Chapter 8 #2
“Nancy? Do not concern yourself. She hears nothing,” she replied, then turned to the servant and added rather loudly, “CAN YOU HEAR US, NANCY?”
“I think the footman’s name was Beasley, not Yancy.”
Lily’s lips twitched with amusement. “She will be asleep before we pass the first milestone. Nancy cannot remain awake in moving vehicles.”
“Ah. Your mother and Lord Moreland exchanged words when she suggested Nancy as your companion. He was of the opinion someone else ought to attend you.”
Lily’s brows rose. “Then I suppose Mama wished for us to have an opportunity to speak freely.”
So her mother had taken measures—subtle, but deliberate—to tip the balance in her daughter’s favor, even if it came at the cost of strict propriety. Lily could only imagine her father’s disapproval at the notion of his daughter being sent out with anything less than a dragon as chaperon.
“What was it you wished to say?” she asked. If Mr. Ridley had gone to such trouble to ensure they had privacy, there must be something of consequence to discuss.
Mr. Ridley shook his head, and his chestnut curls shifted with the motion. Lily caught herself reaching and promptly sat on her hands. Sometimes they acted with a will of their own.
“In time,” he said with a faint smile. “There is something we must do first before we speak of the future.”
Lily’s heart leapt in her chest. The gentleman was going to renew his offer just as Sophia had predicted!
A dizzying rush of relief swept through her. Traveling might prove an adventure, but how much finer it would be to do so with a husband beside her and not under a cloud of scandal, where every acquaintance whispered that she was a ruined girl.
Turning back to the window, she leaned slightly to study the shops and homes flashing past. She tried to calculate their destination by the direction they traveled, but after several minutes of watching the ebb and flow of London’s traffic, she still could not determine where they were headed.
Until the carriage turned gently onto a broad, fashionable street.
“Berkeley Square!”
“Indeed.”
“We are visiting Gunter’s for ices?”
“Your cousin assured me you would appreciate it.”
Lily’s eyes widened. “Was it her idea, the lilies?”
Mr. Ridley grimaced ever so slightly. “Not precisely. She mentioned hothouse flowers might not go amiss, but I fear I rather overdid it, given your sensitivity.”
Lily clapped her hands and leaned back with a sigh of delight. “I have never been! The other debutantes speak of it endlessly. Mama visits with her friends, of course, but we seldom go out in public except for the theater or fittings at the mantua-maker’s.”
“And I have never escorted a young lady to Gunter’s,” Mr. Ridley replied, a hint of amusement in his tone. “So I believe we are on equal footing.”
The carriage pulled to a halt beneath the shade of the leafy trees.
Lily peeked out to see gentlemen lounging along the wrought-iron railings and young ladies perched atop high curricles, fanning themselves with elegant languor.
White-aproned servers from Gunter’s moved smartly between carriages, delivering ices in delicate glass goblets.
Mr. Ridley’s footman—Wesley, the same one Sophia had interrogated on the day of the baron’s death—appeared at the door and lowered the steps. A moment later, one of the liveried Gunter’s servers approached and leaned through the doorway.
“May I inquire after your preferences today, miss?” he asked with a deferential bow.
Lily’s thoughts scattered. This was it. A moment she had imagined on countless nights. But now that it had arrived, it felt suddenly monumental. What if she chose poorly? What if her first taste was disappointing?
Mr. Ridley opened the opposite door to allow a breeze to cross through the carriage. The air stirred gently, carrying with it the fragrance of crushed grass, warm stone, and the oak trees that framed the square.
The server listed the options in an efficient monotone: “Chocolate, lavender, maple, Parmesan cheese, Gruyère, and bergamot.”
Her mind reeled. She had not expected cheeses.
“Um … lavender?”
“It is an excellent choice, miss.”
“Agreed,” Mr. Ridley said from across the carriage. “I will have the same.”
Lily turned back to find him watching her with a quietly bemused expression.
“Would Nancy like one?” he added, bobbing his head in the direction of the old woman.
Nancy had slumped at an angle so alarming that Lily half-feared she might topple. Her mouth hung open, and a loud, wheezing snore filled the small space.
Lily pressed her lips together to keep from laughing and gave Mr. Ridley a look that clearly said, I told you so.
He chuckled and dismissed the server with a nod.
Brendan watched Miss Abbott as she relished her lavender ice, her expression as radiant as a child at a fair.
He and his valet had locked themselves in his chambers the previous evening to guard against any further nocturnal intrusions, which had granted him the rare luxury of uninterrupted sleep.
Now that his general outlook had markedly improved, he was forced to concede that the Countess of Saunton had been correct.
Miss Abbott was an exuberant creature—spirited, artless, and wholly alive to the pleasures of the world. She embraced existence with a wholeheartedness that was most disarming.
He supposed he was exceedingly fortunate.
She had stepped into the role of his scandalous paramour with such verve that even Grimes was utterly convinced he was a licentious debaucher of gently bred virgins.
Under ordinary circumstances, the mere thought that society might deem him a scoundrel of the highest order would have horrified him.
But given the alternative, being charged with patricide, he supposed he could endure whispers about his depravity.
Soon enough, their marriage would reshape the narrative. The scandal of seduction would become the tale of a grand, tempestuous passion.
It was, unquestionably, the only honorable path forward. They would have to make the best of it.
