It was all there, her and Aidan. Their past, the future she’d longed for. It could have been glorious.
‘How could you throw it all away?’ she whispered. Her hands curled into fists on the clasp of the valise. ‘How could you turn away from us? I knew English noblemen were said not to be faithful, but I thought you were different. Better. My brave explorer.’
‘Lily. My own beautiful Lily. I promise it is nothing like you think! It was never like that. I could never have hurt Edward that way, nor you. Please, please, listen to me.’ He placed the tiara on the dressing table and came slowly, carefully, to stand with her by the bed, as if approaching an easily startled fawn. Which was what she felt like, all trembling, exposed nerves.
He carefully picked up a white lawn nightdress, folded it and placed it in her valise. She drew in a deep breath. He stood so close to her, so close, and he smelled and felt just the same. But she dared not look up at him.
‘Lily,’ he said. He spoke quietly, calmly, but she heard the tremble in his own voice. ‘I am so sorry for what you just saw. More sorry than I can ever say. If you want to leave, if you think you could never be happy here, I will let you go right now. I’ll call the carriage myself. But please, won’t you listen to me just for a moment? My sweet, kind Lily. Give me a chance to save my own life, for that is what you are. My whole life.’
Lily tossed one blue silk shoe into the valise, but couldn’t see the other one. Her eyes were growing blurry with unshed, sad, angry tears. How she wanted to believe him! But she dared not. ‘Are you going to tell me that you love her? That you always will?’
‘Love Melisande! Good heavens, no. No, Lily.’ He reached out at last and took her hands, keeping her from packing, holding her to him. His touch was gentle, but she couldn’t break away. Didn’t want to break away. His touch was just the same, so sweet and reassuring, too much a reminder of so many wonderful things.
‘Once, when I was young and foolish, I thought I cared for her,’ he said. ‘I asked her to marry me. But Edward, my brother, loved her as well and declared he would marry her. I could never stand in his way. Melisande, though, intended to marry him and keep me as her lover. Once, we kissed at a ball and she told me the truth—but we were seen. I will never forgive myself for that, my greatest mistake. But love her? No, never. She is not a thousandth part of the woman you are. What she did to my brother...that was unforgivable. Appalling.’
Lily blinked up at him, alarmed at what had happened in his past, how he had been deceived. But he was not that man now. He was her Aidan still, surely? The man who would stand beside her, be loyal, no matter what.
‘She wants me, I suppose, because I am the Duke now,’ he went on, ‘but you are my one chance of any happiness, Lily. Your kindness and sweetness, your curiosity, your strength. I don’t blame you for being angry with me—your good heart can’t understand unhappiness such as Mel has, like the unhappiness I once had. I need you, only you. I will have no secrets from you ever again, I will work every hour of every day to make you happy. If you will just let me. Lily, Lily, I can’t imagine my life without you. Please, I beg you, give me one more chance to show you how much I love you. How much I need you.’
He shook as if caught in a terrible storm, his expression stark, hopeless. She’d never seen Aidan like that and it frightened her. She threw her arms around him and held him close, both of them still trembling, but sheltered at last from the storms inside their hearts. Beat and batter as those storms would, they could no longer touch them. Lily and Aidan were together.
The past had vanished like the dark cloud it once was.
‘I love you, Lily,’ he said, his cheek against her tousled hair. ‘As I never imagined I could love anyone. Please let me show you that. Prove it to you.’
She looked up at him through her tears. He looked different, younger, softer. They needed each other. They always would. That was the only truth that mattered, the only truth she could always trust.
‘You don’t have to prove it,’ she said. ‘I see it now in your eyes, Aidan. I know it’s true. And I love you, too. I always will.’
‘Lily,’ he whispered hoarsely and kissed her with all the fervour of passion and need and love that she now knew was all hers. All theirs, for ever.
Epilogue
Ten months later
Aidan paced the length of the White Drawing Room, from the fireplace roaring with warmth against the cold day to the terrace doors. The garden beyond was just starting to come back to faint green life after a long winter and the painted eyes of his ancestors’ portraits seemed to watch him with disapproval at so much emotion. But he took no notice of them at all, nor of the curious glances of the servants hovering at the door.
