Читать книгу The Wallflower Duchess - Liz Tyner - Страница 12

Chapter Two

‘Gaunt.’ Edgeworth stepped from the window when his valet entered. ‘Are my things prepared?’

‘Your Grace?’ Gaunt tilted his head forward in question.

‘For my neighbour’s little...’ he waved his hand in a circular motion and sat at his dressing mirror, pleased that his face had regained the look of health ‘...soirée. Surely you have my clothes ready.’ Keeping his eyes on the mirror, Edge asked. ‘You do have my clothing ready. You have not forgotten?’

‘Um, yes, Your Grace. Of course.’ Gaunt stepped away, feet brisk.

Edgeworth didn’t move. In one brief moment, he’d seen Gaunt’s eyes reflected in the mirror. Even as he answered with the usual unruffled respect, the valet’s eyes had briefly looked heavenward. Exasperated.

Edgeworth stared at the looking glass. Gaunt had been Edgeworth’s only valet—ever. And the servant never forgot a—Edgeworth thought back. He’d not told Gaunt of the soirée. No. He had no memory of mentioning it. He’d been busy catching up with all the duties that had fallen by the wayside while he recovered and he’d been planning his proposal. But it didn’t matter. Gaunt was always prepared.

When Gaunt returned, he had the same stoic expression as always—except for the few moments before when he’d not known himself observed. Now Gaunt whipped things about just as if he’d been told earlier of their need. Warm water appeared. Clothes were readied. Shaving was quickly accomplished, with the little splash of the scent which Gaunt said was nasturtiums and Edgeworth suspected was merely an ordinary shaving soap put in an expensive container.

Edgeworth gave a final perusal of himself, though he knew the valet would have alerted him to any flaw.

‘I can’t believe you forgot the soirée,’ Edge said.

‘Nor can I.’

No flicker of irritation. Perhaps Gaunt did think he’d forgotten.

Edge took the comb and did another run through his hair, then set the comb on the edge of the tabletop, absently letting it fall to the floor. When he stood, he picked up the dry cloth on the table, brushed it at his cheek, wadded it into a ball and tossed it over the soap pot. On the way out, he glanced at Gaunt’s expression. Calmness rested in his eyes.

The Duke paused outside the door, shutting it, but then he stopped and opened it quietly. Gaunt retrieved the comb, putting it in the spot it belonged. Then retrieved the flannel and his cheeks puffed. He wrung the cloth once, and then again, and again, as if it were—perhaps, a neck. Then he precisely smoothed it before returning it to the exact spot Edge preferred.

Pulling the door softly shut behind him, Edgeworth paused. The towel had not been wet, but if it had been his neck, he wouldn’t be going to the soirée.

* * *

Lily walked to Abigail’s room and peered in. Her sister had the face of her mother, a perfect heart shape, and her father’s fair colouring and blonde hair.

Lily supposed her colouring came from her true father. At the one time she’d seen the blacksmith, she’d not been aware that men could pass their resemblance on to their children. She was thankful for that.

Her mother had jerked Lily’s hand forward, pulling her into the invisible wall of heat and charred odours which separated the shop from the alive world. A blacksmith had appeared, standing like a gruff ogre at a fire where his next meal could be roasted—or a fire where a little girl who’d stepped too near could be tossed.

His eyes couldn’t have been gleaming red-hot—he was human—but in her memory he’d had red eyes, blocks of huge teeth and his wet hair had spiked down the sides of his face into points.

When the stories in the newspaper were published about her birth and she fully considered what that really meant, she’d shuddered. Fortune had plucked her into a princess world where even her maid hummed. Being illegitimate wasn’t nearly so bad as the thought of how different life would have been with the man whose walls hung dark with long pinchers.

She’d only had the one nightmare where he’d grabbed her with the pinchers and tossed her into the flames, laughing and telling her she didn’t belong in the rich man’s world. She belonged in the coals.

Now, Lily appraised her sister, thankful for the brightness Abigail brought into the world.

‘You look like a princess.’ Lily leaned around the doorway.

‘I feel like one, too.’

Lily smiled and left, moving down the stairs to the ballroom. Tonight, instead of frowning at any man who stood too close to Abigail, she would smile and step into the shadows.

