Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Doubt clung to Lily like the mold and damp that assailed her nose and congealed on her skin. Tepid tea did little to settle her stomach. Dockside inns were ever such. The diplomatic delegation sailed from the naval port, and Portsmouth held no exceptions.
As a diplomat’s daughter, she had seen more than her fair share of such establishments in many ports of call.
Before, her papa’s bluff good humor always distracted her with his fantastical tales of coming sights and sounds.
“An adventure, Lily, a magical time, have you but the eyes to see it!” he would say with a twinkle in his eye and dramatic gestures. Not so this time.
She took another sip of tea, grimaced, and stared at Ahmet—tall, black, and silently efficient Ahmet, dressed now in Ottoman dress.
He was, after all, a eunuch, a man who could be left alone with a woman.
Sahin Pasha assigned him to assist Lily along the way.
Assist or guard? She couldn’t be certain. Nothing felt certain.
She pushed her cup away and fidgeted with her reticule, anything to block out the reverberating question. Am I doing the right thing?
“The lady is restless,” her companion remarked, his voice rich and rough, echoing up from deep in his huge chest.
“We’ve waited long.”
“Tedious, yes, but necessary.” The voice was rough but gentle, and his eyes, now that she looked closely, looked sympathetic. Lily merely nodded in response. A moment passed.
“Do you regret your decision? Do you question whether you have done the right thing?” he raised an eyebrow, but a gentle smile took any sting from his words.
She shook her head. “I’ve considered the alternatives,” she said.
“All of them?”
All except marrying an arrogant marquess who would disdain my background.
Before she could answer him and put a lie to her thoughts, a messenger came.
“We leave now,” Ahmet said. “If you wish to turn back—”
“I don’t.” She rose and sped to the door, anxious for air.
Ahmet led her down the quay toward their waiting ship. She put one foot onto the gangplank to step up. A shout rose over the general noise of the docks. Lily turned her head toward the sound.
One man pushed another and ran between buildings but not before Lily got a look at him. She glanced at Ahmet. His alert expression sent a frisson of fear through her. Did he see what she saw? For a moment, just a moment, the man who disappeared looked like Volkov.
She climbed the gangplank and stepped onto the deck. Only one thought reverberated now.
I’m doing the right thing.
A message reached Glenaire’s office the following afternoon.
You may call upon me at the fashionable hour tomorrow afternoon. The matter will not wait seven full days.
Lisle
Her earl must be getting impatient.
His parents expected him at the ducal mansion that evening.
Richard’s routine included a monthly meeting to go over estate with his father, followed by dinner over which his mother harangued him about his unmarried state.
His parents’ expectations in this matter were locked in stone.
Richard generally found it easier to simply comply. Lisle will have to wait his turn.
By the time he climbed the marble stairs of Sudbury House, he knew the words of Lisle’s message by heart. His seven-day reprieve had ended. He assumed the duke and duchess already knew about it also. He didn’t need his father’s dictates to tighten the noose around his neck. He got them anyway.
I’ll marry the chit, he thought irritably. She’ll do. His Grace can cease the lecture. Even Lily Thornton expects me to marry Lady Sarah Wharton. I damned well resent being strong-armed by two dukes and a duchess over the thing.
“Once you’ve safely secured the lady’s hand,” His Grace droned on, “we’ll pressure Lisle for those sweet acres bordering Mountview, the ones with the decent little house. It is one of his minor estates, part of his mother’s dower, but free now. We’ll get it written into the settlements.”
The Sudbury estate doesn’t need any more blasted land. Richard knew better than to voice that notion. A ducal family could never hold too much land.
“Her dowry will be substantial,” the duke went on, certain his son would obey without question.
“You must set up in something more suitable in town, of course. That hole in the wall of yours will not do once the lady takes her place in society.” Richard’s snug little townhouse, the hole in a wall, far outshone the houses of ninety-nine percent of the population of England, Scotland, and Wales.
It would make an Irishman weep with delight.
“Good,” he said, “for a moment there I thought this contract would be all gain to us.”
