Chapter Thirteen
“Thank you for allowing us to attend your party. And to arrive late. Your home is lovely.”
Julian smiled at Lily as she praised Burnett Castle with all the buoyant enthusiasm she naturally bestowed on those people, places and things she admired. The medieval castle, transformed to an Elizabethan house and a Regency showcase, was a mélange of architecture only a lover of oddities could find appealing. “Julian has told me about it. How you’ve adapted it over the centuries.”
“My wife likes to soak in the history of a place,” Julian boasted to his cousin as they stood in the baron’s entrance to his ancient keep. Her exuberance for the trip and her delight in meeting Valentine tickled him. “She enjoys the appointments of Willowreach and plans a master list of all the portraits and porcelains.”
“You are welcome here, my lady,” said Valentine Arden. “Do come catalogue all of my treasures. Alas, I have no wife. Not yet. And now that I see how well my cousin has done in his selection, I fear I shall of necessity take longer to find a suitable candidate for the job.”
She removed her gloves. “I hope you do not mind that we are a day late.”
“No matter.” Valentine was gracious as ever. But he looked weary.
Julian worried about him whenever he went to France for his sister’s remembrance. Val had hated the man and the means of her death. He seemed not to recover from the despair it invoked.
“The rest of our party,” Val continued, “is in the courtyard conservatory imbibing what little sunshine streams in today. It’s warmer there, too. Perhaps after you’ve changed from your journey, you’d like to join us there.”
Julian thanked him. “We will.”
“I’ll have tea sent up to you in your rooms. I say, Chelton, would you mind if I had a word before you went up?”
“No, of course not.” Julian looked at Lily. “I’ll be along, my dear.”
Valentine motioned to his butler. “Please take Lady Chelton to their suite.”
Julian followed Val down the hall to a small sitting room. “Good of you to have us on short notice, Val. I didn’t think Lily would welcome the thought of leaving Willowreach so soon after our wedding.”
“I’d say,” Val said and arched a long blond brow, “from the looks of your American beauty, it is you who wasn’t interested in leaving your home.”
Julian took the chair Val indicated and smiled. “May you be as happy when you decide to marry.”
“Thank you. That gives me hope of a smashing success.”
“How was your trip to Paris?”
Val folded his huge frame into the large Rococco chair opposite Julian. He pursed his lips. “Never happy. However, one fine evening, I was invited to a dinner party at the Duc de Remy’s house. A good gathering. Included your new extended family.”
“The Hannifords are excellent company.”
“To say the least. Your father-in-law is a cyclone.”
Julian laughed. “And what did you think of the others?”
“A charming bunch. Ada, the youngest. Irrepressible.”
“Like her older sister,” Julian added with pride.
“And Pierce, the brother. He’ll make his mark in business quickly.”
“And indelibly, I’d add.”
“The cousin, the widow, Marianne Roland was there. A beauty.”
“She is,” Julian said with a nod.
“The Duc de Remy is quite infatuated with her, isn’t he?”
“Very much so. Since the first day he met her.” Julian recalled the accident in the Rue de la Paix and how he, too, had become enchanted that day.
“I’d give him a run for her if it weren’t so obvious she finds him irresistible as well.”
“Does she? Good. Or I think it’s good.” So busy with my own affair, I hadn’t gauged another’s. “What was it that you wanted to discuss? Not Marianne and Remy, I’d wager.”
“No.” Val smoothed the wool of his trousers. “I wanted to give you fair warning. Wish I didn’t have to. But she invited herself at the last minute.”
Val’s tone froze him. That anyone would invite herself to a country house party was novel, rarely done, accepted only among family relationships built on blood or proximity. Ominous to hear that a woman had done this. A female whom Val knew and knew well enough that she would presume upon his good graces.
“Margaret,” he breathed.
“In all her glory. Arrived yesterday. Told me bold as brass that she’d come to examine the new Marchioness of Chelton. When I told her you had declined, she was crestfallen.”