She took a breath before she walked into the ballroom, the scent of the specially ordered candles wafting through the air. She fluffed out the capped sleeves of her gown. The dress was three Seasons old, but the embroidery on the bodice and hem had taken a seamstress months and months to complete.

She paused when she took in the broad shoulders and firm stance of Edgeworth. The man to the left was taller. The one to the right had a merry face and narrow frame. Edgeworth was not above average in height and features, except for his shoulders and eyes.

Everyone noticed him, even if the ladies were cautious about it. No one wanted to anger Edgeworth. Even her. Usually.

But she had once borrowed his book when he’d left it outside on the bench. She’d known he was returning for it. She’d known—and she’d darted upstairs, nearly biting her tongue in half when she’d stumbled on the steps, then she’d rushed into Abigail’s room to watch the events next door unfold. The hedge around the bench hadn’t been so big then and she’d stood at the window, waiting.

He’d returned and stared at the empty spot.

Then he’d looked up. She’d held the book against the glass.

Edgeworth had pointed to the bench and she’d seen the set of his shoulders.

He’d moved one step in her direction. He’d waggled a finger. He wasn’t smiling as she’d thought he might. One hand was at his side and clenched.

She’d put the book down because she couldn’t manage a book the size of a chair seat and the window at the same time.

She’d pulled open the window, lifted the book and then held the volume in both hands and released it flat. Then she’d jumped back inside, shut the window and stepped from sight.

The rest of the day she’d expected to be summoned for punishment, but no one had mentioned it. Her father would never have forgiven her. A common girl did not irritate a duke’s son.

And then he’d left that second book out and she’d taken it, knowing he left it for her. She’d laughed when she’d seen the title. She’d never read it, but still, she’d placed it in her father’s library and it had made her smile when she walked by and thought of him leaving it for her to find.

She’d intended to tell him later that she’d burned it, but she’d forgotten about mentioning it the next time she saw him. She’d been too excited, telling him that her mother had decided to leave London. She’d not be pulled back and forth between her two parents’ homes any longer. She and Abigail would stay behind.

She wondered why she noticed so much of Edgeworth. She always had. But she supposed it was just because she’d known him her whole life.

Now, he glanced around the room at the soirée and his eyes didn’t stop on her. They didn’t even pause. Her stomach jolted. She knew, without any doubt, that even though he’d not looked at her, he’d seen her. He’d seen her just as clearly as he had on the day he’d glared up and into the window, staring because she’d taken his book.

His eyes reminded her of the story of the man who captured the sun’s rays and reflected them on to boats to light them afire—only Edgeworth’s flares were blue. It was mesmerising, the way he used them, almost like a knight might flash a sword tip in a certain direction, ready to slice someone in two.

Pretending not to be aware of him, she moved to the lemonade table. She kept her back to the men so she would not be tempted to watch Edgeworth. Music from the quartet drifted over her, and she smiled. The night would be perfect for Abigail.

‘Miss Hightower.’ She could not help herself from turning towards the words right behind her shoulder and the voice she instantly recognised. The voice sounded in direct opposition to his eyes. Perhaps, she thought, that was what made him fascinate her. Cool eyes. Warm voice, at least some of the time.

He reached around her, keeping his balance and not touching her, and lifted a glass to her hand.

‘Thank you,’ she said, tone low and attention safely on the lemonade. She looked up for a brief second, taking care not to linger.

He reached out, touching her elbow. ‘Would you like to dance?’

‘No.’ She looked at her feet and admitted, ‘My slippers pinch.’ But something was different. Something about him, and she couldn’t figure out what. Dancing with him—it almost seemed too close. Not that it ever had before. And he’d not asked her sister to dance first, she was certain of that.

‘You shouldn’t wear something painful,’ he said, looking in the direction of her feet.

‘That’s part of why I detest these events.’ She stopped suddenly. ‘I don’t detest them, I didn’t mean that.’ She did. An interloper. One step above a governess—only she knew some of the governesses had a better lineage than she did. One had once told her that. A pang of guilt burned in Lily’s stomach. She’d not so innocently told her mother what the woman had said and the woman had been sent on her way.

Now Lily held her chin level. ‘You look like your old self—frowning from ear to ear.’

