Chapter 4
“You look as though you are walking to the gallows.”
Lily’s fingers tightened on her mother’s arm as they crossed the gravel path toward the Haverford garden party. The lawns stretched green and manicured beneath a clear sky, and the sound of a string quartet drifted from behind the hedgerows.
“I am walking into a garden full of people who read that pamphlet.” Lily kept her voice low. “The gallows might be preferable.”
“Chin up, darling.” Lady Brimsey’s voice carried the brittle brightness of a woman determined to maintain appearances even as the ground crumbled beneath her. “We do not cower in our family.”
They rounded the hedge and entered the party.
The conversations did not stop. That would have been too vulgar for the kind of people who prided themselves on destroying reputations without raising their voices. Instead, the talk shifted.
Eyes slid toward Lily and away. Fans rose to cover mouths that continued moving. A cluster of matrons near the refreshment table exchanged glances that communicated entire paragraphs.
Lady Haverford descended upon them within moments, her smile stretched across her face like wallpaper over a crack.
“Lord Brimsey. Lady Brimsey. How lovely that you could attend.” She clasped Lady Brimsey’s hands with warmth that did not reach her eyes. “And Lady Lily. What a pleasure.”
The pause before pleasure was barely perceptible. Lily caught it anyway.
Hugo spotted the Brimseys from across the lawn the moment he arrived.
Lord Brimsey stood near the fountain with the composure of a man enduring an afternoon he would rather spend finding a needle in a haystack. Lady Brimsey clutched a glass of lemonade.
And Lily stood between them in a dress of pale yellow muslin, her shoulders squared, her chin lifted, and her eyes carrying the brightness of a woman who refused to let a single person in this garden see her flinch.
Something pulled tight behind his ribs. He ignored it.
The coat he wore was charcoal gray, well-fitted, the cravat tied with the careless precision that took twenty minutes and a mirror to achieve. He looked like what he was: a Duke who had come to make a statement.
Lady Haverford intercepted him before he reached the Brimseys.
“Your Grace.” She dipped into a curtsy that bordered on theatrical. “What a surprise. I did not expect you to actually attend a garden party.”
“Lady Haverford. I find myself newly motivated to attend events I would otherwise avoid.”
Curiosity flickered behind her careful smile. Hugo released her hand and turned toward the Brimseys, and Lady Haverford followed.
“Lord Brimsey.” Hugo extended his hand, and Lord Brimsey shook it with the measured grip of a man who understood exactly what was about to happen. “Lady Brimsey. A pleasure to see you both.”
He turned to Lily. She stood very still; her green eyes fixed on his face.
He reached for her hand. She gave it to him with the barest hesitation, and he raised her gloved fingers to his lips.
“My betrothed.” He let the words carry just enough volume to reach Lady Haverford’s ears. “You look lovely this afternoon.”
Lily’s fingers twitched against his.
Behind him, Lady Haverford inhaled. “Your… betrothed?”
Hugo released Lily’s hand and turned to the hostess with an expression of mild embarrassment he had spent the morning rehearsing.
“Ah. I may have spoken prematurely.” He glanced at Lord Brimsey, who gave a small, dignified nod.
“Lady Lily and I have been engaged for some days now, though we had intended to keep the matter private.” He allowed a rueful smile to settle across his features.
“It seems I lack the discipline for secrecy.”
Lady Haverford’s gaze darted between them with the speed of a woman recalculating every assumption she had made in the past twenty-four hours.
“This is wonderful news. Congratulations, Your Grace. Lady Lily.”
Hugo offered Lily his arm. She placed her hand on his forearm, her grip controlled, tension running through her like a wire pulled taut. He led her into the garden.
The effect was immediate. Hugo watched it ripple through the crowd the way a stone disrupts still water. Within minutes, the whispers shifted in tenor. Scandal became surprise. Surprise became intrigue. Intrigue became the glittering excitement the ton reserved for engagements involving Dukes.
“Smile,” he murmured.
“I am smiling.”
“You are baring your teeth. There is a difference.”
The corners of her mouth softened. Hugo placed his free hand over hers on his arm and addressed the garden.
“Ladies and gentlemen. I hope you will forgive the informality, but I find I cannot keep this news to myself any longer. Lady Lily Readthorpe has done me the extraordinary honor of accepting my proposal of marriage. I trust you will join me in celebrating what I consider the finest decision I have ever made.”
The garden went still. Hugo felt Lily’s fingers tighten on his arm. He kept his expression warm, his posture open, his gaze moving across the assembled guests with a calm confidence that expected congratulations and would accept nothing less.
Applause broke the silence. Guests moved toward them, and Hugo received each one with a handshake or a nod, steering the conversation with the skill of a man who had spent his life navigating rooms full of people who wanted something from him.
When a silver-haired matron remarked that Lady Fairhart had been right all along, Hugo deflected before Lily could respond, redirecting the woman’s attention with a question about her daughter’s Season.
Then Wilfrey appeared.
Lord Wilfrey’s coat was impeccable, his expression carrying the careful neutrality of a man who revealed nothing he did not intend to.
