“At last. I was about to begin a search,” he replied tersely, setting down his teacup and gesturing to a chair.
“Forgive me, I was quite absorbed in my—”
“Book, I know. Your little maid said as much. And I’ll remind you that you mustn’t spend so much time engaging your mind. Fine-tune your other qualities. Your pianoforte could benefit a great deal from some practice.” He sighed, as if already tired of the conversation with his daughter.
Liliah bit her tongue, not wishing to initiate a battle of wills just yet; she’d save the fight for a more worthy cause.
The only worthy cause of the moment.
“Now that you’re here, I need to inform you that Lord Greywick and I have decided on a date—”
“But, Your Grace . . .”
His brows knit further over his eyes, and he glared, his expression frosty and furious. “Do not interrupt me.”
Liliah swallowed, clenching her teeth as she nodded.
“As I was saying . . .” He paused, arching a brow, daring her to interfere again. “Lord Greywick and I are tired of waiting. We’ve been patient, and your progress with Greywick’s heir is apathetic at best. Therefore, tonight, at the Langford rout, Meyer will be asking you for two waltzes. That should set up the perfect tone for the banns being read in two weeks’ time. Hence, you shall be wed at St. George’s in two months. That is beyond generous and I—”
“It is anything but generous and you well know it!” Liliah couldn’t restrain herself any longer. Standing, she took position behind the chair, her fingers biting into the damask fabric as she prepared for battle.
One she knew was already lost.
“How dare you!” Her father’s voice boomed.
“Father, Meyer has no interest in me! How long will you imagine something greater than friendship?”
“I care not if he gives a fig about you!” her father roared, standing as well.
“I refuse.” Liliah spoke softly, like silk over steel as she clenched her teeth.
Her father took a menacing step forward. “There is no other way. And consider this: If this arrangement is not made, your friend will lose his title. Do you think that Lord and Lady Grace will allow their daughter to be married to a man with no means? No title?” He shook his head, his eyes calculating. “They will not. So cease your reluctance. There is no other option.” He took a deep breath and met her gaze. “I suggest you prepare for tonight; you’ll certainly be the center of attention and you should look the part. You’re dismissed.” With a quick wave of his fingers, he turned and went back to his tea, sitting down.
Tears burned the back of Liliah’s eyes, yet she held them in till she spun on her heel and quit the room, just as the first streams of warm tears spilled down her cheeks.
Surely there had to be another way?
Perhaps there was, but time was running out.
For everyone.
* * *
The Langford rout was buzzing with activity from London society’s most elite, the bon ton. The orchestra’s sweet melody floated through the air, drowning out most of the buzzing hum of voices. The dancers swirled around, a kaleidoscope of pastel colors amidst the gentlemen’s black evening kits. Ostrich and peacock feathers decorated the main banquet table, along with painted silver eggs. But the beauty of the ballroom was lost on Liliah; even the prospect of a treacle tart didn’t boost her mood. She meandered through the crush of humanity, swiping a glass of champagne from a passing footman. Sipping the cool liquid, she savored the bubbles as her gaze sharpened on her target.
Lady Grace—Rebecca—danced gracefully as she took the practiced steps of the quadrille. Rebecca smiled at her partner, and Liliah watched as the poor sop all but melted with admiration. Stifling a giggle, she waited till the dance ended, and made her way toward her friend. As she drew near, Rebecca caught sight and raised a hand in a wave, her overly expressive eyes smiling as wide as her lips.
“Liliah! Did you only just arrive? I was searching for you earlier.” Rebecca reached out and squeezed Liliah’s hand.
“I stalled,” Liliah confessed.
Rebecca’s smile faded, her green eyes no longer bright. “Did it work?”
“No.” Liliah glanced away, not knowing if she could handle the heartbreak that must be evident in Rebecca’s gaze.
“We understood it was a small chance. We must now simply seize every opportunity.” Rebecca spoke with far more control than Liliah expected. As she turned to her friend, she saw a depth of pain, yet a depth of strength in her gaze.
“There’s always hope,” Liliah affirmed, squeezing her friend’s hand.
“Always. And that being said, I must now seize this present opportunity.” Rebecca’s face lit up as only one deeply in love could do, and curtseyed as Meyer approached.
The Baron of Scoffield approached, but Liliah ever knew him as simply Meyer. Their friendship had been immediate and long-standing. Ever since Liliah, Rebecca, and Meyer had snuck away during a fireworks display at Vauxhall Gardens, they had created a special bond of friendship. But over the years, that friendship had shifted into something deeper between Meyer and Rebecca, while Liliah was happy to watch their romance bloom. Meyer’s gaze smoldered as he studied Rebecca, a secretive smile in place. As Liliah turned back to Rebecca, she saw the most delicate blush tint her olive skin. Liliah blushed as well, feeling like an intruder in their private moment. “I’ll just leave you two . . .” She trailed off, walking away as she heard Meyer ask Rebecca for a dance.
Liliah sipped the remaining champagne, watching her friends dance. Their eyes never left each other’s; even if they switched partners for the steps, they always came together, their love apparent for anyone who cared to look.
It was beautiful, and it was for naught.
As the dance ended, the first strains of a waltz soared through the air. What should have been beautiful was poisoned, and her heart felt increasingly heavy as Meyer walked in her direction, his lips a grim line.