His mind was in the Duchess’s Chamber upstairs, where Lily was bringing their child into the world. He couldn’t hear anything in the grand vastness of Roderick, no screams or cries, but he had seen enough in his travels to imagine all kinds of bloody scenes. And his wife was a delicate lady.
‘Aidan, dear, do sit down,’ his mother said from her sofa by the fireplace. She turned a page of her newspaper to the scandal columns. ‘Have a brandy. Or three.’
‘I can’t sit down, Mama.’
‘You cannot help Lily that way, you know. She has the doctor and nursing sister, as well as Rose Grantley. She’ll be quite well.’
‘But shouldn’t it be over by now?’ He stopped at the window, staring out at the terrace as if it could have some answers. There were just more hovering servants, waiting for news.
‘She just felt the first pains early this morning and first babies can be slow. It will be hours yet! I took two days with you.’
‘Mama, that is not helping,’ he growled.
‘Oh, but Lily is so dainty! I am quite sure he’ll be much smaller than you.’
Aidan frowned. He remembered all the cosy winter months of sitting with Lily by that very fire, watching her grow larger, feeling the baby kick, laughing at his wife’s attempts to learn to knit. How could all that sweetness end like this?
But he knew his mother was right; he couldn’t help Lily now, except with his patience. Patience was something he had never had much of.
He poured out a large glass of brandy and sat down across from his mother. ‘Oh, do look!’ she exclaimed. ‘It seems Lady Rannock has left her husband for Lord Clarendon. Shellie did worry his cousin would do something foolish, but quite to this extent—tsk-tsk.’
Aidan hardly cared about Melisande’s new scandal. He saw Lily’s maid, Doris, run past the doorway, but she didn’t stop.
‘Why will no one tell me what’s happening in my own house?’ he said.
‘Because I am sure nothing is happening yet,’ Agnes said, turning another page.
But Rose suddenly ran into the drawing room, her apron stained, her red hair straggling from its pins. Her smile, though, was radiant.
‘You have a son!’ she cried.
‘A new Duke.’ Agnes sighed happily, the scandal papers forgotten.
Aidan felt suddenly overwhelmed by raw emotion. He rose slowly to his feet, swaying. ‘A son? And Lily...she’s well?’
‘Yes, perfectly. Just very tired, but the doctor says it was an easy birth. They’re both very well and happy.’
‘I must go to her,’ he said, already racing out of the drawing room and up the stairs, three at a time. He had to see Lily, to know she was all right.
‘Aidan, she’s still in bed!’ Rose called.
But he didn’t hear her. He burst into the Duchess’s Chamber, crowded with doctors, nurses, servants, warm and stuffy, thick with the cloying tang of blood and camphor, the sweetness of burning rose oil.
He could see only the bed on its dais, its pillows piled high. Lily lay against them, her cheeks damp and flushed, her hair clinging to her brow, and the most radiant smile on her face as she stared down at the bundle in her a
rms.
A shrieking, flailing bundle.
‘Lily,’ he said softly, more enraptured than he had ever been before in his life. She glanced up and held out her shaking hand to him.
‘Oh, Aidan, do come say hello to him,’ she said.
He went to her, his heart bursting with hope, with a fierce, overwhelming happiness he’d never dreamed of before. He took her hand and kissed it as he looked down at the baby. His son. His family.
The child was terribly red and wrinkled, his minute features fixed in a look of deep displeasure at finding himself in such a bright, crowded world. A tuft of dark hair, like Lily’s, curled damply atop his head and his eyes had a hint of Lennox green.
‘Isn’t he so beautiful?’ Lily whispered.
‘A bit like an angry beetroot at the moment.’ Aidan laughed. ‘But I can see he will be almost as beautiful as his mother.’
‘I think he looks like you when you’re deep in concentration over something.’ She caressed the baby’s soft cheek with her fingertip and he immediately ceased wailing and stared up at her with wide, wondering eyes. ‘See, he knows us!’
