Chapter Seventeen
"It was nothing. I am making too much of it."
Lillian paced the blue room while Rosanne watched from her perch on the bed, her expression troubled.
"It does not sound like nothing," Rosanne said carefully. "It sounds as though he took your ideas and presented them as his own."
"Perhaps he did not realise what he was doing. Men are often careless about such things; they do not mean to claim credit, they simply…...Forget where they heard something."
"And the comment about ladies not being interested?"
Lillian stopped pacing. That was harder to explain away.
"He has been so attentive," she said, more to herself than to Rosanne. "So interested in everything I have to say. How can that be the same man who dismissed me so casually in front of others?"
"Perhaps because they are not the same thing.
" Rosanne's voice was gentle but firm. "Being interested in private is easy.
It costs nothing. But acknowledging a woman's intelligence in public, treating her as an equal when other men are watching, that is different.
That requires a man to risk being seen as unconventional, even foolish. "
Lillian sank onto the edge of her bed, her head aching in truth now.
"Daniel never did that," she heard herself say.
"Whatever his faults, and Heaven knows they are numerous, he never pretended I had not spoken.
He argued with me. He challenged my ideas.
He told me I was wrong when he thought I was wrong.
But he never..." Her voice caught. "He never acted as though my thoughts were his to claim. "
"No. He did not."
They sat in silence for a moment. Lillian thought about the conversations she had shared with Daniel; the debates about estate management, the philosophical discussions, the moments when he had looked at her with something like wonder and said she was remarkable.
He had meant it. Whatever walls he had built, whatever fears he harbored, he had looked at her and seen an equal. Not a foolish woman. Not a convenient wife who would manage his household efficiently but an equal.
"It is probably nothing," she said again, but the words sounded hollow even to her own ears.
***
The following afternoon, Lady Smith summoned Lillian to her private sitting room.
The invitation arrived after luncheon, delivered by a footman with an expressionless face. Lillian followed him through the labyrinthine corridors, her stomach tight with apprehension.
Lady Smith was seated in a wing chair beside the fire, a glass of wine in her hand and an expression of satisfaction on her face.
"Miss Whitcombe. Sit."
Lillian sat, arranging her skirts with as much composure as she could muster.
"You have made quite an impression on Mr. Potter." Lady Smith's tone was conversational, but her eyes were sharp. "I had intended him for Lady Rosanne, but he has made his preferences clear. I am not in the habit of forcing matches where there is no inclination."
"Lady Smith, I assure you, I have not sought..."
"Of course you have not sought. You are not that sort of woman; I can recognise the type." She waved a dismissive hand. "The question is not whether you have pursued him, but whether you will accept what he offers."
Lillian felt her cheeks flush. "We have known each other less than a week. It would be premature to speak of..."
"Premature? Nonsense." Lady Smith set down her glass with a decisive click. "I have watched a great many courtships unfold in this house, Miss Whitcombe. I know when a man is serious, and Mr. Potter is serious. He will propose before the week is out and I would stake my reputation on it."
The words landed like stones in Lillian's stomach. A proposal. She had suspected it, but to hear it stated so baldly, so certainly, was something else entirely.
"Mr. Potter is a good match," Lady Smith continued, her voice taking on a lecturing quality. "He is not titled, but he has a comfortable fortune and excellent prospects. His family is respectable. His character is sound. He will provide you with a life of comfort and security."
"I do not doubt his character, Lady Smith."
"Then what is the hesitation? I can see it in your face that you are not certain." Those sharp eyes narrowed. "Is there someone else? Some prior attachment that prevents you from considering Mr. Potter's suit?"
Lillian's silence was answer enough.
"I see." Lady Smith retrieved her wine and took a measured sip.
"I do not know what happened before you came here.
I do not know who put that shadow in your eyes or made you so wary of happiness.
But let me offer you some advice, Miss Whitcombe: do not let the ghost of what might have been prevent you from embracing what might still be. "
"With respect, Lady Smith, I am not certain that Mr. Potter and I would suit as well as you believe."
