Dangerous Weakness

by Warfield, Caroline

  “Miss Thornton. I didn’t know you were here.”

  Horsefeathers. You know everything.

  “I came with the Earl and Countess of Chadbourn,” she replied, giving Catherine a pleading look.

  “We insisted,” Catherine said, coming forward.

  “And we’re glad we did. Doesn’t she look lovely?” the earl added. Lily thought laughter lurked in his eyes, but she couldn’t see anything humorous. He seemed to be studying Glenaire.

  “The dress becomes you,” Glenaire said, searching her person rather more thoroughly than Lily found comfortable. His eyes came to rest just where her mother’s pearls lay at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, a place his mouth had found frequently the night they—

  I will not think of that, she told herself firmly.

  “It suits you,” the young woman on Glenaire’s arm added. Lady Sarah studied Lily avidly and watched the marquess with a proprietary air.

  Glenaire snapped his attention away from Lily. “Lady Sarah Wharton, may I present Miss Lily Thornton. Miss Thornton’s father is in service to the Foreign Office.”

  Lady Sarah nodded in acknowledgement and smiled. “It is good of you to take an interest in the people who serve under you,” she said. Her smile held no sweetness.

  “The dress does become you,” Lady Sarah went on. “Most women could never wear that shade of green,” she said.

  “Lily is lucky it shows her eyes to perfection,” Catherine rushed in.

  “One finds that some people look well enough in gowns that are not quite the height of fashion,” Lady Sarah crooned. “You are to be congratulated, Miss Thornton. Isn’t she, Glenaire?” She sparkled up at him.

  Lily’s dress had come from Saint Petersburg by way of Paris. It had subtle sophistication and none of the flounces popular in London ballrooms.

  Glenaire ignored the beauty at his side. Lily squirmed under the intensity of his gaze.

  “Glenaire?” Lady Sarah repeated.

  “Miss Thornton does not require the changing whims of fashion to look well,” he said.

  “Quite so,” Catherine agreed. Lady Sarah’s smile grew wider and less sincere.

  “Your gown is exquisite,” Lily said to Lady Sarah. She told the truth. It must have cost the moon. She will make a beautiful ornament on his arm if they marry.

  Lady Sarah nodded her head as if to acknowledge the deference of an underling. That one is born to lord it over us mere mortals. They make a perfect pair.

  A discreet tug on his arm, one Lily didn’t miss, must have alerted Glenaire to his partner’s impatience. He made his bows and walked away. They moved slowly enough that Lily couldn’t miss Lady Sarah’s question as they did. “Who is that woman? Is she someone who matters?”

  “An empty-headed debutante,” Catherine mumbled.

  “Not so empty,” Lily said. “She is quite bright, and she knows what she wants.”

  “I don’t like her,” Catherine said with characteristic bluntness.

  “She’s the Duchess of Sudbury’s choice for Richard,” the earl pointed out.

  “Yes, but is she his?” Catherine asked.

  “He has said as much,” her husband sighed. “I don’t think he feels much enthusiasm. That may be why he delays. He seems to be waiting for something.”

  Waiting for me, Lily thought. Waiting to hear if he must do his duty to impending offspring. What had Glenaire told Chadbourn?

  “They make a perfect pair,” she said out loud. “Lady Sarah was born and bred to be a duchess.”

  The earl grunted. “She’ll turn out like his mother. He will hate it.”

  “I think not,” Lily said. “He will merely work around it as long as she adorns his table, just as he works around his mother.”

  “All London waits for an announcement. If he stretches it much longer, he won’t be able to get out of it,” Catherine said.

  If he waits for news from me, he is waiting in vain.

  Lily pleaded headache and found herself escorted out in quick time by the earl and his Catherine, both relieved to be free of the heat, the gossip, and the ugly machinations of the social climbers. Lily followed in silence.

  I need to tell him I’m not increasing. There is no point in waiting.

