Читать книгу Major Westhaven's Unwilling Ward - Emily Bascom - Страница 10

After four dances with four equally dull gentlemen, Lily was cursing her vow.

She was doing her best to be what they seemed to like best, effervescent and charming, simpering prettily at them between turns and promenades on the floor—but it was exhausting. She did not know how the other girls around her seemed to achieve such an effect so effortlessly—from the old hands to the veriest débutante.

Nevertheless, it seemed one man was particularly interested in her performance.

Looking up by chance at the end of an energetic country dance, flushed and smiling, she happened to glance across the room—and found a pair of smoky grey-blue eyes watching her.

He did not look away as their eyes met.

Tall, hair so dark as to almost be black, he stood upright at one end of the dance floor—despite his civilian dress an unmistakably military stance. He was immaculately turned out—dark navy jacket and matching waistcoat exquisitely embroidered about the sleeves and hem, close-fitting fawn breeches disappearing into boots, rather than the more fashionable buckled shoes that other men wore this evening. His shoulder-length hair, that unusually dark colour, was tied securely at the nape of his neck, and did not look like it would dare to attempt escape.

All this she took in as, for a moment of pure surprise, she stood fixed in the beam of his gaze across an expanse of laughing people. And, just for a moment, a single strand of awareness stretched between them, unbroken by the laughter, music and innumerable conversations happening around and between them. He did not look at her as the other gentlemen did: admiring her pretty dress, the way her hair curled about her shoulders in tendrils, her smile, even her much-praised eyes.

He looked at her as if he saw her.

It was not a comfortable feeling—and yet, even as she recognised her discomfort, Lily was aware of something else curling into life within her: a warm feathery longing, an unfamiliar but nonetheless unmistakable attraction to this handsome stranger. For handsome he was, she had to admit, even in this instant, held in his stare.

She wanted to smile, yet she could not. She felt the slightest of flushes creep across her cheekbones, and saw—did she imagine?—a response in his dark blue gaze, far though he was from her.

Who was he? Why did he look at her so, as though he could take all of her and more, see through her act and know her completely—all without moving from that spot. What did he want?

Because she did not know what else to do, she dropped her eyes and turned away, watching the dancers take to the floor again, needing a moment to compose herself.

When she looked back—simply because she could not do otherwise—he was talking to the gentleman next to him. In profile he was equally striking, slim about the hips yet broad shouldered, his strong features offset by a generous mouth that set Lily wondering, in a moment quite unlike her usual sensible self, what he looked like when he smiled.

Frowning slightly, she averted her gaze again before he caught her staring—what was she thinking, sizing him up so? Turning slightly away, she scolded herself for such foolishness—was this all it took—a handsome man to make eye-contact with her—for her to behave like a manshy debutante?

She needed something to distract her and, luckily, something presented itself in the form of a young admirer, bowing prettily over her hand and asking most courteously for a dance. Gratefully, she accepted and allowed him to lead her to the floor.

And yet, even while dancing, she was aware of the other’s eyes upon her, watching her every move, giving her a new feeling of self-consciousness. Telling herself she was imagining it, she smiled at her partner and applied herself to the dance.

But when she did glance back, just for a moment, it was to find those grey-blue eyes on her face once more. Lily looked down at her feet as she almost missed a step, the first glimmer of irritation growing in her.

Did he not know it was impolite to stare so? Was he trying to disconcert her? If he wished to make her acquaintance, why did he not simply seek an introduction? Must he stand there appraising her as if she was a horse he was minded to buy?

Even as annoyance flickered into life, Lily knew it was senseless to mind such attention. Was that not, after all, why she was here—to parade herself, an offering for the highest bidder? Was she not reliant upon one of these men being taken enough with her to ignore her lack of land and fortune and propose?

The dance eventually ended, to her relief and, thanking her young partner—it seemed increasingly that the men at such events were becoming ever younger—Lily slipped across to a refreshment table, picked up a drink, and cast her eyes about for Kitty Stanton, the friend who had accompanied her to the ball. She wished to ask about the stranger who still, she saw, glancing hastily across the room, stood where he had been throughout the last two dances, though his conversation partner had changed.

He was nursing a drink in one long-fingered hand, she noticed suddenly, making no effort to sip from the glass as he conversed idly with the older man now at his side. Though he listened and responded politely enough, nothing the gentleman said seemed to move him—or perhaps he was simply immovable. Lily, thinking of his inscrutable gaze, bit her lip in thought.

