10. Chapter 10-Lily
“Lord Rigsby is looking at you again,” Margaret murmured, most unhelpfully.
They were only an hour into the first ball of the Season, and Lily already desperately wished to go home. Though the ballroom was decorated in stunning swaths of satin and florals, even they failed to charm her—they only served to add a heavy perfume and take up space.
Lily thought additional space would have been very welcome. Perhaps it was silly of her, but Lily hadn’t realized just how many people would be in attendance. Layers of noise—of laughter, music, and conversation—piled on top of Lily like so many quilts until she felt overwarm and short of breath.
And that wasn’t even counting the multitude of fragrances.
Judging by the smell of things, the perfumers on Bond Street were doing a brisk trade.
Lily thought it much like being strangled by an English garden.
The entire display made her long for one of those quiet, cold Northumberland mornings where the mist muffled the already silent fields.
No one else seemed to mind the joyous cacophony; no one else seemed to mind being repeatedly jostled and apologized to in passing.
Lily took a deep breath to calm herself and was nearly choked with the scent of rosewater.
In her distraction, she made the mistake of glancing up and meeting Lord Rigsby’s eyes.
Across the way, Lord Rigsby was far from subtle—he’d been staring at Lily the past quarter hour with an expression that shared a border with shock.
It was as if someone had come along and stabbed the man in the hindquarters with a straight pin and his features had become permanently lodged in that moment of surprise.
“Have you seen anyone you’d like to encourage?” Lily said, deftly trying to turn the conversation from the gentleman, who shifted side to side across the ballroom every time Lily did. At one point, the man had gone up on tiptoes to keep her in sight when someone stepped in front of him.
Margaret waved her hand. “Not particularly. Besides, I’m quite aware of my chances this Season. You needn’t try and encourage me. I’m the practical sort, remember.”
Lily frowned down at her. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I’m hardly going to attract a swarm of suitors when my sisters are all so lovely.
My only hope is that several of the less handsome and interesting ones will realize they have no chance with you or Beatrice and decide it’s too much bother to get up and move to a different parlor to find a wife.
” Margaret chuffed at her self-deprecating joke.
Lily’s frown creased her forehead. “Are you quite blind, or does your maid need to clean your mirror?”
Margaret blinked up at her. “Pardon?”
“Margaret, you are?—”
“Lily, may I have this dance?”
Lily froze.
Her heart started to pound before her mind caught up to the reality of the situation. Impossible. Impossible.
But that low voice…she’d know it anywhere. Lily replayed it to herself every waking hour and most of the sleeping ones, beside.
Still, it took an aching eternity for her wide eyes to slip from Margaret’s confused expression to the gentleman standing beside her. It was practice, nothing more, that kept Lily’s knees from buckling.
Lord Hayes. He was here. Really, truly here.
Lily had the sudden, fleeting thought that it was her constant remembering that had somehow conjured up Lord Hayes. Perhaps she’d caressed her memories one too many times—an unwitting Aladdin with a genie’s lamp.
In their months apart, Lily had wondered if she’d invented the magnetic tug she felt when Lord Hayes stood within ten feet of her. He wasn’t the most handsome in the room, though she’d always found his appearance pleasing. More than pleasing.
Lord Hayes was only half a head taller than she was, but Lily felt he commanded the space around him with the authority of a much larger man.
Not that he was one of those brash and boorish types who were always looking about to see who’d noticed them and who they might impress.
It was quite the opposite—he took up the space he took up, and that was that.
Lily’s eyes roved. It shocked her to see him in this setting. In her mind, he’d been part of her life in the north. He’d always dressed the part of a wealthy lord—but one engaged in country pursuits.
Now, here he was in elegant dark waistcoat and breeches, a fine tailcoat rounding out the ensemble.
He appeared quite at home against the backdrop of shimmering silk and glittering diamonds.
It was disorienting to her, as if the two halves of her life had careened into each other like a terrible carriage accident.
And she was left blinking in the sudden rubble.
“Miss Preston?” Lord Hayes cocked his head in challenge, and Lily realized she’d been staring at him, her mouth slightly agape.
Margaret looked back and forth between the two, a line of concern dimpling between her eyebrows.
“Of course,” Lily said by rote, offering her limp hand.