A grin did flash, but he quickly hid it. ‘I don’t think one can frown from ear to ear.’

‘Oh, goodness,’ she said, blinking awe into her eyes. ‘You manage it regularly.’

‘Thank you, Miss Hightower. Your presence makes me capable of things I didn’t know possible. Such as my earlier recovery. I wanted to tell you that I remembered your visit to me when I was ill. I suspect I had so much laudanum in me I hardly knew what was real or imagined.’

‘I had little choice but to visit you,’ she said, a smile added. ‘Your mother was pacing outside, weeping, certain you weren’t going to make it. The temperature had turned back to winter and rain had started. I begged your mother to let me see you so I could get her out of the weather.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I may have been worried about you a hair. Just a hair.’ She smiled again.

‘As you had me planned for Abigail’s husband.’ His eyes iced over.

‘Not just that—and you know it. I’ve known you and your family all my life.’

‘Would you have been so concerned if it were my brother Andrew, or Steven, ill?’

‘Of course—’ she insisted. His eyes narrowed. ‘Of course,’ she added, speaking straight into the ice. But she softened her words with an upturn to her voice. ‘But they never caused me to be scarred for life. Growled at me. Or tried to convince me that unicorns did not exist.’

‘Fine. You win. The drawing you showed me did prove that unicorns are real and I hope you have finally saved enough to purchase one.’

‘I bought a doll instead.’

‘I did ask to see the unicorn when you purchased it.’ His shoulders turned to her.

She lowered her chin. ‘Even then, I was not fooled by your sincerity.’

The silence in the air between them was filled with shared memories of childhood.

‘Well, I do thank you for visiting me while I was ill,’ he spoke softly. ‘It meant a lot.’

‘Someone needed to make you mind your manners,’ she said.

‘What?’ He raised his brows.

‘When you were ill and Fox said that dreadful thing and—you—really shouldn’t have done that, you know.’

He shook his head, not following her meaning.

She looked over his shoulder and stared into space. ‘That gesture. The bad one.’

‘Ah...’ He shrugged. ‘I apologise. I was out of my head from the pain and the medicine and I didn’t realise you were there. Fox and my brothers and I don’t always speak gently to each other.’

She shook her head and censured him with her stare. ‘Your mother had stopped in the doorway. I had to make sure she didn’t see it.’ She leaned closer. ‘And then you were whispering that very bad word.’

‘I didn’t whisper anything.’

‘You did.’ She locked on to his gaze. ‘I had to speak to cover your words and get you quiet.’

She examined his face when she spoke to him, because he certainly wouldn’t say what he thought, and if not for the little—well—spasms of emotion that she could imagine, she wouldn’t have any idea what he might be thinking. His words didn’t give much away.

But he had been quite the different person when he was ill. In those moments she’d sat at his bedside, he’d needed her. She’d known it. She’d known he wouldn’t have wanted her sister—or any other woman—to see him sweating and restless, but he didn’t mind her being there at all. ‘You squeezed my hand and called me an angel,’ she said. ‘That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.’ She leaned in. ‘And you had to be out of your head to do it.’

He didn’t respond. Not even with his eyes.

‘What are you thinking?’ she asked.

‘That honesty is refreshing.’

‘Isn’t everyone honest to you? Mostly?’

‘If their opinion is what they think I wish to hear.’

‘Don’t let it concern you. Most people are like that.’

‘It does concern me. Most people won’t say what they’re thinking to me and it seems your words are a reflection of what you truly believe. Not just what is the more correct thing to say to a duke.’

‘Are you wishing you were born a second son?’ She asked the question aloud the moment she thought it.

He examined her face. ‘No. Not at all. I was born to be who I am. As we all are.’

Lily heard laughter break out at the other side of the room. She turned, forcing her attention from Edgeworth, but not truly noticing the others.

Lily wasn’t meant to be who she was. It was just her good fortune not to be living in a home with a fiery pit. ‘One would say your mother was born to be a duchess, too.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘One could say the same of you.’

She gulped in air and moved so that she held her glass with both hands for a second. ‘No. One couldn’t.’ Her heart warmed at his politeness. Edgeworth knew his manners.

‘Don’t disagree when I’m right,’ he said. ‘It’s true.’

