Читать книгу The Wallflower Duchess - Liz Tyner, Liz Tyner - Страница 12
ОглавлениеLily stared. Edgeworth didn’t look down his aristocratic nose at people—she was certain of that. But when one looked at the sky and saw one layer of wisped clouds floating lower, and then a second tier floating above the first, Edgeworth was the most distant level. He floated on the top tier.
‘No,’ she said, remembering her manners and then adding, ‘but thank you so much. I’m so honoured to be asked. And it is a great compliment. I will cherish this moment.’ She paused. ‘For ever.’
His eyes still blared blue at her. And he did seem to be looking down his nose a bit, after all.
‘I said thank you,’ she whispered. All eyes would be on her as a duchess. And while she didn’t take the responsibility for anything her mother had done, she couldn’t bear the whispers about her being above herself.
He didn’t move when he heard her answer. ‘You said “No, thank you”. One word too many.’
‘Perhaps you could clasp your hands over your heart,’ she said, ‘and act as if an arrow pierced you deeply because I didn’t respond with a yes.’
‘I am deeply wounded.’
She lowered her chin. ‘I believe so,’ she said. ‘I believe the shock has rendered you unable to show the deep grief you’re feeling.’
‘Exactly.’
She shuddered a half-shake in disagreement. ‘Why do you consider me for a duchess?’
‘If you’d said yes, I’d be inclined to tell you.’
‘You’re making a mistake. I’m—’
His lips firmed and he gave the slightest shake of his head. ‘You’re not a mistake.’
All the other sounds of the soirée faded away while she listened with her whole being for his response. The insides of her stomach bounced against each other, waiting. ‘Explain.’
She could see it in his eyes. Few people insisted he speak when he didn’t want to. He stared at her, but it wasn’t the knife-cutting stare of his father, nor the biting glare of condemning eyes. He seemed to be pulling the thoughts from inside himself, having trouble putting his feelings into the air.
‘I know you.’ Each word hit the air alone. ‘I was at university and I thought of you and your sister’s laughter, and I studied hard so that when I took my seat in the House of Lords I could do the country well for people like you.’
‘Because of laughter?’ She could hear the squeaking wheel in her own voice.
He bent his head towards her. ‘Miss Hightower, never underestimate the sound of innocent laughter.’
She leaned forward. ‘I wouldn’t have ever assumed it worth a marriage proposal.’
‘I did not propose,’ he said. ‘I merely discussed it with you.’
‘Well, that is totally a horse of a different colour.’
‘Not vastly different, I suppose.’
‘Not vastly.’ She spoke in the same tone, but with a smile at the end. ‘And had I heard your laughter in the past, I suppose the answer might have been different.’ Not true. But she felt guilt for refusing him and interrupting his plans. He planned so carefully.
He didn’t speak.
‘How long has it been since you’ve laughed?’ she asked.
‘No one can easily answer that question.’
‘It’s harder for you than for other people, I would imagine.’
‘I never thought such a simple enquiry would lead to such a long conversation.’
‘Your Grace, you might do well to expect a lot of talk to accompany a marriage proposal, years and years of it, and it shouldn’t all be one-sided.’
‘I try not to clutter the air with unnecessary prattle.’ His brows moved. ‘You’ve never once before called me “Your Grace”.’
‘I’m sure I have,’ she said.
‘I’m sure you have not. A discussion of marriage shouldn’t distance us.’
‘It hasn’t, Edgeworth.’
‘You don’t call me that often. You call me Lord Lionel, or Edge—as my brothers do.’ His eyes were walled. ‘And not long before my accident, you called me Edgy, which served its purpose and took days to forgive. I usually have no reason to forgive anyone.’ He stood like a pillar beside her.
‘That was childish of me. Please forget I said it.’
With the barest of forward movement, he leaned in closer to her face. He’d not really needed to. No one could possibly hear his voice but her.
‘I do have a question. Something I’ve wondered for years,’ he said.
She waited.
‘What is a booby-head?’
She squinted and leaned towards him. ‘What? What is a—?’ She could not fathom what he was thinking.
‘Never mind. I suppose I know.’ She heard a smile in his voice and this time she was included but she didn’t know why. ‘I think it best to forget the question.’