“But remained nonetheless.” Julian’s mind rang with warning bells. Margaret, once an ingenue imbued with a certain noblesse oblige, had grown older, more worldly. One thing his wife was not.
“She did. I’m sad to say, too, she came alone.”
Julian’s mind raced. Meg Sheffield, in solo performance, could obscure the sun and the moon. Her husband of eight years was the only one who could restrain her, threatening to tighten her purse strings. “Norfield did not accompany her?”
Val shook his head. “He does not approve of my Puritan rules for my country parties.”
Julian tsked. “Against bed-hopping? Poor fellow.”
“He sent his regrets and stayed in London. He claimed his duties in Parliament detain him.”
“I bet they do,” Julian scoffed. “All two of them.”
Val looked like he eaten a sour drop. “One blonde, the other brunette.”
“Thank you for the warning.” Spurred by an urge to embrace his wife, Julian shot to his feet.
Val rose too. “I’ll be your right hand in this.”
As host, Val was one of the most acclaimed bachelors to entertain well.
“Thank you.”
Julian left, up the stairs, along the hall, following the butler to their suite. He found Lily in their adjoining dressing room being buttoned into a tea gown. The welcoming smile on her face faded as she looked at him.
“Are you well?” she asked him.
“Nora? Leave us for a few minutes please.”
The maid, normally dour-faced, did not appreciate his interruption. “Aye, m’lord,” she said but busied herself with folding undergarments.
“What’s wrong?” Lily approached him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Lord Burnett has bad news?”
“A few of his guests are…”
She tipped her head. “What?”
“New to you.”
“Oh,” she said and dismissed that with a shrug, “well. That’s not a prob—”
“Some are jaded.” He cupped her cheek and admired the happiness in her eyes. “Unkind.”
“That’s not a matter I care about.”
“You should. You must.”
“Why? I have you.” She nestled close to him and kissed the tip of his nose.
“But—”
“Did you not once tell me that if anyone made fun of me you’d see they were…ah, what did you say? Put to the streets.”
“Ah. The cartoonist. Yes, I did.” The ice block in his heart melted a fraction.
“And never forget, if they are still not deterred, I could challenge them to a shooting match.”
He chuckled. How she lit up his life. “Darling, I don’t think—”
“Don’t think that ladies here do that. I know.” She rose up and kissed his lips. “I know. But I am not a lady from here. I am a woman from there. And in Texas, we shoot varmints who attack us.”
She was suddenly in earnest, absorbing that what he was imparting was more serious than her humorous responses implied. “That is what you’re trying to tell me, yes?”
He drew her close, the supple warmth of her person suffusing him and diminishing his fears. “Please don’t shoot anyone, my darling. It’s not in season. And furthermore, they’d take you away from me.”
“No one could do that, Julian,” she said with devotion shining in her clear blue eyes. “No one.”
* * * *
Of the twenty-five others assembled down this long medieval banquet table, Lily had identified fourteen she’d met previously in London or Paris. All were pleasant, polite. They were lords and their ladies down from London for the delights which Baron Burnett bestowed on them. Four more were of higher status, an earl, a viscount and their wives. Lily had not met them before and if Julian asked her, she’d tell him she enjoyed their company. Two were American heiresses whom she’d met often. Hilda Berghoff and Priscilla Van De Putte. Hilda still sought a husband and so did her mama who eyed the bachelors present like a coyote prowling for the kill. Priscilla, however, had found her match.
Shocking but true, Lord Pinkhurst had proposed to her. Priscilla’s mama, the American girl told Lily earlier this afternoon, had happily approved his offer. And as for Pinkie, he seemed subdued even as he had greeted Lily with his old fondness for her.
Among the weekend party, there remained two men, in addition to Burnett, who were bachelors. Lily had met neither of them prior to today.
Two ladies were without their spouses. One was a viscountess whose husband suffered from a cough brought on by the unseasonal rains. Though he recovered, he had not ventured from his home.