Music filled the air and Edgeworth watched her as if she should say something profound, but all she could manage was a pinched-sounding mumble of thanks.

‘Greetings, all.’ Fox appeared behind Edgeworth, popping into the conversation like a marionette might drop on to the stage to scatter the other puppets.

‘Edgeworth dragged me from the country so that I might attend this evening, but when I realised that I would be seeing the two Hightower sisters, I thanked him most utterly and profusely—even though one of them...’ he tilted his chin to the ceiling, batted his eyes and looked as if he might whistle ‘...may once have compared me to a piece of very important pottery.’ He smiled. ‘I tried to steal a kiss and you told me you’d prefer to kiss a chamber pot.’

‘I meant it as a gentle reprimand,’ Lily said.

‘It was.’ He chuckled and put a hand to his ear. ‘Is that music I hear?’ He held out his arm for her to clasp. ‘Dance with me, please, I beg you, so that I might apologise for being so ungallant in the past.’

‘You are not here to impress Miss Lily,’ Edgeworth said.

Foxworthy’s jaw dropped, but his eyes sparkled. ‘I thought for certain I was here to impress every woman in attendance. I’m crushed.’ He winked at Lily. ‘So even if I cannot sway you to swoon with admiration, will you please do me the honour of dancing with me?’

Edgeworth’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed.

Quickly, she returned her glass to the table and accepted the request, feeling the men must be separated immediately.

She glared at Fox and hurried to the dance floor.

Even with her back to him, her mind’s eye could see Edgeworth watching her. Prickles of warmth flared. But he needn’t have worried. Foxworthy was all nonsense. He liked a certain type of woman and she wasn’t it. That she knew.

Fox turned to her, pulling her into his orbit with a half-hidden smile. He moved into the dance so quickly she had to pay attention.

‘Edgeworth is watching us.’ Fox leaned close and practically stumbled over her, but she was certain he was an excellent dancer. The cad. She hated to dance and it was hard enough for her to keep up with the steps without having a partner who purposefully stumbled.

His head turned and at that moment his eyes changed. ‘Your sister just walked into the room.’

‘She tends to do that.’

‘I had not realised how long it’s been since I’ve seen her,’ he said, eyes locked on Abigail.

‘She’s not for you.’

‘Really?’ She had his full attention. His brows moved so that a little crease formed in the middle between them.

‘She is only interested in men who have the most honourable intentions.’

‘My intentions are honourable. Always honourable intentions,’ he said.

She didn’t answer. Honourable intentions written in air.

‘Miss Hightower. You’re starting to look at me the same way Edge does. Are there any sharp objects about that I should hide?’

‘If we look irritated at you, it’s for good reason and you know it. You are a disaster waiting to happen.’

Nodding, Foxworthy said, ‘I’ve tried to keep my life amusing, unlike Edgeworth. He’s just like his father. I can still hear my uncle saying to Edge, “You are a duke first, you are a duke second and you are a duke third, and whatever of you that is left over after that is also a duke.”’

‘That’s Edgeworth.’

‘Yes. And I see him being just like the old Duke. He’ll settle into married life some day, because he does his duty. He will have his duchess. The perfect family. And then some years hence, he’ll discover he’s a man as well. Then you know what will happen. Just like his father.’ Fox shut his eyes for half a second and shook his head in the way of a sage.

His words jarred her insides. The recollection of the old Duke looking over his nose at her ignited memories she’d rather forget.

‘I want to experience life while I am young and get all the adventures I need out of my system.’ Fox swirled her around. ‘When I marry I will happily rot away, blissfully, in the arms of my beloved.’

He caught her eye, giving her another wink. ‘Just wanted to reassure you.’

‘Foxworthy.’ She snapped out his name. ‘You cannot possibly reassure me. You’re constantly in that half-rate newspaper that scandalmongers delight in.’

‘I’ve only been in it fourteen times and I count the Beany Beaumont incident even if I wasn’t mentioned by name.’

‘You are terrible.’

‘I am not.’ He glanced towards his feet. ‘I’ve missed only one step and it brought me closer to you. So how can I be upset with myself?’

‘Foxworthy. You wish people to talk of your missteps. You are a rake to the core.’

