Chapter 10 #3
A warm flush crept into her cheeks, and she stared down at her slippers in bashful pleasure.
She had not failed to notice the shift in his demeanor.
At the church, he had looked rather as though he had been struck by lightning upon seeing her.
During breakfast, he had cast frequent glances her way, some lingering as though attempting to reconcile the spirited companion he had wed with the figure she had become today.
Her gown, selected by Signora Ricci with tasteful precision, offered her an elegance she was not accustomed to. Aware of the impression she had made, Lily could only hope that the woman Brendan saw before him was compelling enough to cast shadows over his past infatuation.
But is it enough to make him forget the voluptuous Lady Slight?
Brendan escorted Miss Ab—his bride—to a drawing room just down the hall.
It was a modest sitting area overlooking the garden and the mews at the rear of the property, a space he had always preferred to the grander one upstairs.
The light was better in this room, his chief reason for favoring it over the more stately chamber above.
That, and the room’s quietude, which he found soothing.
Lily stood framed in the early afternoon light, the sun painting faint gold across the polished floorboards.
The transformation in her appearance—her gown, her coiffure, the quiet assurance in her bearing—had unveiled not a stranger, but a revelation.
A lovely young woman had emerged from behind the girlish veneer, and she had lingered in his thoughts from the moment he had glimpsed her in church that morning.
She might be petite, yes, but she possessed an ethereal beauty that drew his attention again and again. That such musings, monumental ones at that, should occupy his mind was a turn of events for which he had not been prepared.
Burn my buttons! Was there truth to this matchmaking notion, this idea that one might be steered, gently and with good sense, toward an appropriate companion?
His only previous attempt at joining the marriage mart had been swiftly and unpleasantly curtailed, due to the baron’s interference, delivered by way of the Royal Mail.
The memory still left a sour taste. Disillusioned, he had drifted into the company of merry widows, embracing a life of careless charm and consequence-free gallantries.
But recent days had revealed the cracks in that carefree philosophy. When he had most needed a companion—not a mistress, not a distraction, but a partner, it had been Lily who had appeared, unexpected and steadfast.
He had admired his friends’ matches from afar—Philip with his luminous duchess, Richard with his gentle yet iron-willed countess—and thought himself unfit for such a connection.
Yet somehow, despite his checkered path and impulsive decisions, he now stood beside a wife of his own, one whose presence was beginning to stir thoughts of permanence.
However, the weight of responsibilities was a new burden to bear, and before he could begin to build a life with his bride, he needed to secure her safety.
Lily was a virtuous and kind-hearted woman, one who may very well have saved his neck from the hangman’s noose.
He must do everything in his power to ensure a long and peaceful future for her.
“I have some news to impart, I am afraid. It is our wedding day, and I wish to focus on the celebration of it, but there is a … situation … that I must inform you of. For your safety.”
Lily sat, somewhat engulfed by the red timeworn settee. She leaned forward slightly, her gaze trained on him with such directness that it pulled him taut. Brendan remained standing, shifting his weight as he studied the polish on his boots, momentarily seeking the right words.
How to broach the subject? His bride had already risked much on his behalf, and now he must tell her that further shadows lingered beyond the door?
His gaze lifted and caught upon her, her face earnest, her posture attentive, her hands folded with quiet resolve.
The sunlight softened the edges of her features, and in that moment, she looked so entirely unlike the girl he had once dismissed.
She was no longer simply a brave young lady in unfortunate gowns. She was a fully-grown woman. His wife.
Deuce it, she scarcely resembled the childish figure from their earlier encounters. Her complexion glowed with health, her eyes shone with intelligence and sincerity, and her gown, chosen with such care, seemed to underscore the grace that had always been within her, now revealed to the world.
“What is it? Is there something wrong? Are the duke and Richard aware?”
Her voice broke into his reverie, and Brendan jolted back into focus, realizing with embarrassment that he had been lost in admiration. Pull yourself together, man, he silently rebuked himself. He was not some green youth dazzled by his first dance partner.
How could she affect him so strongly? There was a quiet fortitude in her that stirred something he had long dismissed, a belief that beauty could exist alongside goodness.
“It is regarding the matter of the baron’s murder. Halmesbury and Richard are well informed. We have discussed the matter, along with the countess, and I do not wish to alarm you, but I feel it is imperative you know what has happened, so you might be alert and take measures to protect yourself.”
Lily’s eyes rounded slightly, but she maintained her composure, her calmness belying the gravity of their conversation. Brendan hesitated. Before he could stop himself, the question tumbling around in his mind escaped.
“Exactly how old are you, Miss Ab—Lily?”
When he had first encountered her, she had seemed no more than seventeen, perhaps due to the demure gowns and youthful styling so often imposed upon debutantes.
Later, he had recalled a vague memory of seeing her at a previous Season’s ball, which placed her a little older.
But now, attired as a married woman with graceful poise and a quiet confidence, she seemed altogether more grown, and the disparity between his earlier assumptions and present reality unsettled him.
She leaned back, her brow lifting in surprise. Ladies did not often declare their ages, and he knew full well he could have consulted Debrett’s Peerage or asked Lady Saunton discreetly. Yet here he was, married, and only now realizing how little he knew of his bride’s particulars.
At last, she grinned, and the expression transformed her features. The soft curve of her smile, paired with the sparkle of amusement in her large, expressive eyes, caught him utterly off guard. Her playfulness and warmth had a disarming quality, one he had not expected, but welcomed all the same.
By Jingo, what spell is this?
“I am older than I appear, twenty years of age, and this was my third Season. Another Season or two and I would have been on the shelf, so I suppose this was a strange but fortuitous turn of events.” She paused, her mirth giving way to alarm.
