‘And you, Lily! How rested you look this morning,’ Lady Heath said.
‘Have some tea, my dear,’ Stella said, pouring from the Sèvres teapot. ‘Darling Lady Heath has been telling me of a dinner she’s planning, such fun.’
‘Just a very small one,’ Lady Heath demurred. ‘My tiny abode can bear nothing grand! But the Prince of Wales has said he could possibly attend, which is quite the triumph for poor little me. He only requests that some of these “lovely Americans” attend!’ She sighed. ‘The Prince does so enjoy all things American, ever since he visited New York in the last decade. Your mother has graciously accepted my invitation.’
Lily felt her breath tighten in her chest. ‘The—the Prince?’
‘Yes, and you must sit next to him, of course, and wear that darling new blue tulle gown,’ Lady Heath said. She drew out her ever-present red morocco leather frame, filled with little slots where cards could be placed to make a seating plan. ‘See, here will be the Prince and you, Lily. The Archbishop here and Lady Wondera here. Lord and Lady Stoneman here—they are so dull, but Bertie insists on them, for they are great bridge players. Your mother here and the Duke of Lennox here. The Duchess can go here.’
The Duke on Lily’s other side. Of course. This was what the dinner party was really for. To throw her at the oh-so-eligible, oh-so-penniless Duke. Of course, she had already danced with him, laughed with him. But that was different. It was just for them, two people; she hadn’t even known who he was then. Now it would be Miss Wilkins and the Duke, with everyone watching them. Speculating about a money match.
Even the Prince of Wales would surely know.
Lily shivered to think of a whole evening stuck between a prince and a duke, trying to think of something interesting to say, to keep smiling as if she did not care.
‘Oh, Lady Heath,’ she said beseechingly, ‘may I not sit a bit further down? Maybe...there?’ She pointed to another chair, labelled ‘Lord James Grantley’.
‘Nonsense!’ Lady Heath insisted. ‘The Prince will want to see you, as I am sure will the Duke. He looked so happy dancing with you last night.’
‘But I—’ Lily said.
‘Don’t be such a ninny, Lily!’ her mother snapped. ‘This is exactly why we came to London. To meet the best society. It’s almost the end of the Season; there’s not much time left. You cannot turn coward now. Think of your sisters! If you’re properly established, it will be ever so much easier for them. I’ve surely brought you up to face any situation. The time to strike has come!’
Lily knew when she was cornered. She gently touched the Duke’s place-card. ‘Yes. Of course.’
Her mother and Lady Heath went on chatting, talking of which dishes to serve at the dinner, which wines, which flowers. When Lady Heath expressed a concern at the price of champagne, Stella said, ‘Oh, my dear, never worry about that! Coleman will happily pay for any wine you want to order!’
Lily sat back to sip at her cooling tea, pretending to listen, but she could only think of the Duke. Would that one dance ever stop haunting her?
Chapter Four
To Aidan’s surprise, the dining room of Lennox House wasn’t empty as usual when he came down to breakfast. Usually, plates of eggs and toast were laid out on the Chippendale sideboard, beneath the pale squares on the blue wallpaper where paintings once hung. But today there were covered silver warming trays and the table was spread with a white damask cloth and laid with the old Sèvres coffee service.
His mother sat at the end of the table, her silvery-chestnut hair gleaming under a little feathered tip-tilted hat, her pale blue silk morning dress bright in the dusty light from the windows that desperately needed cleaning. She daintily lifted a forkful of kedgeree under the awed study of two housemaids. When she waved them away, they bobbed quick curtsies and left the room.
‘Darling!’ she cried, her voice as clear and judgmental as church bells. ‘There you are at last. Coffee?’
Aidan glanced at the sun filtering through the windows, then at the ormolu clock on the sideboard. It was still early. His mother never roused herself from her own rooms at Claridge’s before one at least. His suspicions were immediately stirred.
‘Mama,’ he said, not moving from the doorway. ‘This is a surprise.’