  Chadbourn looked at her quizzically when he handed her into the carriage. She attempted a reassuring smile and came to a decision.

  I will reassure Glenaire there is no baby—even if I’m not sure it’s true.

  Richard dismissed Pembrook’s ball from his mind as soon as he ordered his man of business to send “Roses, yellow, two dozen should do,” to Lady Sarah Wharton. He found it harder to dismiss Lily Thornton.

  Lady Sarah’s pedigree is sterling. He forced himself to remember that. His parents had certainly forced his attention to it at least twice the evening before. Lily Thornton brings intelligence and an independent streak that would be attractive in sons, his rebellious mind retorted.

  He pushed women from his mind and attempted to concentrate on the massive walnut desk from which he presided over the far-flung affairs of England. Its carved handles and brass fittings usually gave him a sense of order. Neatly organized stacks of reports, dispatches, and work to be accomplished surrounded him. Today, his thoughts refused to cooperate.

  Lady Sarah’s perfect manners and social connections make her an ideal political hostess, he reminded himself. Again the second thought came unbidden. Lily Thornton understands the subtle undertones of diplomacy. She knows Turkish and Russian, and I suspect her French is—

  He ran a hand over the back of his neck. She won’t have you, Richard. Be done with it.

  Castlereagh had demanded his analysis of the growing unrest in the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies. He stared at the untouched notes scattered across his desk. Word from Naples sounded dire. He wondered what Lily would make of it.

  Enough! Make your addresses to Lady Sarah Wharton or don’t. You can’t seriously consider Lily Thornton as the future as Duchess of Sudbury, even if she would have you. A vision of his mother presiding over dinner at Sudbury House prodded him to look at his work. Why not? a traitorous voice whispered in the vicinity of his heart.

  He pulled more minor affairs closer. Four embassies requested increased funds. An outpost in Canada requested troops, the seventeenth man in two months having gone absent and disappeared into the frontier. Their agent in the Duchy of Werltvelt reported dalliance between the crown prince and the consort of a neighboring baron. Could I suggest a devious solution? Troubling information that came from an interrogation at His Majesty’s Prison at Millbank required a carefully phrased warning to the governor on Gibraltar. A trade report from the Sultanate of Johor on the island of Singapura arrived inconveniently late; a meeting with appropriate men of business had to be scheduled.

  Beneath them all lay one small note on fine vellum. He snatched it up, broke the seal, and flipped it open.

  To the Marquess of Glenaire

  My lord,

  The business we discussed at Chadbourn Park had a positive outcome. No further action is needed.

  Your obedient servant,

  Miss Lilias Thornton

  “A positive outcome.” Can a woman tell as soon as a month? Richard’s unease turned to disappointment—an irrational, absurd disappointment. Of course she can, you fool. Lily Thornton’s folly spared her an unfortunate birth. Honor satisfied. Be relieved.

  He pushed away from his desk. It was my folly, he chided himself. He paced to the window, something he never did, and it irritated him. His own irritation annoyed him further. Why can’t I let it lie? I do not let petty emotions rule me. His emotions seemed to have other ideas.

  An ornate watch, pulled from a cannily designed pocket in his waistcoat, ticked steadily. One-thirty, still time for a �
�morning” call, he thought. I may as well use the time. I’m accomplishing nothing here.

  The latest in his constantly shifting parade of secretaries came running at the sound of Richard’s bell.

  “I will be out the rest of the afternoon.”

  Too well trained to show any surprise he might have felt, the young man dispatched a footmen to call for the marquess’s carriage. Richard retrieved his hat and tapped it on his head.

  Perhaps I will call on Lady Sarah. She will have received my token by now.

  The piles on his desk drew his attention. The far right, as always, indicated “Urgent Matters.” The stack looked taller than usual. He remembered Castlereagh’s demands and almost changed his mind.

  “Tell Heaton and Stewart I may return this evening,” he told the secretary.