He didn’t ask, simply held out his hand, and Liliah placed hers within his grasp, reluctantly following as they took the floor.
“By your expression, I can only assume you had as much progress with your father as I’ve had with mine,” Meyer said, his brown eyes sober as his gaze flickered away—likely looking for Rebecca.
“Your assumption would be correct,” Liliah replied.
Meyer took a deep breath, meeting her gaze. “We’ll figure something out.”
“But Meyer—” Liliah started.
“We will. We just need to bide our time till the opportunity presents itself.” He nodded with a brave confidence in his deep eyes.
“But what if we don’t?” Liliah hated to give voice to her deepest fears, watching as Meyer’s brave façade slowly fractured.
“Liliah, I—I can’t think of that. I’m damned if I do, damned if I do not. I’m sure your father reminded you about my title—”
“And how Lord and Lady Grace wouldn’t consider you without a title . . .”
“Exactly. I have to hold on to hope. But I, I do need to tell you . . . Liliah, if we are forced . . . nothing between us will change.” He lowered his chin, meeting Liliah’s gaze dead on, conveying words he couldn’t speak out loud.
“Thank you,” Liliah replied, feeling relieved. As much as she hated the idea of a platonic marriage, it hurt far worse to think of the betrayal that would haunt them all should Meyer take her to bed. It hurt to think she’d never know physical love, yet what choice did they all have? Should they take that step, Meyer would be thinking of Rebecca during the act, Liliah would know, and would not only be betraying her friend, but how could she not be resentful? Far better for them to simply bide their time till an arrangement could be made—she would simply step aside. Maybe take a lover of her own?
How she hated how complicated her life had become.
Liliah took a deep breath, mindlessly performing the waltz steps. A smile quirked her lips as she had a rather unhelpfu
l—yet still amusing—thought.
“Ah, I know that smile. What is your devious mind thinking?” Meyer asked, raising a dark brow even as he grinned.
Liliah gave him a mock glare. “I’m not devious.”
“You are utterly devious.” Meyer chuckled. “Which makes you a very diverting friend indeed. Now share your thoughts.”
Liliah rolled her eyes. “Such charm. Very well, I was thinking how it would be lovely if we could simply make the wedding a masquerade and have Rebecca switch places with me at the last moment! Then you’d marry her rather than me and it would be over and done before they could change it!” She hitched a shoulder at her silly thoughts.
Meyer chuckled. “Devious indeed! Too bad it will not work.” He furrowed a brow and glanced away, as if thinking.
“What is your wicked mind concocting?”
“Nothing of import.” His gaze shifted back to her. “Your mentioning of the masquerade reminded me of an earlier conversation with a chum.”
Liliah grinned. “Is there a masquerade ball being planned?” she asked with barely restrained enthusiasm.
“Indeed, but it is one to which you will not be invited, thank heavens.” He shook his head, grinning, yet his expression was one of relief.
“Why so?”
“It’s not a masquerade for polite society, my dear. And I shouldn’t have even mentioned it.”
“A secret? Meyer, you simply must tell me!”
“Heavens no! This is not for your delicate—”
Liliah snorted softly, giving him an exasperated expression, before she slowly grinned.
“Aw hell. I know that smile. Liliah . . .” he warned.
“If you won’t tell me, then I can always ask someone else—”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort!”
“You know I will.”
“You’re a menace!” Meyer hissed, his expression narrowing as the waltz ended.
“So, you’ll tell me?” Liliah asked, biting her lip with excitement.
Meyer was silent as he led them to a quiet corner of the ballroom, pausing beside a vacant alcove.
“This is a yes!” Liliah answered her question, squeezing his forearm as her hand rested upon it.
“I’m only telling you so that I can properly manage what you hear. Heaven only knows what you’d draw out of an unsuspecting swain. At least I’m immune to your charms and won’t give in to your pleas.”
Liliah almost reminded him that he was doing just that—but held her tongue.
“There is a . . . place.” Meyer spoke in a hushed whisper, and Liliah moved in closer just to hear his words above the floating music. “It’s secretive, selective, and not a place for a gently bred lady, if you gather my meaning.”
Liliah nodded, hanging on every word.
“Only few are accepted as members and it’s quite the thing to be invited. One of my acquaintances was far too drunk the other night and spoke too freely about this secretive club—mentioning a masquerade. That is all.”
Liliah thought over his words, having several questions. “What’s it called?”
Meyer paused, narrowing his eyes. “Temptations,” he added reluctantly.
“And they are having a masquerade?” Liliah asked, a plan forming in her mind, spinning out of control.
“Yes. And that is all you need to know.”
Meyer broke their gaze and looked over his shoulder at the swirling crowd.
“Go to her. We still have one waltz left and then I’ll ask you all the questions you’ll refuse to answer.” She winked, playfully shoving her friend toward the dance floor.
“When you put it that way . . .” He rolled his eyes and walked off toward the crowd.
Liliah thought back over what Meyer had said, considering his words—and what they might mean. A masquerade—inappropriate for ladies.
It sounded like the perfect solution for a lady wishing to be utterly inappropriate. All she had to do was discover the location, steal away, and maybe, just maybe . . . she’d get to experience a bit of life before it was married away. Was that too much to ask? Certainly not, and as long as she knew the name, surely she could discover the location.
For the first time since this whole misbegotten disaster, she felt a shred of hope.
Utterly scandalous hope.
Escaping His Grace Page 25