‘Oh, darling, surely a mother needs no excuse to visit her only remaining child? Or to visit her old home.’ She glanced around the dining room, her sharp-as-glass green eyes taking in the dust on the carved wooden chairs, the worn upholstery cushions. ‘Though it is surely not much as I remember it. How merry this place was in our day!’
Her day was much of what ailed Lennox House and Roderick Castle now. His father had spent money as though it was water, leaving them no cushion at all when land values went down. His mother still spent, but Aidan didn’t have the time or energy to argue with her. He had been up too late even after returning from Lady Crewe’s ball, thinking of Lily Wilkins and her sweet smile. What would breakfast be like with her to talk with him across the table? It was a strangely pleasant image.
He sat down next to his mother and let her pass him a cup of coffee.
‘Is Lord Shelton abroad right now?’ he asked. The Earl of Shelton was Agnes’s longtime lover and now future husband. ‘I heard he went to Baden-Baden for his gout.’
She laughed lightly. ‘Oh, yes, Arthur does love his baccarat! Gout is only his silly little excuse, I’m afraid. He will be back next week.’ She reached for the jar of marmalade and carefully studied the handwritten label. It was from Roderick, as usual. ‘But I do admit that, while he is away, I’ve run into a teeny-tiny bit of trouble with my milliner. I wonder, darling, if you could help your old mama in her moment of need?’
Aidan remembered the piles of bills on his desk, growing steeper every day. He gulped down the blessedly strong coffee. ‘Mama, you know how the estate stands. This house is close to going on the market and my agent is taking a very close look at the staff at Roderick. The downturn in rents might mean selling some land.’
A frown flickered over her cherubically pretty face and she waved his words away as if such troubles were mere clouds on a sunny horizon. She’d grown up the youngest daughter of a viscount, the wife of a duke, a great beauty and social favourite, and never saw any reason to change her thinking. ‘I vow, I can’t believe I’ve lived to see the day when a duchess should worry about her milliner!’
Aidan took another gulp of coffee. ‘Believe it, Mama.’
Her bow mouth hardened. ‘There is a very easy solution, you know.’
‘Oh, yes? Pray tell me, Mama, what an army of agents hasn’t been able to find.’
‘Because they are men. Men are always blind to the practical solutions of life, to what is right before them.’ She poured a dollop of cream into her cup and stirred at it carefully. ‘I heard you danced with a certain Miss Lily Wilkins last night at the Crewe ball.’
Ah. So that was why his mother had appeared in his house for the first time since he returned to London. Gossip must be raging across town like wildfire. He wished he was back in the jungle, alone, with Edward still in his proper place and Aidan in his.
Though he wouldn’t mind if Miss Wilkins was in the jungle with him. Alone in a small tent, her smile glowing up at him...
He pushed away such thoughts and made himself remember who Lily Wilkins really was. An heiress. And he was a penniless duke. ‘I might have danced with several girls last night.’
‘Lady Heath told me you only danced with one.’ She put down her cup with a little click. ‘Do you know how very rich her father is?’
Aidan knew how Miss Wilkins’s eyes gleamed with laughter, like a dark star when he spun her around. How small and slim and delicate she felt under his hands. How it was like coming across a fairy hiding behind the pillars of the ballroom, an unexpected gift, a moment away from his worries.
‘No, Mama,’ he said s
hortly. How swiftly the dream of a pretty girl died, like sunshine drowned in a hailstorm. He couldn’t escape who he really was, no matter how he tried.
‘Well, I know it is vulgar beyond thought to mention such things, but you say we are in dire straits. Even I can understand that.’ She waved her hand, gleaming with ruby and amethyst rings, around the bare room. ‘Your father and your brother were utter darlings, of course, but they had no head for money matters. I would have hoped you were different, Aidan, with all your travels.’
‘My work has hardly fitted me for running a ramshackle estate. Or any estate at all.’ He had been brought up to know he was not the heir, that he would have to make his own way in the world and he had done that. His travels, through deserts and jungles and mountains, made him able to speak several languages, learn new customs and deal with different people, battle heat and disease and hostile warriors. It was Edward who was meant to be the Duke, to save Roderick.
But Edward was gone. And Aidan had never faced a challenge like assuming the responsibilities of a duke before.
