, his warmth seeping deep into her bones at the touch, her body relaxing as if finally feeling safe.
She resisted the temptation to remember her prior resolution.
Surely a few stolen moments couldn’t hurt?
“I say it because I’m quite certain your imagination could have come up with a more clever answer. That phrase has been used many a time before.”
“That doesn’t malign its distinct honestly, however.”
“I must concede that fact.”
“Ah, humility and beauty,” Luc replied.
“Ah, flattery and a silver tongue,” Liliah said cheekily.
Lucas chuckled warmly. “And well you know it.” He regarded her tenderly and leaned down slightly. “Are you well?” he asked just above a whisper.
Not certain of their privacy, she simply nodded.
She met his gaze, and watched as several emotions flickered across his face: curiosity, regret, resolve. Before he could continue, Liliah interrupted. Knowing that if she didn’t do this now, she would likely never have the strength to do it at all. She had wanted to just forget for a few moments, yet it was too perfect an opportunity to let it go to waste. With a trembling heart, she forced a strength she didn’t feel.
“I think, under the circumstances . . .” She let the phrase linger, and she kept her gaze downward for the duration of her resolution. “That we should give our respective regards to one another. I do not expect anything more from you than what was previously discussed, and I do not wish you to be burdened by the expectation that I may.” Liliah took a slow breath, feeling the tension of Luc’s arm beneath her hand. “And, from the bottom of my heart”—she hazarded a glance up to him, allowing the shield she’d put around her heart to retreat as her attachment was surely recognizable in her gaze—“I thank you. Because no matter what, I’ll always keep a piece of you in my heart, Luc.” She whispered his name, ignoring the hundreds of people around them, wishing they were alone, hoping he understood.
His gaze searched hers, as if testing to see if her words were authentic, or if they were a choice she’d been forced to make. “And you’re certain?” he replied, his grin at war with the tension in his body. How had she come to know his nuances so well?
“I’m certain that you will evaluate the circumstances and see things the very same way, that this is your certain way to freedom . . . and maybe mine too,” Liliah answered.
Luc nodded. “Then this is farewell.”
Liliah forced the lump in her throat to go away as she swallowed. “I believe so.” She didn’t trust herself to say more.
“Then”—he paused and lifted her hand, kissing her knuckles so softly it was only a whisper of a touch— “may I just say that it was a pleasure, Lady Liliah. In absolutely every nuance of the word.” He slowly bowed, released her hand, and without a backward glance, melted into the crowd.
Taking her heart with him.
Yet she didn’t regret her decision.
She only hoped that it wasn’t in vain.
As she watched Luc’s retreating back, she closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to have a moment of self-pity, of longing, and then she turned to seek out Meyer once more.
The hardest part was over; all that was left was convincing her friend of the plan’s ideal merit. Meyer wasn’t difficult to locate, and his confusion was evident in his expression when she approached. Surely he expected her to spend her time with Luc.
The first waltz began, and Meyer extended his hand by way of greeting. Liliah took it readily, her heart pounding with anticipation for the conversation that needed to take place, and that she wished were already completed.
As Meyer led her to the dance floor, he whispered, “Is something the matter?”
Liliah offered a weak smile. “It doesn’t have to be,” she answered honestly.
He didn’t reply, simply held her in the frame of the waltz and started to blend among the other dancers. “Care to elaborate?” he asked after a few moments.
“Yes. But it’s going to be difficult to explain. And you’ll surely need to consider it, but I have faith that you’ll see the promise of such a plan readily enough.”
Meyer nodded. “This sounds serious.”
“It is, my friend,” Liliah answered. “You see, because neither of us has been able to disengage from the betrothal, I’ve somewhat resigned myself to the marriage. But because our friendship will never be more than friendship, regardless of the marriage contract, and there will certainly be expectations your father, and mine, will wish to see fulfilled as a result of our marriage. . .”
Meyer frowned, then closed his eyes. “An heir.”
“Which would be betrayal of the worst sort to our sweet Rebecca. Fate has potentially offered us another alternative.” Liliah hedged, hoping she wasn’t being too forward. It would be months before she knew if she carried Luc’s child, yet they didn’t have time to figure out the details.
