“Now that you’re here, I need to inform you that Lord Greywick and I have decided on a date—”
“But, Your Grace . . .”
His brows knit further over his eyes, and he glared, his expression frosty and furious. “Do not interrupt me.”
Liliah swallowed, clenching her teeth as she nodded.
“As I was saying . . .” He paused, arching a brow, daring her to interfere again. “Lord Greywick and I are tired of waiting. We’ve been patient, and your progress with Greywick’s heir is apathetic at best. Therefore, tonight, at the Langford rout, Meyer will be asking you for two waltzes. That should set up the perfect tone for the banns being read in two weeks’ time. Hence, you shall be wed at St. George’s in two months. That is beyond generous and I—”
“It is anything but generous and you well know it!” Liliah couldn’t restrain herself any longer. Standing, she took position behind the chair, her fingers biting into the damask fabric as she prepared for battle.
One she knew was already lost.
“How dare you!” Her father’s voice boomed.
“Father, Meyer has no interest in me! How long will you imagine something greater than friendship?”
“I care not if he gives a fig about you!” her father roared, standing as well.
“I refuse.” Liliah spoke softly, like silk over steel as she clenched her teeth.
Her father took a menacing step forward. “There is no other way. And consider this: If this arrangement is not made, your friend will lose his title. Do you think that Lord and Lady Grace will allow their daughter to be married to a man with no means? No title?” He shook his head, his eyes calculating. “They will not. So cease your reluctance. There is no other option.” He took a deep breath and met her gaze. “I suggest you prepare for tonight; you’ll certainly be the center of attention and you should look the part. You’re dismissed.” With a quick wave of his fingers, he turned and went back to his tea, sitting down.
Tears burned the back of Liliah’s eyes, yet she held them in till she spun on her heel and quit the room, just as the first streams of warm tears spilled down her cheeks.
Surely there had to be another way?
Perhaps there was, but time was running out.
For everyone.
* * *
The Langford rout was buzzing with activity from London society’s most elite, thebon ton. The orchestra’s sweet melody floated through the air, drowning out most of the buzzing hum of voices. The dancers swirled around, a kaleidoscope of pastel colors amidst the gentlemen’s black evening kits. Ostrich and peacock feathers decorated the main banquet table, along with painted silver eggs. But the beauty of the ballroom was lost on Liliah; even the prospect of a treacle tart didn’t boost her mood. She meandered through the crush of humanity, swiping a glass of champagne from a passing footman. Sipping the cool liquid, she savored the bubbles as her gaze sharpened on her target.
Lady Grace—Rebecca—danced gracefully as she took the practiced steps of the quadrille. Rebecca smiled at her partner, and Liliah watched as the poor sop all but melted with admiration. Stifling a giggle, she waited till the dance ended, and made her way toward her friend. As she drew near, Rebecca caught sight and raised a hand in a wave, her overly expressive eyes smiling as wide as her lips.
“Liliah! Did you only just arrive? I was searching for you earlier.” Rebecca reached out and squeezed Liliah’s hand.
“I stalled,” Liliah confessed.
Rebecca’s smile faded, her green eyes no longer bright. “Did it work?”
“No.” Liliah glanced away, not knowing if she could handle the heartbreak that must be evident in Rebecca’s gaze.
“We understood it was a small chance. We must now simply seize every opportunity.” Rebecca spoke with far more control than Liliah expected. As she turned to her friend, she saw a depth of pain, yet a depth of strength in her gaze.
“There’s always hope,” Liliah affirmed, squeezing her friend’s hand.
“Always. And that being said, I must now seize this present opportunity.” Rebecca’s face lit up as only one deeply in love could do, and curtseyed as Meyer approached.
The Baron of Scoffield approached, but Liliah ever knew him as simply Meyer. Their friendship had been immediate and long-standing. Ever since Liliah, Rebecca, and Meyer had snuck away during a fireworks display at Vauxhall Gardens, they had created a special bond of friendship. But over the years, that friendship had shifted into something deeper between Meyer and Rebecca, while Liliah was happy to watch their romance bloom. Meyer’s gaze smoldered as he studied Rebecca, a secretive smile in place. As Liliah turned back to Rebecca, she saw the most delicate blush tint her olive skin. Liliah blushed as well, feeling like an intruder in their private moment. “I’ll just leave you two . . .” She trailed off, walking away as she heard Meyer ask Rebecca for a dance.
Liliah sipped the remaining champagne, watching her friends dance. Their eyes never left each other’s; even if they switched partners for the steps, they always came together, their love apparent for anyone who cared to look.
It was beautiful, and it was for naught.
As the dance ended, the first strains of a waltz soared through the air. What should have been beautiful was poisoned, and her heart felt increasingly heavy as Meyer walked in her direction, his lips a grim line.