For once, even his mother looked a bit abashed. ‘Maybe your education was different from your brother’s...’
‘Yes.’ Edward had done all that was expected from him and done it beautifully. He had excelled at Oxford, where Aidan found his youthful hijinks got him into trouble all the time. Edward had been the serious one, the focused one, the Duke. Edward was the one who would have won Melisande in the end. Edward, who was gone for ever.
‘But now you are the Duke of Lennox. And, if I do say so myself, a very handsome and dashing one. Your poor brother was a shadow to you in that way! And such an impractical heart, rest his soul.’ She sighed, as if remembering Edward’s love for Melisande. ‘You are even famous, Aidan. The brave explorer! Ladies love that.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘And Mr Coleman Wilkins is very rich indeed.’
‘So your solution for Roderick Castle is that I should marry the man’s daughter?’
She frowned at him. ‘Oh, pooh, Aidan! How coarse you are becoming. London is not the jungle, you know. Any lady would be fortunate to be the mistress of an estate like Roderick, as I well know. I had many suitors when I was a young lady and I chose your father.’ She reached again for her cup and set it back down when she realised she’d sent the maids away. ‘An American is not ideal, I admit. Look at the Manchesters’ daughter-in-law! She plays the banjo, I believe, yet their roof at Kimbolton was falling in and now it’s all tickety-boo. The Prince of Wales seems to like Americans very much indeed and one need hardly pay attention to the old Queen’s opinions these days. The Wilkins girl would learn about Roderick, I’m sure.’
‘And what if the lady has other ideas for her future?’ He remembered how sweet, how shy Lily had seemed as she ducked behind the palms of the ballroom. He didn’t want to be the one to crush that sweetness under the heel of a dukedom.
His mother laughed. ‘Don’t be silly, Aidan! Why would the Wilkinses be here in London otherwise? I hear there are two other daughters, as well, and a fine marriage for the oldest would set them all up. It would solve our troubles in no time.’
Aidan arched his brow at her. ‘And set Arthur up for baccarat once you marry?’
‘You leave Arthur to me, darling, and worry about your own future married life. And Roderick. I know you care about the estate.’
God help him, but he did. Roderick was in his blood and he would do anything to make sure its people were secure and happy, to see the house as glorious as it had been in his grandfather’s day. But enough to marry a sweet fairy girl just for her hard, cold dollars? ‘There must be another solution.’
‘Such as what? Selling it all off bit by bit until there’s nothing left? Just a shell of a house for the future, tenants and servants who have depended on the estate for generations left to starve?’
Aidan scowled, but he had to admit his mother had a point. Roderick was in dire straits and would only get worse if he could not act quickly.
‘Much easier to marry, Aidan, and in one “I do” have enough to ensure Roderick’s future,’ she said firmly. ‘You have to marry and have an heir anyway, and Miss Wilkins will do as well as any other girl. I hear she’s even quite pretty.’
‘She is,’ Aidan muttered. ‘Very pretty.’
His mother nodded. ‘Lady Heath is having a little dinner party. They say the Prince himself will attend. Miss Wilkins is her newest protégée, you know.’ Aidan knew what that meant. Lady Heath had been augmenting her meagre income for several Seasons now, welcoming Americans into her home, gently coaxing them into social shape. ‘The last one married an Italian count, I think, with a glorious Tuscan villa. We must move fast to secure Miss Wilkins.’
Aidan hated the sound of that—move fast to snare the unsuspecting prey. Poor, pretty Miss Wilkins. If he only had a heart to offer her, a proper life, but he’d abandoned such notions years ago.
Yet—he had to admit that the thought of seeing her again, seeing her smile, touching her hand, was not at all unpleasant. In fact, he looked forward to it.
‘What do you propose?’ he asked cautiously.
His mother gave one of her satisfied, catlike smiles, as if she had made him see sense. As if he would follow her blindly, as his father and brother had.
How little she knew him.
