Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
En route to Thatcher Ball
Her breaths were coming in and out faster than the carriage wheels were turning. Lilian focused her attention on the rhythmic mechanical sounds of the vehicle. The vibrations from the carriage floor traveled up her legs, making her limbs tremble.
She was at the mercy of the foul construction transporting them to their destination that evening, and the thought of that made her blood run cold no matter how much she tried to rationalize her fears.
Opposite her, James loudly cleared his throat.
She looked up, blinking at him, suddenly a whole person again.
He looked so much like their late father in that moment, his pale and angular face staring at her disapprovingly. Lilian had always resembled their mother by contrast, warm and freckled and fleshy.
“You’ve blanched, white as snow,” he said, leaning forward to speak quietly to his sister while Sybil admired herself in the carriage window, fluffing her satiny ringlets, enraptured by her own reflection.
“What’s the matter with you now? You agreed to come tonight.
We cannot turn the carriage around. It’s been six months since your last engagement, Lily. You must overcome yourself tonight.”
Lilian swallowed painfully, dropping her gaze to the book in her lap. Her white-gloved fingers turned the page, and it made a comforting slicing sound.
She had lost the train of Radcliffe’s narrative half a chapter ago, staring through the words rather than at them. Orange light from the setting sun flickered, and Lilian’s fear increased tenfold under the wild dancing shadows it cast, her heart pounding.
The book clapped loudly as she slammed it shut. What was the point in pretending to read?
“You need not remind me how long it has been. Rest assured, I am merely programming the evening in my head to ensure all goes smoothly,” she lied weakly, pushing her spectacles further up her nose. “Trying to recall whom I must speak with and who must be avoided, as per your earlier instructions.”
“I will take you at your word. More fool me,” James replied under his breath, visibly unconvinced.
He sat back when Sybil turned to them. He caught her eye, and his expression shifted into a doting smile.
“Sybil knows this society well, General Thatcher and his entourage. Let her guide you tonight. We cannot risk another... incident.”
“Stop this now, James! You are too harsh with your sister,” Sybil chimed, returning to them and seizing Lilian’s hands.
“It’s not Lily’s fault she has such poor nerves and they make her susceptible to trouble, like her father before her.
Poor thing. Look, she’s trembling. It will all be all right. Sybil is here for you.”
Sybil was the only person Lilian knew who spoke about herself in the third person.
Sybil is here for you.
Sybil really thinks you should come to this tea party today and stop moping.
No offence, dearest, but Sybil thinks that shade of green makes you look contagious.
When Lilian remained awkwardly quiet, Sybil smiled and said, “Here, allow me to make you presentable, dearest. That will help your tenebrous mood.”
She maneuvered to Lilian’s side of the carriage to begin grooming her soon-to-be sister-in-law. Lilian’s spectacles came off first. Sybil hummed as she straightened the coral beads around Lilian’s neck, fingers fluttering against her collarbones and sending a confusing shiver down Lilian’s spine.
Nothing pleased her brother more than seeing his betrothed and his sister playing nicely.
“Much better,” Sybil said softly, stroking Lilian’s cheek. She opened her reticule and deposited Lilian’s glasses inside. They disappeared into an abyss of red silk. “Mine now. This way, you cannot sneak off to do some reading at the first opportunity.”
“Nor will I be able to see anything, or anyone, ten inches from my face,” Lilian groused, sliding the book between them on the bench. She squinted down at her beads, eyes already feeling tired.
“If we are lucky enough that a gentleman should come that close to you, it will hardly matter what he looks like. All the better if you cannot see him. A successful match depends on more than attraction, regardless,” James teased, eliciting a giggle and a quiet, flirtatious comment from Sybil that Lilian was glad she missed.
Lilian hated to admit they made a charming pair when her feelings about Sybil were still mixed at best.
Miss Sybil Wright was the daughter of the late Sir Carl Wright, the second son of a baron who had made his fortune under the East India Company.
Sybil’s dowry eclipsed James’s annual income twice over.
But what her father had in riches, he lacked in titles.
Sybil’s first son with James would become Baron Hartwell after him.
And though James stands to gain monetarily from their engagement, I know that’s not why he is smitten with Sybil, Lilian thought, watching them joke among themselves.
She saved him from a dark place when I could not.
