Chapter 14 #3
She could not care two pennies about what became of her husband’s crystal tumblers after what she had witnessed in the library. “It is suitable.”
Moving the strainer to the glass, she poured his tea for him.
The orange-brown tint made her mouth water in anticipation, and for the first time in days, Lily felt a genuine moment of peace.
These past weeks had been a kind of slow torment, and it felt so wonderfully commonplace to sit quietly and take tea.
Sitting back, she sipped the hot liquid, and the tension slowly began to melt away. Soon, she would have to confront Brendan with the remnants of their marriage and decide how to piece together her shattered hopes, but that moment was not now.
Wesley raised his glass and sipped, visibly ill at ease. Lily supposed it was fortunate he wore the gloves of his livery, as the glass must have grown quite warm from its contents.
“How long have you worked at Ridley House, Wesley?”
The footman lowered his glass and cleared his throat. “A few years, milady.”
“So you never met the baron before the coronation, I suppose.”
“No, milady. But I did not meet his lordship even then. I was away for several days. My brother married in Yorkshire. Mr. Michaels generously allowed me the time off, and I returned the morning the baron was found.”
Lily vaguely recollected that Brendan had mentioned this on the afternoon of their wedding. “I never met the late baron either. His death certainly created a pickle for those of us left behind.”
Wesley appeared unsure how to respond. “Yes, milady.” He raised his glass to sip his tea again, and Lily suspected it was to avoid further conversation.
She sipped her own tea, flinching slightly and spilling a few drops when a distinctive knock sounded on the door she had locked.
“Lily, we must speak.”
Sighing, Lily set her cup down and offered Wesley an apologetic glance. The footman looked positively relieved to rise. Bowing, he walked away, tumbler in hand, and exited through the concealed door, which he quietly pulled shut behind him.
She crossed the room. Drawing in a deep breath, she turned the key and stepped aside.
Brendan must have heard the click of the lock, for the handle turned, and her rogue of a husband entered.
Brendan was rather proud of how he had handled Harriet, but he had not the faintest notion how to explain the matter to Lily, who sat stiffly upon the settee, her arms folded across her chest and her expression mutinous in the golden rays of sunlight slanting through the drawing room windows.
The amber light played across her features, illuminating the fine tension in her jaw and the dull sheen of unshed tears. The sharp line of her shoulders warned him against attempting any tender overture.
He could hardly blame her, not after what she believed she had witnessed in the library.
“I did not invite Lady Slight into our home,” he said at last, his voice lower than he intended.
“That did not seem to be a problem.”
Her tone was cool, flat as a pane of glass. It sliced through the awkward silence between them. He shook his head, resisting the urge to pace.
“It was most certainly a problem. I had no desire to see her, and I was doing my best to send her away when she flung herself into my arms, mere seconds before you arrived. The door was open … purposefully so. I knew you were expected for dinner, and I would have to be a halfwit to think I could conceal her presence.”
Lily’s face softened by degrees as she weighed his words. Her arms slowly unfurled, and she let her hands settle upon the edge of the settee. She turned away from him, gazing out at the muted green of the garden, where the last remnants of daylight caught the leaves in silver.
She did not look at him as she finally replied. “Be that as it may, it does not explain the gossip in the news sheets.”
Brendan frowned, caught off guard by the turn in conversation. “What gossip?”
“You and Lady Slight were mentioned.” Her voice was quiet, but steady. “They claimed you were seen conversing with her intimately on the street.”
He ran a hand down the side of his cheek, the rasp of stubble under his fingers a small irritation compared to the one blooming behind his eyes. “So that is what started this.”
He exhaled slowly. “Harri—Lady Slight—approached me in Bond Street yesterday, before I met with Halmesbury, Richard, and Briggs. She suggested we might resume our former arrangement. I declined. Emphatically. She took offense—plainly. She had been drinking and, I suspect, brooding over why I would prefer the company of my wife to her own.”
Lily rose so quickly he took a step back.
“There is no need to coddle me, Brendan Ridley!” Her voice was bright with fury. “I am not some wide-eyed child. I am a grown woman, and I can endure the truth!”
He lifted his hands in confusion, utterly at a loss. “What truth?”
“That you were forced to marry me!” she cried. “That had the baron not been murdered, you would even now be sharing Lady Slight’s bed! That you never chose me!”
Her voice cracked, and the anger wavered at its edge, revealing the sharp glint of hurt beneath. “So do not stand there and pretend you would rather spend time with me than that … than that trollop!”
Brendan dropped into a nearby chair, his gaze turning upward to the ceiling with unfocused weariness.
The ornate plasterwork overhead might as well have been a blank expanse of sky.
Apparently, Lily believed him regarding the incident with Lady Slight, a trait he admired in her.
It was part of her general impulse toward honesty and sincerity, and he valued it deeply even as he grappled with what to say next.
But how to address her envy of the attentions he had once paid to another? That was far less straightforward.
His feelings for Lily were growing at a pace that unsettled him.
There was a kind of fondness budding between them, rooted in shared moments and her relentless authenticity, but he was not ready to unravel the matter of how their marriage had come about, not yet.