His eyes showed nothing. No humour. No irritation. Just the calm demeanour of a man who might as well have been alone.
If she could change one thing in her life, it would have been the moment she told the newspaper man about his father’s illegitimate child. Edgeworth must never find out she was the one who told. He’d never forgive her.
He left, leaving her with a polite manner groomed from centuries, and she felt as if she had been jilted at the altar.
* * *
Her sister dashed into the room without knocking. ‘Did you notice Foxworthy must have looked into my eyes for a full minute, when our dance stopped?’ Abigail sat on the bed, depressing the mattress. ‘I suppose it could have been longer. What do you think?’
‘It was a night to remember.’ She couldn’t recall much about Abigail’s actions at the soirée. Different memories lodged in her, creating a pleasant and unpleasant feeling mixed deep inside.
Her sister waved a hand. ‘Lord Foxworthy... Really, did you notice how he looked at me? And after our dance we stole away to the library and he kissed me.’ She shivered. ‘That lasted much longer than a mere five seconds.’
‘You do not need to tell me all the gory details,’ Lily muttered. ‘And you are not to be alone with Fenton Foxworthy.’
Abigail sighed. ‘Isn’t Fenton the most elegant name?’
‘No more elegant than, I don’t know, Lionel.’
Abigail grimaced. Then she spoke softly. ‘He looked deep into my eyes. Deep. Something happened. It could have been love. On his part.’
Lily snorted. ‘Don’t fall in love with him. He has had so many women’s names linked with his it would be easier to count the few he hasn’t romanced.’
‘Love.’ Abigail smiled and her eyes lost focus. ‘I could not say I am entirely in love. But enough. Just deliciously in like.’
She whooshed up from the bed and her gaze locked on Lily. ‘I hope you’re not jealous of my friendship,’ Abigail said. ‘I noticed you standing very close to him.’
Lily’s heart thumped an extra beat. The Duke’s face moved through her thoughts.
Abigail’s face peered close. ‘Yes. What were you and Foxworthy talking about?’
Lily glanced at her sister, then answered, ‘Foxworthy?’
Abigail chuckled. ‘That was much more pleasant than when you spoke with the Duke. It is a good thing your faces didn’t get stuck that way.’ She moved to the door. ‘On the other hand, if Foxworthy’s face had locked for ever when he looked at me...’ She took in a deep breath and didn’t complete the sentence.
‘It’s time for breakfast,’ Abigail said. ‘Father’s already at the table and probably finished eating by now.’
Abigail left and Lily rushed through her morning ablutions.
* * *
By the time she stood at the table, her father was lost in his paper. Abigail sat on his left side, hardly touching her food, her fork designing shapes in the jam. ‘Fox seemed to think the Duke is truly not interested in me,’ Abigail said.
Lily slid into her seat. ‘I received the same conclusion.’
Their father lowered his paper, but didn’t speak.
‘Fox says I am too lovely and too vivacious to waste my time on his stuffy cousin.’
‘Nonsense. He’s a duke,’ her father said. ‘He is not a waste of your time.’
‘Perhaps we misunderstood His Grace all these years,’ Lily said.
‘Couldn’t have,’ her father said. ‘I saw the book.’
‘What book?’ Abigail asked.
‘The deportment one. The one Abigail put in the library.’
‘I put it there, Father,’ Lily said.
‘What were you doing with Abigail’s book?’
‘Book?’ Abigail’s voice challenged.
‘Edgeworth gave me a book on deportment.’ Lily shrugged the words away.
‘He did?’ Her sister’s head snapped around to Lily and her eyes widened. ‘You never told me.’
‘The note...’ Her father studied her. ‘It was for you, Lily?’
‘I never put any note in a book.’ Abigail’s nose wrinkled. ‘What did it say?’
‘Something about you becoming a duchess,’ he answered.
‘Oh,’ Abigail put her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh.’ She looked at Lily and then at her father. Her eyes gleamed with laughter. ‘Lily. Lily’s note.’ She jumped to her feet and leaned over the table. ‘Father.’ She stretched her arm and pointed her finger almost into Lily’s face. Lily batted it away. ‘It was hers.’ She laughed. ‘The Duke. They were whispering in the corner. Foxworthy was trying to distract me and tell me how beautiful I was—right out of the blue. We all know that’s true, but Foxworthy kept saying all his normal balderdash, and all the while Lily and the Duke were nose to nose in the corner. You didn’t notice?’