She and I could not be more different. But that does not mean she is wrong for him.
Something I should remember. As James said, more fool me.
As they entered Kensington some time later, James leaned forward.
“I cautioned you earlier, but it bears repeating, Lily. Pray, watch what you speak about tonight, especially with the gentlemen.”
She parted her lips to plead her case, but he interrupted immediately.
“No unprompted literary talk like last time. No talking about art, or science either. No one will want to hear about the Royal Society, or the history of Montagu House, or piles—”
Sybil choked. “Piles?”
“Voltaic piles,” Lilian explained, correcting her brother’s vulgar pronunciation and recalling their dinnertime discussion. “You do listen to me after all,” she said to James, crossing her arms.
He shook his head in disapproval. “We tolerate these interests of yours in private, unconventional as they are for a woman of your standing, though you know this already. But in public, such topics are inadmissible. I am tired of repeating myself. I say this only to help you.”
“I suspected things had not changed since last I was among your peers,” Lilian replied bitterly, turning to face the carriage window. “If only society had changed for the better in six months... But the wheel of progress moves achingly slow in the mill of life, I suppose.”
“Did you read that in one of your books? Oh, you do say such funny things,” Sybil said, laughing again. “Don’t fret. Stay close to me, and I will keep you safe tonight.”
“Safe from what?” Lilian challenged.
Her brother and Sybil exchanged a look that said, “Yourself.”
Lilian scowled privately.
Lilian looked through the window into the town beyond.
Kensington Palace was visible in the distance, a dark baroque mass against the slate grey sky.
She took a long sip of the iced punch Sybil had provided her after their entrance, only half-listening to the conversation happening beside her between Sybil and her friends.
“...could have Lord Hartwell perform introductions later,” she caught Sybil saying, turning at the mention of her brother.
Sybil’s group stood in rapt attention, each lady dressed in a different garish color. Sybil looked understated by comparison, allowing her natural beauty and wealth to speak for themselves.
“They are age-old friends, you know,” Sybil continued. “Go back years, all the way to Eton. He is a curious and reclusive character, scarcely seen in public since last summer at the King’s birthday celebrations. Though I hear he looked practically wild then.”
Lilian wondered who Sybil was referring to, casting her eyes over the wide ballroom but spying no one in particular. Her attention drifted.
General Thatcher’s townhouse looked much larger on the inside than out. The coffered ceiling must have been artificial, added later than the date of the house’s initial construction. But the effect was impressive nonetheless, frescos painted in each golden frame, the pigments obviously from—
“There she goes again,” Sybil said, cutting through her thoughts.
Lilian turned to find Sybil and her friends gawking at her.
“Always with her head in the clouds. But is it not the most endearing thing? Come here, Lily.” She extended a hand and waved Lilian closer.
“You must hear what has just been said about this evening’s most surprising guest! ”
Lilian bit her tongue, refraining from vocalizing her disinterest in the matter. Insofar as she was concerned, le bon ton was a paltry amusement, the waste of a privileged life. What did she stand to gain by participating in a society that largely disdained and denigrated her anyway?
Like a ship seeking safe harbour in the night, Lilian looked for a light and found one when she heard the master of ceremonies announce her bosom friend and her parents. She made her excuses to Sybil and her group – ignoring their protestations – and cut through the crowd toward Mary.
“Thank heavens for you, Mary Fitzroy,” Lilian said dramatically, pulling Mary into an embrace. “There is no sweeter sight than yourself at present.”
“Even in this eye-sore of a gown?” Mary laughed, glowering down at her puce-colored dress before taking Lilian by the shoulders and gazing at her fondly. “You look so well, Lilian, strong and full of color. The winter has been kind to you.”
Lilian kissed her cheek and grabbed Mary by the elbow, then greeted her parents, Lord and Lady Lisburn, with a shy curtsey. After commenting on how nice it was to see Lilian out in public again, the parents departed, leaving the girls alone.
They migrated to the edge of the ballroom, watching the first dancers of the evening take their places for a reel, the widower Major General Thatcher among them.
“How is your research progressing?” Mary asked in conspiratorial tones. “Have you met recently with Mrs. Pastor?”