Who was he? Why did he stand there so, expecting people to come to him?

As she watched, another gentleman and a lady joined his small party, a girl that Lily vaguely knew, and her brother. Introductions were completed, with the stranger still polite but impassive. It was not, Lily mused, that there was anything lacking in his manners—there was just no warmth in anything he did; he held himself at a distance from proceedings, almost.

The lady was gesturing to the dance floor now, casting her large eyes up at the stranger, imploring. Lily could almost hear the exchange—it was very charmingly done—and she hid a wry smile.

But the stranger was shaking his head, looking detachedly regretful. He gestured to the girl’s brother, then to the floor. The insinuation was obvious even to Lily, standing several metres away from them, out of earshot. He was refusing to dance, inviting them to continue without him.

Lily could not help a disapproving frown appearing between her brows. Why would he not dance, when asked so prettily? Could it be, she mused, taking in his flawless appearance, that he did not wish to rumple his clothes? She could not abide men who took themselves so seriously—why attend a ball if you had no intention of taking to the floor? Surely it was a gentleman’s duty to stand up with the ladies?

The lady and her brother were leaving him now, proceeding to the dance floor. Lily thought it was a shame that the young girl had been forced to ask for her own dance and been refused—such an indignity, and all at the hands of this enigmatic stranger.

Almost as if he had heard, he glanced up.

Their eyes met, and she did not have time to replace the frown with a more benign expression. For a long moment he just looked at her. Then, slowly, he raised his glass in greeting, a silent toast across the room that no doubt looked innocent—and probably even charming—to those around. But Lily did not miss the sardonic tilt of his lips, a halfsmile tempered by something else entirely in his eyes—something guarded, almost hostile.

Confused, blushing once more, she dropped her gaze.

Now he was mocking her! What gave him the right to look at her so, when they had not even been introduced? And then to make her feel ashamed for watching him? Who was he?

Gritting her teeth, she turned her back on the dance floor. She was not engaged for the next two dances—and she needed to take some air.

Let him stare at some other poor fool while she was gone.

Daniel Westhaven could not quite believe his eyes.

Robbie Pevensey’s sister was every bit as spoilt and feather-brained as every other simpering powder puff of a woman in this place. He had watched her for most of the evening: speaking to gentlemen, dipping her lashes and smiling winsomely, dancing, flirting and sparkling her way about the ballroom in a dress that told of indulgent expense in its deceptive simplicity of line.

It had taken her a long time to notice his interest, so absorbed in herself had she been. But once she had seen him looking, it was obvious she was trying to impress him.

And then, when he had caught her watching him, he had seen it—disapproval writ clearly on her face. She wondered, no doubt, at his seeming unwillingness to dance and make merry. Like all her kind, pleasure was all she lived for.

His fingers tightened around his glass. This was not what he had expected—he had heard that there was interest in her, that she was out in society again after the death of her brother…But somehow, he had expected the sister of his friend to be different. If not serious, exactly, then with a little intelligence at least.

He sighed inwardly. It did not matter. He was not looking for approval, and God knew he did not expect her to become fond of him. He had survived to keep his promise, against the odds, and now he had a duty to perform—that was all. He would do so, for Robbie.

He did not have to like it.

‘Lily! I have been searching for you!’

Standing in a trance before the fish pond in Lady Langley’s elegant garden, Lily looked round dazedly to see the sweet face and button nose of Lady Katherine Stanton peering out at her from behind a row of potted palms.

‘Kitty.’ She smiled fondly. ‘I was dreaming.’

‘Of a handsome gentleman to whisk you away?’ Kitty, two years her junior and the liveliest of the little group of ladies Lily called her friends, came forward, eyes sparkling. ‘There are many here tonight, for sure.’

‘Have you seen anyone in particular?’

Kitty considered, head on one side. ‘No one as handsome as my Tom, of course. But I have just made the acquaintance of a very dashing gentleman, or, should I say, he made mine. I had fancied him the perfect husband for you at first, but he’s ancient—definitely over thirty. Nevertheless, he seems awfully eager to meet you, so I promised to facilitate the introductions—do come along!’

Lily hid a smile. ‘Ancient indeed.’ She frowned. ‘Why does he wish to meet me?’