  After I visit Jackson’s saloon to find someone who would like a thorough pounding.

  “You needn’t wait,” he added.

  Richard ignored the curious eyes of clerks, ogling the sight of the Marble Marquess leaving early, and walked directly to the main stairs.

  Lady Sarah will be pleased by a call.

  He stepped out into the sun to wait for his coachman.

  Too pleased, he thought.

  Lily Thornton’s face continued to plague him. He couldn’t dismiss the thought that she looked pale when he saw her at Pembrook’s—too pale. If she isn’t increasing, something else is wrong. Perhaps simply worry. She should be relieved.

  He hopped up into his carriage. So should I.

  A footman took hold of the door to close it. “Where to, my lord?” he asked. I should direct him to Grosvenor Square, to the Duke of Lisle’s townhouse.

  “Gilbert Street, Bloomsbury,” Richard said instead.

  “Just off Russell Square?”

  Richard nodded. The man called the directions to the coachman. The door closed. The carriage lurched forward. In moments Richard sped toward Gilbert Street, home to intellectuals and the professional class—home to Lily Thornton.

  Chapter 11

  Teacakes made Lily queasy. So did biscuits, toast, Aunt Marianne’s pug, and the nosegays of lilacs and lily of the valley beautifully arranged on a marble-topped table near the window of Aunt Marianne’s first floor withdrawing room.

  She sat erect, attempted to sip tea, and smiled wanly at her visitors. Both Walter Stewart and Roger Heaton sent posies and gratifying greetings the day after the ball. When they came to call, their stay lengthened perilously close to the limit of good manners for a morning call.

  Utter nonsense naming afternoon visits a ‘morning’ call.

  For a moment, that absurd thought symbolized all the weary idiocy of the so-called marriage mart. Another wave of nausea taunted Lily; the entire tedious effort might come to nothing.

  One other visitor cheerfully munched cook’s lemon cakes and gave the appearance of contentment. She had met James Heyworth, newly elevated to Baron Ross, at Pembrook’s ball. He had arrived, danced one dance with her, and disappeared into the card room. Now, here he sat in her drawing room. He brought no posies. He puzzled her.

  The man looked whip thin. Either he exercised heavily or ate irregularly. His uniform, nicely brushed but well worn, appeared almost shabby. He wore a suit at the ball. Does he even own another? A narrow black armband tied haphazardly to one arm paid tribute to the recent death of his father; he did not have the look of a grieving man. The only time his cheerful countenance faltered came when Walter Stewart congratulated him on coming into his title. That soured him; the barony did not appear to be flush with funds.

  “Are you in London for long, Baron Ross?”

  He looked momentarily perplexed. “I hope to be,” he said at last.

  How does one respond to that?

  Stewart and Heaton eyed each other. Each, she suspected, hoped the other would leave first. Lily felt too weary to find that amusing.

  “Was it difficult for you gentlemen to break free from your many duties?” she asked sweetly. She knew full well the Foreign Office did not necessarily keep business hours. She also knew young gentlemen who wished to get ahead worked long and hard.

  Stewart looked uncomfortable, but Heaton smiled back. “For your company, Miss Thornton, one makes every sacrifice.”

  Outrageous. Get back to work you fool man!

  “Lily, look. Another admirer,” Aunt Marianne chirped from her chair in the corner.

  Aunt Marianne’s old butler bowed into the room. “The Most Honorable the Marquess of Glenaire,” he intoned and bowed out.

  Glenaire stood erect in the doorway, his blinding white neckcloth a marvel of engineering, the fine silk of his suit a remarkable expression of tailors’ art. Cool blue eyes under perfectly groomed white blond hair surveyed the room.

  Lily didn’t rise; fear that a display of dizziness would make her look foolish pinned her to the chair. She fixated on the folds of carefully crafted French lace that draped from the marquess’s cuffs over long-fingered hands.

  His brilliant, beautiful hands.