The other lady who was unattended by her husband was the Duchess of Norfield. A few years older than Lily, Her Grace Margaret Sheffield, was the doyenne of this gathering as many deferred to her in conversation. Petite, dark blonde with a classical profile, the lady had a serenity that could intimidate. Her voice was a whisper that made one lean in to listen. Her words were polite, gracious to a fault. This, Lily knew at once, was a person she must monitor. At worst, this woman was the one about whom Julian had warned her.
Her Grace had been seated far down the table, so far down that the turning of the table for conversation allowed Lily to observe her with impunity. As one who’d been groomed to the finer points of social graces, Lily felt the eyes of the duchess focus upon her. Uncaring what the woman saw, she bent her attention to a viscount on her right and to Pinkie on her left.
“How are you settling in to Willowreach?” he inquired.
“Very well. Chelton has been very helpful. His staff as well.” She’d congratulated Pinkie on his engagement earlier this afternoon when first they greeted each other in the conservatory. “I like Willowreach.”
Pinkie’s gaze lingered on her. Sorrow etched the corners of his eyes. “As you should. It’s a lovely estate.”
His platitudes disturbed her. She liked him, always had. Even if she didn’t love him, never could. The need for honesty between them washed over her. “Are you happy?”
He stared straight ahead. “I hope to be.”
Wincing at her rash behavior, she lifted her wineglass. “I apologize.”
“Don’t,” he whispered. “We marry for many reasons. Great unions can come from different motivations, can’t they?”
“I believe so.”
Along the table, four down, she caught Julian’s eye and nodded at him with assurance. She was happy. He was, too.
Wasn’t he?
* * * *
Julian led Lily into the ballroom. The beamed ceilings, the oak paneling, the little wooden figures—the eavesdroppers—in the rafters, gave the room a glow reminiscent of Tudor times. Many from surrounding estates had joined the house guests for tonight’s ball and the room pulsed with laughter and the sounds of the twenty-piece orchestra. The huge gaslights lit the expanse in a golden aura that complemented his wife’s flawless complexion and her stunning smile.
“This is wonderful. I’m so glad we came.” She squeezed his arm. “You are very good to me.”
“I merely return the favor, darling.” He was proud of her. This, her first social event as his wife, was one she was thoroughly enjoying. Better yet, she was liked in return. She’d thrown herself into meeting everyone. She devoted herself to learning about others and refrained from discussing herself unless asked. She was an unqualified success.
“An American with poise and charm,” he’d overheard one matron tell another.
“When might we join the dancing?” she asked, her eyes wide with glee.
Valentine had led out the oldest lady in attendance, the Viscountess Dorn. They swept the floor in graceful arcs and as the musicians began the roundelay, other couples joined.
“I think this is our chance.” He led her to the chalked floorboards, put his arm around her slender waist, took her other hand and grinned at her. “Madam.”
He took them out in small steps. Their first few were awkward, two people learning the other’s rhythm and form in this new dance of love. Their bodies adjusted, melded. At once, she became fluid in his arms, the wind at his command, a dream to hold. She leaned back and flowed with him, the joy on her face an exquisite display that rivaled her expression when she came apart in his embrace in his bed. He’d been so right to desire her, so fortunate to marry her. She was quite perfect for him.
Filled with such ebullience, he danced her toward the open doors and onto the terrace. At the kiss of the night air on her skin, she gasped.
“Are you cold?” he asked as he swirled her along the terrace, the sound of the German waltz muffled by the breeze through the treetops.
She shook her head. “You didn’t forget.”
“I promised you this.”
“So you did.” And she began to hum with the music.
At the edge of the terrace, far from the French doors, he slowed their tempo until they merely swayed together. I love you.
The thought sprang up so quickly, his jaw dropped.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, alarm on her face.
“Nothing.” He stepped toward her and embraced her, the supple curves of her body a sensuous fit to his. “I have to taste you.”
