Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
“There has never been a protracted war from which a country has benefited.”
Sun Tzu, L’Art de la Guerre (The Art of War)
JULY 24, 1821
Sheer exhaustion from several days of insomnia had at last carried Lily off to the land of sleep.
Her dreams were mercifully blank, a welcome balm after so many nights haunted by doubt and disgrace.
It was the first true rest she had known since the night of the baron’s murder, and the relief of it seemed stitched into her very bones.
By the time her eyes fluttered open, it was midmorning.
Pale sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting softened stripes across the coverlet.
Sitting up slowly, she stretched her arms overhead and inhaled deeply, her limbs loose and unburdened for the first time in days.
Her toes wiggled beneath the linens, and a small smile pulled at the corners of her mouth.
The dull aches and tight muscles brought on by fatigue had disappeared, replaced by a buoyancy of spirit.
Her usual optimism crept back in—quietly, cautiously—filling her thoughts with possibility.
“Lily! You have a visitor!”
Spinning toward the door, now fully open, Lily blinked in surprise. There stood Mama, smiling broadly, her cheeks tinged with unmistakable delight.
“My abigail is here to assist you in dressing.”
Lily’s gaze shifted to the hallway, where her lady’s maid stood behind her mother.
What on earth?
The last few days replayed in Lily’s mind with sudden clarity.
When news of her ruination had first broken, Mama had wept bitterly, her tone despairing as she lamented the death of Lily’s future.
Then, after Mr. Ridley’s appalling accusation—dressed as a proposal—Mama had burned with indignation, storming about the drawing room in a fit of moral fury over the poor conduct of young men in modern society.
Dinner afterward had been an ordeal, with Lily’s brother seated like a statue, shoulders rigid, eyes fixed on his untouched plate, lost in guilt.
Papa had not even returned, summoned away on urgent business.
And now … joy?
She stared at her mother, bewildered.
Now she is joyful?
What could cause such a drastic shift in mood? “Who is it?”
“It is not for me to say. Quickly, we must get you ready.” Mama clapped her hands together, and her lady’s maid bustled into the room.
Lily was still groggy from sleep, her thoughts thick and sluggish, but she reluctantly slipped from the warm cocoon of her bed. She had hoped to rise at her leisure and perhaps enjoy a cup of tea before facing the world, but clearly, that was not to be.
Mama swept toward the wardrobe, rifling through the gowns and muttering under her breath. At last, she emerged with a creamy confection of lace and cotton. Lily pulled a face. It was the most unflattering choice for her complexion, but Mama had always insisted it was perfection.
With its profusion of bows and flounces, the gown made Lily feel like a child about to sit for a formal portrait, the sort where wealthy families donned antiquated costumes for the sake of posterity.
Perhaps, if Sophia failed to bring Mr. Ridley up to scratch and Lily was indeed sent abroad, Aidan might help her replace the entirety of her wardrobe, well away from Mama’s discerning eye.
Lawks, these clothes are hideous for me!
Her whispered prayer was cut short as the maid descended upon her with a hairbrush and vigorous purpose, drawing tears with each sharp stroke.
Twenty minutes later, she was ready, her hair arranged in the dreaded ringlets, and Mama was already pulling her by the hand into the hallway. Lily stumbled slightly, catching up with her mother’s longer stride.
“Mama, I am short!”
Her mother barely paused. “We must hurry. It has been an age.”
Lily nodded, gathering up her skirts in one hand as she quickened her steps. As they neared the first floor, her nose gave a warning twitch. She pinched it between her fingers to fend off a sneeze, nearly tripping on the final stair. Mama’s arm shot out to steady her.
Achoo!
Mama ignored her, charging toward the drawing-room door and flinging it wide.
Achoo!
Lily sniffled once, then stepped into the sunlit room and gasped in surprise.
On every surface stood vases overflowing with lilies. They adorned the tables, the mantelpiece, even the broad windowsills—beautiful, fragrant lilies in every shade and variety. Lily had never seen so many flowers outside the Covent Garden market.
Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!
And there, across the room, stood Mr. Ridley, bathed in sunlight. His expression was relaxed, his skin returned to its usual golden hue. He looked ever so handsome, rejuvenated, almost boyish. Mr. Ridley must have finally taken proper rest.
Achoo! Achoo! Achoo! Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!
Lily swiped her fingertips beneath her stinging eyes, blinking furiously even as her heart brimmed with feeling. Flowers! He had brought her flowers. Dozens—no, hundreds—of them.
Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!
“Oh, Lily! I forgot!” Mama’s voice rose in dismay, her hands fluttering like startled doves. “I completely forgot!”
Mr. Ridley had stepped forward, alarm tightening his brow. “Are you quite well, Miss Abbott?”
Achoo! Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!
“She is not, Mr. Ridley,” Mama said, wringing her gloved hands. “I forgot that Lily suffers from a sensitivity to lilies. We must quit the room at once!”
“Of course,” he said promptly. “I shall take her for a drive in my carriage, as we discussed. I believe your maid is already waiting outside.”
Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!
Mama took a firm hold of Lily’s elbow, swiftly ushering her from the drawing room and along the corridor to the staircase. Down to the lower hall they went, where Lily inhaled deeply, her lungs at last spared the perfumed assault.
A handkerchief appeared before her face.
“I am so sorry,” Mama said, breathless with regret. “I quite forgot. The flowers will be gone when you return.”
Lily dabbed at her streaming eyes, then blew delicately into the handkerchief. There was no denying the inelegance of the moment, but even so, she could not suppress the radiant grin blooming across her face.
She had a suitor! And he had brought her flowers! So many, many, many flowers!
Everything will work out for the best!
Mr. Ridley appeared beside her. “My apologies, Miss Abbott. It was meant as a thoughtful gesture, but I fear it has gone rather awry.”
Lily shook her head and tilted her chin to smile up at the tall gentleman. “Not at all, Mr. Ridley. I would not have missed it for the world!”
He looked down at her in astonishment, the light catching in his brandy-colored eyes, illuminating the flecks of gold threaded through the warm amber depths. Shaking his head, he gave a low, bemused chuckle. “I do believe you are telling the truth.”
Lily wrinkled her brow in mock severity. “I always tell the truth, Mr. Ridley.” Then she winced. “Except when I exaggerated to the coroner, that is. But I felt it justified, as I knew your whereabouts.”
Mama groaned quietly from her other side, visibly restraining herself from scolding.
“Shall we?” Mr. Ridley offered his arm.
With a thrill of delight, Lily slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow. In step, they moved toward the front door, which Thomas now held open in solemn silence.
The past few days may have been a nightmare, but now she had awakened into a lovely dream, and the joy of it was so powerful, it bubbled through her veins like spring water over sunlit stones.
Mr. Ridley led her to the waiting carriage and assisted her up the steps with practiced ease. Inside, she found Nancy huddled in a corner, wearing the expression of one unimpressed at being conscripted into a courtship ritual. Lily settled beside her while Mr. Ridley took the bench opposite.
Turning toward the still-open door, Lily blinked in astonishment. Mama stood in the entrance hall, composed and unmoving. Her mother was permitting her to depart with only Nancy for propriety?
Mr. Ridley’s footman closed the door with a firm click, and Lily blinked in shock. Her famously overprotective mama was truly allowing her to drive away with Mr. Ridley, chaperoned only by the old nursemaid.
Her heart thudded wildly in her chest.
When she looked back to Mr. Ridley, she found him smiling at her, the expression warm and assured.
“Where are we off to?” she asked.
“It is to be a surprise,” he replied. “You shall have to wait and see.”
Lily bit her lip, unable to help the delighted flutter in her stomach. She shifted toward the window, peering out as the carriage lurched into motion, the world beyond slipping past in a soft blur.
“I should like to apologize, Miss Abbott,” Mr. Ridley said quietly.
“Yesterday … was an aberration. The baron interfered with my marital prospects once before, and so it has long been a sore subject. Coupled with recent events … well, I ought not to have displaced my umbrage onto you. You have been extraordinarily generous to me, and I am afraid I behaved quite reprehensibly.”
Lily turned her head to study him. “It was reprehensible, but I can understand that you have been under considerable strain. With everything that has occurred and the sheer shock of it all, any person might behave poorly when faced with so many challenges at once.”
“You are too kind.”
Her lips curved into an impish grin, and she gave a light shrug. “The alternative is to be cruel. Where is the amusement in that?”
Mr. Ridley chuckled, revealing a flash of even white teeth, which Lily observed with no small amount of fascination. He truly was a perfect physical specimen of manhood. It remained something of a marvel that he was not already married.
“I must apologize that we are confined to my carriage,” Mr. Ridley said, gesturing toward the corner where Nancy sat, unbothered and slightly slumped. “It requires the presence of a chaperon. My curricle is undergoing repairs.”