Kitty rolled her eyes. ‘Because he is enraptured by your beauty, of course!’

‘He said that?’

‘He had no need to!’

‘Kitty, really.’ Lily ran her hands over her gown, knowing it could not hope to approach the cutting-edge fashion displayed within by the confident, wealthy daughters of the ton.

The younger girl flashed her a wide smile. ‘Forgive me—I am just so excited that the Season is begun at last! Surely this year we shall find you a husband!’

Lily shook her head indulgently. What would Kitty say if she knew the resolutions she had made earlier tonight? And yet, could she not allow herself to hope, surrounded by all this glitter and style, that she would find love along with her much-needed husband?

Such dreams were foolish, she knew. Yet, though she was older than many of her similarly unmarried peers, she could still feel, occasionally, the girlish thrill of a handsome man paying her attention. This year she had looked forward, despite herself, to the round of balls and parties. There was peace to be found in trivial things: chatting with her friends, discussing which gentleman was most handsome, and dancing her way through the long summer nights helped her forget the darker thoughts she experienced, and her fears for the future. These past few years had not been easy ones, the last in particular heavy with sadness.

Kitty, who had been snapped up by the dashing Lord Stanton almost as soon as she had made her début last Season, always tried her best to cheer her, however. Despite her married status, Lily increasingly thought of her as a younger sister—and the girl was regarding her now with approval. ‘You do look lovely tonight, Lily. I am quite jealous.’

Lily looked down at herself, touched at the compliment. ‘You are kind to say so.’ She smiled. ‘But you know you have nothing to be jealous of.’ Small and girlishly lovely, with abundant shining dark hair and huge brown eyes, Kitty had a dramatic effect on men, who seemed to want to sweep her up and protect her. Her husband had faced stiff competition before he had at last carried away his prize.

Kitty grinned impishly. ‘Come, let us go in so you can flirt with Major Westhaven. He looks like he could do with cheering up.’

Lily sighed. ‘Honestly, Kitty!’

‘I will go and fetch him. Count to ten, then follow me.’

‘Very well.’ Lily could not help smiling at her friend’s flair for the dramatic.

She lingered on the steps up to the terrace, patting her hair to make sure it was in place and pinching some colour into her cheeks. If this man was as attractive as Kitty said, she wished to make a good impression, ancient or not.

Then, carrying herself with all the grace she could muster, she stepped inside the ballroom.

‘Ah, Miss Pevensey, there you are!’ Kitty was on her at once, with a naughty wink, laying a hand on her arm. ‘I was just telling the Major you could not have gone far.’

Lily smiled. ‘I was just outside, Lady Stanton, taking some…air…’

She faltered as her eyes fell on the man who stood beside and slightly behind her friend. She should have been prepared—it was obvious, thinking about it now, who the man who so wished to meet her would be.

It was the mysterious stranger whose eyes had followed her so insistently all night.

Close up, his looks were just as striking, the contrast between his dark hair and lighter eyes only highlighting the fact. Ancient he was certainly not, but Kitty had been right—he must be at least a decade older than Lily’s own twenty-one years; his face bore the look of a man who had seen much, experienced life.

Taking all this in, she realised that his eyes—somewhere between blue and grey—were watching her with an odd expression in them once more, almost as if he knew her. And yet Lily was sure she had never beheld this almost indecently handsome man before tonight. Surely she would have remembered?

What she did remember, however, was the mocking salute with his glass, and his dismissive attitude to the merrymaking about him.

She forced herself to smile, though he was still staring.

‘Liliana, may I introduce you to Major Daniel Westhaven?’ There was a girlish excitement in Kitty’s eyes that amused Lily, even as she smiled politely. ‘Major, my good friend, Liliana Pevensey.’

‘Major.’ Lily held out her hand. He took it in strong, warm fingers and bowed over it, eyes still on her face.

All at once her hand was suffused with an odd, tingling warmth that spread up her arm and deep into her belly. There again was that curling attraction, reaching across the space between them, making her feel most peculiar inside. Exasperated with herself for her reaction—let alone the knowledge that she was flushing an alluring shade of pink—Lily hastily withdrew her hand, chastising herself inwardly. Just because he was the best-looking man she had seen in a long time did not mean she should behave like she was still in petticoats! Looks, as she had seen earlier this evening, could cover all manner of other vices, and she hated rudeness and snobbery above all things.

