Chapter Fifteen #2
The gig carried her away from Wynthorpe, and Lillian did not look back again.
***
Daniel stood at the window and watched her go.
He had not meant to come to the morning room. He had been closeted in his study for days, avoiding everyone, trying to convince himself that he had made the right decision. He had taken his meals alone, refused all visitors, rebuffed every attempt Rosanne made to draw him out.
But this morning, something had driven him from his refuge. A restlessness he could not name, an ache he could not soothe. He had told himself he was merely going to speak with Rosanne about household matters, that it had nothing to do with the faint hope that Lillian might be there.
And then she had been there. Sitting in his morning room, looking beautiful and composed and utterly unattainable. Looking at him with those steady eyes that had always seemed to see straight through to his soul.
He had frozen. All the careful words he had prepared, all the cold formality he had practised, had evaporated in an instant. He had said her name, Lillian, and watched her flinch at the intimacy of it.
I hope your father continues to improve.
Heavens, what a coward he was. She had been standing there, waiting for him to say something meaningful, something that acknowledged what had passed between them, and that was the best he could manage. A polite inquiry. A formal courtesy. The words of a stranger.
He had seen her face when she turned to leave. He had seen the hurt she was trying so hard to hide, the tears she was fighting to contain. He had done that to her. He had taken the warmth and hope she had offered him and crushed it beneath the weight of his own fear.
And now she was gone. The gig was disappearing down the drive, carrying her away from him, and he was standing at the window like the coward wretch he was, watching her go and doing nothing to stop her.
Call her back, whispered a voice in his mind. Go after her. Tell her you are sorry, that you were wrong, that you love her still.
But he could not. The fear was too strong, the walls too high. He had spent so many years building those walls, and he did not know how to tear them down.
He did not know if he even wanted to.
"That was cruel."
Rosanne's voice came from behind him, sharp with anger. He turned to find her standing in the doorway, her small hands clenched into fists at her sides.
"Rosanne….."
"No. Do not start, Daniel." She advanced into the room, her eyes blazing.
"I have watched you hide in your study for four days.
I have watched you refuse to see her, refuse to speak to her, refuse to acknowledge that she even exists.
And now—now you walk into a room where she is sitting, and you speak to her as though she were no one. As though she meant nothing to you."
"She does not."
"Do not lie to me!" Rosanne's voice cracked.
"I have known you my entire life, Daniel.
I have watched you guard yourself against every human connection, every possibility of warmth or happiness.
And I have watched you fall in love with Lillian Whitcombe despite every defence you possess.
You cannot tell me she means nothing to you. I will not believe it."
Daniel turned back to the window. The gig had vanished now, swallowed by the grey morning. Lillian was gone.
"It does not matter what I feel," he said quietly. "It cannot matter."
"Why? Because of our parents? Because you are terrified of becoming them?
" Rosanne came to stand beside him, her reflection visible in the glass.
"Daniel, you have spent your entire life trying to be the opposite of Father.
Cold where he was passionate, controlled where he was volatile.
But in doing so, you have become something just as damaged.
A man so afraid of feeling that he would rather destroy his own happiness than risk being hurt. "
"You do not understand."
"I understand better than you think." Her voice softened, losing some of its edge.
"I grew up in the same house, Daniel. I witnessed the same arguments, the same chaos, the same destruction.
But I did not draw the same conclusions you did.
I did not decide that the solution was to feel nothing at all. "
"Then what did you decide?"
"That love does not have to be like theirs.
That passion does not have to mean destruction.
That it is possible, it must be possible, to care for someone deeply without losing yourself in the process.
" She reached out and touched his arm. "Lillian is not our mother, Daniel.
She is steady and calm and practical. She would not consume you. She would ground you."
"You do not know that."
"I know her. And I know you." Rosanne's grip tightened. "You have been happier than I have ever seen you. Not deliriously happy, not the manic joy that Father sometimes displayed; but quietly, steadily happier. More present. More alive. And it is because of Lillian."
Daniel said nothing. He could not deny it. He could not deny that Lillian's presence in his life had changed something fundamental, had opened windows in the dark house of his soul that he had not even known existed.
But that was precisely why he had to let her go.
"I am trying to protect her," he said finally. "From myself. From what I might become."
"And in doing so, you are hurting her more deeply than you ever could by loving her.
" Rosanne stepped back, her expression shifting to something harder.
"I received a letter this morning. From Lady Smith.
She has moved her house gathering forward—it begins in three days, and I am expected to arrive tomorrow. "
The change of subject was jarring. Daniel turned to face her, frowning. "Tomorrow? That is hardly sufficient notice."
"Lady Smith cares little for sufficient notice. She has found a potential match for me, apparently, Lord Blackwood's son, and she wishes to expedite the introduction." Rosanne's lip curled slightly. "I am to be paraded before him like a prize mare at auction."
"I will write to her. Explain that the timing is impossible."
"No." Rosanne shook her head. "I have avoided her gatherings for too long. If I refuse again, she will make trouble—for me, and for you. Her influence in society is considerable."
"I do not care about her influence."
"But I do. Or rather, I care about not giving her ammunition to use against us." Rosanne straightened her shoulders, and Daniel saw something of his own stubborn determination in her expression. "I will go. But I will not go alone."