  He reached out one hand to greet Aunt Marianne with perfect ease, bowing over her fingers, and turned to Lily. She clasped her own hands tightly together to prevent any similar greeting. Glenaire’s eyebrow rose slightly.

  “Miss Thornton,” he said with a nod. He did not say she looked well.

  “My lord.” She did not say, “Welcome.”

  His gaze held hers for but a moment before he turned to Heaton and Stewart.

  “I see you gentlemen did not receive the message I left for you at the office,” he said.

  The two gentlemen shifted in their seat, murmured excuses, and rose. Both bowed over Lily’s hand.

  “We’ll see ourselves out,” Stewart said with an uneasy glance at Glenaire. Lily felt grateful she didn’t have to endure lengthy good-byes, but resented the marquess’s high-handedness all the same.

  “You’ve scattered my admirers again, my lord,” she chastised when they were gone.

  “Like geese, again,” he agreed.

  Their eyes caught in shared memory of their first encounter at Chadbourn Park—and what came next.

  He did not, she noted, scatter Baron Ross, although he had skewered the baron with a pointed look.

  “Hello, Richard,” the baron said, still at ease. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” He snatched up another teacake.

  Richard? Who dared call the Marble Marquess by his Christian name? Not another of Glenaire’s spies, then. Does the man actually have normal friends?

  “Jamie,” the marquess nodded in greeting. “Enjoying the Misses Thornton’s hospitality, I see.”

  The baron grinned back. “Their cook makes fine cakes.” His grin rearranged itself into something like that of a naughty boy. “But I think it’s time I take my leave,” he said.

  “Please stay seated, Miss Thornton. I will escort the baron out,” Glenaire ordered.

  Lily saw that Aunt Marianne had nodded off in her comfortable chair in the far corner. She rose carefully, took hold of the back of her chair, blinked to banish dizziness, and watched the backs of the two departing men through the open door of the drawing room.

  The marquess tipped his head to listen to Baron Ross, who spoke softly. Once, she saw, the baron looked back toward the drawing room, his face set in compassionate lines, and turned to say something to the marquess. At the outside door, Lily watched as Glenaire laid a hand on the baron’s back, a gesture of support to a friend unlike anything she expected of him.

  Odd that. Perhaps Glenaire wished his friend sympathy in his grief. Except the baron had shown no signs of overwhelming grief.

  When the baron turned his face to smile up at Glenaire, it held no sadness.

  His smile looks genuine, and not some cheeky grin, she th
ought. And, unless I misunderstand, the man looks grateful.

  As Lily watched, something passed between hands. Glenaire passed banknotes to the man discreetly.

  I’m right. The baron does not eat regularly. He isn’t the first member of fashionable society to rely on invitations just to eat.

  The idea of Glenaire as a generous friend altered her image of the man. She would have to digest that new information later. The marquess himself watched her from the drawing room door.

  “Do sit, Miss Thornton. You look as if you need to.”

  Lily slid back into her chair and closed her eyes. She opened them to a pair of blue ones studying her.

  “My friend’s assessment is correct. You are not well.”

  “It’s nothing. A slight discomfort,” she said. I pray it is something I ate. “Did you send him to spy on me?”

  The firm line of his mouth bent subtly upward. “‘Spy’ is an ugly word. Jamie possesses too much sympathy and too little discretion,” Glenaire said. “I give him little—,” he spread his hands in an expansive gesture, “—errands, for want of a better word.”

  “So you can pay him,” Lily finished. “Well done of you, my lord.”

  Glenaire’s cool façade didn’t alter; he didn’t respond.

  “I own I am fatigued, however, and I must ask you to—”

  Both aristocratic brows rose. “Dismissing me, Miss Thornton?”

  Lily held herself perfectly still and thrust out her chin. I need to get rid of this man before I fall over.

  “Are you perfectly certain ‘The business we discussed at Chadbourn Park had a positive outcome’?” he asked.