Chapter Seven
For the nextthree weeks, Lillian worked feverishly at the Lisbon Theater. Her hours were consumed by rehearsals, costume fittings, and putting the finishing touches on the set. It was hard, albeit rewarding work. Work that left blisters on her heels and splinters in her palms as the play began to take its final shape. But as soon as the sun began its downward descent, all temporary discomforts were forgotten as she bid her fellow actors farewell and rushed out the front door where Abel’s carriage waited to whisk her away to his manor in Grosvenor Square.
There, she had dinner with him and his daughters. Having never given serious consideration to having children before, she wasn’t sure how well she would get along with Amelia and Anne… but to her pleasant surprise, she genuinely enjoyed their company. The girls were intelligent, witty, and quite creative. By their second dinner together, she had them reciting lines from Shakespeare. By the sixth, she’d taught them how to play hazard (which Abel, stodgy duke that he was, had put a stop to the next day after he found the twins gambling away their doll collection in the nursery).
After eating, they’d go into the drawing room and thread cranberries for the tree, or readA Christmas Carolwritten by a relatively new, unknown author by the name of Mr. Charles Dickens. The girls always listened with rapt attention when Lillian told them how the play was progressing, and they shrieked with delight when she gave them tickets for opening night.
“Can we go, Papa?” they’d asked in unison, leaping up and down. “Can we, can we?”
“We’ll see,” Abel had replied, watching Lillian as indecipherable emotion had flickered in his gaze. “We’ll see.”
When candles glowed in every window and the girls were fast asleep, their quiet snores echoing down the hall, Abel took Lillian up to his bedchamber… or a sofa in the library… or a blanket in the front of the parlor hearth… and they made love. Quickly. Slowly. In all manner of positions. Afterward, they’d stay up and talk for hours, or fall immediately to sleep. But no matter how late or early she stayed tucked against Abel’s chest with his arm heavy over her hip, Lillian made sure to be gone before sunrise, as the one thing they did not discuss was their future together.
She knew now that Abel had gone to the Yuletide Ball in search of a wife and a mother for his children. Just as he knew that she’d gone looking for a benefactor for the theater. How could two such separate needs possibly reconcile into one? She wasn’t oblivious. She realized that actresses rarely became duchesses. She also realized that if he gave money to the theater now that they were lovers, it would complicate something that she desperately wanted to remain uncomplicated.
The sad truth was that when the play finally opened on Christmas Eve, it would likely be the last and final production ever held in the Lisbon Theater. There was no more money to be had. Ticket sales were absolutely dismal. Unless a miracle occurred, they would shut their doors before the New Year and that would be that. Her dream would be over. But at least she’d still have Abel… maybe.
For the past two days, he’d been oddly distant. In the middle of dinner the night before, he’d abruptly stood up and gone to his study citing business but he had never divulged what the business was. As for her part, Lillian had begun to stay later and later at the theater as opening night loomed. And then, without too much fanfare, it arrived.
* * * *
“Girls! Girls,hurry!” Abel shouted up the stairs. “We’re going to be late.”
“We’re coming,” Anne whined as she skidded down the steps in her stockings.
“We’re righthere,” said Amelia, following right behind.
“Where are your shoes?” Flustered, he raked a hand through hair as he turned in a senseless circle. “And your cloaks? And your–”
“I’ll take care of all that, Your Grace.” With perfect timing–per usual–Nanny popped in from the adjoining parlor, two pairs of boots and two matching red cloaks in hand. “Sit on that bench there, my dears. Your Grace, I believe you’ve forgotten something in your study.”
“Forgotten something?” he said blankly, patting the pockets of greatcoat. “What have I forgotten?”
“It’s small. Round. With a diamond–”
Bloody hell.
The ring.
Abel’s heart threatened to pound through the wall of his chest as he raced into his study, opened the top drawer on his desk, and removed a small, square-shaped box. He opened the lid to reveal a delicate gold band crowned with an emerald cut diamond. When his heart shot up out of his chest and lodged somewhere in his throat, he snapped the lid closed and shoved the box deep in his pocket.
“Girls,” he called hoarsely, his back to the door. “Girls, come in here for a moment. There is a matter I would like to discuss with you.”
“Yes, Papa?” Anne said, skipping into the study.
“What is it?” Amelia asked.
“Sit, please.”
“Did you get a puppy?”
“Oh, please say you got our puppy! We’ve been waiting forever.
“Forever.”
“It’s not your birthday yet,” he said automatically as they crammed together in a leather armchair. “Besides, this will be better than a puppy.”
“Nothing is better than a puppy,” Amelia said solemnly.