Where had he sprung from, all of a sudden, to torment her so?

‘The Major is back with us after the war in America,’ Kitty informed her, as if sensing the unspoken question.

Lily’s eyes widened even as she captured and buried, through long practice, the stab of painful misery the very mention of those words awoke in her. She half-frowned at her friend, wishing Kitty had thought to warn her, even as she nodded carefully, composing herself invisibly, talking herself back into the persona of the carefree, effervescent lady she must be tonight.

She smiled up at the man before her. ‘The fighting was finished a year ago, my lord,’ she said lightly. She looked at him through her lashes, ever so slightly flirtatious, the way she had practised endless times in front of the mirror, thinking of Kitty and quashing her pride. ‘Where have you been hiding yourself?’

‘I have a house in the country,’ he said, voice deep and rich, yet measured somehow, as if he was careful with his words. ‘I have found little occasion to come to town these few years.’

‘Yet now you join us.’ She allowed the corners of her mouth to tilt up alluringly, while her eyes told him how she really felt. ‘We are fortunate, my lord.’

She knew he had not missed the sarcasm under her cool exterior. Something crossed his face that looked very much like displeasure, but was hidden again so fast that Lily could not be sure.

‘Oakridge is very beautiful, so I hear,’ said Kitty helpfully. ‘My mother has never forgotten the balls your parents used to give, my lord.’

‘Yes,’ he said shortly. ‘Well, it has been some time since I had visitors.’

‘We could redress that for you,’ Kitty told him, touching his arm conspiratorially. ‘You should have a ball—would that not be delightful, Miss Pevensey?’

Lily, swiftly stifling a grin at her friend’s daring, nodded. ‘It would indeed be most enjoyable, my lord.’

He smiled tightly. ‘I would be honoured to have so beautiful a guest in my home, Miss Pevensey.’

Lily gave him her usual sparkling smile. And yet, there was something not quite right. It was exactly the sort of thing she had expected him to say, in truth, yet she could not escape the feeling that he had said it precisely for this reason. There was, she realised, looking up into his closed expression, nothing sincere in his manner at all.

She was distracted by Kitty laying a hand on her arm.

‘I must go and find my husband—I fear he has escaped home while my back has been turned—do excuse me, Miss Pevensey, my lord!’

With this she headed hastily into the throng, leaving them alone.

Lily, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at such an obvious exeunt, turned back to Major Westhaven and—just for a moment—there fell an awkward silence the like of which was unfamiliar for her in such a situation. She refreshed her smile.

‘Tell me, my lord, have you recently become acquainted with Lady Stanton, or are you old friends from when last you were in society? She said her mother knew your parents?’

‘Indeed. And her husband is a member of my club.’ His tone was dismissive, his manner somewhat changed now, darker, more subdued. ‘Miss Pevensey, I wonder if I could call upon you tomorrow?’

‘Oh!’ Surprised, Lily blinked. ‘I thought you wished us to visit you, my lord?’

‘In time,’ he said shortly. ‘But I have something I need to discuss with you. Would that be acceptable?’

Taken by surprise, she was unable to think quickly enough to fabricate a reason why she would not be at home, so she could only nod dumbly. ‘Why, of course…Well…shall we say mid-day, then?’

He nodded, expressionless.

‘I…shall look forward to it.’ Lily could not entirely mask her bewilderment. What could he possibly have to say to her? For such a handsome man, he was disconcertingly lacking in social graces. Perhaps all he needed was to relax a little. If she was to entertain him tomorrow she supposed she should give him another chance.

‘I must confess to noticing you earlier tonight, my lord,’ she told him, wondering if she could broach the subject of his blatant staring.

‘Indeed?’

She nodded. ‘You did not look as if you were enjoying yourself.’

He threw her a measured look. ‘How could I not, in such company?’

His ironic tone caused her teeth to grit instinctively. Carefully rearranging her features into one of polite disinterest, she smiled coolly. ‘You do not care for Lord Langley’s brandy? I am told it is of the finest quality.’

For an instant confusion clouded his face, then he followed her gaze to his glass, still half-full. He raised an eyebrow. ‘I see you have taken careful note, Miss Pevensey.’

‘As you appeared to be doing with me, my lord,’ she replied sweetly.