She circled her arms around his waist and closed her eyes as he pressed her near and took her lips with his own. Her mouth was warm, the flavors of champagne and mint a subtle aphrodisiac to his muddled mind. He sent his tongue into the cavern and claimed her, defined her. She moaned and crushed him closer. This woman was intoxicating and best of all, she was his.
His.
He broke away and grabbed her wrist. He’d visited here before, often. He knew the boxwood maze well and so he led her along the far path. Left, right and straight. He recalled a folly, small, secluded, hidden by roses that he hoped to God were in bloom.
“Where are we—? Oh!” She halted as she surveyed the marble and wood structure before them.
He urged her up the steps and whirled her into his arms. “You are becoming necessary to me.”
“Am I?” she said, breathless as he lifted her skirts and caressed her wet feminine folds.
She gasped but didn’t object.
He sank down, careless of his trousers. He needed her and it was here he wanted her. He parted her fragrant lips, and touched his tongue to her sensitive spot.
She dug her fingernails into his coat. “Oh, Julian. Can we not lie down?”
He shot to his feet, glanced around. There. There.
He took her to the wooden seats around the circumference, dotted tonight with cushions. Julian grinned. His host, not so Puritan after all, had the foresight to provide for the lovers who would need an interlude during the ball. He urged his wife to lay down along the pillows, making mental note to thank Val tomorrow for his foresight.
With her skirts up around her waist, her pale eyes twinkling like stars above, his wife was an erotic portrait of bold desire. She opened her arms to him and he went to her and kissed her madly. His hands busy seeking out the treasures of her body, he noted how succulent she was. How ready. How willing. How loving.
That word again.
Love.
He licked her and she bucked.
He sucked her and she held her breath. His two fingers deep inside her, he imitated the act of love he longed to show her and she whimpered. Then she broke apart.
His beauty. His wife.
The woman he loved despite his best intentions.
Julian had debated simply skipping the rest of the festivities and spending the night making love to his wife in the big broad bed provided by his cousin.
But Lily had been appalled and demanded they return to the ballroom.
“If we retired, we’d be a scandal,” she said as they hurried around their suite attempting to repair the damage done in the garden.
He had changed his trousers, the knees of his first pair woefully grass-stained.
She had giggled and clamped a hand to her mouth. “I should call for Nora to iron my skirts.”
“You look fine,” he told her, tracing the line of her naked shoulder with his lips, his hands covering her breasts. “You were magnificent.”
She hooted and twirled in his arms. “As I recall you were the one who was magnificent. I was your passive partner in crime.”
He pecked her on the nose. “Not so passive, my darling.”
She tossed him a narrowed-eye challenge. “You should congratulate me that I didn’t howl like a cat. They would have thought that scene delicious fodder.”
He was reminded how Lily had hated the cartoons of her in the London broadsheets. This tale would be quite different. He arched a brow. “Shocking that a man and wife could actually find pleasure in each other.”
“For years to come,” she joked.
They’d laughed like children and headed back to the ball.
No sooner there, than George Pinkhurst approached with his fiancée, Priscilla Van de Putte. Julian put aside his hope to waltz once more with his wife.
“May I have this dance, Lady Chelton?” Pinklehurst asked Lily.
It was only polite for Julian to offer his hand to Priscilla in turn. He wasn’t fond of her. She’d been the one to stalk him so bluntly last season that he’d sworn off Americans and heiresses.
Julian laughed to himself. That was what he’d thought then. Now? He was a changed man. A happy one. A ridiculously giddy one. Eager for his wife at her smallest smile.
But not just yet. He could bear to take Priscilla out for a few circles of the floor.
“How is your wife getting on with running your household, my lord?”
Dear God, the woman was forward. His Lily was not so brash. “She does well. Very well.”
They took another round and Priscilla beamed at him, her tiny crooked teeth putting him in mind of Josephine Bonaparte whom histories said never fully smiled at anyone because her teeth were uneven and black. Lily’s teeth were white and straight. Her smile was far more beautiful than anyone’s.