Lord Hayes took it, and her waist, and steered her unerringly to the center of the dance floor.
Lily swallowed. She was suddenly grateful that she was years late—by some grand dames’ standards—at being presented.
She’d had the interim to practice her dance steps with her sisters in their dark, dusty parlor.
She thanked Providence for all that practice now as her feet swept lightly through the steps instinctively. In reality, her legs—like the rest of her—felt as heavy as lead.
For several moments, Lord Hayes said nothing. Lily thought she might choke on the tension. Why on earth was he here? How was he here? And how had he found her out?
Margaret frowned at her from the sidelines of the dance floor. Lily mustered a weak smile to reassure her.
Just as Lily became determined to say something—though she couldn’t think of what—Lord Hayes said, “Your name is Lily Preston.”
“Yes.” Her voice was breathless.
“You are a gentleman’s daughter and well-educated.”
“Yes,” she murmured.
“At least there’s that. At least it wasn’t all lies.”
His voice held a condemnation too heavy for her to bear. She blinked rapidly though her eyes were dry. Lily tried to call to mind the hurt and anger she’d felt when Lord Hayes had threatened to arrest her.
She found she couldn’t feel anything past the heart-pounding terror of being caught. Lily thought she was in real danger of being sick upon the floor.
Lord Hayes frowned down at her and snapped, “Breathe, Lily. Swooning won’t get you out of this; it will only prolong the episode and prove embarrassing to both of us.”
He surveyed the room around them with an imperious gaze, as if everyone in attendance were complicit in Lily’s deception and he planned on holding them all to account.
“What a lovely name, Lily,” he said. “Much better than Sarah. You look far more like a Lily than you ever did a Sarah.”
Lily found that, in her shock, she was focusing on all the wrong things. Lord Hayes was quite a good dancer. And she kept getting distracted by the small cut on the smooth skin right before his earlobe. Had he nicked himself shaving? Had he been nervous about his plan to accost her this evening?
For there had been no surprise on Lord Hayes’s part—no shock coloring his voice that insinuated theirs had been a chance meeting. No—he had planned this, waited until the most public time to stride up to her and ask her to dance.
Her breath caught in her throat. What did that mean, that he had thought about this moment, designed it?
“Drat it all, Lily, I swear that if you do swoon, I’ll tip the punch bowl over your head to wake you,” he growled.
The idea made her gasp a little. The air served her well—her vision cleared, the black spots blinking out of existence as quickly as they’d come.
“You planned this,” she accused.
“What?” he chuffed in mock outrage. “Do you mean to say that I coerced you into stealing the identity of one Miss Sarah Hughes? She’s Mrs. Colmby now, by the way, but I’m sure you already knew that.”
Lilly jerked. She hadn’t, in fact, though some part of her had wondered. Some part of her feared that Miss Sarah Hughes might also be applying for governess’s positions across England. How terrible it would have been, if they’d both showed up to interview for the same one!
Lord Hayes nodded, his fathomless brown eyes scouring her face. “She lives in Swindon with her husband and six children.”
Lily couldn’t bring herself to answer him.
She’d always found his gaze piercing, had the fanciful belief that if she met his eyes long enough, he might suss out her every secret without her so much as speaking them.
And that had only been back at all of those dinners they’d shared—the ones where he’d launched question after question at her, about her prior experience as a governess, about her plans for Rebecca’s rearing and lessons, about Lily in general.
Now, it was a thousand times worse. His jaw ticked at the corners. When he smiled it wasn’t anything close to sincere—it was a baring of his teeth. And those brown eyes of his trailed over her face relentlessly.
It was as if Lord Hayes were one of Mr. Belfour’s blasted hounds—he’d finally tracked down his quarry and was intent upon gnawing every morsel from its bones.
Lily wanted to thrust him away with a cry of alarm and run from the room.
Her body momentarily tensed as if to do precisely that, but his hand gripped her waist more securely.
His eyes narrowed. “Neither of us want a scene.”
Oh, how she hoped he meant it. For there was Claire, dancing with Lord Rutheridge. Beatrice was on the dance floor too, looking distinctly uninterested in a waifish lord who held her as far back as his spindly arms would allow. And Margaret still stared at Lily from the edge of the crowd.