That conversation required time. Intimacy.
A sense of foundation. It was not a subject for raw hours like this one, clouded by gossip and misunderstanding.
They needed, above all, time together to build the affinity that was quietly forming between them. He hoped it might grow into something enduring. But this was not the moment to rush it.
With a sigh, he rose to his feet and crossed to where she stood.
Her back was to the window now, and the last light of day haloed her figure in soft hues.
He reached for her hands and enclosed them in his own, his fingers lightly brushing the edge of her sleeve.
Her palms were icy through the gloves, but she did not pull away.
“I am here with you now,” he said softly. “The past is inconsequential to our present. I have spent every waking moment since you agreed to marry me ensuring your safety, taking steps to end this danger and to care for you.”
“So you do not deny you would be with Lady Slight tonight if I were not here?”
He suppressed a curse. Lily was warm-hearted, quick-witted, and generous, but Harriet’s appearance had kindled her jealousy.
Now they were quarreling, when only an hour ago, he had been looking forward to dinner and the possibility of closing the distance between them …
of drawing her into his arms and beginning the next chapter of their marriage in earnest.
“I cannot say where I would be,” he replied, trying to keep his tone even. “I can only state that I am here with you. And I have ensured the viscountess will never set foot in Ridley House again.”
Lily drew back slightly, her jaw tight. “And how many times has she been here?” she demanded, her voice taut with outrage.
Her spine was straight, her chin lifted, and he hated the sight of her so guarded.
His Lily was soft and quick with her thoughts, restless, inquisitive.
She filled a room with life. He did not like this cold-eyed stranger glaring at him with fury.
“Never,” he said, the word ringing in the hush between them. “I have never invited her to my home. You are the only woman I have ever brought into this house or allowed into my bedchamber.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she bit down on her lower lip. “Pshaw!”
Brendan wanted to tell her what she needed to hear, but he wanted to be honest, too.
And honesty, at least the sort that meant something, could not be conjured like a parlor trick.
He was not entirely clear on what his feelings for Lily were, only that she made him feel something new. Hope, perhaps.
Hope that they might build a life that did not merely fulfill obligation. Hope that their growing familiarity might blossom into something deeper. Hope that, given time, he might know a genuine meeting of the minds with the woman fate had thrust into his path.
But until he gained clarity, he did not wish to speak promises he could not yet uphold.
Since the morning of their wedding, they had been honest with one another, painfully so at times, and he would not toss empty words at her now simply to mend a quarrel.
That sort of balm was fleeting, and he had learned from experience that it never healed properly.
They had only been wed three days, blast it. The ink on the registry was barely dry.
Lily rose abruptly, her skirts whispering against the carpet as she stalked back to the settee. She flung herself down with careless grace and stared at her slippers peeking out from beneath the hem of her emerald dress. That color, vivid and rich, suited her remarkably well.
But that was neither here nor there whilst they were quarreling.
Brendan lowered himself onto the chair across from her again, the old leather sighing beneath his weight. He folded his hands between his knees and waited, the silence taut between them like a line of thread stretched to snapping.
“I wish … you had chosen me,” Lily said at last, her voice small and tight. She did not look at him. “All my life, I just wanted someone like you to notice me. To choose to wed me. To …”
She pressed her lips together, swallowing the rest. Then, with a sudden rush, she added, “I cannot even walk the halls of my home without one of the Johns, and now that … viper … has invaded …”
Her eyes filled with tears, and Brendan’s breath caught at the sight.
She looked so young just then, so heartachingly burdened for one who should be basking in the glow of a new marriage.
He felt the ache in his chest like a bruise being pressed from the inside.
She had done so much for him, borne so much.
He could not deny that she had every reason to feel wronged.
And that made everything more complicated.
Do I feel genuine affection for Lily or is it simply gratitude?
Certainly, such a truth could not be uncovered in a matter of days. He needed time. He needed to breathe. But if he could have said the right words, if he could have offered her comfort without the burden of false hope, he would have done so gladly.
“I am sorry for everything you have had to deal with,” he offered quietly.
At once, Lily’s features hardened. She looked away. Brendan realized, with a twist of dismay, that he had said the wrong thing. Perhaps she had hoped for different words he did not yet have the certainty to give.
“Sophia has invited me to Saunton Park, so I need not live with my parents,” she said, her voice brittle. “She said I could stay with them at Balfour Terrace until they leave London, so I believe … I shall accept her offer.”
Brendan felt a quiet thud of disappointment. He did not want her to go. But after everything she had endured—Harriet’s intrusion, the ever-present danger, the gossip—it was not his place to protest.
He had asked too much of her already. She deserved sanctuary.
“That would be wise,” he said, his voice even.
A flicker of something—hurt? Or was it disbelief?—passed across Lily’s face. She seemed surprised by his swift agreement. And unhappy. He sensed it, but could not name it. He had no notion what words might reach her now.
When the time was right, when the danger had passed and he had made sense of what was blooming inside him, they could speak again. Perhaps then, he would be worthy of her honesty.