“Your Grace. Lady Lily. May I offer my congratulations.”
“You may.” Hugo kept his voice pleasant.
Wilfrey turned to Lily. Something shifted in his composure, something that looked like regret, though Hugo suspected it was closer to recalibration.
“I must say, I think you are well suited. You are both rather… unconventional.”
Hugo felt Lily stiffen against his arm. Her fingers pressed into his forearm, and the smile she offered Wilfrey turned brittle.
“How kind of you, Lord Wilfrey.”
Wilfrey bowed and withdrew. Hugo watched him go and felt a sharp, sudden dislike.
Sophia and Edward materialized moments later. Edward shook Hugo’s hand, and Sophia leaned forward to kiss Lily’s cheek.
“What have you done?” Sophia whispered.
“It was planned,” Lily murmured. “I will explain everything later.”
Sophia studied her face, nodded, and tucked her hand into Edward’s arm. “We will speak tonight. Congratulations, sister.”
Hugo steered Lily toward a quieter stretch of the garden. A stone bench sat beneath an arbor draped with climbing roses, and he guided her toward it, putting distance between them and the nearest guests.
“Something is bothering you. And it is not the engagement.”
Lily stared at the roses as if they had personally offended her.
“Unconventional.” She said the word the way another woman might say vermin. “If Lord Wilfrey thinks I am unconventional, he will never propose. Not after this. He will choose someone conventional instead.”
Hugo glanced over his shoulder. The nearest guests were out of earshot. He turned back.
“Why are you so fixed on Wilfrey?”
“Because he is the only man in the ton who would not bore me to tears within a fortnight of marriage. He reads. He travels. He does not speak to me as though my opinions are decorative.”
“He pressed a fern and called it the highlight of his Season.”
“You mentioned that yesterday.”
“It bears repeating.”
“The fact that you find botanical interests tedious does not make them objectively so, Your Grace.”
“I do not find them tedious. I find a man who considers a dried plant the pinnacle of an entire social season to be lacking in imagination.” He crossed his arms. “You want a man who will let you be yourself. I understand that. But Wilfrey does not want you to be yourself. He wants a version of you that fits neatly into his world. The moment you exceed those boundaries, and you will, he will call you unconventional and mean it as a warning.”
She opened her mouth and then closed it. He watched the conflict behind her eyes, the collision between what she wanted to believe and what she suspected was true.
“You do not know him.”
“I know men like him. They attend the right events, say the right things, and marry the right women. And the right women spend thirty years smiling at dinner parties and wondering what happened to the version of themselves that once talked too fast about their love of literature and poetry.” He met her gaze.
“The men in the ton admire intelligence in a woman the way they admire a well-trained horse. They appreciate the quality while insisting it be kept under control. Wilfrey is no different. He will value your mind as long as it does not outshine his. He will enjoy your wit as long as it does not cut too deep.”
Lily’s hands tightened in her lap. “And what would you suggest I do? Abandon the only prospect who has shown genuine interest?”
“I would suggest you understand what draws a man like Wilfrey in and what pushes him away. You are clever, Lily. Sharper than half the men in that garden. But cleverness alone does not capture a man’s attention in a ballroom.
Elegance does. Softness does. The ability to make a man feel as though he has discovered something rare, rather than being lectured by someone formidable. ”
Her chin lifted. Color rose in her cheeks, and her green eyes flashed with the fury of a woman who has been told something she did not want to hear and cannot entirely dismiss.
“You think I am too formidable.”
“You are unique. I think Wilfrey is not equipped to appreciate it.” He uncrossed his arms. “But if you are determined to have him, then you need to learn how to make him believe he can.”
Silence stretched between them. A bee droned through the roses. Hugo watched Lily wrestle with pride and pragmatism and felt, with uncomfortable clarity, the moment pragmatism won.
“Teach me.”
The words came out low, reluctant, pulled from her chest by force.
“Teach you what, exactly?”
“Whatever it is that makes men like Wilfrey lean closer instead of stepping back.” Her jaw set. “You know this world better than I do. You know what they want, how they think. Teach me, and the engagement ends faster. You will be rid of me, and I will have what I came for.”
Hugo tilted his head. The corner of his mouth curved. “My eager little student.”
“Do not call me that.”
“You came to me for instruction, Lady Lily. You must allow me some enjoyment in the arrangement.” He pushed off the arbor and looked down at her. “Very well. I will teach you. But my methods will not be proper, and you will not always like what I have to say.”
“I have not liked a single thing you have said since we met.”
“And yet here you are. Asking for more.”
Her cheeks flushed. She looked away, and Hugo allowed himself a moment of satisfaction before he offered her his arm.
“Shall we return to the party, my betrothed? I believe we have a performance to maintain.”
Lily rose from the bench and placed her hand on his arm. Her touch was stiff, controlled, and absolutely correct.
But her pulse was racing beneath her glove. He could feel it against his forearm, rapid and warm, and he smiled to himself as he led her back toward the crowd.
The lessons were going to be the most entertaining thing that had happened to him in years.