And yet, hang it all, she was of such tender years.
Even now, she scooped her ice with the wide-eyed focus of a child devouring cake at a fête.
There was not the slightest trace of flirtation in her enjoyment.
Her laughter was unguarded. He could detect no suggestion of a bosom beneath that avalanche of frothy lace and flounces.
If the young woman possessed curves, they were obscured with such diligence that it was a wonder she had received any attention from suitors at all.
It remained an enduring mystery why debutantes chose to dress in a manner least calculated to attract male notice, particularly when their entire Season revolved around ensnaring a husband.
But it did not signify. This marriage must proceed, for both their reputations. It was a matter of honor.
Miss Abbott had taken an extraordinary risk to spare him the ordeal of arrest and trial.
Even had he been declared innocent, the stain of suspicion would have clung to him for years, rumors of murder whispered behind fans and snorted into brandy glasses.
But thanks to her bold intervention, the conversation had pivoted.
Now, society’s tongues wagged not over death, but seduction.
And once their betrothal was made official, even that would soften into speculation about a love match.
Despite her unmistakable youth, Miss Abbott’s zeal and her integrity were steadily growing on him. He began to believe that forging a true partnership might not be impossible.
If only I found her physically appealing.
There lay the rub. Brendan understood that once he married, dalliances would be dishonorable.
He had observed too many marriages within the beau monde decay into bitterness and estrangement—husbands and wives who could scarce endure one another’s company, each conducting affairs with a studied lack of discretion.
It was not a future he intended to emulate.
And so, he must somehow reconcile himself to sharing a bed with this spirited but undeniably immature girl within the sanctity of marriage.
The thought unsettled him more than he liked to admit.
When they had finished their ices and Nancy still slumbered soundly in the corner of the opposing bench, the Gunter’s server returned to collect their goblets. The carriage doors were closed once more, but the vehicle did not lurch into motion. This was it. It was time to do the honorable thing.
“Miss Abbott?”
She turned those large brown eyes upon him, and for a fleeting moment, Brendan wondered how she might look in the deeper hues favored by Lady Moreland, colors that flattered her rich complexion and dark eyes so handsomely.
Miss Abbott had the same luxurious brown hair, softly framing an elfin face of remarkable delicacy.
Her eyes were extraordinary—lively, alert, and full of spirit.
Yet the pale, lacy confections she habitually wore were quite abysmal.
He could only hope she would adopt a more becoming wardrobe once they were wed.
“I am deeply ashamed of my conduct yesterday,” he began. “And after speaking with Lady Slight, I now understand how grievously I misjudged your character. It must have taken considerable courage to confront her … to demand she speak in my defense.”
Miss Abbott’s eyes widened in astonishment. “She confessed to our conversation?”
Brendan inclined his head. “She did. And I wish you to know that it would be a great honor for me to wed a courageous young woman such as yourself. If you would do me the honor of becoming my wife, I vow to spend every day of our union striving to show you the depth of my esteem. Your actions were not only bold—they were noble. I was an innocent man, and you risked your own reputation to shield me.”
She tilted her head, studying him with gentle thoughtfulness. “What if I still wish to visit the Continent?”
“Then we shall plan a journey,” he replied. “I could take you to Florence, if that is your desire.”
Her eyes widened again, this time with wonder. “You would truly do that?”
“If we are to wed, I would consider our marriage a partnership. Your wishes shall be as weighty as my own.”
She sighed then, a sound full of wistfulness. “That does sound lovely. And I suppose I have little choice. I always hoped for a love match, but now … it appears a marriage of convenience is our only course.”
Brendan hesitated, then offered gently, “Perhaps it would be more fitting to think of it as a marriage of friendship? What you did for me … my late mother would have called it a selfless act. An act born of compassion. I cannot repay such kindness, but I can strive to honor it. Offering you the protection of my name is but the beginning. Beyond that, I hope we shall build something strong and enduring.”
Her gaze lingered on his, her expression unreadable for a long moment.
“Is it to be … a faithful marriage?”
Brendan puffed a quiet breath of surprise at Miss Abbott’s forthrightness. She truly was an unusual girl.
“I assure you,” he said, “that Lord Saunton would tear me limb from limb were I to entertain even a passing thought of infidelity. There shall be no risk of dalliance if we wed.”
Miss Abbott nodded solemnly. “A marriage of friendship, then.” She extended her gloved hand between them and held it there, waiting. Brendan looked at the offered appendage, momentarily baffled. “Friends shake hands, do they not?”
His lips curved into a reluctant smile. Reaching forward, he took her small hand and gave it a brief, proper shake, only to find himself surprised by the strength of her grip.
She might be so slight that a gust of wind could carry her aloft, but it was abundantly clear that her backbone was forged of iron. “It is a bargain.”
At his knock on the ceiling, the carriage began to move. Brendan leaned back against the squabs of his bench while Miss Abbott returned her attention to the window, watching the passing streets with avid curiosity.
It was done. The match was made. He was to marry this peculiar, principled young woman in order to protect her reputation, and to his surprise, he did not regret it.
But the thought pricked at his conscience and curled somewhere dark in his mind.
Confound it. What if I get her killed?
A fresh wave of unease rolled through him at the reminder. The baron’s death remained unresolved. There might yet be a murderer concealed within his household. Perhaps the wedding ought to be delayed until the investigation is complete?