‘So he does,’ Aidan said, fascinated by his son’s tiny hands, like little starfish. ‘You’ve given me the most wonderful gift of all, Lily. My beautiful wife. My family.’ He gently kissed her, marvelling at all he had now. All he had travelled the world searching for. It had all been right here the whole time. ‘I am the luckiest man who has ever called Roderick Castle home...’
* * *
If you enjoyed this book, why not check out
Amanda McCabe’s Debutantes in Paris miniseries
Secrets of a Wallflower
The Governess’s Convenient Marriage
Miss Fortescue’s Protector in Paris
And look out for the next book in the
Dollar Duchesses miniseries, coming soon!
Final Author Note
I hope you’ve enjoyed reading Lily and Aidan’s tale as much as I enjoyed writing it! I’ve always loved reading about the ‘dollar princesses’ and how they fared in a life very different from the ones they knew in America. Some flourished and some failed miserably, but sadly not many found true love as Lily did!
A definition of ‘dollar princess’ I found on www.ancestry.com says, ‘A “dollar princess” referred to an American heiress, often from a newly wealthy family, who married a title-rich but cash-poor British nobleman.’
These girls and their ambitious mothers were often cut off from New York high society—which was even more strict and exclusive than in Europe!—and sometimes used the help of well-connected but poor English ladies such as Lady Heath—who is based on the real-life Lady Paget—to make their way in London society. There were also books like Titled Americans: The Real Heiresses’ Guide to Marrying an Aristocrat to assist them.
In 1895 alone, nine British noblemen—including a duke, an earl and several barons—married Americans.
Some of the most famous were Jennie Jerome, who became Lady Randolph Churchill—mother of Winston; Consuelo Vanderbilt, who became Duchess of Marlborough; Frances Work, who became Lady Fermoy—an ancestor of Diana, Princess of Wales; Mary Leiter, who became Lady Curzon; Consuelo Yznaga, who became Duchess of Manchester; Nancy Langhorne, who became Lady Astor, and Kathleen Kennedy, who became Marchioness of Hartington.
Be sure to look for Violet’s story next! She is a very reluctant noblewoman indeed!
And visit me any time at http://ammandamccabe.com
Here are some sources I enjoyed, if you’d like to know more about the lives of these extraordinary women:
Julie Ferry, The Million Dollar Duchesses: How America’s Heiresses Seduced the Aristocracy. Arum Press, 2018
The Transatlantic Marriage Bureau. Aurum Press, 2017
Cecelia Tichi, What Would Mrs Astor Do? The Essential Guide to the Manners and Mores of the Gilded Age. NYU, 2019
Anne de Courcy, The Husband Hunters: American Heiresses Who Married into the British Aristocracy. Macmillan, 2018
Consuelo Vanderbilt Balsan, The Glitter and the Gold. Hodder Paperbacks, 2012
Ruth Brandon, The Dollar Princesses. Knopf, 1980
Amy de la Haye & Valerie D. Mendes, The House of Worth: Portrait of an Archive. V&A, 2014
Jane Gabin, American Women in Gilded Age London. University Press of Florida, 2006
Pamela Horn, High Society: The English Social Elite 1880-1914. Alan Sutton, 1992
Amanda Mackenzie Stuart, Consuelo and Alva Vanderbilt. Harper Perennial, 2010
Gail MacColl, To Marry an English Lord. Sidgwick & Jackson, 1989
Jane Ridley, The Heir Apparent: A Life of Edward VII. Random House, 2014
Anne Sebba, American Jennie: The Remarkable Life of Lady Randolph Churchill. WW Norton & Company, 2007
Keep reading for an excerpt from A Waltz with the Outspoken Governess by Catherine Tinley.
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A Waltz with the Outspoken Governess
by Catherine Tinley
Chapter One
London—January 1810
‘Miss Smith! Be seated this instant!’
Mary eyed her irate teacher with frustration. For a moment, she was tempted to be defiant, remain on her feet, give voice to what she truly believed. Instead, with great reluctance, she sank down into her seat, conscious that the shocked eyes of all of the other young ladies were on her.
