Chapter 5 #2
“Mama! I am so happy to see you. I feel as if we have barely spoken, what with the coronation and everything happening this week. So many late events without me. Did you enjoy …” Lily’s voice faltered.
She could not, for the life of her, recall where her parents had been the previous night.
“Last night?” she finished, the rising note in her voice betraying her weak delivery. She nearly winced at herself.
Under normal circumstances, she might have chattered on with deflections and charm, but words were elusive this morning.
She had cast off one burden of guilt only to shoulder another.
And soon, she would have to summon the courage to confess the dreadful truth to her mama, who lived and breathed for the marriage prospects of her only daughter.
But not yet.
Right now, all she wanted was to reach the haven of her bedchamber, scale the step at the end of her great high bed, and bury her face into her pillows until the world stopped spinning. She would lie there and contemplate her ruination at length. Ruined!
All because of that appalling man, Grimes. If he had only done his duty instead of fastening onto Mr. Ridley like a leech!
Lily shook her head minutely and tried to focus. Her mother’s expression was thunderous.
“Where were you?” The heat in Lady Moreland’s voice was uncharacteristic and made Lily retreat a step. Her slipper caught the edge of the stair, and she had to seize the banister to keep from toppling.
Smile. Keep smiling.
Her lips curved again with effort, trying to present a picture of blithe innocence. “I took a constitutional. With Nancy.”
“On your own?” The question rang more like a lament.
“Nothing happened. I am here, all safe and sound.” A boldfaced lie, soon to be shredded to ribbons when the truth came out. But Lily needed a moment longer—just a little more time—to collect herself for the inevitable onslaught.
Speaking with Grimes had been an exhausting ordeal, particularly following a sleepless night of tossing beneath her counterpane, the linens twisted about her legs.
Lily had dug deep to summon every ounce of insouciant chatter she could muster while enduring the runner’s scrutiny.
His cold, beady eyes had surveyed her as though she were something foul tracked in from the gutter.
“What if someone had seen you? Of course someone saw you! How are we to explain this? What if it ruins you entirely, young lady?”
Lily restrained the grimace that tugged at her brow. If Mama believed that simply walking with Nancy in the early morning light was enough to tarnish her reputation, she was in for a veritable fit of apoplexy when she learned the full truth.
It pained Lily to know she was about to cause her mother such distress.
But she could not carry the guilt of allowing an innocent man to be tried for patricide, not when she possessed the power to stop it.
Mama would recover in time—of that, Lily was certain.
She would find distraction in arranging Aidan’s match or in having the silver polished for the next soirée.
In the grand tapestry of Abbott family legacy, Lily’s marriage might have added a stitch or two, but it was not the hem that held the thing together. Viscount Moreland was well connected through generations of strategic unions. One daughter’s deviation from the path would not undo it all.
“Mama, I had a chaperon, and I was in a respectable neighborhood, in full daylight.” Another untruth, dropped lightly as sugar into tea.
Lily just needed this conversation to end.
Her limbs ached with the weight of responsibility, and she longed for solitude to contemplate how best to reveal what she had done and why.
Someday, she hoped, they would understand.
She had done what was right. What was honorable.
Her mother’s voice broke, tremulous and wounded. “Oh, Lily! Why would you do this?”
Lily bit her lip as she watched her distraught mother pace and lament her impropriety.
A pang of sadness struck her, knowing that life in their household was on the cusp of irrevocable change.
Lady Moreland had always been a devoted parent.
Yes, a touch suffocating at times and far too concerned with the whispers of high society, but Lily had never doubted her mother’s love or the sincerity behind her tireless efforts to shape her future.
They disagreed frequently on what constituted best for Lily, but even now, Lily could not fault her mother’s intentions.
She swallowed against the knot rising in her throat, the ache of guilt blooming in her chest. She sincerely hoped that, in time, Mama might understand the choice she had made, might see that it had been the only course of action left to her.
“I needed some air,” Lily said softly, “because I have been cooped up all week with all the coronation goings-on.”
Lady Moreland clutched at her chest, her expression crumpling. “Is this my fault? Have I neglected you?”