‘But beyond that, I’m pure gold.’ They turned around the room again. ‘Admit it, you find me quite charming.’

‘I would not exactly say that. I would say you have the very minimal charm necessary for a dance partner.’

‘Ouch,’ he said, and the dance ended without any more banter, but at least a dozen smiles from Foxworthy. He did have a rather elegant way of looking into a woman’s eyes, but it made Lily feel as if he expected her to swoon over him. She would be pleased when she could retire to her room, but she wasn’t leaving Abigail alone with only their father and aunt for chaperons.

She didn’t think it coincidence that Fox managed to stop them near Edgeworth.

‘Miss Hightower has commented quite directly on my charm as we danced,’ he said to Edge. ‘I fear it has quite gone to my head. Near smacked me across the temples, in fact. But—’ He spoke as he released her hand. ‘She was quite the most wonderful partner and a treat to listen to.’ He looked deep into her eyes. ‘Thank you. I will never, ever forget these moments with you.’

Then his eyes turned to Abigail and he clasped his hands flat over his heart. ‘Another Miss Hightower. How fortunate we are to have two in our presence. Please do me the honour of a dance.’

Abigail rose on tiptoes and proved women could not fly or she would have fluttered off the floor at that moment. ‘I would be honoured, Lord Foxworthy.’

He swirled her away.

‘Stop staring after him,’ Edge said. ‘He’s full enough of himself as it is.’

‘I don’t like him dancing so close with Abigail.’

‘It’s not close.’

‘He’s looking at her much too lingeringly.’ She turned to Edge. ‘Are you going to let him get away with it?’

He didn’t move, but she heard a snort of air from his nostrils. ‘I insisted he accept the invitation for that very purpose.’

Her eyes widened. This wasn’t the same Edgeworth she’d known her whole life.

He took her by the arm and led them from the music and back to the refreshments. He bent his head low so his voice wouldn’t carry. ‘When you told me that everyone believed I’m interested in your sister, I made sure Fox knew it wasn’t true and insisted he attend to change the perception.’

She stopped, mouth gaping, and reached for a glass. ‘You can’t be serious? Foxworthy?’

He nodded.

‘But you’ve always... I’ve heard the rumours—that you warned men to—’

‘To take care around the Hightower sisters.’

‘Around Abigail.’

‘Lily and the sister she watches over.’

‘Because we’re neighbours. Because Abigail and I often were next door.’ She put the lemonade to her lips.

‘Certainly,’ he said. ‘And because I didn’t want another man near you.’

She spewed droplets of lemonade over his coat.

She coughed, her hand over her mouth, choked. She followed with another sip to keep herself from coughing again. ‘My apologies,’ she croaked out.

‘Not a problem.’ He pulled out a handkerchief and offered it in her direction. She shook her head. He dusted off the front of his coat while he studied her.

‘Could you repeat that?’ she asked.

* * *

One musician began a softer tune and the other players joined in as background, the evening slowing down. On her right, a group of older gentlemen discussed the Chancery Court’s recent decision deciding the guardianship of a child.

Edgeworth led her to the other side, almost behind where the musicians were, and used them as a buffer to keep the conversation quiet.

Lily looked at him. Gauging Edgeworth’s thoughts in bright light wasn’t easy and in the muted shadows she could see only the barest amount and had to rely on his voice. He examined her just as closely.

‘I realised you haven’t always known,’ he said. ‘Our understanding. I thought you did. I thought you would have told me, nicely, if you’d not agreed, so I accepted that we both thought the same.’

‘Known? Understanding?’ She spoke rapidly. ‘I knew you—were going to court Abigail and I had to make certain she never stepped one foot wrong. You seemed to pay attention—’

‘You were always together. I couldn’t see you without seeing her.’

‘Me?’ She tilted her head to the side.

He looked at her, his eyes narrowing. ‘Yes. Of course.’

‘You know how different Abigail and I are. She’s like lace and I’m more—’ she couldn’t think of a word that wouldn’t be insulting to herself ‘—practical.’

‘Practical. Sensible. It’s all the same.’

‘I’m...’ She couldn’t say the words.

