Chapter 1 - Lily
After dithering in front of the polished door for as long as possible, Lily finally gained the courage to reach up and knock on it.
Three raps: the first one too soft, the second too loud from nerves, and the third just right.
Her fingers clenched with the awkwardness of what she was about to do, but at the crinkling of parchment she relaxed her hands and remembered that she clutched a letter.
"Enter." The voice was low, masculine; the word was clipped.
She had written the letter in case Lord Hayes was not in his study, but of course he was. He was always in his study. Now the folded parchment she clutched was redundant. Lily grimaced and turned the knob, stepping in hesitantly.
Lord Hayes sat behind a massive wooden desk.
He glanced up at her in a frowning sort of way, then stared back down at his ledgers.
Lily wondered, not for the first time, what he might have looked like if he weren’t always serious, but there was no point in wondering, for she’d never seen him smile, not once.
When she first moved in, she’d thought that perhaps his foul moods were due to some sort of financial problem.
It had worried her so much that Lily checked with the housekeeper to ensure that her wages would be paid.
After all, money was the only thing that had incentivized her to travel to the far-flung reaches of Northumberland in the first place.
It had taken nearly a week to travel from London to the coastal town of Blyth.
Another four hours to travel to Ballam Hall, the family seat of the Viscount Hayes.
Though it had been four months ago, Lily still remembered that journey vividly.
It has hard to forget being pressed between the stinking populace in one of the faded brocade gowns she’d procured to look the part of a unfashionable but respectable governess.
Her wages had been sent directly back to London to help offset the massive debt that their eldest brother had sunk the family in--debts that Lily thought the new Lord Cavendish had ignored right along with his family.
Except Lily knew now that hadn’t been the truth of things.
Apparently her brother William had been blissfully ignorant of the dire straits his sisters were in.
He hadn’t even known that their brother Richard had died.
If the letter she’d received that morning was to be believed, William was sending a trusted steward to retrieve Lily.
She was to meet him in Blyth tomorrow morning.
Everything had changed overnight.
"Miss Hughes," Lord Hayes prompted.
Lily realized that she had been dithering in front of his desk, the same way she had dithered before the door.
Now Lord Hayes’s dark brown eyes were focused on her in that keen stare of his.
For the months she’d known him, he’d exhibited two primary expressions--a frown or a piercing look that threatened to strip her to the bone.
She swallowed deeply and nodded. "I beg your pardon, Lord Hayes. I've come to--" She trailed off.
The truth was, Lily knew even less about offering a resignation than she did about being a governess.
Besides, she didn't want to go. Not because Lord Hayes had been so kind, for he had been standoffish at best, and at some points, very grumpy indeed. But she dearly loved Lord Hayes’s daughter, Rebecca--and she didn’t want to tell the little girl goodbye.
She repeated the same truth to herself that she had ever since the letter had arrived: this wasn’t about her, not really. It was about her duty to her sisters, her brother, her family. It was that duty that had prompted her to earn wages in the first place--she could hardly switch loyalties now.
"I'm very sorry," Lily began again, "but I'm afraid I have to leave."
"Leave?" His eyes jerked up from his ledger. His frown intensified.
Lily remembered the first instance those dark brown eyes had met hers as if it were yesterday. The housekeeper had presented her to Lord Hayes on the first day of her employment. His eyes had widened ever so slightly, and then his face grew angrier and angrier by the moment.
Lily had smoothed her brocade skirts and tucked imaginary wisps of her ash brown hair back into her bun, wondering what he found so offensive about her appearance--she was as neat as a pin.
However, the housekeeper, Mrs. Clark, hadn’t seemed to notice anything amiss.
So Lily had done her best to ignore it as well.
There had only been several times when Lord Hayes’ expression differed from a stern stare or a scowl. Lily didn’t wish to examine why she’d catalogued each instance so carefully, but memorize them she had.
Once, Lily had been reading a bedtime story to Rebecca, and felt a presence, and glanced up to find Lord Hayes leaning in the doorway, an expression on his face that she could not read--something that could have been mistaken for softness. He’d turned and left immediately.