“I hope I can adjust to living in the country,” Priscilla said, making a moue, petulant as ever. “I’ve always lived in the city.”
“There is much to keep you busy on an estate. Lord Pinkhurst, I’m sure, will help you with the duties.”
“I’ve never run servants. My mother always did.”
Must I listen to this? One did not run servants. “Staff know their duties. A good housekeeper can be your best ally.”
She thought about that for a few seconds. Tipping her blonde head, she dismissed the idea with a wrinkle of her nose. “All of that is so boring.”
Why was this woman telling him this? Sympathy was not one of his strong suits. Not for a spoiled girl who complained so readily to a mere acquaintance.
“Is your wife agreeable?”
How forward can this woman be? “I’m sorry?”
“Oh, I beg your pardon. I mean, does she please you?”
His eyes sought the vision in jade-green organza who laughed as she swayed in Pinkhurst’s arms. Does she please me? More than. She was, always had been, effervescent, irresistible.
“I hope she does. She’s beautiful,” Priscilla rattled on. “And you deserve a woman you like. Love. I would have married you, you realize.”
“I do,” he managed to say amid his shock at this girl’s outrageous conversation.
“But you were caught with her.”
“What?” Would she dare to cite a dastardly tidbit? One that few knew. How could she know?
“Caught. In your stables, wasn’t it?”
No. “How did you learn that?” He was tempted to stop, call her out over this. But if he did, he’d make a scene. That was the last thing he needed.
“It’s in the London broadsheets.” Priscilla looked surprised. “Didn’t you know?”
Why would he? He didn’t take them.
“When?” He diminished their progress in the orderly procession of couples round the floor.
She glanced from one set of dancers to another. “We’re not in step, my lord.”
“No, we’re not. And won’t be. Tell me.”
“A few times. I don’t know. The past few weeks. They’ve put in cartoons, too.”
Anger roared through him. His Lily, attacked. Again. “What do they say?”
“Well, I…”
“Priscilla, you initiated this. Don’t stop now.”
“They say that you married her out of obligation. Did you?”
“No.” He led her off the floor.
“You’re hurting my wrist, my lord.”
“I am sorry.” He loosened his grip on her. She was frightened of him. Shame tempered his ire. He was not a brute. “What else?”
“That her father paid you to marry her. That you—um—well—”
“What, for godssakes?”
“Ruined her.”
He set his jaw. A thousand curses on whoever printed this—and millions more on whoever gave the rags these hideous distortions of the truth. “That is not true. I count on you to say that to any and all whom you meet.”
“Yes, yes. Of course, I will.” She rubbed her wrist. “I apologize, my lord.”
“Accepted. Naturally.”
“I think I’d like to adjourn to the ladies retiring room, if you don’t mind.” She looked hopeful and nervous.
“I can escort you.” He offered his arm and led her to the far side of the ballroom. And once there, she gave him a small curtsy and escaped him, scurrying away.
“My, my, what did you say to her, Chelton?”
He pivoted toward the dulcet sounds of Margaret Sheffield. Gazing down into her dark green eyes, he was transported back to his youth and his desire to possess her. No one would argue, the woman was lovely. Polished. More than the American who had just escaped him. More than the young woman who had become his wife. He’d yearned for this one. But that desire had been different from his craving for Lily, hadn’t it? Urgent. Demanding. An animal’s impulse to mate and dominate.
He saw her now through the perspective of experience—and he congratulated himself that so far this weekend, he had side-stepped long conversations with her. “Nothing much.”
“Enough to send her running. You must be kinder to those less hardy than yourself, Chelton.” Her grass-green eyes challenged him.
“She told me tales that disturbed me.”
“Oh?” Margaret snapped open her fan and fluttered it near her abundant and perfectly rounded décolleté. “So you took the stuffing out of her? Shame on you, darling.”
