7. Edward
Edward
" S he looks like she's preparing for an execution," Daphne said, appearing in my bedroom doorway like a silk-wrapped conscience. "Though I suppose in a way, she is."
I paused in adjusting my bow tie for the fourth time, meeting her eyes in the antique mirror. "I beg your pardon?"
"Lili. She's been staring at herself in that dress for twenty minutes, convinced she doesn't belong here." Daphne moved into the room, her midnight blue gown rustling against the Persian rug. "Rather like someone else I know who's been aggressively grooming himself for the past hour."
I straightened my already perfect cufflinks, ignoring the accuracy of her observation. "Mother's charity galas are torture by design. She considers them character-building experiences."
"Right. Nothing to do with the fact that Lili will be there." Daphne perched on the edge of my bed, her knowing smile making me want to throttle her. "Looking absolutely stunning, I might add. The burgundy silk was inspired—"
"I'm sure it's perfectly adequate." The words came out more sharply than intended.
"Edward." Her voice carried that particular tone that meant she was about to meddle. "You can't keep pretending this thing between you two doesn't exist."
I turned from the mirror to face her. "There is no 'thing', Daphne."
"Oh, really? Because James mentioned something about an interesting development at Fortnum & Mason yesterday. Something about you two disappearing into a supply closet—"
"James talks too much."
"James is observant. There's a difference." She stood, smoothing her skirt. "Mother's already asking questions, you know."
That sent a chill down my spine. "What kind of questions?"
"The kind that suggest she's noticed how you look at your 'American guest.'" Daphne's expression grew serious. "Be careful tonight, Edward. Mother's in one of her moods."
After she left, I stood alone in my room, staring out at the grounds where staff were making final preparations.
White tents glowed like lanterns against the evening sky, and the sound of the string quartet drifted up from the terrace.
I thought about Mother's warnings, about duty and family legacy. About the acquisition that would make us richer while destroying Lili's dreams. About how her laugh yesterday had sounded like music I'd never heard before, but somehow always knew.
This was insanity.
She was Daphne's best friend. She worked for a company I was about to obliterate. She represented everything that should be simple in my ordered world but somehow made everything impossibly complicated.
And yet, when she smiled, none of that seemed to matter.
A knock at my door interrupted my brooding.
"Sir?" My valet's voice. "Lady Victoria requests your presence downstairs."
Time to face the wolves.
The ballroom had been transformed into something from a fairy tale—if fairy tales included champagne fountains, crystal chandeliers, and enough flowers to choke a small country. London's elite mingled in their finest, their laughter mixing with the sound of Vivaldi and clinking glasses.
I found Mother holding court near the orchestra, magnificent in green silk that matched the family emeralds at her throat. She spotted me immediately, her smile sharp enough to cut glass.
"Edward, darling. Perfect timing." She glided toward me, every movement calculated. "I was just telling the Pemberton children about our newest house guest."
My blood ran cold. "Mother—"
"Such an interesting young woman. American, of course. Works in... what is it? Shopping channels?" Her laugh was like ice cracking. "How delightfully modern."
Before I could respond, a murmur rippled through the crowd near the entrance.
I turned, following the collective gaze.
Then I saw her.
The world seemed to slow, conversations fading to white noise as Lili appeared at the top of the grand staircase. The burgundy silk dress—Mother's choice, I realized with a start—hugged her curves before flowing to the floor like liquid wine. But it wasn't the dress that stopped my breath.
It was the way she carried herself.
Gone was any trace of uncertainty. She descended those stairs like she owned them, like she'd been born to wear silk and rubies, like she belonged in this world as much as any of the blue-bloods surrounding us.
When our eyes met across the room, her smile was radiant but somehow just for me. My chest tightened with something I couldn't name, something that felt dangerously close to pride.
Christ. I was in serious trouble.
"Ah," Mother's voice beside me, silky with warning. "There she is now."
Lili descended the stairs with unconscious grace, accepting the offered arm of James, who had appeared like the goddamn fairy godMother he apparently was. He'd cleaned up well himself, though I noted his eyes held the same protective gleam they'd had yesterday.
"She does clean up rather well," Mother observed. "For a shopgirl."
The word hit me like a slap. "She has a name."