‘You are not used to gentlemen watching you?’ It was said low, almost a growl, and it reached Lily deep in her stomach. Startled by the sudden hot lurch within, she raised her eyes to his. What she saw in their stormy depths was uncharted, dangerous—and suddenly she knew that this cool exterior, this frosty disdain, was not the real man at all. He was capable of much more than this…much more passion, hinted at in the curve of that generous mouth. The mouth that was, in truth, not so far from hers…

Lily dragged her gaze away from his lips, unaware that her own were parted sensuously. Everything seemed very far away suddenly, everything but him—he stood close enough to touch, looking at her so differently all of a sudden.

What was happening to her?

Lily stepped back slightly. ‘People usually seek an introduction if they wish to speak to someone,’ was all she could think of to say, lashes covering her confusion.

‘As did I.’

‘You did.’ She looked away for a moment, gathering her wits about her. ‘Eventually. I suppose manners recovered are better than manners lost for good.’

There was a short, surprised pause. Then he drew himself up. ‘Miss Pevensey, I am not sure—’

But she was too far along to care for politeness now. ‘You do not dance, either, it appears, Major?’

He did not reply.

Looking up at him, Lily was surprised to see that his expression had become stony, as if she had taken some unimaginable liberty. She raised her eyebrows and smiled pleasantly, encouraging an answer. He regarded her for a long moment, jaw tight, as though he did not know quite what to make of this performance.

‘Regrettably not,’ he said curtly. ‘But I am sure there are plentiful supplies of younger men available to assist you.’

She blinked. ‘You think this is my way of asking you to stand up with me?’

‘Is it not?’

‘Why would I ask you when you have made it clear you find such things distasteful? Although,’ she added, because she could not resist seeing his response, ‘I will never refuse a dance if asked nicely.’

‘I can only offer my apologies.’ He did not sound remotely regretful.

‘My lord!’ Lily said, an acidly teasing tone in her voice. ‘Surely you are not suggesting that your years are too advanced to allow you to dance? Why, there is old Mr Georgestone on the dance floor now, sixty if he is a day! See how he can still turn a pretty step, even with his old bones? I think you would have little trouble, if you did decide to—’

‘I have given you my answer.’

His tone was so cold that it stopped Lily immediately, her eyes widening and darting to his. Again she felt her colour rise as she realised he did not take kindly to being baited, however lightly. This man had no intention of dancing with her—worse, he looked at her as if he could think of nothing more repugnant. She lowered her gaze again.

‘Forgive me, my lord,’ she managed, ‘I had not intended—’

‘Miss Pevensey.’

She turned as a handsome blond-haired man came up beside them and bowed deeply, looking absurdly young in his fashionably striped waistcoat and formal jacket. ‘Can it be that you are becoming more lovely?’

‘Lord Denham!’ Lily smiled with all the pleasure she could feign under such straitened circumstances. First the cold Major Westhaven, and now this popinjay also?

A dandy and a flirt, with a reputation for his love of gambling and frivolous attitude to the opposite sex, Lord Denham often sought her out to flatter and tease. She knew he could have no interest in her, penniless as she was—but that did not prevent him playing with her, amusing himself, she suspected, until a more serious prospect presented itself. He was everything she disliked in a man: bored, spoilt and idle. Perhaps, she thought caustically, she could introduce him to Lord Westhaven; they would probably become firm friends. At least then they would leave her alone.

‘Can it be that you are becoming more insincere, my lord?’ she said, a teasing note in her voice, because she knew that was what he expected. It would not do to get a reputation for churlishness—and she knew Lord Denham could scupper her prospects with barely a word to his fashionable friends if she fell out of favour with him.

Sighing inwardly, she turned back to her sullen companion. ‘Major Westhaven, I trust you know Charles Denham? His father is Lord Ashburton.’

‘We are acquainted.’ Major Westhaven bowed slightly to the newcomer, still stony faced.

Lily gritted her teeth. Why was he so unpleasant? Stung, she turned to Lord Denham and beamed at him, slipping back into the role she was supposed to be playing, that of carefree socialite. This was, at the very least, her chance of escape.

‘Lord Denham—I wonder if you would do me a favour?’

He bowed extravagantly.

‘Certainly. Whatever I can do to be of service.’