"Oh?" One silver eyebrow arched. "And why is that?"
Lillian hesitated. How could she explain the subtle wrongness she had sensed; the way Edward's public behavior differed from his private attentions, the ease with which he had claimed her ideas as his own?
"We have had some conversations," she said carefully, "that have given me pause."
"Conversations." Lady Smith's tone suggested this was an inadequate reason for hesitation.
"My dear girl, all couples have conversations that give them pause.
Marriage is not a fairy tale; it is a practical arrangement between two imperfect people.
The question is not whether Mr. Potter is perfect, no man is, but whether he is good enough. "
"And is 'good enough' what I should aspire to?"
The question emerged sharper than Lillian had intended. Lady Smith studied her for a long moment, something shifting in her expression; not softness, exactly, but perhaps a grudging respect.
"You have spirit," she said finally. "I did not expect that. Most young women in your position would leap at what Mr. Potter is offering."
"I am not most young women."
"No. I am beginning to see that." Lady Smith set down her glass and rose, signaling that the interview was nearing its end.
"Very well, Miss Whitcombe. I will not press you.
But I will say this: opportunities like Mr. Potter do not come often to women of modest circumstances.
Whatever ghost you are clinging to, make certain it is worth what you are sacrificing. "
Lillian rose as well, curtsying automatically. "Thank you, Lady Smith. I will consider what you have said."
"See that you do."
***
The garden gathering on the fourth afternoon provided the final confirmation of Lillian's growing doubts.
Lady Smith had arranged an elaborate entertainment—tables set upon the lawn, games of bowls and archery, a string quartet playing beneath a canopy of silk.
The weather had cooperated magnificently, and the grounds were alive with the bright colors of ladies' gowns and the darker hues of men's coats.
Edward found her almost immediately, his expression eager.
"Lillian. I have been looking for you." He offered his arm. "Will you walk with me? The rose garden is particularly fine at this time of day."
She took his arm, allowing him to lead her away from the main gathering. The rose garden was indeed beautiful; late blooms still clinging to the bushes, their perfume heavy in the warm afternoon air.
"I have been thinking," Edward said, as they walked, "about our future."
Lillian's heart sank. She had known this was coming, but she had hoped for more time—time to sort through her conflicting feelings, time to understand what she truly wanted.
"Our future?"
"Surely you must know what I am going to say.
" He stopped beside a particularly fine bush of white roses, turning to face her.
"I have made no secret of my admiration for you, Lillian.
You are everything I have ever hoped to find in a wife; intelligent, practical, capable.
You understand estate management, you share my interest in agricultural improvement, you would be a tremendous asset to any household. "
Asset. The word struck her oddly. Not partner. Not companion. Asset.
"Edward..."
"Let me finish." He took her hands in his, his expression earnest. "I know this is sudden.
I know we have only known each other a few days.
But I believe, I truly believe, that we could build a good life together.
My uncle's estate needs a capable mistress.
You would have everything you could want; a comfortable home, security, the freedom to implement all those improvements we have discussed. "
"The freedom?" Lillian echoed.
"Well, not freedom precisely." He smiled, as though at a minor correction.
"I would of course make the final decisions on matters of significance.
But I would value your input tremendously.
You could assist with the household accounts, advise on domestic matters, perhaps even help select which tenants to favour with new leases.
" He squeezed her hands. "It would be a true partnership, Lillian. Within appropriate bounds, of course."
Within appropriate bounds.
Lillian felt something shift inside her; the final piece of a puzzle she had been assembling without realizing it.
Edward did not want a partner. He wanted an assistant. A capable woman who would manage his household, offer suggestions he could adopt or ignore as he saw fit, and defer to his judgment on anything that actually mattered.
He had seemed so different when they first met. He had listened to her ideas, engaged with her arguments, treated her as an intellectual equal. But that, she now understood, was courtship. Private flattery designed to secure her interest.