There were two other times, in passing. Once during the nightly dinners they’d shared--a stipulation of Lily’s employment Mrs. Clark had only informed her of once she’d arrived.
Lily had learned to look forward to the evenings with a strange mixture that was three parts apprehension and one part anticipation.
Lord Hayes used the dinners to pepper Lily with questions about Rebecca’s rearing.
Lily understood--traditionally, parents and a governess worked closely to ensure the proper raising of a child.
Yet the dinners they shared across the massive polished table were the only time Lily felt she had a tasted of what she’d started to call her former life.
That is, the one where she was a member of nobility, not the servant.
One evening, Lily had inadvertently splashed a drop of soup on the front of the hideous brocade dress she wore--burgundy and tan--and had dabbed at it quickly with her napkin, praying Lord Hayes hadn’t seen.
She peeked under her lashes at him and found him very nearly smiling.
Of course, she’d responded by promptly dropping her spoon into the bowl.
Lord Hayes hadn’t requested her presence at dinner for three days, after that.
But every time he’d looked at her with something other than a frown, something in her midsection swooped with something that felt like fragile hope--a wounded bird trying to take flight.
When he frowned at her or stared at her with deep focus--as he was now--her stomach felt as if she’d earned his disapproval, but until this moment, she wasn't ever certain what she’d done wrong.
She supposed that he might have been very attractive indeed if he’d ever truly smiled.
As it was, his foreboding expression couldn’t quite dispel the striking appearance of his dark hair and eyebrows, the tan he managed to keep despite the fog and clouds that continuously rolled over the horizon, and his strong jaw.
Not that he was the classically handsome sort--the fine young ladies wouldn’t turn into a flock of giggling ninnies the way they when some men of the ton paraded past. No--Lord Hayes would look completely out of place amongst the gilded ballrooms of St. James.
He belonged here, amongst the rough crags and the swooping swells of uninterrupted landscape.
"Miss Hughes,” he demanded, jerking Lily from her reverie. “What do you mean, leave?" he demanded.
"My brother has returned--” Lily’s voice quavered. She swallowed and nearly choked, then tried again. "My brother has returned from India. He requires my presence."
She held out the folded parchment to him.
He opened it, tearing it in his haste, then glowered down at her own handwriting. "You expect me to read this when you could just very well explain it to me?"
"I'm sorry, my lord," she said. "My brother has returned home from India--"
"So you've said. What does that have to do with your employment here?"
Lily’s lips were suddenly chapped, dry. She licked them nervously.
His gaze flickered down to her mouth, and then back up to her eyes.
Lord Hayes’ frown intensified, but how was Lily supposed to explain such a thing when manners dictated she wasn’t allowed to speak about money?
Though it was considered gauche for people to discuss funds, Lily thought this instance required it.
"I took this position for the money, you see," she began haltingly.
"Everyone takes a job for the money.” He slapped the letter with his hand. “What does your brother returning have to do with anything?"
"He has money, my lord," she said, stumbling over the words. "He does not wish me to be a governess any longer."
His eyes narrowed. “Wait a moment--I thought you were the lone daughter of a clergyman.”
Lily blinked rapidly. She’d known her falsehoods would catch up to her, but at the time, the path she’d taken had appeared to be the only one available to her.
Lord Hayes looked positively murderous. “I take it your name isn’t actually Sarah Hughes. What’s your real name, then?”
“I’m sorry, my lord.” She shook her head. Tears gathered along her lower lashes.
“Ah.” He leaned back in his chair, a muscle feathering in his jaw. “Your family name is Imsorry. No doubt you changed it out of embarrassment.”
Lily worked on controlling her tears. She hadn’t thought this would be all that hard--she’d thought telling Rebecca she was leaving would be far more difficult than telling the girl’s father.
“There’s no need to cry,” he snapped. “Tears won’t get you out of explaining yourself. You can start by telling me your real name.”
“I’m sorry, my lord. I cannot.”
It was the one thing that William had demanded of her in his letter--that she was not, under any circumstances, to reveal her true identity. To anyone.
Lord Hayes braced his forearms on the desk and exhaled derision through his nostrils. “I should have you arrested.”
Lily blanched. Her knees knocked, wavered, then locked.