‘You are so kind.’ She dropped her lashes in the time-honoured way and, out of the corner of her eye, she was sure she saw the Major clench his jaw in obvious displeasure. Spurred on by an unexpected delight in annoying him, she simpered, ‘You see, I have the most delightful new dancing shoes…’ Withdrawing her gown just enough to allow the pointed tip of one shoe to peek out—blue to match her dress, embroidered with dark pink roses—she tipped her face up to his. ‘So pretty, do you not agree?’ She looked over at Major Westhaven, including him in the moment.

He was watching her, trying hard to conceal an irritation that showed clearly in his eyes, while Charlie, conversely, looked enchanted.

‘Very pretty indeed. And how may I help, Miss Pevensey?’ the younger man asked smoothly, clearly gratified by her attentions.

She pouted in mock admonishment. ‘Why, sir, the Major will not deign to dance with me, and you are almost as neglectful! You have been here all night and you have not yet asked me!’ Blushing prettily, she swept her luxurious lashes down until they touched her cheeks. ‘I know you will forgive me, my lord—though it should be your place to ask. But I am so excited by my new shoes—I cannot wait another minute to try them out.’ She smiled winningly at him. ‘You could assist me greatly by asking me to stand up with you.’

‘Well, I had indeed come over with the intention to see if you would do me the honour,’ the young man said, smiling at Lily. ‘If the Major does not object.’

‘On the contrary. Miss Pevensey was just looking for a dance partner and, as I cannot oblige…’ Major Westhaven inclined his head to Lily. ‘A pleasure to have met you, Miss Pevensey,’ he said softly, in tones so sardonic Lily felt her blood rise.

‘The pleasure was all mine, my lord,’ she said, voice every bit as chilling as his. ‘You will be the darling of the whole town in no time with such manners.’

His eyes met hers, and she saw a flash of tightly controlled anger in their stony depths. Lily raised her chin. She was not some pup of a soldier, his to discipline on the field. She was a lady who had been treated very shoddily by a stranger who seemed to think his looks alone were enough to get by in the drawing rooms of the ton.

He said nothing, only bowed and turned away.

He was not quite out of earshot when she turned to Denham, furious. ‘What an awful man!’ She cared not whether he heard—and, sure enough, her heated retort must have reached his ears, for she saw his shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly. Triumphant, she fixed the amused-looking dandy before her with a dazzling smile.

‘Come, Lord Denham, let us dance.’

Lily danced until her annoyance at Major Westhaven faded, swept away on a tide of smiling faces and soothing music. At last, feet aching but temper much improved, she sought refuge on a well-padded chaise longue, placed beside the open French windows where a gentle breeze from the terrace cooled her wonderfully.

The smell of cigar smoke reached her as she reclined, mingling with low male voices outside. Glancing out past the gently blowing lace curtains that hid her from their view, Lily saw the boyishly good-looking face of Charlie Denham, hair ruffled from dancing, looking pleased with himself as he always did at such events and—in fact—in general. His companions, a group of five or so men, were similarly dishevelled. All but one—tall, devilishly handsome and still immaculately turned out, Major Westhaven was leaning nonchalantly against the stone balustrade. With a twist of annoyance at the sight of him, Lily was about to rise to her feet and seek rest elsewhere when she heard her name. Instinctively, she drew further back behind the curtain, its sheer folds allowing her to see the men while shielding her from their view. Not that they were concerned with anything but their conversation—of which she was the topic, it seemed.

‘Miss Pevensey is lovely tonight,’ Denham was saying, in tones of appreciation that made Lily’s flesh creep. ‘As always.’

There were several murmurs of agreement, but nothing from the Major, gazing out across the gardens as if such a topic did not interest him. Denham smiled. ‘You were unimpressed by the beautiful Liliana, Major?’

Laconically, the older man turned his attention back to the group. ‘Not at all. She is indeed lovely.’ Blue plumes rose from his cigar into the night air as Daniel Westhaven arched a wry eyebrow. ‘Have your eye on her, do you, Denham?’

Charlie laughed, and to Lily’s ears he sounded a little uncomfortable. Surely the Major must know that he would never seriously court any but a rich woman? ‘Would not any man? She’s penniless, of course, but she’s from good stock.’

Something must have been betrayed in the Major’s face at closer quarters than Lily could see for, sounding amused, Charles asked, ‘Not your type, eh? You want a woman who’ll what—converse with you? Is that what you learned fighting the rebels, Major? Personally, I’d thank the Lord for a wife like Liliana Pevensey to keep my house, warm my bed and host my parties. When I want conversation I’ll go to my club.’