Tears welled in Lily’s eyes, blurring the silk hangings along the stairwell.
She had not anticipated that particular consequence.
It had never occurred to her that her mother might blame herself.
Hurting her overly watchful but loving parent had never been part of the plan.
Then again, it had never been much of a plan at all.
Descending the remaining steps, she stood in front of her mother and reached out to clasp her gently by the arms. Lily lifted onto her tiptoes to press a kiss to her mother’s smooth cheek. “You are the very best of mamas,” she whispered. “And you have never neglected me.”
She stepped back before she could say more, before her resolve crumbled, and turned swiftly, gathering her skirts in both hands. Without waiting for a reply, she dashed up the stairs.
“Do not run! It is not ladylike!” her mother called after her, her voice thick with emotion.
Lily huffed a soft laugh, even as her eyes stung. Running was hardly her greatest crime this morning, not after the defining step she had taken, the step that could cost her everything.
“Grimes is here,” Richard intoned from the window.
The earl stood with arms crossed, his handsome features set in stern lines. Once the darling of the ton, with a reputation for breaking hearts as swiftly as he won them, he now bore the sober gravity of a reformed man. No smile touched his lips, and the usual warmth in his eye had dulled.
The tension in the room grew taut with that single announcement.
Reluctantly, the duke rose, and Brendan followed suit.
His limbs felt as though weighted with lead, the act of standing a monumental task.
A dull throb pulsed behind his eyes, and he pressed a thumb against his temple, as though he could dispel the headache mounting there.
He summoned every shred of composure and drew it about him like an overcoat, smoothing his features and squaring his shoulders as if dressing for a duel.
Stiff upper lip, Brendan Ridley. Time to face your accusers.
They filed out of the library together, their footsteps muted against the Turkish carpet laid over the polished oak floor.
Brendan’s thoughts churned as he imagined the grim proceedings to come.
Would he be permitted to pack a bag? Could his valet accompany him?
The thought of persuading Simmons to step foot in a prison almost made him chuckle, but the laugh caught somewhere near his throat.
No. You must fend for yourself, my lad.
At the base of the staircase, the entrance hall opened before them in a sweep of worn carpeting and dark-paneled walls. There stood Briggs, hat in hand, beside a sour-looking Michaels, whose tight mouth and furrowed brow suggested he had tasted something far more offensive than lemon curd.
Brendan’s shoulders dipped ever so slightly. He had gathered every ounce of dignity to meet the coroner face-to-face, and now the man was late. All this poise and principle, and no audience to receive it.
Richard peered up and down the hall and stairs as if expecting the coroner to jump out of the shadows. “Where is Grimes?”
“He has left,” Briggs replied. Brendan noted the man’s change in demeanor. His earlier reluctance had disappeared. “There will not be an arrest today.”
Brendan swayed slightly. The duke caught hold of him, bracing him with his considerable strength and turning to Michaels. “Take Mr. Ridley back to the library!”
Michaels scowled, pursing his lips before stepping forward. Brendan shook his head. “I am all right. I … shall be in the library.”
As soon as he entered the room, he made for the sideboard and poured a short brandy.
He had already had one, and being inebriated at this time seemed like a poor idea, but he needed the fortification after so many jolting turns of events.
He threw it back quickly, swallowing with difficulty while his thoughts spun like a Catherine wheel.
Why has Grimes changed his mind?
Brendan trudged across the library and dropped into the battered armchair that had become his refuge these past few days. The worn leather creaked under him as he leaned forward, head in his hands, trying to reconstruct his weary mind.
Through the open door, he heard the faint tread of footsteps approaching.
Brendan rose as the duke entered, his questions only half formed.
“The woman you were with stepped forward as an alibi. All charges have been dropped,” the duke announced.
Brendan clapped a hand over his mouth in sheer relief as Halmesbury approached. Near the door, he caught sight of Richard speaking in low tones with Briggs.
He sucked air into his constricted lungs. “And here I was hoping to get a tour of the Tower.” The quip emerged feebly, nothing more than nerves speaking for him.
Halmesbury shook his head, a slight grin tugging at his lips. His brother-in-law seemed as relieved as he by the sudden turn in fortune.