11. Chapter 11- Lily #2
It would hardly be appropriate for her to mention his tanned skin, the comfortable way he inhabited his own frame, the deep creases down the front of his pant legs.
But it reminded her of the way William dressed.
She’d asked her brother about it once, and he explained how his superiors had drilled a dress code into his very being.
It was the same reason William was up early every morning, rain or shine.
“If I were a more arrogant man, I might assume my reputation preceded me.” He shot Lily a smile that made her think of a wink, though of course he hadn’t taken any such liberty.
She smiled and confessed, “You remind me of my brother, William.”
Lily had meant it as a compliment, so she was surprised to see Lord Shaw’s eyebrows raise, the ghost of a frown pass his lips. She looked to Bradford for help—why, she didn’t know—and was surprised to see him smiling behind his teacup.
“He also spent time in the navy, you see,” she explained lamely.
Lord Shaw nodded. “What about you, Hayes? You look as if you might have a bit of military experience yourself.”
Bradford chuckled in a self-deprecating way. “Only that which can be claimed by being raised by an army man. My father was a major.”
“I had once thought I might join the navy,” Lord Anderson said eagerly. “High seas, grand adventures, the mystery of foreign ports—I always thought that the freedom of the navy would suit me.”
“I’m not sure that my brother ever extolled the navy as a place of freedom, Lord Anderson,” Lily said with a kind smile. “He speaks instead of bells and structure.”
Lord Anderson frowned at Lily as if she’d just argued with his own personal experience instead of an idea he’d had. “I’m sure there are as many different experiences of the military as there are men in it.”
“An excellent point,” she conceded with a nod.
“Yet in this case, I must agree with Lord Cavendish’s assessment,” Lord Shaw said. “Sailors are a machine of sorts. Certainly they must function as tightly as one.”
“Lord Powell to see Miss Lily Preston,” the butler intoned from the doorway.
Lily smiled at the newcomer, a slightly built man with ash-brown hair that nearly matched her own. Lord Powell looked around the grouping, noting the absence of available seats, and frowned. For a few awkward moments, he stood and made meaningful eyes at Lord Shaw, who was sitting on Lily’s left.
Then he sniffed and said, “I’m a marquess and you are only an earl, Lord Shaw. Manners dictate you give up your seat to me.”
Lily’s eyes widened. If Lord Powell’s brash assertion was for her benefit, if it were meant to impress her, it had spectacularly failed.
Instead, Lily felt deep discomfort that one of her guests would be made to feel lesser and spoken to in such a way.
She mentally flailed as she cast about for some way to rectify the situation, but could think of nothing.
At Powell’s words, Bradford froze and turned slowly toward the man, his cold eyes sliding up the length of him as if taking his measure. Once his gaze reached Powell’s face, it was clear by his expression he’d found the man wanting, indeed.
“I’m only a viscount,” he said. “Shouldn’t you have addressed your objection to me?” There was a warning edge to Bradford’s words that dared the man to do so.
Lord Powell flushed. “Etiquette states that those advanced in age?—”
“Advanced in age?” Bradford interrupted. “You speak as though I’m fifty, when there cannot be but five years’ difference between us.”
“It’s common practice for a gentleman of lesser nobility to give way to a gentleman of higher nobility,” Lord Powell argued.
“Is it also common courtesy to call out a breach of etiquette in front of a lady, thereby making her uncomfortable?”
Lord Powell shifted his weight from one foot to another. “I’ve only spoken the truth, sir.”
“Then I shall take the liberty to do the same. The common practice of giving up one’s seat to another gentleman only makes sense when the first gentleman isn’t all that serious about the lady in question.
If he’s only entertaining a passing fancy in her direction, then it makes sense for him to leave at the first opportunity. That certainly doesn’t apply to me.”
Wait, Lily thought. What?
“If, however,” Bradford continued, “the gentleman is quite serious with his intentions, then he’d be foolish indeed to give up his seat, especially to a gentleman who couldn’t even be bothered to arrive on time.”
“I am well within the visiting hours, Lord Hayes,” Lord Powell said, his umbrage stuttering his words.
“And yet too late to get a good seat. I suppose you’ve heard the old adage, the early bird gets the worm?”
“Am I the worm in this scenario?” Lily asked lightly.
She was surprised to find that though it was difficult to interact with the other gentlemen, it took little effort for her to speak with Bradford.
“You’re quite right to be offended, Lily,” he said, without missing a beat. “You are far more lovely and valuable than any worm. And yet, I fear the sentiment still applies.”