‘Plumpton Academy for Young Ladies is a place of learning, a place where young ladies acquire the skills they will need for marriage.’ Miss Plumpton’s steely grey eyes bored into Mary’s blue ones. ‘As I was saying, all women should be useful to their husbands. Useful and gentle, and agreeable. It is not seemly for a young lady such as yourself to offer your opinions in such a forceful, mannish way.’
The fire within Mary blazed into life again. ‘I only said—’
‘You will be silent!’ Miss Plumpton’s tone brooked no argument. Standing stiffly in a black bombazine gown, her ample bosom heaving with fury, she addressed Mary with barely concealed disdain. ‘I heard what you said. You wished to express that a woman should be free to offer her opinions in mixed company? That is truly shocking! I do not wonder your poor father despaired of you and sent you to us that we might try to make a lady of you.’
‘Do not speak of my father in such a way! He would never despair of me!’ Mary bunched her hands into fists.
How dare she presume to speak for Papa, or imagine she knows why he sent me here?
Miss Plumpton’s lip curled. ‘It is unusual for a young lady of your advanced age to be placed in this academy. Most of the others—’ her delicate hand indicated the eleven other young ladies, all of whom were listening with wide eyes and an air of horror ‘—are sixteen and seventeen years of age. At twenty, Miss Smith, you should have learned long ago how to behave in polite society. Instead, you are an unruly, opinionated hoyden. And—’ she finished with an air of triumph ‘—no man will ever wish to marry you!’
Ignoring the gasps at this pronouncement, Mary simply smiled.
This seemed to anger her teacher even more. ‘Are you laughing at what I have to say?’ There were two spots of colour in her cheeks.
Mary raised an eyebrow. ‘Not at all. I was simply reflecting that, as a woman with no plan to ever marry, your announcement comes as something of a relief. I have no desire to ever submit to a man—and nor should any female. Apart from a rare few like my own papa, men seem to wish only to quell us.’
‘Miss Smith! I should declare myself to be shocked, except that, truly, I now expect you to say whatever makes you seem contrary.’
‘Mistress Mary, q
uite contrary,’ muttered one of the young ladies. A wave of unkind laughter rippled around the room. Mary flushed, unexpectedly pierced by hurt. She raised her chin. Never had she found another young lady she might call friend. She probably never would.
I have always known that Papa is my only friend.
Forcing herself to focus on the matter at hand, she refused to concede defeat. ‘My aim is not to be contrary, only truthful. There is no harm in that.’
‘Oh, but there is.’ Miss Plumpton’s temper was still high. ‘For an unacceptable truth must always be hidden.’
Mary shook her head. ‘I do not hide from honesty. I have been raised to honour truth and to speak plainly. I must continue to do so.’
‘Not when your “truth” is hurtful to others. Or when it harms your reputation.’
‘Reputation—pah! A notion constructed by society to control us.’ Ignoring the gasps from young ladies on either side of her, Mary pressed on. ‘Let me apply logic to your statement, Miss Plumpton. You have said that speaking plainly must be abhorred if one’s utterances may hurt another. Is that correct?’
Miss Plumpton shrugged. ‘Simple politeness dictates it.’
Mary tilted her head to one side, her mind working furiously. ‘I do agree with you that we must temper the need for honesty with an understanding that harsh words may land like blows. Yet, there is something here that I do not understand. Why then did you not comment when one of my classmates said “Mistress Mary, quite contrary” just now?’
There was a pause. Miss Plumpton seemed momentarily lost for words. Mary waited, curiosity uppermost in her mind. These were exactly the kinds of debates she had used to enjoy with her papa. Logic. Morality. Human responsibilities and choices.
Everyone was awaiting Miss Plumpton’s response. Her eyes flicked left and right, then, finally, inspiration came to her. ‘I suggest, Miss Smith, that rather than trying to bring trouble on one of your classmates—not an endearing characteristic, you must agree—instead you should reflect on why you are held to be contrary by these other ladies.’ Her expression grew victorious. ‘You cannot change your behaviour until you understand it!’
His Unlikely Duchess Page 24