“Have you not been sleeping well?”
“I have been, but I’m not sure I will tonight.”
“That must mean things didn’t go well between you and Lord Wythebury at the paddock this afternoon?”
Lillian sighed.
“It was clear to everyone you two weren’t speaking to each other tonight.”
“No, we did. We greeted each other politely.”
“I guess I missed that, but certainly you didn’t converse as you have in the past.”
“I should have kept better watch on Fallon and not let him eat so many tarts. That upset his stomach. But, the marquis should be a little more reasonable about his concerns over their health.”
“It’s not unusual for a child to eat until they get sick.” Gwen placed her cup on a nearby table. “But what does Fallon eating too much have to do with you and Lord Wythebury?”
Lillian swirled the wine in her glass. “Everything.”
“Oh my,” Gwen said. “That doesn’t sound favorable.”
“I really can’t explain it. I wish I could. I have all these wonderful feelings churning inside when I look at him. When he’s near I get fluttery feelings in my chest, I find it hard to breathe, and I want to—well, it doesn’t matter,” she finished when she realized she was about to talk about kissing.
“That sounds a bit like love,” her sister said.
“Oh no, it can’t be,” Lillian hastened to say, though she wasn’t sure it was true. “We would never suit. The marquis is very serious about his responsibilities concerning the boys and his obligations toward them. You know me, if it comes to my mind I say it, and I have strong opinions about some things and I let him know. I don’t think he appreciates that. ”
“I think most men are like Lord Wythebury. More serious-minded.”
“You are just saying that.” Lillian placed her glass beside Gwen’s cup and saucer.
Gwen smiled. “No. Most of the gentlemen I know are.”
“Crispin doesn’t seem to be.”
“Ah, on that you are right, dear sister. But my husband was brought up in a household much like our own, where there were many siblings running about. At least one of them was always laughing, squealing, or crying. Lord Wythebury was not brought up in a house like ours. His was quieter, more reserved, more about there being a place for everything and everything must be in its place.”
“If most men are like him, then perhaps I’ll never marry,” Lillian said, annoyed by the thought of everything always being so proper. “I see no reason to be so stuffy and strict all the time no matter how you were brought up. Life is supposed to be enjoyed. And with that unsolicited proclamation, even though Mrs. Edgeworth’s tune is not finished, I’m going to say good night. Since Fallon had a stomachache, I want to check on him and make sure he’s sleeping soundly before I go to my bedchamber. Why don’t you walk up with me? You’re probably tired.”
“I’m all right.” Gwen looked around the room. “I’ll stay down here as long as Mrs. Edgeworth is playing. It shouldn’t be too much longer. You go on up, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Lillian kissed Gwen’s cheek and then headed up the stairs. She was certain there was nothing more wrong with Fallon, but since Lord Wythebury had been so concerned and had made such a big fuss about it, she wanted to make sure Fallon had no lasting effects. While the marquis was enjoying an after-dinner brandy and cards with the gentlemen, it was the perfect time for her to do it.
The guest wing of the house was as large as the main section. She wasn’t very familiar with the turns down the windowless corridor, but thankfully wall sconces were lit to guide the way.
If she hadn’t taught the boys their lessons a few days ago, she wouldn’t have any idea where their room was located. When she made it to their door, no light shone from underneath it. That was a good sign that all was well within.
Still, she had to make sure.
Lillian slowly turned the knob and pushed the door. It opened with an eerie creak that seemed to reverberate throughout the entire estate. She stopped, cringed, and listened. No sounds came from inside. With her heartbeat racing, she slowly moved the door enough she could slip inside. Light from the hallway sliced down the center of the room, showing a bed on either side. Her entry hadn’t seemed to disturb either peacefully-sleeping child. She started to leave but couldn’t until she touched Fallon’s forehead if for no other reason than to prove she was right and Lord Wythebury wrong about the fever.
Easing closer, she saw Heron lying in the bed to the right. One arm was out from under the cover and thrown over his head. She smiled and tiptoed over to Fallon’s bed. He was turned away from her toward the wall with covers tucked closely under his chin. She couldn’t see his face but lightly reached out and touched his forehead. It was cool. He wasn’t ill, he’d simply eaten too many plum tarts. She breathed a silent breath of relief and lifted her hand. Fallon rolled over and mumbled in his sleep. He was angelic-looking with his round cheeks and dark brown hair falling across his forehead. A feeling of loss squeezed her heart. She would miss the youngsters’ laughing and fighting when they left after Christmas.
Without thinking, she reached down and kissed the sleeping little boy on the forehead and whispered, “Sweet dreams, my dear child.”
Lillian left the room as she’d entered it, quietly except for the creak of the door when it closed.
She retraced her steps down the dimly lit corridor. When she rounded the corner that went into the sitting room at the top of the stairs, she stopped. The marquis leaned casually against one of the chairs. There were no lamps burning in the sitting area, just light from the corridor that bridged one section of the house to the other, but she could see well enough to know he was staring at her. And, she’d swear to anyone, that he was looking like he wanted to kiss her.