‘They’ve always—’ He stopped, irritation fading. He tapped his fingertips together, staring at Lily. ‘It was your note.’
‘A jest,’ she said.
‘Well...’ He stood and perused both his daughters. ‘This may change plans for the two of you. But it doesn’t really change mine. I want your fortunes to increase with marriage.’ He rested a hand on the back of a chair. ‘Remember, money can’t buy happiness, but a rich person who is miserable has to work at it.’
He turned. ‘I want Edgeworth for a son-in-law. I don’t care how the two of you sort it out.’
Lily watched him leave the room.
‘So...’ Abigail swooped, laughing. ‘You are all set to steal my beau.’
‘No.’ She shook her head, wishing Abigail would stand still enough to swat. ‘Edgeworth has—had a misunderstanding.’ She couldn’t have so much attention on her. People would sneer. The blacksmith’s daughter who married a duke.
‘Well, I should be upset that he prefers you over me, but I’m really rather relieved. Particularly since I prefer almost everyone over him.’ Abigail grimaced. ‘Edgeworth is a little—I mean, he acts ancient. I prefer someone more lively.’
‘He’s just serious.’
‘Yes. He is,’ Abigail said, leaving. ‘Too serious. Just like you.’ She tapped her finger against her lips. ‘I never noticed that before.’ She turned, her dignity leaving as she called out, ‘Father. Is the note to Lily still there?’ Her voice rose. ‘I must see it.’
Lily clamped her teeth together. Abigail could look all she wanted. The book was now hidden under Lily’s bed and the note had been folded into a bookmark and now resided in a recipe book.
* * *
Standing behind the open curtains in Abigail’s room, she watched for the Duke to step out of his house. The nightly jaunt into the gardens had been a tradition of sorts. His father used to walk out in the evenings and smoke occasionally—and always when Edge was home from his studies. She’d eavesdropped several times, impressed with his father speaking so much. But after a few nights, she’d lost all interest in what a duke should do and how he should do it.
When Edge was injured, she’d known he was very ill, because his forays into the garden had completely stopped. Not once in eleven days had he stepped out.
Now, she waited.
Finally, a lone figure moved into sight. If she’d not been watching for movement, she wouldn’t have seen him in the fading light. He stood, eyes taking in the night. He’d been named well. She’d never seen a lion at night, just the one in the menagerie, but it hadn’t seemed to care who watched it, or what they thought, because it had a powerful build and the force of generations of strength bred into it.
She took a wrap from the dressing chamber and put it around her shoulders, and sat a bonnet on her head, leaving the blue ribbons to flutter.
A flash of memory caused her feet to slow and a pang of guilt to hit her midsection. She’d lived so carefully, avoiding every opportunity to be like her mother.
Before stepping outside, she gave an extra tap to hold her bonnet in place. She paused when the fresh air hit her face. But it was dark enough no one would see her.
She’d had to wait until the sun set because otherwise when she moved forward, she would be in view of all the windows, and it simply could not appear she was engaging in anything of questionable nature. She’d been fortunate with the mourning attire, but one servant had seen her returning to the house and met her with a broom, concerned a stranger was lurking about.
She’d explained that the sun had given her a headache and she’d wanted to shield her face, and she’d donned the darker clothing. That had caused a furrowed brow, but hadn’t been questioned.
If she said she’d suddenly taken an interest in horticulture at night time no one would believe it.
She could not let anyone think she was like her mother, particularly Edgeworth.
Not one word had been mentioned in print about Lily’s family in such a long time and she didn’t want it to change. The words didn’t seem to stick to the people who’d been generations in London, but it landed on her family like the stench in the streets everyone stepped around and it lingered. Everyone thought her father had bought his way into society and, in a sense, he had.
She took in a breath and moved away from the house. Perhaps she was like her mother.
Her footsteps didn’t make noise in the dew-dampened grass. She forced herself to slow, the wafting honeysuckle perfume of the night surrounding her. When her eyes locked on Edgeworth, she could have been the predator.
When he saw her, his shoulders turned while he pulled in a normal intake of breath with the same fluidity. With that movement, their positions reversed. She couldn’t even see into his eyes, but still he mastered the space.
