“Liliah.” Her father spoke authoritatively. He stood from behind his desk and walked toward the fire burning low in the grate.
“Yes.” Liliah raised her chin slightly, taking a deep breath as she waited.
“The announcement has been sent to theTimes, and will be published in tomorrow’s paper.” He turned from facing the fire and studied her, daring her to speak.
Liliah’s heart pounded out a desperate rhythm; demanding she flee, react, do something other than just stand there like a lamb to the slaughter. Yet her feet wouldn’t move, so she simply waited for whatever came next.
“The date has been set for three weeks hence. I’ve gone to St. George’s and procured a date for the wedding. I’m notifying you, since tomorrow night’s party at the Winharts’ will be the confirmation of the announcement.”
She wouldn’t cry, she wouldn’t let him see her heartbreak—not only for herself but for Meyer, for Rebecca, for the future they were all sentenced to. She gave a slow nod. “Is there anything more?” she asked, cursing him to the depths of hell for his heartlessness.
“No.” He narrowed his eyes, then smirked. “It is, however, pleasant to see you obey for once.”
It was too much. Liliah opened her mouth, about to give the most scathing retort she could think of, yet she paused a moment before she let loose her anger.
No.
One false step and her afternoon plans were for naught.
Her father would send men to guard her door once more, or worse, guard her and Samantha on her afternoon excursion.
It wasn’t worth the risk.
So Liliah held her tongue, allowing the silence to speak for her.
“You’re dismissed.” Her father gave a gesture with his hand and then presented his back to her.
Spinning on her heel, she turned and measured her steps out of the study, forcing herself to keep in control when what she wanted to do was run.
Far away.
As she entered her room, she allowed one tear to fall. As she wiped it away, she rang for her maid.
By the time Sarah knocked, Liliah’s determination and anger had risen to the point of coloring her skin as she studied herself in the mirror. “Sarah, I require assistance. . .” Liliah walked across the room to a chest of drawers and withdrew a carefully wrapped package. Last year she had purchased some underthings from the French modiste, and as of yet hadn’t had the courage to wear them.
Today that was going to change. She set the package on the bed and untied the red ribbon. The softest chemise lay folded on top of the small pile. The muslin was an ultrafine weave that took on the hue of the skin beneath it. The lace that curved around the edges was delicate, feminine, and quite scandalous. The rest of the underthings were equally sheer, soft, and wanton.
“O-of course, my lady,” Sarah replied, her tone hesitant. Yet she didn’t make any other comments as she helped Liliah undress, and then put on a new day gown. Liliah had chosen a soft blue that highlighted the hue of her eyes, and was also easy to put on without assistance.
She was quite proud of her forethought.
And equally scandalized.
Yet completely unrepentant.
“Also, Sarah, I will require you to accompany Samantha and me to Bond Street. We are to leave in ten minutes’ time,” Liliah said as she tugged on her gloves.
“Yes, my lady.”
The last ten minutes seemed like an eternity to Liliah. Finally, Sarah, Samantha, and Liliah all entered the carriage and started down from Mayfair to Bond Street. Liliah found that she was quite unable to remain still. Her fingers shook slightly, and her toes had the strangest need to tap incessantly. Pulling her wits about her, she focused on the passing scenery. It was a common day in London. The smoky stench of coal fires hung in the air much like the ever-present clouds. The sunlight filtered through them, illuminating the Town, but it was dreary and dull. Thankfully there was no rain, but that didn’t mean that it wouldn’t rain within the hour.
As they approached Bond Street, Liliah’s gaze scanned the lined-up carriages. Would she recognize Lucas’s? Likely not, as she had not seen it, yet that didn’t stop her from searching. As her carriage pulled up beside the modiste’s storefront, Liliah took a shallow breath. “Shall we?”
Samantha arched a brow, clearly disenchanted with the idea of a fitting, but stepped from the carriage. The bell dinged as they walked into Whittlemen’s ladies’ shop. The scent of vanilla and scented soaps filtered through the air, perfuming the stale atmosphere.
“My ladies.” The clerk curtseyed lower than necessary. “It is a pleasure to serve you today.” The woman was Mrs. Whittlemen’s usual assistant and, as such, was quite familiar with the duke’s daughters—and their available pin money.
“We are ready for you, Lady Samantha.” She gestured to the back of the shop, then turned her attention to Liliah. “Is there something we can offer you, Lady Liliah, while you wait? Perhaps you’d care to see the new designs we’ve created?” the woman asked, her expression hopeful.