‘As I said, Lady Heath proposes to give a dinner party,’ she said. ‘One does hate to travel all the way to a place like Bayswater, of course. Surely even Lady Heath could afford some place a tiny bit more fashionable? But needs must. I will make sure we have invitations and you will go and dazzle the girl.’ She pursed her lips in thought. ‘Perhaps I should have a small gathering, as well? A garden party, maybe. Just to take a look at the Wilkins girl first. If she is really unsuitable, best to see now.’
Aidan gave a humourless laugh and took a gulp of his cold coffee. ‘One dinner party and she’ll fall at my feet, eh?’
‘Don’t be absurd. If she’s acceptable, I’ll have a house party at Roderick. The Season is winding down anyway and any American girl would be quite dazzled by the place. Between your fine eyes and the house, it should do the trick.’
She was probably right. Not about his eyes, but Roderick, though past its highest glory, was romantic and filled with history. The marble corridors, the brocade-draped chambers, the rolling gardens—they were all lovely in their way. Even he remembered that about the house of his childhood. And Lily Wilkins seemed like a girl who would enjoy history.
‘It’s not in fit shape for a party,’ he said, remembering the damp spots on the ceilings, the shabby carpets, the missing paintings.
‘Oh, Aidan, ye of little faith! Roderick can be stage-managed in no time. Miss Wilkins, and more importantly her mama, will love it. Any girl would want to be Duchess of Lennox. And married to a handsome English explorer!’ She took a happy bite of her toast. ‘Trust me, darling. This is the best solution.’
Aidan wasn’t sure he could believe her. When it came to his mother, he trusted very little indeed. But he did want to see Lily again. To see his home come alive again in her eyes.
Yes. He wanted to see her very much indeed.
Chapter Five
Lily sat very still in front of the dressing table mirror as Doris fixed her coiffure for Lady Heath’s dinner. She was lucky that, though her tresses were dark and not fashionably golden, they were thick and waving, not requiring the pinch of extra hairpieces pinned in. Doris busily wielded the curling tongs and fastened ringlets into place, held with diamond star-shaped clips. The air smelled of singed hair and violet powder.
Though Lily dared not move her head or risk Doris’s artistic wrath, she stared out the window as the daylight faded and gaslights winked on, one by one. The days were growing shorter now, London getting quieter as families began to leave town as the Season waned and country houses opened to prepare for the shooting. Time was growing short to do—well, somethin
g. Anything, or leave England empty-handed. Lily felt that tension all around her, the crackling anticipation of her mother and sisters and Lady Heath that something had to happen at last so they could all move forward again. But she herself felt frozen, like that tiny, ancient amber fly they had seen at the American Natural History Museum.
She couldn’t move forward and she couldn’t go back.
Lily sighed and longed to pound her fists on the lace-draped table, making the silver brushes and pots and boxes she’d no part in choosing herself rattle and crack. She had always been a quiet sort, dreaming her secret dreams, she knew that. Happiest in her books, her daydreams, half ignoring her mother whenever she could, half following when she had to. Yet she had never thought of herself as indecisive, either, a girl to dither at the crossroads. She knew what she wanted—her own home, her own purpose, the means to help her sisters find their own lives—and she’d been sure one day she would know how to do it.
Lily twisted her hands together to keep from lashing out. Well, here she was, dithering at the crossroads. She’d known before they even left Newport that part of her mother’s grand design in going to Europe was to marry off her daughters well, starting with Lily. Preferably for high titles that would make the Knickerbocker matrons of New York who had rejected Stella Wilkins sorry indeed. As ‘mother of a countess’, or even ‘mother of a duchess’, she wouldn’t be snubbed again. As Stella often lamented, it was too bad all the Royal Princes were already married or too young.
It was easy to shrug all that off at home. Here, now, was a real-life duke right in front of her. A duke who Lady Heath said had his roof falling in, just waiting to be shored up with American dollars. A duke who was more handsome and dashing and fascinating than any man she had ever imagined.
Lily closed her eyes and saw him again. The Duke of Lennox. Aidan. How easy it was to laugh with him, dance with him. How hard everything else seemed.
But did it have to be? He had a shadowy past, with his brother and Lady Rannock, and an estate in need of repair. She should be wary of all that, she was wary, but the man himself was so attractive. Too attractive.
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