“And what is that alternative?” Meyer asked, his eyes narrowing, suspicion deeply evident.
“It would seem that I could already be carrying an heir for us,” Liliah whispered so low she wasn’t sure Meyer heard.
“Dear God, Liliah,” Meyer whispered, his gaze flickering from her face to her belly, then back. “What a bast—”
“I’m not certain, mind you,” she finished. “And while I could demand he make amends, the question I have is if we were to publicize the information, would your father or mine believe it, act on it, and null the betrothal?”
Meyer’s wide-eyed gaze was cast downward as he frowned, as if deep in thought. “As much as I wish to say yes, I’m afraid that they would simply put forth the lie that it was my doing, and the wedding would be hastily completed. They’ve both been beyond reason, so why would they see it now? Especially when this could be the opportunity they need to hurry things along. Besides, they would then know the heir wasn’t mine, and would await another.” He shook his head.
“That is what I suspected as well. And I’ve had no luck in discovering why there is such a push. It’s beyond reason,” Liliah answered.
“Indeed it is.” Meyer sighed, his gaze kind as he regarded her. “I see no other option either, my friend. And I must say that as much of a trial and heartbreak this is for you, it certainly does solve several problems, loath as I am to admit it.”
Liliah nodded once.
“Liliah,” Meyer said gently.
She glanced up at him questioningly.
“Do you love him?”
Liliah glanced at the floor, then to the side, before meeting her friend’s gaze. “Yes. But I also realize that my loving him wouldn’t make trapping him in an unsavory position the right thing to do. It wasn’t intended, not that it makes it right, but it is far more forgivable. And I do believe he intended to at least keep some sort of attachment to me, but I said my good-byes earlier this evening.”
Meyer frowned. “You ended it?”
“Yes. It was really the only way. If you agreed to move forward, then our attachment needs to appear solid so others don’t suspect, including our fathers.”
“And I thought I was the one to give up much.” He shook his head. “Liliah, you are giving up far more. And my heart breaks for you.” He spun her in a graceful twirl and held her in the perfect frame as they continued their waltz.
“So what now?” he asked.
“Now . . . we wait. And I’ll try to communicate the circumstance
s to Rebecca. At least she will be aware of the situation, lest she doubt our resolution to remain as we are,” Liliah added delicately.
“I thank you,” Meyer replied. “I do not know how I could ask more.”
“I do not know how I could offer it,” Liliah answered.
As the waltz ended, Liliah found a quiet corner and sat in one of the few vacant chairs, collecting her thoughts. As another partner requested a dance, she willingly obliged. What she needed was distraction.
Distraction from realizing just what sort of future she had sealed.
Distraction from seeking out a pair of crystal-blue eyes that may or may not still be in attendance.
Distraction from running back into the only arms that ever felt safe.
Chapter Thirty
Lucas spent the night replaying the miserable scene from last night. His mind wouldn’t let him forget it, as much as he wished he could. By three in the morning he was in his study swirling brandy before the low fire. The amber liquid offered no respite, and by six, he was marching toward the breakfast table.
He walked to his place setting and took a seat in the comfortable chair. His glass was filled with water, his teacup with tea—two sugars, no milk—and a silver spoon rested upon his saucer. He lifted it and stirred the tea. The familiar routine didn’t give him a sense of control, which he sorely missed. He turned to his coddled eggs and three rashers of bacon as they sat upon a single piece of buttered toast, like every morning. He draped his napkin over his lap and proceeded to break his fast, but the peace of the familiar was broken. Agitated, he abruptly stood from the table before he had taken more than two sips of tea and two bites of toast, and quit the room.
His usual rhythm was off like a wobbly carriage wheel that resisted improvement. Restless and haunted, he stalked back to his study. The scent of brandy made his stomach sour and he simply grabbed several stacks of papers and left for one of the parlors. As he selected a chair in the green room, he noted that even the sunshine from the windows seemed diluted and less brilliant.
What in the bloody hell was wrong with him? He should be thrilled! Life had no inclination to trap him in any entanglement, his life was perfectly organized and controlled, and he had no threat of well . . . anything! He should be carefree and delighted; instead he found he was restless, irritated, and angry.
Falling from His Grace Page 18