"I will accompany you, if you wish."
"Not you. Lillian."
Daniel went very still.
"She has already agreed," Rosanne continued. "Or she will, when I ask her. She is my friend, Daniel, regardless of what has passed between the two of you. And I need her support if I am to survive Lady Smith's machinations."
"Rosanne, I do not think..."
"I do not care what you think." Her voice was flat, final.
"You have forfeited the right to an opinion on any matter concerning Lillian.
You pushed her away, and now you must live with the consequences—which include watching her leave to attend a house gathering full of eligible gentlemen who will not be too cowardly to appreciate her worth. "
The words landed like blows. Daniel felt himself flinch, felt the jealousy he had no right to feel rising in his chest.
"Rosanne..."
"I am going to write to Lillian now and ask her to join me.
You may return to your study and your solitude and your precious self-protection.
" She turned toward the door, then paused on the threshold.
"But know this, Daniel: if you lose her, if you let your fear cost you the one person who has ever truly seen you, you will regret it for the rest of your life. And I will not let you forget it."
She swept out, and Daniel was left alone in the morning room, surrounded by the ghost of Lillian's presence and the weight of his own impossible choices.
***
The morning of Rosanne's departure dawned grey and cold.
Lillian had agreed to accompany her, of course. How could she refuse? Rosanne was her friend—perhaps her only true friend—and the girl was terrified of facing Lady Smith's gathering alone. Whatever had passed between Lillian and Daniel, it did not change her affection for his sister.
She had packed her modest trunk the night before, selecting gowns that were respectable if not fashionable, choosing accessories that would not shame her in elevated company.
Her mother had helped, offering advice about social navigation and gentle reassurances that Lillian did not entirely believe.
"You will be wonderful," Mrs. Whitcombe had said, pressing her hand. "Whatever happens at this party, whoever you meet, remember that you are worth knowing, Lillian. Any man would be fortunate to win your regard."
Any man. The words echoed hollowly. There was only one man whose regard Lillian wanted, and he had made his feelings, or lack thereof, abundantly clear.
The carriage from Wynthorpe arrived promptly at eight. Lillian kissed her mother goodbye, received her father's blessing from his sickbed, and allowed herself to be handed into the vehicle where Rosanne was already waiting.
"Thank you for coming." Rosanne's voice was thick with relief. "I do not think I could have borne this alone."
"You would have managed. You are stronger than you know."
"Perhaps. But I am glad not to have to find out.
" Rosanne leaned back against the cushions as the carriage began to move.
"Lady Smith's gatherings are notorious, you know.
She fancies herself a matchmaker and takes great pleasure in throwing eligible young people together in compromising circumstances. "
"Compromising circumstances?"
"Oh, nothing scandalous. Just engineered proximity.
Private conversations in garden alcoves.
Parlour games designed to reveal romantic inclinations.
She considers it great sport." Rosanne's expression soured.
"I am to be her latest project, apparently.
Lord Blackwood's son has expressed interest, and she is determined to facilitate a match. "
"Do you know anything of Lord Blackwood's son?"
"Only that he is young, wealthy, and considered quite handsome by those who value such things." Rosanne shrugged. "He may be perfectly pleasant. Or he may be dreadful. Lady Smith's taste in potential husbands is not always reliable."
Lillian murmured something noncommittal and turned to look out the window. The countryside was rolling past; familiar fields and hedgerows giving way to less familiar terrain as they traveled further from Hartfield.
She had not seen Daniel since that terrible encounter in the morning room.
She had not expected to, he had made his desire for distance abundantly clear, but some small, foolish part of her had hoped he might come to see them off.
That he might appear at the carriage door, might say something, anything, that would help her understand what had happened between them.
He had not appeared. Of course he had not appeared. He was probably in his study right now, reviewing accounts or reading reports, perfectly content in his solitude.
She was nothing to him and she had to accept that.
"Lillian." Rosanne's voice broke into her thoughts. "I know I promised not to speak of him, but..."
"Then don't." Lillian's voice was gentler than her words. "Please, Rosanne . I cannot bear it."
"I just wanted you to know... he came to the window. When you were leaving. He watched the carriage until it was out of sight."
Lillian closed her eyes. The information was both a comfort and a torture—knowing that he cared enough to watch her go, but not enough to actually stop her.
"It does not matter," she said quietly.
"But..."
"It does not matter." She opened her eyes and forced a smile. "Now, tell me more about Lady Smith. What must I know to survive her gathering?"
Rosanne hesitated, clearly wanting to say more, but something in Lillian's expression must have convinced her to let the matter drop. She began to speak of Lady Smith, her pretensions, her preferences, her many peculiarities, and Lillian listened with half her attention.
The other half remained fixed on a window, watching the road that led back to Wynthorpe, where a man she had loved stood alone in his study, surrounded by ledgers and reports and the cold comfort of his own carefully constructed isolation.
She would not cry. She would not look back.
But as the carriage carried her further and further from everything she had hoped for, Lillian felt something in her chest close like a door, shutting away the warmth she had briefly allowed herself to feel.
It was better this way. Safer.
It had to be.