Liliah glanced at the floor, then to the side, before meeting her friend’s gaze. “Yes. But I also realize that my loving him wouldn’t make trapping him in an unsavory position the right thing to do. It wasn’t intended, not that it makes it right, but it is far more forgivable. And I do believe he intended to at least keep some sort of attachment to me, but I said my good-byes earlier this evening.”
Meyer frowned. “You ended it?”
“Yes. It was really the only way. If you agreed to move forward, then our attachment needs to appear solid so others don’t suspect, including our fathers.”
“And I thought I was the one to give up much.” He shook his head. “Liliah, you are giving up far more. And my heart breaks for you.” He spun her in a graceful twirl and held her in the perfect frame as they continued their waltz.
“So what now?” he asked.
“Now . . . we wait. And I’ll try to communicate the circumstances to Rebecca. At least she will be aware of the situation, lest she doubt our resolution to remain as we are,” Liliah added delicately.
“I thank you,” Meyer replied. “I do not know how I could ask more.”
“I do not know how I could offer it,” Liliah answered.
As the waltz ended, Liliah found a quiet corner and sat in one of the few vacant chairs, collecting her thoughts. As another partner requested a dance, she willingly obliged. What she needed was distraction.
Distraction from realizing just what sort of future she had sealed.
Distraction from seeking out a pair of crystal-blue eyes that may or may not still be in attendance.
Distraction from running back into the only arms that ever felt safe.
Chapter Thirty
Lucas spent the night replaying the miserable scene from last night. His mind wouldn’t let him forget it, as much as he wished he could. By three in the morning he was in his study swirling brandy before the low fire. The amber liquid offered no respite, and by six, he was marching toward the breakfast table.
He walked to his place setting and took a seat in the comfortable chair. His glass was filled with water, his teacup with tea—two sugars, no milk—and a silver spoon rested upon his saucer. He lifted it and stirred the tea. The familiar routine didn’t give him a sense of control, which he sorely missed. He turned to his coddled eggs and three rashers of bacon as they sat upon a single piece of buttered toast, like every morning. He draped his napkin over his lap and proceeded to break his fast, but the peace of the familiar was broken. Agitated, he abruptly stood from the table before he had taken more than two sips of tea and two bites of toast, and quit the room.
His usual rhythm was off like a wobbly carriage wheel that resisted improvement. Restless and haunted, he stalked back to his study. The scent of brandy made his stomach sour and he simply grabbed several stacks of papers and left for one of the parlors. As he selected a chair in the green room, he noted that even the sunshine from the windows seemed diluted and less brilliant.
What in the bloody hell was wrong with him? He should be thrilled! Life had no inclination to trap him in any entanglement, his life was perfectly organized and controlled, and he had no threat of well . . . anything! He should be carefree and delighted; instead he found he was restless, irritated, and angry.
He decided that life simply didn’t make sense.
“There you are.” Ramsey paused in the hall and welcomed himself into the parlor, much like he welcomed himself into the house. Lord only knew the servants were used to such behavior.
“What do you want?” Lucas asked with little finesse.
Ramsey paused, then shook his head and continued into the room. “What fell into your tea this morning?”
“Nothing.” Lucas waved dismissively.
“Right,” Ramsey enunciated. “Well then, I’m assuming from your stack of paperwork that you’re starting in on the guest list for the evening. The security men have been outfitted in their footmen attire, lest we give the appearance of being overprotective, and the kitchens have made a promising start to the fare for the eve.”
“You’ve been busy this morning,” Lucas replied, his tone slightly sarcastic.
“I’ll choose to take your words as a compliment.” Ramsey arched a dark brow and continued. “The betting books have been updated and I have kept an eye on the particular wager we discussed. It would seem there is a slight discrepancy that I think we need to address.” Ramsey seated himself without invitation and leaned forward.
Lucas followed suit, leaning forward to hear Ramsey’s update. “What discrepancy?”
Ramsey took a deep breath. “Greywick’s estate is not as solid as we had anticipated. Because of your inquiry, I asked an investigator to dig around and find out if the money was readily available.”
“Legally, of course.” Lucas chuckled.
“Enough.” Ramsey echoed his amusement, then continued. “It would seem that Greywick isn’t as heavy in the purse as he wishes people to assume. In fact, his estate is actually in arrears. We have it from a credible source that the help is quietly being let go at intervals, and new help is being hired, only to receive little to no pay.” Ramsey lifted both brows.
“No.” Lucas gave his head a shake.