Major Westhaven smiled tightly, irritation sketched in the clean lines of his stance. He did not take kindly, it seemed, to the subtle mockery of his peers. ‘It appears I am in the minority. Apparently beautiful and vacant is what the men of the ton want these days, for she seems to have all of you enthralled.’

Lily, frozen to the spot, felt the colour rise in her cheeks. She could see only his profile now, looking out towards the garden.

Beautiful and vacant.

Had she imagined that? A little shudder passed through her. Beautiful she had been called before—men said it to her all the time—Major Westhaven himself had said it not two hours ago! But it was usually accompanied by sparkling, or gay, or even effervescent…

But vacant?

Humiliation burned up her spine, making her shiver all over again, bringing tears to her eyes. Vacant could not be flattering, not by anyone’s standards. And the other men had hardly tripped over themselves to defend her there.

She tried hard to swallow and found she could not quite manage it.

Desperately she tried to talk some sense into herself, to redress the damage those words had done, sinking into her flesh like so many barbs.

After her parents died, her life had been filled with misery and loneliness, especially when Robbie had left for his faraway war, and she had never felt at home anywhere since. She had wanted nothing more than to hide from the world, immersed in the comforting routines of running her aunt’s house—keeping her mind off the uncertainty of her future, trusting always that her brother would return. But he had not—and she had come to realise that no one would take care of her if she did not take care of herself.

She had been unable—and unwilling—to make her début when planned, due to the mourning that followed Robbie’s death. But she had finally come out last Season, at her aunt’s urging. As a débutante last year, she had assumed that other girls received more attention than herself because she was somewhat older; but she had soon come to see that the others made themselves alluring to men by dampening their own wits—by simpering, giggling and flirting their way into the affections of men like Charles Denham.

So at the start of this Season, by now quite alone in the world but determined not to be beaten, she had made a choice.

She needed to marry or become destitute, so she had determined that she, too, could find a husband this way. She had transformed herself—become lovely, carefree Liliana Pevensey, her slender waist, golden curls, graceful carriage and elegant neck the subject of many a compliment by various gentlemen who barely remembered making her acquaintance the year before. She had laughed and danced as if she lived for nothing else, and tried desperately to forget how her heart bled beneath her homemade gowns.

A year ago the very idea of playing such a role would have been abhorrent to her; she knew that her brother would not recognise her if he saw her this way—would very likely despise what she had become.

But he was dead, and this was how she must survive. She was careful to always be chatty at parties, eager to flirt and converse—and, true enough, more attention was paid to her. She had survived by telling herself that, once they were married, her husband would not want her to remain for ever the living doll he had married. They could, in time, become equals.

But now…was she not fooling herself? In her mind she heard Denham’s words once more: ‘When I want conversation I’ll go to my club.’ There had been murmurs of agreement from his friends. Was this what she had to look forward to in marriage? He had defended her beauty staunchly enough—but not her wits. How could he—when he had no idea she could do anything other than sparkle like an expensive bauble? When he did not care, and neither did his peers?

Lily clasped her hands together tightly in her lap, trying to hold in the despair that gripped her. She knew she was not vacant. Was she to care what this…this…warembittered hermit said? And yet she knew precisely why such damage had been done by mere words from a selfrighteous stranger.

Because deep within her, Lily knew that Major Westhaven was right.

She knew, in her heart, that many thought what he did of women who behaved as she had. This flippant, frivolous character she portrayed was what men wanted—but must she play this role for the rest of her life when the consequences were to be called…vacant?

Lily rose to her feet, a tear spilling down her cheek before she could stop it. Wiping it away, she frowned defiantly. Who was this man, who seemed to think he could say what he pleased with no repercussions?

She did not want a husband—necessity required that she find one. She had a mind, and knew how to use it—and mere words could not make it otherwise! She must hold fast to that, believe against her mounting doubts that she could still marry one of these men without losing herself.

Daniel Westhaven was nothing to her—she would not let him spoil her evening or her plans. He had money, after all—he did not know what it was to fear bankruptcy!

Lifting her chin, she stood up to rejoin the party.

She would sparkle, be vibrant and lovely, without a care, as if it was true of her wounded soul. And no one would ever know otherwise.