He was different from Michael in many ways. His googley eyes and boney face were fine for somebody else’s husband. Just not hers. If only he weren’t so…baronish—so stuffy and meticulous. If only he were softer looking and exuded even a hint of warmth.
If only he were Michael.
For the thousandth time that day, she tried not to think about the night ahead.
After reaching the third story, they walked past several doors until he finally opened the second to last.
“Wasn’t Rose’s room on the second floor, adjoining yours?” This room, although pleasant, was far from the master suite. Ought she to be grateful for this?
Lord Beauchamp dropped her arm and solemnly walked to the window. “I could never put another woman in Rose’s room. It will always be hers. You will refrain from entering it. Ever. You must understand my feelings on this matter?”
“I…yes…I suppose.”But it has been three years!
“I do not want the room disturbed, do you understand?”She could see him swallow hard, as though holding back emotion.
Feeling distressed and uncertain, not to mention a little homesick already, Lilly nodded.
“Your trunks will be delivered and unpacked shortly, I presume. You may rest and then meet me for dinner downstairs in two hours. Ask one of the upstairs maids if you find yourself in need of anything.” He hesitated a moment. “It is to be hoped we can go on well together. Your father explained the bad luck you had in London.”
“He did?” Her eyes went wide at this information. For some reason, she hadn’t thought her father would have informed Lord Beauchamp of her relationship with Michael.
“He told me everything. And as much as I abhor such behavior, out of the regard I still have for your sister, I am willing to give you my protection. It is something she would have wanted.”
A deeper foreboding began to take root. “What, exactly, did my father tell you?” She felt like she were being lowered into a grave—cold and alone and ashamed.
And she felt betrayed. Had her mother suspected she’d given herself to Michael completely? And if so, how could her parents have shared this with Lord Beauchamp, of all people? He was a virtual stranger to her, and now he was to know of her most personal secrets?
“He told me you’ve likely been ruined.” The words came out clipped and monotone. “He told me I may very well have married a whore—one who could possibly be carrying another man’s child.” His tone dripped with judgement. “But, as I’ve said, Rose would have wanted me to extend to you the protection of my name.”
This was why Lord Beauchamp had deigned to marry her? As a favor, no—as a tribute—to his love for Rose? He was martyring himself—for her?
“Nevertheless, I shall endeavor to make your existence here…tenable.” This was the nicest thing he’d said to her all day.
Turning on his heel, he strode toward the corridor. “Do not be late for dinner. I abhor tardiness.” With that, he exited and closed the door.
Lilly dropped to the bed, stunned. Was this why her parents insisted upon such a hasty marriage? Surely it must have been, for her father was not on his deathbed yet. Lilly wanted to cry again but had no energy to do so. Neither was she to be given a chance, apparently.
There was a short knock on the door. “Yes?” Lilly said.
A servant who looked to be the age of her mother entered and made a short bow. “My name is Hilda, ma’am. I am to be your maid. The master told me to see if you needed assistance before dinner. Do you require a bath?”
Lilly thought about the two long flights of stairs the servants would be forced to carry water up and shook her head. Although a bath sounded lovely, she would limit them if possible. It would do her no good to draw the ire of the servants in her new home by creating additional work for them.
LILLY RETURNS TO LONDON
1824
Lifting the knocker, Michael felt an odd familiarity. He’d resolved to make this one morning call to Lady Sheffield’s town house in order to assure himself of the ladies’ safe arrival. He’d also apprise Lilly of his success in recovering the documents and carriage from Hawthorne’s estate. She would want to know.
He hoped coming here was not a mistake.
How many times had he eagerly waited on this very step the season they had met? More times than he could remember.
The intensity of anticipation, of longing he’d felt upon each of those occasions, was not something one forgot. Even when it had only been a matter of hours since they had last been together, his heart had raced and his breathing had quickened while he stood waiting to see her again. Every time it had been the same. Her mere presence made him feel alive.
Had—that was—hadmadehim feel alive.
This time was different. In fact, he ought to forego talking with Lilly altogether and instead, confirm their safe arrival with the butler or perhaps with Lady Eleanor.
