It was a miserable mess . . . and she was caught in the middle of it all. If only her father would see reason! Yet asking such a thing was like expecting her mare to sprout wings and fly: impossible.
She slowed Penny down to a moderate walk and sighed deeply, the light breeze teasing the strands of unruly blond hair, which came loose from her coiffure as a result of her quick pace. She blew a particularly irritating curl from her forehead, and tucked it behind her ear. Glancing about, she groaned, remembering that she hadn’t taken a maid with her. Again.
Thankfully, the staff at Whitefield House was accustomed to her constant disregard of propriety. Maybe Sarah, her maid, would notice and make herself scarce, giving the impression she was with her mistress. Liliah bit her lip, turning her mare toward home—even if that was the last place she wished to be—simply for Sarah’s sake. It wouldn’t go well for her maid if her father discovered the way his staff allowed his unruly daughter far more freedom than he did, and should he discover it, such freedom would end abruptly—and badly.
Being attached to the staff—especially her maid Sarah—Liliah increased her pace. Besides, running from problems didn’t solve them. As she swayed with the steady rhythm of Penny’s trot, she considered the situation at hand once more.
It made no sense.
Yet when had one of her father’s decisions required logic? Never.
Her best friend Rebecca was delightful and from a well-bred and heavily pursed family. There was no reason for the family of her other best friend Meyer, the Baron of Scoffield, to be opposed to such a match. Yet Meyer’s father refused to see reason, just as Liliah’s father refused. Only Meyer’s father, the Earl of Greywick, had threatened to disinherit his son and grant the title to a cousin when Meyer had objected to the arrangement.
It was wretched, no matter how one looked at it. Love matches were rare amongst the ton, and here was a golden opportunity for each family—squandered.
It was true, Liliah was quite the match herself. The elder daughter of a duke, she understood she was quite the heiress and pedigree, yet was her breeding of more importance than Rebecca’s? She doubted it.
Apparently, her father didn’t agree.
Nor did Lord Greywick.
As she crossed the cobble street toward her home, she took a deep breath of the spring air, feeling her freedom slowly sifting through her fingers like dry sand. As Whitefield House came into view, she pulled up on the reins, halting Penny’s progress toward home. The horse nickered softly, no doubt anticipating a thorough brush-down and sweet oats upon returning, yet Liliah lingered, studying the stone structure. One of the larger houses in Mayfair, Whitefield demanded attention with its large stone pillars and wide, welcoming balcony overlooking the drive. It fit her father’s personality well, as if magnifying his overinflated sense of importance. Reluctantly, she urged Penny on, taking the side entrance to the stable in the back.
Upon her arrival, a stable boy rushed out to greet her, helping her dismount. Penny jostled the lad with her head, and he chuckled softly, petting her velvet nose.
“I’ll take care of Penny, my lady. You needn’t worry.” With a quick bow, the boy led the all too pampered horse into the stable, murmuring softly as they walked.
Carefully glancing around, once she was certain that no one lingered about, she rushed to the servants’ entrance just to the side of the large manor. The heavy wooden door opened silently and she slipped inside, leaning against the door once it was closed. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and she took the stairs to the second floor, turning left down a small hall and turning the latch on the door that would lead to the gallery, just a short distance from her chambers. The metal was cool against her gloved hand as she twisted, then peered out into the sunlight-filled room. Breathing quietly, she listened intently for footsteps or voices. Just before she dared to step out, Sarah, her maid, bustled down the hall, a pinched frown on her face as she opened the door leading to Liliah’s rooms.
After waiting one more moment, Liliah stepped from the servants’ hall, rushing her steps till she approached her room, then slowed as if she weren’t in a hurry at all, just in case someone noticed her presence.
Quickly, she opened the door to her room and swiftly shut it silently behind her, Sarah’s relieved sigh welcoming her.
“My lady! You’ve not but a moment to lose! Your father is searching about for you! When he noticed me, he bid me find you, but I fear he is growing impatient. He was in the library.”
“Quick, help me disrobe. I need an afternoon dress.” Liliah started to tug off her gloves, exchanging them for ones that did not bear the marks from the leather reins, as Sarah made quick work of the buttons on her riding habit.
In only a few short minutes, Liliah was properly attired—all evidence of her earlier unchaperoned excursion tucked away. And with a quick grin to Sarah, who offered a relieved sigh, Liliah left her chambers and strode down the hall as if without a care in the world.
When in truth, the cares were heavy upon her indeed.
Because her father rarely spoke to her, unless demanding her obedience in some matter—and she knew exactly what he had on his mind.
Drat.
She clasped her hands, trying to calm the slight tremble as she took the stairs and walked toward the library. How she hated feeling weak, out of control in her own life! With a fortifying breath, she made the final steps to the library entrance, the delicate clink of china teacups drifting through the air.
“Your Grace.” Liliah curtseyed to her father, taking in the furrow in his expression, drawing his bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows like thunderclouds over his gray eyes.
“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.