The sound of Prudence’s name brought a smile to Lilian’s lips. “We have been writing, of course, but no meetings. Mrs. Pastor and the doctor have gone to their home in Kent for the spring. They intend to return to London within the next few days. I expect we shall meet then.”
The thought of Dr. Pastor and his wife was a warm cocoon amid the social chaos of the evening.
Lilian had been put in contact with the doctor years ago through her father, though he had never known it.
She parted her lips to tell Mary about their latest findings, but her friend’s attention was elsewhere.
Her rosebud mouth was pursed in interest as she glanced across the dancefloor, a familiar romantic twinkle in her eye.
The musicians stood on the dais, a quartet of handsome young men. They looked to be trading jokes back and forth while they waited.
“Where did the General procure them?” Mary asked, clutching Lilian theatrically. “I have never seen such a formidable group of gentlemen. They must be from the Continent, don’t you think?”
Lilian glanced over her shoulder, having turned to procure some refreshments from the drinks table, unable to make her choice.
“I would hardly call them formidable,” she murmured. “They look entirely usual to me.”
“Even that one with the chin?” Mary laughed breathily. “Do you see that chin? I should like him to take that chin and... Well, I really should not say.”
Lilian smiled, reaching for a glass of something when she heard a voice beside her.
“Now, I fear I must agree with your friend,” a man said. “The Corinthian on the cello, with the chin, in particular, is frighteningly good-looking.”
She looked up and blushed. The gentleman smiled cheekily beneath his moustache, taking a goblet of sparkling wine from a tray.
“You appear overwhelmed for choice,” he noted, still fixing her with his eyes.
Lilian looked at Mary for help, but she merely shrugged and turned away to conceal an embarrassed smile.
“By the selection of drinks or the social travails of the evening?” Lilian asked.
She did not recognize the man. Was this his attempt at an introduction? If so, it was a most curious one. Her brother would be livid.
“The drinks, primarily,” he replied, maintaining his easy smile.
He had a warm face, the expression reaching his eyes.
She guessed he was in his late thirties.
His fashion was a little different, the cut of his coat a few inches too long to be in vogue.
He asked, “You are Lord Hartwell’s sister, yes? ”
Lilian nodded, surprised. She glanced over her shoulder. No one was looking. James and Sybil had gone to dance.
“How do you know that?” she replied.
“A lucky guess.”
“I doubt that. My brother and I look nothing alike.”
He laughed. “Fair. The cat is out of the bag, then. And here I thought I was an exceedingly proficient liar.”
“A strange thing to say to a woman you are meeting for the first time,” Lilian remarked, sounding colder than she meant to. “But I will allow it. Your honesty – about being a liar – is refreshing.”
The gentleman dipped his head, flattered. That result had not been her intention. He continued, “Baron Hartwell and I have become acquainted recently. He pointed you out to me earlier tonight. Though it seems he has busied himself with the lovely Miss Wright.”
The gentleman clicked his tongue against his palate and extended his hand.
“Charles Hayworth.”
Lilian looked at the hand aghast. Was she supposed to shake it? Highly unusual. She decided to humor the strange fellow. His hand was firm but warm around hers.
As he released her, she remembered James mentioning the name to her earlier. But had he said that Mr. Hayworth was to be entertained or ignored?
“You are a captain,” she suggested, recalling some of what James had said. “You must know General Thatcher closely.”
“Close enough for him to extend an invitation to me tonight,” Captain Hayworth replied.
He paused a moment, as though thinking seriously about something. Lilian felt he was judging her. For what purpose, she could only wonder.
“I am glad I came,” he said, mostly to himself. “But I should not overstay my welcome. We will speak again when your brother returns from his reel, and perhaps I will offer you a dance. I look forward to our next meeting. I hope you may say the same.”
He turned halfway before stopping, picking up a goblet of ratafia for her.
“The wine is no good. Only the finest for you, Miss Hartwell.”
She took it, thunderstruck. In his wake, Mary stepped toward her.
“What on earth was that about?” she whispered, her voice high-pitched with surprise. “Who was that man?”
“A captain whom my brother knows, apparently.”
Lilian looked down into her glass. The faintly orange surface reflected the chandeliers overhead – or so she thought. She could barely see anything up close without her glasses.
But she hadn’t needed to see Captain Hayworth up close to know that something was afoot...