Lord Powell turned to Lily and blustered, “What say you, Miss Preston? Are you willing to let such an insult stand in your parlor?”
Lily had no space in her mind left for the ridiculous outrage Lord Powell was experiencing. She hadn’t yet recovered from Bradford calling her lovely and valuable and using her given name.
It was a great enough shock that Lord Hayes called her by first name privately, but the fact that he’d done so in full hearing of the other gentlemen made her blink rapidly and consider the potential consequences.
Indeed, Mr. Chapman frowned slightly, stood, and bowed his leave, though no one but Lily seemed to notice.
“Do not dare make the lady uncomfortable in my presence, sir,” Bradford hissed. Both he and Lord Powell seemed to ignore the newly vacated chair on purpose. “If you and I have a problem, we will deal with it privately. Only a coward seeks to engage a lady to his defense.”
“Besides,” Lord Shaw said, his tone droll. “It’s technically Lord Cavendish’s parlor. Shall we call the gentleman in and see if he appreciates your manners?”
Lord Powell blinked. His lips screwed up into a mulish pout.
Lily thought that if Rebecca had ever made such an expression in her direction, she would have disciplined her immediately.
Thankfully, Lord Powell seemed to realize he was outmanned and undefended.
He sketched a bow in Lily’s direction, turned on his heel, and left.
“A shame,” Lord Shaw said, sipping his tea. “I was looking forward to seeing what shade of magenta the man would turn next.”
“What an interesting way of putting it, Lord Shaw,” she said, desperately trying to regain a semblance of polite control over the conversation. “Magenta. It’s rare that a gentleman has such an appreciation of color.”
The man grinned. “I have three sisters of my own, Miss Preston. I’ve unintentionally attended several lectures on color in my lifetime.”
Lily laughed softly. “I suppose such distinctions helped you in the navy. I’ve heard one must memorize many different colors of flags.”
“Indeed.” He returned her smile evenly.
Lily thought that it might have appeared as if she and Lord Shaw were sharing a meaningful moment, but though she could clearly see that he was very attractive, she felt nothing toward him other than the same kind of appreciation she might extend to a well-done oil painting.
He had clear eyes, straight teeth, broad shoulders, and long legs.
Though his outfit wasn’t as fine of make as Lord Hayes’s suit, it was impeccably clean and pressed.
Lord Anderson studied Lord Shaw like he doubted the man had been in the navy at all.
“As I was previously saying, I would have gone into the navy, and I daresay I would have achieved the rank of admiral in short order, had I gone. However, it wasn’t to be.
My responsibilities at home kept me. Managing an estate is difficult work.
Then again, I needn’t tell you that, Shaw. ”
Lily frowned—the sentence had been delivered as a jab. Though she didn’t know what the insult had been, Lord Shaw narrowed his eyes as if he’d felt the edge of it keenly.
“Lord Anderson,” Hayes said mildly. “Tell me more about your holdings in Manchester.”
He frowned. “Manchester? You must be mistaken. I don’t have any holdings there.”
“My mistake. I’d thought you’d attempted an acquisition in the area. Some deal with the Duke of Whitby, wasn’t it? Never mind. I must have heard incorrectly.”
Sometime in the midst of Hayes’ speech, Lord Anderson had gone even paler than usual. Now he jerked to his feet and didn’t even bother bowing in Lily’s direction before he strode for the door.
“What on earth was that about?” She frowned at Bradford. “With you about, I’m not sure I’ll make a match this Season at all.”
“You don’t want that one,” Lord Shaw grumbled. He swigged the rest of his tea, set the cup on the tray, and stood, nodding to each of them in turn. “Miss Preston, it was a pleasure. Lord Hayes, I wish you well in your endeavor.”
After he left, Bradford said, “I think I might have initially underestimated the fellow. I do believe he’s a very smart man.”
Lily resisted the urge to throw her hands in the air. “Bradford, at the outset, I had four suitors. Now I have none.”
“On the contrary, my dear. I am still present.”
“Is this to be your punishment, then? To scare away all my suitors until—” Lily didn’t know how to finish that sentence, for what would his purpose be in shooing them all away? And yet there was no doubt he’d done so, quite efficiently.
Bradford waited several moments as if to give her opportunity to come up with something. When she didn’t, he said, “You may trust that I don’t have a devious plan when it comes to being here, Lily.”
“And another thing.” She jabbed her finger at him, then caught herself and glanced around. Everyone else was so involved with their conversations that they hadn’t noticed her breach of decorum.