"Of course she does. Miss Anderton. Such a common name." Mother sipped her champagne delicately. "Though I suppose that's fitting."
The insult hit its mark with surgical precision. "Careful, Mother."
"Careful? Darling, I'm always careful. It's one of my greatest strengths." Her smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "Unlike some people, I don't allow sentiment to cloud my judgment."
Before I could respond, a striking redhead materialized at my elbow—all wild curls and vintage designer dress that probably cost more than most people's cars, but somehow looked effortless on her willowy frame.
"You must be the infamous Edward Grosvenor," she said, extending a perfectly manicured hand. "Cecilia Evans, but everyone calls me Cece. I've heard absolutely everything about you."
Before I could respond, a squeal that could've shattered crystal echoed across the ballroom.
"Cece!" Lili's voice, bright with genuine delight, carried across the space between us.
The two women embraced like long-lost sisters, and I watched Lili's entire demeanor transform. The careful composure she'd been maintaining melted away, replaced by pure joy.
"I can't believe you're here!" Lili stepped back, gesturing to Cece's stunning purple dress. "Look at you! You look like old Hollywood glamor!"
"And you look like you belong on the cover of Vogue," Cece replied, adjusting one of Lili's ruby earrings with the familiarity of an old friend. "These are gorgeous. Family heirlooms?"
"Daphne insisted. I tried to tell her they were too much—"
"Nonsense," Daphne interrupted, appearing with perfect timing. "The rubies were made for someone with your coloring."
And just like that, Lili's confidence bloomed. Her shoulders straightened, her smile grew brighter, and when she laughed at something Cece whispered, the sound went straight to my chest like a physical blow.
"She has loyal friends," Mother observed beside me, though her tone suggested this wasn't necessarily a good thing.
"Yes. She does."
"However, loyalty can be complicated. Especially when divided between old friends and new opportunities."
I turned to study Mother's profile, noting the calculating glint in her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing at all, darling. Simply an observation." She paused, watching as Lili charmed a group of elderly lords. "Though I do hope she understand how the world works. How business works."
Before I could ask what the hell she meant by that, we were approached by Lili and her friend, who had glided across the ballroom.
"Miss Anderton," Mother said, "What a transformation. You look almost like you belong here."
The 'almost' hung in the air like a blade.
"Thank you, Lady Victoria. This is my friend Cecilia Evans."
"Ah yes, Daphne mentioned you'd be joining us." Mother's smile never wavered as she assessed Cece with the precision of an appraiser. "How delightful to meet two of Daphne’s American friends."
The pause before 'American' was so slight it might have been missed by anyone not trained to hear the subtle weapons Mother wielded with words.
"Actually, I've been living in London for five years now," Cece said smoothly. "I run a PR firm here."
"How industrious." Mother turned back to Lili. "I do hope you're enjoying yourself, dear. Though I imagine it must be quite different from your usual entertainment venues."
I watched Lili's face carefully, saw the slight tightening around her eyes that meant she'd caught the insult but was choosing to ignore it.
"It's absolutely magical," Lili replied, her Southern grace serving as armor. "I can't thank you enough for including me."
"Of course. Though speaking of work," Mother's expression shifted to something that looked almost concerned. "I understand you're in television? Such an unpredictable industry."
For the next hour, I found myself unable to look away as Lili worked the room. And that's what she was doing—working it. She'd transformed from the nervous girl I'd found in my bed a week ago into something magnificent and terrifying.
She listened to elderly lords drone on about their rose gardens with genuine interest. She laughed at jokes that weren't funny.
She remembered names, asked follow-up questions about grandchildren and charities and business ventures.
Within an hour, she had half the room eating out of her hand.
But it was more than just social grace. It was intelligence.
When Lord Ashford started lecturing about the decline of American media standards, she didn't argue. She asked questions. Smart ones. She drew him out, made him feel important, and somehow turned his criticism into a discussion about the evolution of entertainment across cultures.
I watched her deflect Lady Pemberton's pointed questions about her "little television show" with such skill that the woman ended up genuinely interested in gardening tips.
I watched her discuss Jane Austen with the Duke of Marlborough, holding her own in a conversation about literature that would have left most Oxford graduates stammering.