Chapter 9
The trembling in Lily’s legs was not—well, not entirely—the result of the two shuddering orgasms her husband had given her.
As she descended the stairs into Boars Hill’s cavernous foyer, she wanted to kick herself and scream, tear the carefully hung ribbons and garlands from the banisters and rip them to shreds.
What had she been thinking? She should have predicted Philip—Whit, blast it—would find the one place where she’d never resisted him, where he knew she’d been denied for so long.
She found a gap in the evergreen garland strung on the banister and wrapped her hand around the wood, steadying herself at a curve in the staircase. Her fingers already ached from digging into the bedsheets, into his hair—
Stop this! She winced at her internal admonishment and blinked, clarifying in her vision the reunion taking place in the foyer below.
Her sisters and their husbands circled the newly arrived couple, Timothy’s white-blond hair like a beacon within Violet and Rose’s embrace.
Callum had one arm around his cousin James, their heads bowed together in what looked like a serious conversation, although all conversations with Callum were serious.
Her mother was at her best, dispatching servants to deliver the travelers’ belongings and dispense refreshments.
Her father, per the norm, hung back and supervised the chaos at a distance.
Heat climbed Lily’s chest, and suddenly her riding jacket was too warm, too tight.
Though closer in friendship to her younger sisters, Timothy had been like a brother to her and their family’s savior.
But he’d also known where Philip had been hiding, had pushed her husband to return to her without a word of warning.
The betrayal sliced through her carefully forged armor, although at this point her defenses were already in tatters.
She pulled in a shuddering breath and plucked at the button at her throat, but the motion must have attracted her mother’s attention because she whipped her pointed gaze to her eldest daughter.
“Lily, there you are!” The words had the impact of a crystal glass thrown into a fireplace, and everyone stilled, their eyes traveling as one to her. Her mother flattened her lips. “Good heavens, what are you wearing?”
Lily pinched the bridge of her nose as the heat in her chest climbed to her hairline.
“Riding breeches, Mama.” She longed to dash for the stables to avoid running the interrogative gauntlet of her mother and sisters, and she likely would have done just that, had footsteps not approached her from behind.
A warm hand on the small of her back steadied her, Philip’s voice rumbling through her like thunder in the distance. “I like what she’s wearing. She can’t wear dresses to run a stable.”
For an instant, her frustration settled, the maelstrom inside her calming enough for her to see light on the horizon, to be secured and anchored by his presence. Having someone to defend her. Knowing she wasn’t alone.
I don’t want to be alone.
With a sharp exhale, she stepped away from his touch to descend the stairs. His touch only soothed her now because he’d withheld it for eight years.
She would not accept scraps after being denied a full meal.
He trailed behind her, her shadow as she forced on a pleasant mien to approach their guests.
Timothy’s brows were drawn when she approached, chin high. “Happy Christmas, Timothy,” she ground out as he gave air kisses on both her cheeks.
He glanced over her shoulder to where, no doubt, Philip loomed. “To you as well.” His throat bobbed on a swallow. “I was hoping we might have the chance to explain—”
Rose swooped in like a bird of prey, snagging Lily’s arm and dragging her out of the fray and towards the staircase. “You and Philip can take some time to catch up,” she said airily. “We need to have a sisterly chat.”
“We do?” Lily asked when they’d reached the second-floor landing and were safely out of earshot.
“We do. I worried you’d strangle Timothy or Philip if left to your own devices.” She paused at a footman to retrieve a steaming cup and saucer, thanking him profusely. “I promised Fern I’d bring her this.”
Lily winced. She hadn’t even noticed her youngest sister’s absence, something Fern likely preferred. “Is she in the nursery?”
Rose nodded as she climbed the stairs, deftly balancing the cup despite her steady pace. “She’s feeding Emily.”
When they arrived at the third-floor nursery, they found Fern resting in a rocking chair, her daughter at her breast. Fern spotted the cup in her twin’s hand, and her hazel eyes brightened. “Drinking chocolate?”
Rose grinned as she set the cup and saucer on a small table beside the chair. “I thought you might need it.”
Lily’s throat thickened, remembering the drinking chocolate she’d left downstairs in her room, what it represented. Care. Attention.
Love.
You don’t hate me as much as you say.
She pulled a weathered wooden chair from the school desk over to Fern’s side and took a moment to admire her niece while Rose sat on the nanny’s bed and curled her feet under her skirt.
The infant’s chubby hand tugged on the end of Fern’s plait, a swirl of wispy auburn hair bright against Fern’s white shirtwaist. Dark brown lashes fluttered against her full cheeks. “She’s beautiful,” Lily whispered.
“But she screams like a demon.” Rose snorted. “You didn’t have to cross the Atlantic with her.”
“She cut three teeth on that voyage. Three!” Fern rolled her eyes, then leveled them at her twin. “Just wait until it’s your turn.”
Something sharp twisted in Lily’s chest. “Are you…”
“No.” Rose shook her head firmly. “Ben isn’t ready yet. I’m not ready yet. Besides, we’re so busy with the suffrage society, I don’t know if there will ever be a good time.”
Fern stroked her daughter’s hair from her forehead. “There is never a perfect time, but I’ll be there when it is.”
