Chapter 6 #2
The viscount rang a bell. A moment later, the door behind him opened.
Brendan rose to his feet, stiff from the weight of expectations now draped across his shoulders like a yoke.
He could not help but wonder why an established man such as Moreland would place so much faith in a girl barely out of the schoolroom.
How had Miss Abbott even found the courage, or the means, to present herself to the coroner in the first place?
It was with a heady sense of relief that Lily had observed Mr. Ridley’s arrival.
She had swiftly adjusted the silly lace and muslin gown she had chosen that morning and checked her coiffure in the mirror, her fingers trembling.
She had not slept in several nights. Her head ached with the weight of wakeful hours, and her eyes burned from too many unshed tears, but if Mr. Ridley had come up to scratch and was here to offer for her hand, then perhaps this wretched week might yet end with dignity restored.
It was not the manner in which she had envisioned stepping into matrimony. Still, the gentleman was certainly handsome and affable. More importantly, he was courteous and of sound lineage. Given their shared connections, she could do far worse than binding herself to him.
Lily bobbed nervously about the drawing room overlooking the street, unable to still her restless limbs.
Excitement shimmered beneath her anxiety.
Mr. Ridley might yet salvage her reputation.
If he did, perhaps Mama would cease her weeping, which weighed heavily on Lily’s already tender conscience.
And Aidan, dear Aidan, might stop blaming himself for her predicament.
Some semblance of normalcy would return.
Lily would embark on a new chapter as a wife, as a proper member of the ton.
She might finally make her own decisions—select her own gowns, attend musicales with Sophia, and breathe in the quiet freedom that came from no longer being her mother’s ward in every sense.
And perhaps she and Mr. Ridley would find common ground.
Perhaps, over time, they might come to understand one another.
Perhaps, if Providence smiled kindly, love might one day follow.
Checking the clock, she wondered what Papa might be saying to Mr. Ridley.
At last, a knock sounded at the door. Lily hastily rubbed her scratchy eyes and called for the servant to enter.
Thomas stepped in, announced Mr. Ridley, bowed with practiced efficiency, and withdrew.
Unexpectedly, he shut the door behind him, and the sound echoed like a turning key in Lily’s imagination.
This was it. She was alone with a gentleman for the first time. Because he was to propose marriage.
Her eyes sought him at once. Mr. Ridley had come to a halt before the fireplace, his gaze fixed downward.
She studied his reflection in the mirror above the mantel, allowing herself a moment’s hesitation before turning to face him directly.
His tanned complexion looked unusually pale, the tension in his frame unmistakable.
Beneath the cut of his impeccable buckskins and green coat, he seemed carved from restraint.
Despite the weariness in his posture, he was striking—handsome in the shifting afternoon light that filtered through the draperies. But it was the hollowness around his eyes that caught her heart. He looked as if he had not slept in days.
Her chest tightened with sympathy. What a terrible week the young man must have endured.
Is he devastated over his father’s death? He has not even had time to grieve!
Mr. Ridley cleared his throat. “I wished to thank you, Miss Abbott. Your intervention was most timely. I was moments from arrest when you spoke with the coroner.”
“You are welcome, Mr. Ridley! I was quite beside myself over your situation. Lady Slight’s decision not to come forward was simply unacceptable, and I could not sit idle. I felt responsible in some way … and I believed it the only method by which I might assist you.”
In the mirror, Lily caught the subtle frown that touched Mr. Ridley’s brow at the mention of the widow. Her stomach twisted. Was he still attached to Lady Slight? Did he resent being here, speaking of marriage?
I am afraid I do not care. If he offers me marriage, I will accept.
“Lady Slight likely does not know of my predicament,” he said quietly.
Lily bit her lower lip. She hesitated. To confess her ill-advised visit would be unwise, especially now. She still cringed at how she had managed the matter, and this was hardly the moment for such disclosures.
“Nevertheless, I am so very glad you are here!” she burst out, the words tumbling forth despite her best intentions.
“You have come to offer for me, have you not? I lay awake all night reaching my decision, and I must say I am quite worn through, but now, here you are, come to do the honorable thing. I knew you would! You are a gentleman, through and through!”
In a flush of mortification, Lily clapped a hand over her mouth to silence herself. Oh heavens. Her enthusiasm had once again outrun her decorum. Mr. Ridley was unlikely to be accustomed to such effusiveness, and she could not afford to put him off in so delicate a conversation.
Looking back at the mirror, she noticed the gentleman was frowning again. Slowly, he turned to face her fully, his expression incredulous, and Lily’s heart skipped a beat. Had she already put him off with her nervous babbling?
“Did you provide me with an alibi”—his voice was quiet, but the disbelief in it rang clear—“to trap me into marriage?”
The words landed like stones.
All the sleepless nights, the strain of consoling her weeping mother, and the quiet burial of her own hopes for a love match, one she had once believed herself destined to find, collapsed within her.
The weight of it all surged so suddenly that she raised a hand, half-instinctively, as if to shield herself from an invisible avalanche.
But there was no rubble. Only silence. Only the thunder in her chest.
She took a stumbling step backward, nearly colliding with an end table in her haste to retreat.
“Is … is that what you think of me?” Her voice was scarcely more than a breath.
Mr. Ridley narrowed his eyes, suspicion etched across his features like a line drawn in the sand. “You must admit, Miss Abbott, that your knowledge of my situation was unusually precise. If your aim was to compel a marriage, I can scarcely imagine a more effective means.”
Lily felt the sting of those words like a slap. Only moments ago, she had thrilled at the sight of his carriage pulling up to their home. She had believed fervently that her prayers had been answered. That this chapter of humiliation and despair might close with dignity.
But it appeared the nightmare was not yet done with her.
Tears sprang to Lily’s eyes as she frantically searched for a resolution.
Agreeing to a marriage with a man who mistrusted her so deeply, who believed her capable of fabricating an alibi to ensnare him, was unthinkable.
Yet no simple solution presented itself.
The air between them was thick with disbelief and judgment.
“Surely you know me better than that, Mr. Ridley? We have several mutual acquaintances, and—”
“Miss Abbott, we do not know each other at all,” he interrupted. “I have no knowledge of what you might be capable of, given the right incentive. I could not fathom why a young woman would risk her reputation to defend me, but now …”
Lily forced down the storm rising within her, her spine straightening as an eerie calm settled over her. She had defended Mr. Ridley of her own volition, and she would not flinch from the consequences.
“Are you here to make an offer, Mr. Ridley?”
She was proud—immeasurably proud—of how steady her voice sounded. She offered no embellishment, no softness, no more explanation. The question now belonged to him.
“What choice do I have?”
Lily inclined her head, her movements sharp and deliberate.
“Then I shall respond. I am glad, for your sister’s sake and for the sake of our mutual acquaintances, that your name has been cleared.
I stand by my actions. I did the honorable thing on your behalf, and I would not change it.
” Her voice firmed with every word. “As to your offer—no. I will not wed you. Nor do I wish to receive you again. No.”
With that, Lily turned. Or at least, she prayed it resembled a turn and not a headlong flight. She kept her shoulders square, though inside her heart fractured like fragile porcelain. Her pride was her last shield against the pain.
Would time on the Continent ease this tempest in her soul? Or would she mourn, always, the marriage she had hoped for—until Mr. Ridley had reawakened that impossible dream, only to dash it in a breath?
She exited without another glance, closing the door on Mr. Ridley and on the past. Her footsteps quickened toward the sanctuary of her room.
She and Nancy would need to pack. There was a journey to prepare for. She must leave as soon as arrangements could be made, if only to spare her mother further sorrow and to give them all space to begin again.