“I was surprised.”
“Not an excuse.”
“No.” He admired his wife as she enjoyed herself on the floor with Pinkie. He wanted her back. When she was near him, he felt whole. “I hope you don’t wish to dance.”
“No, I don’t. But that’s beside the point. You should ask me.”
“It would be polite, I concede. But you did not approach me, Meg, in the hope of waltzing.”
She sighed. “Truth. It is a fine weapon. So tell me a truth, Chelton. Are you avoiding me?”
“We’ve spoken, Meg.”
“Pleasantries. Only. Pleasantries.”
“We have little in common.”
“Oh, my dear man. We have the past in common.”
He pursed his lips. She was a dog with a bone. “Our past is more than eight years old. To some, that’s ancient history.”
She inhaled slowly, her gaze going around the room. “I remember it all very well.”
“I don’t.”
She scoffed. “Has marriage made you crusty, Chelton?”
“On the contrary.” It’s made me appreciate my wife. He searched the ballroom. In the crush, he’d lost sight of Lily.
“Tamed you, I suppose? Interesting.”
Julian followed Meg’s line of sight. Lily twirled even more gracefully than before in the arms of Pinkhurst. He could be jealous. Could be…if he didn’t know in his soul that Lily came to him each night naked and willing and yes, more in love with him than he deserved.
“And you’re enchanted with her.” Meg’s words were an accusation.
He took them for a declaration. One that surprised him. One he could easily make aloud to her. “I am.”
“It will erode.”
He shook his head, though she’d named his greatest fear. He couldn’t let her see how her prediction gutted him. “I doubt it.”
“All enchantments disappear.” She waved her fan in a flourish. “A genie appears who dissolves the magic.”
That wouldn’t happen with Lily.
“Don’t look so stricken. All is not lost. When your days become humdrum, darling, do send for me.”
“Why?” What could you give me that I cannot find with Lily?
Sparks of resentment flashed in her eyes. “You still hate me for rejecting you.”
When she’d accepted Norfield’s proposal, Julian had proof how easily passion turned to ashes. As if he hadn’t had enough evidence with the poison of his parents’ marriage. Or most of society’s. “Your rejection reaffirmed what I knew from years of observing others. Love is rare and must be carefully cultivated.”
“Ah, yes. I see your point. But do see mine, darling.”
“Pardon me.” He put a foot out to step away.
On a click, she shut her fan and pressed the tip to his chest. “You married her, but you’ll never love her.”
That seared him.
“I know you, Julian. You need a woman for your title, to get your heir. You need a woman for your very healthy appetites. One for your boundless pride. And word of mouth has it, you took this one because you were forced to. A trade to save her reputation, and you your finances.”
He’d kill whoever spread these rumors. “Idle talk.”
“Whatever the cause, darling. You’ll want a woman who understands you. Who puts your need for independence higher than her need for your commitment.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I? What odds shall I wager that you haven’t told her you love her?”
“Gamble all you have, Meg.” But it was a bluff. He locked his gaze on hers, the barrier to his soul stalwart and impenetrable.
She glided away with a small huff of satisfaction.
* * * *
As Nora, Lily’s maid, and his valet, Pendley, finally closed the bedroom doors behind them, Julian poured two glasses of port into the crystal glasses on their sideboard in their sitting room. Since Lily had rejoined him after his conversation with Meg, Lily was unusually somber. It was in her nature to ask him what they’d discussed and he would not avoid her questions.
Lily sailed in, her ivory peignoir whispering behind her across the carpet. Her black hair was down, her face was bright and clean of all rouges and powders. Still, she was extraordinarily lovely to him. Lovelier than when she was dressed and perfumed, a gilding she would never require.
“Thank you,” she said, took his proffered glass and sank to the rose silk chaise longue. Stretching out her elegant legs along the cushions, he noted that she had not taken a chair nor had she left any room for him to sit beside her. “Did you enjoy the evening?”