All eyes watched a duchess. Her events were well attended and filled with lace-like people. A duchess would think nothing of meeting someone in the royal family. Other peers. Lots of people. People who couldn’t help sharing little whispers.

She crossed her arms over herself. He’d never understand. ‘Why did you wait so long to tell me?’ she asked.

‘We talked about it.’

‘No.’ The word whooshed from her lips. ‘I would have remembered that. I know I would have.’

‘Well, maybe I didn’t say the exact words, but I could tell you are fond of me. You always spoke so honestly to me.’

‘I speak honestly to everyone.’ She leaned forward so he could not miss the emphasis in her words.

‘No, you don’t. I’ve watched. You’re very kind, nice, and—’ he moved so they stood at a slant to each other, mostly facing the room and shoulders aligned ‘—the most polite Miss Lily Hightower. With me, you’re different. You told me when my voice squeaked like a carriage wheel and asked if I could please do it again.’

‘I didn’t know boy’s voices did that.’ She took in a breath and looked away. ‘You could have explained it wasn’t a new skill. I thought it fascinating. And the look on your face that day didn’t convince me you were fond of me in any way.’

‘I wasn’t. At that moment.’ His shoulders bumped just a bit. ‘I thought my voice would stay that way for ever.’

Their eyes caught in memory.

She had to speak, to put words in the air between them and make the world seem normal again. ‘What if I had courted someone else?’

‘I would have swooped in like a hawk.’

‘It would have been too late.’

‘That’s what I mean about your honesty,’ he said. ‘And it wouldn’t have been too late.’

‘And you have quite the opinion of yourself.’

‘I was taught I should,’ he said. ‘And so should you. Have a high opinion of yourself.’

Her teeth tightened against each other. She couldn’t keep her lips from forming a straight line.

Small muscles in his face tensed, making a statement of disagreement without speaking. ‘We’ve known each other since childhood.’ One shoulder moved in the closest he would ever get to a shrug. ‘I thought you were keeping yourself hidden away...well, because you were waiting for me.’

‘No. I wasn’t.’ She shook her head. ‘I was just—living. Next door.’

His lids shuttered his eyes, but then he looked at her—the first whimsy she’d ever seen on his face. His eyes weren’t cold. Her toes squeezed into her slippers and somehow her legs kept from melting away.

‘Apparently, when I err it’s on a grand scale,’ he said.

‘We’ve been friends for a long time, true. And you’re a lot like your...family.’ She thought of his father.

‘It’s a good life,’ he said. ‘I’ve known you since I was six. Or something around that age. Why shouldn’t you be my duchess?’

He knew full well why. Just as everybody else did.

‘Is this a proposal?’ she asked. ‘Not a jest—not a jest like when I took your book and you left the volume of manners out for me to see.’

He moved closer. ‘I knew you’d see the note.’

‘There was a note?’ Her voice rose.

‘Yes.’ He nodded.

‘What did it say?’

‘That you would need this for when you became a duchess.’

* * *

Edge watched her. ‘Lily. Breathe.’ She acted as if he’d told her he’d not marry her if she were the last woman alive.

Her lips moved. ‘I have other plans.’

‘What other plans?’ He leaned in.

‘I don’t know.’

The first time he remembered seeing her she’d asked if he could growl. She’d walked to the bench on his parent’s property, holding a biscuit in each hand.

And in his confidence at being the heir and needing to do whatever he must, he said, ‘Of course. I can do almost anything.’

‘Growl, then.’

‘No.’ He’d frowned. ‘I’m studying.’

‘Lord Lion can’t growl. And you can’t fly. You can’t do most anything. You only read.’

‘Lord Lionel,’ he’d corrected her.

She’d paused, studying his face as if she didn’t hear correctly. ‘Lord Lion-owl. Lions growl. Owls fly. You don’t do either. I’ve watched.’

‘Lord Lionel,’ he’d insisted.

She’d looked him over. Frowned. ‘If you growl, Lord Lion Owl, you can have a biscuit. They’re good ones. Cook makes them just for me.’

He’d held out his hand, but she’d stepped back, shaking her head.

He’d growled. She’d thrown the biscuit at him whilst sticking her tongue out. He’d caught it with one hand and growled again. She’d turned, running to her house, laughing.

That biscuit had tasted like orange cake.