Lily smiled, though envy prickled behind her sternum. “How fortunate you are to live on the same side of the ocean.”
“New York isn’t that close to Boston,” Fern peeked at Rose, “but I’ll try to visit when I’m not in classes.” Rose laid her hand on Fern’s.
“It’s wonderful to see you like this,” Lily managed through the ache in her throat. “After everything that happened.”
The twins exchanged a knowing glance that raised the hairs on Lily’s arm. “About that…” Rose shifted and stretched her long legs out in front of her. “We were hoping we could talk to you about what’s happening with Philip.”
Lily crossed her arms over her chest. “What about him?”
Another shared glance, and Lily’s irritation climbed. Rose cleared her throat. “I knew Timothy had seen him in Paris.” She spoke in a rush when Lily sucked in an outraged breath. “But I didn’t know he’d be here for Christmas!”
She shouldn’t be surprised. Rose and Timothy had always been close, but this stung like yet another betrayal. “But you knew he was…” She fluttered her hand in front of her, then dropped it back to her lap when she noticed it was trembling.
“I only knew Philip might be here, not…” She winced. “Everything else. Why he was away.” Rose’s emerald eyes were pleading. “I hated not telling you, but Timothy was right. Philip needed to explain his circumstances himself. He has explained, hasn’t he?”
Lily’s nod was unnatural, as though her body had forgotten how to manage basic actions. “He has. But I don’t know if I can forgive him.”
Fern looked up from the baby. “Why not?”
“After what he did?” Lily scoffed. “He hurt me.”
Rose snorted a laugh and attempted to smother it with her fingers. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t appropriate. But you do realize who you’re talking to, don’t you?”
“Whom,” Fern muttered, then winced. “Apologies. Also not appropriate, but grammatically correct.” She gestured between herself and her twin. “I stole the man who was courting her, and she turned the family against me.”
Rose pulled her knees up to her chest. “I missed your wedding.”
“I missed yours.” Fern rolled her lips between her teeth and exhaled through her nose. “And I regret all of it, how everything happened. But fortunately, you forgave me.”
“Of course I forgive you.” Rose gave a watery grin. “You’re my sister. And besides, can you imagine if I’d married Alex?” She released her knees and shuddered dramatically, and Fern laughed. Emily, now asleep against her chest, squawked her displeasure but immediately settled.
The moment of levity did nothing to settle Lily’s ire. “What Philip did isn’t the same. You’re sisters, and he’s…”
“Your husband,” Rose said. “I’m not excusing what he did, but he had good reason, at least in his mind.”
Fern nodded her agreement. “You can’t cast him out of your life easily. Why not give him a chance to prove himself? You loved him, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” More than anything in the world. “But aren’t there some things that are unforgivable, no matter how much you love someone?”
Rose leaned over and took Lily’s hand, then grasped Fern’s as well. “Of course there are. But if I hadn’t taken the risk and forgiven Fern…” She glanced at the sleeping baby in her sister’s arms. “I would have missed so much more.”
The smoking embers of her anger fizzled into vapor behind her breastbone, leaving behind something far more pernicious.
The ache of losing him, of mourning the disappearance of her husband from her life, had hidden behind the blazing furnace of her fury.
Now only embers of pain remained, aching ashes of dreams lost, fear of what she might still lose.
But before Lily could drift too deeply into her melancholia, Rose’s eyes narrowed. “What are you wearing?”
Lily looked down. “Riding clothes.”
“With a chemise?”
Oh, hell. Grumbling, she stood and shucked off her jacket, released her short stays—these were her sisters, after all—and tugged the chemise off. She replaced her jacket, flinching at the rub of the rough tweed against her bare skin, but buttoned it into place. “Better?”
“Much. Oh!” Rose scrambled in her pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. “Violet wasn’t feeling well and asked if I would pick up some of these from Fleming’s. If you’re planning to ride into town, would you mind getting them for her?”
Lily plucked the paper from her fingers, grateful for a trip to the confectioner’s and an escape from the house. “Of course.” She squinted to read the tight handwriting. “E.C. Rich Crystal Ginger. Is that it?”
Rose nodded, but Fern’s jaw dropped open on a gasp. “Oh my word. Vi asked me what I used for the nausea when I—”
Rose’s identical gasp cut her off. “Do you think she’s—”
“But she doesn’t—”
“She could be—”
Lily held out her hands. “You’re having a twin conversation that I can’t follow. Translate, please?”
Fern released a sigh as though indignant her eldest sister couldn’t keep up. “Violet asked what helped me control the nausea when I was in my early days with this one.” She ran her hand over the back of Emily’s head, and the girl snuffed in her sleep. “If she asked Rose to get some ginger for her—”
Now it was Lily’s turn to gasp. “The way she and Callum have been behaving, I’m not surprised.”
“Neither am I.” Rose’s eyes glittered. “But we have to wait for her to tell us.”
“Of course.” Lily tugged at the bottom of her jacket and glanced out the window. The sun was still high enough for her to make the brief journey into Oxford and return before nightfall. “I’ll go now.”
Rose heaved a sigh. “Thank you, Lills.”
Lily’s own words of gratitude stuck in her throat, gratitude for their sisterhood, their care. More than anything at that moment, the chance to ride away from the confusion brewing inside her.