Her hand rose to her cheek as color flooded her face.
“Oh, no! I swear I was not attempting to take advantage of your situation to trap you!”
Brendan shook his head, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck in rueful embarrassment. Yet inwardly, he was reassured. She was just seven years his junior, far closer in age than he had feared, and with far more candor than he was accustomed to from society beauties.
“I am still deeply embarrassed about that accusation,” he said honestly. “Lady Saunton made the quality of your character clear to me, and Richard certainly seconded her opinion.”
Lily’s shoulders relaxed as the flush receded from her cheeks. Her expression softened with profound relief, and in that moment, Brendan was struck anew by the sincerity in her eyes. Eyes that held both courage and kindness.
“What is the concern regarding my safety?” she asked gently.
The shift back to his earlier allusions stirred anxiety in Brendan’s gut.
He had been contending with a rising sense of inadequacy, a small voice inside whispering that he was ill-prepared to shoulder the burden of those now depending on him.
Lily’s honor, as far as he could see, far outshone his own.
He scarcely deserved the vows she had spoken that very morning.
It was time—past time—for him to become a man he could respect. The days of idle carousing and self-indulgence were over.
Crossing to the sideboard, he reached for the decanter. A bit of claret would not go amiss to steady his nerves. “Claret?”
“No, thank you.”
Brendan froze, glancing down at the decanter poised in his grasp. In his experience, young ladies, when afforded the opportunity, were not usually inclined to refuse a sip of something stronger. He turned, brows raised in surprise.
Lily’s gaze darted away from his, and her expression softened with apology.
“My family does not imbibe. After Sophia lost both her parents and came to live with us, Papa removed spirits from the household out of respect for her and her brother. And after what her brother did to her last year … and because Richard was nearly killed by that drunken lord who broke into their home, I made a promise to Sophia that I would never drink spirits. She has seen too many loved ones destroyed by it. It was the least I could do.”
Brendan winced and turned back to the decanter with a grimace. He had forgotten the sordid string of events that had shadowed Sophia’s past—violence, betrayal, trauma wrapped in the lingering scent of brandy. I am a bacon-brain.
“But you are welcome to enjoy one, if you wish.”
He let out a short, humorless huff and placed the decanter back with deliberate care. “I should probably reduce my drinking. There will not be much time for it now that I am to manage the baronial estates.”
“What was the problem you wished to share?”
Brendan wandered the room for a few paces, his steps muffled by the threadbare rug, before returning to sit beside her on the settee, leaving several feet of polite distance between them. The air between them, however, felt taut with unspoken weight.
“It is possible the baron allowed his killer entry. However …”
His pause was heavy, and when Lily drew in a breath, it was sharp with realization. “One of the servants might be involved?”
Brendan was impressed. She had reached the conclusion faster than he had. “It is a possibility. The runner we hired—Briggs—has questioned the servants. There are only five in … our … home who attend to the front door.”
Lily leaned toward him, her expression sharpening with curiosity. “Who?”
“There is Michaels, the butler. And the two footmen—Wesley, whom you have met, and Stephen. In addition, the baron brought two footmen with him, Stanley and David. And there is a coachman who brought them to London, but he did not have access to the house. The baron’s valet was away that night and did not return until the next day.
My valet assisted the baron but had been sent to retrieve an item that the baron had misplaced earlier in the day and was absent for several hours. ”
“And whom does the runner suspect?”
“He ruled out Wesley because he was not on duty that night. Stephen was sent out on an errand by the baron, which kept him away overnight with the baron’s coachman. The other footmen deny attending to anyone that evening, but it is Michaels whom he is most concerned about.”
“Michaels? The butler? What motive would he have?”
Brendan sat up slightly. He had not known what to expect when he shared the potential danger, but Lily did not shrink from it.
She leaned in with unfeigned interest, her brows drawn in concentration, her hands gently folded in her lap—composed, but attentive.
She was asking intelligent questions and absorbing the details with unflinching clarity.
“I did not know, but Michaels has been with us since his youth. His father was the gamekeeper at our country seat, Baydon Hall. The father was killed in the woods, perhaps by poachers, and apparently his mother blamed my grandfather for his death. It is a long time ago—”
“But Briggs thinks it might be a motive for Michaels to either have lost his temper with your father or assisted someone else to cover up the murder?”
“There is no evidence, and Briggs is still investigating Stanley and David, but I need you to be vigilant until this matter is cleared up.”
Lily nodded, seemingly lost in thought as she considered all he had just revealed. Then she turned back to him with those wide, steady brown eyes.
How had he never noticed the sweep of her lashes?
They fanned downward as she blinked, drawing attention to the soft roundness of her cheek.
There was something delicate about her, a softness that stirred a deep ache within him.
His hand itched to reach out, to trace the graceful curve of her jaw in a simple, wordless connection.
“I am sorry for your loss,” she whispered the words, her voice low and warm with sympathy. The soft, throaty murmur pulled him toward her almost unconsciously, and before he knew it, he had shifted closer on the settee.
Seated beside her now, he caught the faintest trace of something sweet in the air, like honey warmed by the sun.
Perhaps it was a skin cream or perhaps simply her.
Whatever the source, it tugged at his senses in a way that left him strangely off balance.
But this time, he mastered the urge to lean further.
He would not startle his bride, not now, when something so much more important needed to be said.
“I suppose I must confess a secret. The others are already aware, and you might hear about it amidst the gossip making the rounds.” He sighed and leaned back, giving her space, though her closeness still filled the air between them. “The baron was not my father.”
Lily drew in a sharp breath, sitting back with visible surprise. Brendan’s pulse ticked upward, wary now. Was she horrified? Would this revelation undo the tentative trust they had begun to build?