She curtsied, but didn’t lower her head. The bench, hidden in the daylight by the semi-circle of hedge around it, was at her left. Edge had sat there so many times with his books.
Even though she couldn’t see it until she stood near, she moved directly to it and sat.
He walked to her as if he’d invited her into the garden and had been waiting.
She saw not a man, but a monument to one, carved like the figures that jutted from the towers of some castles to warn intruders. She wanted to tap at the stone, study it, look for divots caused by weather or age, and see how the shape had been formed.
The thought flitted through her mind that if she didn’t speak, he wouldn’t. The ability to outlast another person had been bred into him, perhaps from some warrior grandfather of his.
But she could tell this wasn’t a contest to see who could outlast the other. He merely waited for her.
‘You have to discourage Fox from my sister,’ she spoke quietly. ‘Now she’s enlisted Father in her plans for marriage.’
‘He should take part in his daughters’ futures.’
‘He never did particularly before. But now it’s as if he’s thought of it as business and he’s taking it as seriously as if it’s something on a ledger sheet.’
‘Has my name been put into the accounting?’ he asked.
‘Of course. But now he knows you’re not interested in Abigail.’
‘What did he say about your prospects?’
‘That,’ she said, ‘is immaterial, as I do not have a list for such a thing.’
His breathing tightened. ‘It’s nature to want a person in your life who thinks you above all others and you think above all others. Selfish, perhaps. But nature.’
She ground her teeth against each other and the moment was so silent she could hear the sound from inside her head. ‘If people followed their nature—’
‘Most people do.’
This time she didn’t mind the long silence. His words remained in her thoughts. ‘Do you?’
He could have given a soliloquy in the space before he answered, ‘My nature is precise. Planned.’
‘Methodical?’
The silence fluttered around them again.
‘Your Grace.’ She spoke more softly, taking the bite out of her words.
‘Miss Lily.’ His voice, little more than a whisper, rumbled into the night and had no sting in the words. ‘Speak as you wish. You always have. To me.’
She stood. ‘I don’t particularly care what your cousin does. But I do care if my sister is hurt.’ She moved closer—which would have been improperly close in the daylight, but she needed to see his eyes.
She raised her arm, keeping it close to her body so she wouldn’t nudge him and clicked a fingernail against her incisor. ‘Did you notice he has white teeth?’ The wind fluttered her bonnet and she grasped the untied ribbons with her other hand, holding both in one grasp.
‘Teeth?’ He narrowed his eyes, questioning. ‘I don’t care about Foxworthy’s teeth and that isn’t a concern of mine at all.’
‘My sister noticed. She thinks he has the loveliest mouth she has ever seen.’
‘His teeth are just teeth. He’s lucky someone hasn’t removed them for him.’
‘That would devastate my sister.’ She sighed. ‘She notes every little detail about him.’
‘Fox encourages such nonsense.’
Her brows rose and her chin tilted down, and her lips turned up the merest amount. ‘I asked her about you.’ Again she watched for the divot or a clue to show inside the immovable stone.
He leaned his head forward, but she sensed only a mild curiosity about her sister’s opinions. In fact, Lily felt he studied her report of her sister’s talk to judge her view of it, not to form an opinion of Abigail. ‘She thought you have nice teeth, too, but she wasn’t certain.’
Brows flicked the words away. ‘Nice enough.’
She could sense he found the moment humorous, but she couldn’t see a smile.
‘And I asked her about your hair since she noticed Foxworthy’s hair turns up in darling little curls when it gets wet.’ The words tumbled over each other. ‘She said she once saw him come in from the rain.’
‘So he comes in from the rain. That shows he is more intelligent than I thought.’
‘You can’t let him near my sister.’
‘They would make a good match.’
This time she heard decision. She gasped. ‘No.’
‘I believe Foxworthy is ready to settle in to marriage. Your sister could keep his attention.’
‘No one is that enchanting.’
‘Marriage will settle him.’
‘You’re willing to ruin my sister’s future.’ She wanted her words to jar him, yet he didn’t move.
‘Underneath it all, Fox is a good sort.’