“I did. But you don’t look as if you’d say the same,” he said, inviting her opinion as he sank in the chair opposite her.
She took a sip of her port and put the glass aside on a small table. “I adored dancing in the garden. Of course.”
He knew for her the thrill of their encounter in the folly was gone. “But?”
She turned the full power of her clear blue eyes upon him. As if she could see through him, she scoured his expression. “Tell me what she has meant to you.”
Julian considered the liquor in his glass. Then put it aside. There was no need to ask of whom she spoke. He had watched Lily trace Meg’s steps as she left him in the ballroom. Their eyes had met and he understood that his wife would ask him the details. She deserved to know.
“Years ago, I was infatuated with her. We were young. It was her coming out season and I was making my own mark on society, it being the first time I actively engaged in the social whirl. She was very popular and had many suitors. But at the end of the season, it was clear that she favored three of us. A Scottish earl with plenty of money from a printing business and another man who was at that time, the largest landowner in England. He was also quite wealthy. In wealth, size of estate and title, I could not compete.”
“But you did.”
His elbows to his knees, he leaned toward her. “In my mind, yes. In hers, too.”
“What went wrong?”
“She played me against the other two.”
“How?”
“She ran a child’s game asking us to write poetry and take her out for buggy rides.”
Lily’s delicate dark brows inched high. “Unchaperoned?”
“No. Nothing like that. But it was a series of silly trials.”
“She was testing each of you?” Lily asked with a certain disdain in her features.
“She was. It seemed funny, romantic. We were young. Well, I was twenty-three. And I’d never been—”
They stared at each other, across the abyss created by his abrupt silence.
Her eyes turned dark with worry. “Say it.”
“I’d never been in love before.”
She swallowed, her slender throat convulsing with the news. “Go on.”
He licked his lower lip. “I took hope that she favored me. I—”
“Why?” Lily interrupted him.
“She allowed me liberties. And so I—”
“Made love to her?” she asked in such a flat tone, he thought he might’ve imagined her question.
“No. Never anything so enormous as that.”
“But what?”
He got to his feet. “You can’t expect me to tell you everything.”
“Why not?”
“Because it occurred eight, nine years ago and for you to know it all is irrelevant.”
“Is it?” she countered him, her pale face turned up to him.
“It is.” He would not hurt his wife unnecessarily.
“What happened?”
“That June, each of us proposed to her.” He laughed that the memory had surprisingly faded, the sorrow was hollowed of its old aching sense of loss. “On the same day, as it turns out. She chose the man she is married to. Has been these many years.”
“And he is young?”
“The same age as I am.”
“And healthy?” she persisted.
“He is.”
“And why is he not here with her?”
Julian shrugged. The salacious pastimes of the Duke of Norfield were nothing his wife would ever understand, nor wish to. “I didn’t ask her.”
“What did she want to discuss with you tonight?”
Ah, well. That was easy to say. After all, he’d come this far. “My marriage to you.”
Lily nodded, her expression blank. “She’s curious. I saw that. And I suppose that’s natural. Given that she’d like to resume her…her friendship with you.”
“We are not friends.”
She shot him a hard look of reproof. “Any woman who approaches a man with sorrow in her eyes and hope on her lips wants more than simple conversation, Julian.”
He might as well admit it. “I agree.”
His wife sat straighter in her seat. “Will she get what she wants?”
He strode to her, raised her face with gentle fingers and shook his head. “No. I’ve no need of her.”
“You’ll tell me, won’t you, if you change your mind?” She looked so valiant it broke his heart.
“I won’t change it, Lily.”
“Good to know,” she said and got to her feet. Then she walked toward her dressing room. “Thank you. I appreciate your candor.”
“Lily.” He wanted to explain but what more was there to say?
She tipped her head toward the other room. “I think I’ll sleep in here this evening. Good night, Julian.”
He was left to stare at the empty doorway, wishing he could have found words to dispel her fears. Wishing he could dispel his own.