His Grace pinned Richard with his eyes. “The chit will be a duchess. No small prize that. We won’t sell it short.”
“Sell it.”
I thought she was the one on the cattle market. Am I to be trussed and branded before sale also? Bile rose and a sour taste took hold in his mouth. Will she do? Will the whole damned deal do? Any more on Sarah Wharton and I’ll run screaming into the night.
“Show me again the numbers for the Northumbrian holdings,” he said to distract his father.
An hour later the two men made their way through the cavernous Sudbury House toward dinner set up in the blue salon, and Richard tried to see the logic of the thing. He began to catalog the advantages of marriage to Lady Sarah when they left the estate office.
Beautiful face—if you like marble. Lily bloomed with life.
He shook his head and followed his father down a hallway lit with dozens of beeswax candles.
Impeccable bloodlines—that run a bit close to aristocratic inbreeding.
He looked at the back of his father’s balding head. Lily’s heritage would add intelligence, courage, and strength to any alliance. Pedigree isn’t everything. That idea went against everything he had been raised to believe and took him off guard.
The duke winced a bit while he climbed the ornate marble stairs to the second story. Richard noted the signs of age coldly. He knew his father wouldn’t welcome any mention of weakness.
The Whartons are wealthy—there is no arguing that. Perhaps she will do.
Richard considered the impact of one more minor land holding and found it negligible. They turned at the landing.
Poised and confident in social and diplomatic circles.
He could be certain Lady Sarah would decorate his arm and not embarrass him in public. What about in private? He couldn’t picture bantering ideas about the affairs of state with her. In his mind, Lily Thornton laughed at him.
What about in the bedroom? No matter how hard he tried to squelch it, all he could see was Lily, passion raw in her eyes. She won’t have me! he reminded himself ruthlessly and clamped his jaw so tightly it hurt.
They reached the withdrawing room where the family gathered before dinner.
The Wharton chit is well schooled in the duties of a duchess—
The haughty face of Her Grace, his mother, glared back at him. “You’re late,” she snapped. “We do not tolerate such behavior in this house.”
Richard trooped in to dinner with his parents and youngest sister.
They walked sedately in strict order of precedence.
They sat in their usual places in the same order, just as they had from the time Richard reached adulthood and was permitted at table.
Her Grace nodded, and serving began, formally and in silence. He stared at his soup.
“I spoke with Lady Sarah Wharton, this afternoon. We discussed preferred living arrangements. The girl has perfect taste,” his mother pronounced. “You will turn over all decisions about such matters to her.”
“We are not betrothed,” Richard said, as blandly as he could.
Her Grace ignored him. She ignored all truths that did not meet her desires. “The matter of neighborhoods can be easily resolved. The wedding, of course, will be at Saint George, Hanover Square.”
“We have not yet—”
“Yes, yes.” His mother waved an impatient hand. “Don’t keep Lisle waiting tomorrow.”
He put down his spoon and stared at the table without actually seeing it.
She will not do. He knew it in his marrow.
Well schooled in the duties of a duchess—
Realization filled him. He didn’t want a duchess. “I’m not going to marry Lady Sarah Wharton.”
“Don’t talk nonsense,” Her Grace spat. “Restrain your tendency to low standards, Glenaire. “Lady Sarah told me you forced her to greet that schoolmaster’s son and his wife at the theatre. We do not receive them.”
His wife—your daughter. Her Grace chose to ignore that fact also. She couldn’t bend Georgiana to her will and, therefore, decided she did not exist.
“She will not suit,” Richard said.
“The Mallet woman?”
“Lady Sarah Wharton. She will not suit.”
“She suits us perfectly,” his mother sputtered.
Richard rose to his feet. “You don’t have to marry her.
” He put down his serviette. “I’ll take my leave.
I will send notice to Lisle. They can accept her earl.
” Silence followed him to the door. I’ve bungled the thing from the beginning.
There must be some way to change Lily’s mind.
I’ll find her; I’ll do better. If not, I’ll find another woman I can stand to live with, but it won’t be Sarah Wharton.
He didn’t want a duchess. He wanted a wife.