Edge would just dig those boot heels tighter into the ground if she kept mentioning his cousin’s flaws. But she couldn’t stop. ‘I don’t believe that. Underneath his heart, lungs and liver, there’s a part lower down that is not virtuous. He’s a scoundrel. But I suppose if you are talking about his knees and his toes, he has quite an amount of quality. Those are not the parts which cause trouble.’ She grimaced. ‘I must correct myself. They are the parts which lead him to trouble as he dances from one woman to the next.’
‘He is maturing.’
‘And in twenty years he’ll surely make some woman the best of husbands. But I’m worried about tomorrow. Before she left to visit my aunt, Abigail said Father has asked you and Fox to our house to discuss an investment. It is a thinly disguised attempt at matchmaking.’
His eyes widened. ‘I am so shocked.’
‘Sarcasm? Your Grace?’
‘I sent my man of affairs over to ask your father if he knew of any business ventures Fox or I might invest in. A simple query.’
‘Oh, my.’ She put a hand to her cheek. ‘You cannot get his hopes up like that. To have a duke and the son of an earl at his home to discuss business.’
‘He is very knowledgeable about investments.’
‘Yes. And he will be considering a very long-term one for his daughters.’
‘What is so wrong with that?’
‘It’s Abigail I’m concerned about. She’s the one interested in marriage.’ She levelled a gaze at him. ‘And Foxworthy is interested in an entirely different arrangement.’
His face became bland again. He stepped aside, putting a foot on the bench, adding more distance between them, yet not. He leaned her way, one arm on his propped leg and his fingers clasped. Almost subservient. Except, not. A lion taking a step away, yawning, pretending not to see the prey, letting it get closer and closer. ‘So tell me. What exactly would it take for you to risk a long-term investment?’
‘I don’t have to take any risks and see no need to. I am able to live my life as I wish, without upheaval.’
‘A life without upheaval might not suit you for ever.’
‘Then I will worry about it when that time arrives.’
‘I have arrived at that time in my life. As I won’t live for ever, I’ve decided I might wish to marry some day.’
‘You only have to say you’re a duke.’ She increased the distance between them and could tell by the barest flick of his head that he noticed.
‘Not worked so far.’ His voice fell, fading into nothingness. A low rumble.
She didn’t move closer.
‘Describe a suitor’s best qualities. Knowing them might help me impress someone.’
She caught the emphasis he put on the word someone and the subtle lightness that appeared in his eyes as he looked at her, and her heart beat bird-like. She clasped her skirt in her hand, clenching her fingers on the cloth. ‘It would not do you any good to be putting on a pretence while courting a future wife.’ She pushed forward, moving close, her body directly aligned with his face. ‘You must be true to who you are.’
‘I agree.’ His words affirmed in a way that said no one should doubt it. ‘Tell me about what it would take for a man to interest you as a husband.’
‘I have never given it thought because the nature of marriage seems false to me. I have no pressing need to carry on the lineage as you do.’
‘It’s a shame because you would make a good mother. You watched over your sister so closely.’
‘I had no choice.’
‘No one would have faulted you for not.’
‘But she is my sister and I could do it. I would have faulted myself. And now I fear I can’t keep her from that rake Foxworthy and he will break her heart or ruin her.’
‘You cannot manage someone’s life for them. And they may be good for each other.’
‘Will you help keep Foxworthy away from Abigail?’ she asked.
‘No. It’s their lives.’
‘But she’s my sister and I don’t want her being—’ Miserable. Miserable like their mother had been. Separated from her husband and society. Locked in an unhappy marriage.
‘Let the romance finish on its own. You can’t keep them apart.’
‘I thought you would help me.’
‘I am. Let it be and Fox will tire of her soon, and if he doesn’t then it may be a good match.’ He took his foot from the bench.
Edge no longer stood in front of her. His Grace watched her. But it was the Duke she wanted to question. ‘Why did you notice me?’
He moved his palm only slightly, indicating her house. ‘You live—’
‘So does Abigail.’
‘So she does.’
She tried to pull every memory of him to the forefront of her mind. ‘Do you remember shouting at me?’
‘I did not shout.’
‘You told me you had to study and for me to play in my garden. Not yours.’
‘I had to be top in my studies. I couldn’t grasp the Greek language. It was hard to concentrate with you asking me what each word I said meant.’
‘I had to go back to my mother’s house that day and my grandmother had been telling me that Mother didn’t love us or she would have stayed at the estate. It was a very bad day.’ Lily had been almost ten when her mother moved into a nearby house. But the separation was as failed as the marriage in many ways. Her parents hadn’t truly been able to stay away from each other until Lily’s late teens when they’d had one quiet argument—a courteous one—and something had turned bleak in both their faces.
‘I would have been kinder had I known,’ he said.
‘It wouldn’t have mattered. I had to get used to the arguments. My parents could not live together and couldn’t live apart. Until, well, you know the story.’
‘Yes. I remember. Your mother left town when Sophia’s memoirs were published.’
‘Just before. They’d been friends, but had a disagreement, and I’m sure Mother knew Sophia would use the book as a chance to get back at her.’ She shook her head. ‘I didn’t know how peaceful a day could be until she finally moved away.’
‘You stopped going out so much.’
‘I’ve not been invited—not that it mattered.’
‘I meant in the garden. You used to spend hours and hours outside.’
She laughed. ‘Part of it was a quiet rebellion. Mother had told me that my skin would blemish in the sun and no one would want to marry me.’
His grumble barely reached her ears. ‘I thought you were spending time with me—because you were interested in becoming a duchess.’
‘You did make my rebellion more enjoyable.’
‘And you made the studies more tolerable.’
‘Did you envy others their freedom?’
He shook his head. ‘I was fortunate. With privilege there is responsibility. My mother said it over and over.’
Another silence surrounded them, but didn’t separate. This time, he spoke. ‘I was curious, though. To not have a purpose would have been strange and I didn’t want that. Everyone’s future is mapped for them to some degree, so I didn’t rail against my good fortune of having the best of life. But the common life—the rest of life is so foreign to me. How can I represent the country well without understanding all of it?’
‘So that is why you noticed me. My commonness?’
‘Lily. Don’t put words in my mouth.’
‘I want to know what you really think.’
‘Then don’t jump to conclusions about what I say.’
She let the skirt she still clasped fall from her fingers. ‘You have been so trained to be a duke and lived it so long—that I wonder if what you say is what you really feel or what you have been trained to feel?’
‘Does it matter?’ Each word could stand alone.
‘It might some day. If you are deciding on your marriage now because it is what you are supposed to do.’
This time she heard his inward breath, slow and measured. ‘On my sickbed, I could hear the voices around me, but I didn’t want to speak or even open my eyes. My brother Andrew asked, “Do you think he will die tonight?”
‘I heard my brother Steven answer. He said no, I wouldn’t die that night.’ He continued to face her, but didn’t see her. ‘I didn’t care one way or the other.’
The honeysuckle touched her nose again and this time the sweetness churned her stomach. He’d been so pale and the pupils of his eyes so strange.
‘My family gathered around me, but at a distance. My mother would move close, but only for a second. My burns weren’t contagious; they all had to know that. They all kept their respectful distance. Respectful. Distance.’
‘But they were with you. You could not have wanted them to smother you with closeness.’
‘I didn’t. But my life felt wasted. All the work I’d done didn’t matter.’
‘So now you worry about having an heir?’ She called him back from his memories.
‘No.’ The quiet word slashed the air. ‘I only want to do the best I can with the time I have left. I was trained to be a duke, so I did precisely as I should. Motions. All the right ones. I still believe in them. But I want more from life.’
‘You want a touch of commonness? A wife who has lived on the edge of society, one foot in and one foot out.’
‘Is that wrong?’
‘It could be if you look around in a few years and discover that you are a duke through and through, and these moments are a reaction because you almost died. Then you might wish for a wife who is completely in society and has the same strength in her bloodlines as you do.’
‘I might wish for a wife who’d be willing to hold my hand when I lay dying and who would miss me.’
‘I don’t think marriage necessarily provides those things.’
‘It should.’
‘Yes. But, if anything, marriage seems to move people apart, instead of closer together.’
‘My parents had a good marriage—mostly.’
She shook her head, disagreeing. ‘You can hire someone to hold your hand and you can live a life so that others miss you. Marriage is tiresome. I understand your need to have heirs. And you should find someone who can stand with you in public and create the world you wish to have around you.’
She stepped back. ‘But don’t invest your heart in someone. It’s too risky and the return on the investment is dismal, from what I’ve seen.’
