“Hmm.” He reached for his wine glass and discovered it was empty. Before he could remedy the matter himself, she hurried forward and refilled his glass. He inhaled her fresh, subtly feminine scent. How could anyone smell of happiness?

  She straightened and left him with a smile to finish his dinner.

  Eventually, he sat back in his chair, replete. He half-expected Lily or Mrs. Villin to come and clear away the remains of the meal. But after a few moments, when no one did, he rose and took his wine to the hearth. For comfort, he removed his coat, loosened his waistcoat and cravat, and sank into the armchair.

  After about ten minutes, a knock at the door interrupted his somber and difficult thoughts. It was Lily.

  “Let me clear these things away for you, my lord.”

  “Thank you. And my compliments to your mother. The meal was excellent, as always.”

  “Thank you, sir, I’ll tell her.” She piled the plates and serving dishes on a tray with quiet efficiency. He found himself watching her small, deft hands, hands used to work, not pampered every day in gloves and idleness.

  They stilled, and he glanced up, meeting her gaze.

  “What is the matter?” she asked, almost like a plea.

  His eyebrows drew up involuntarily. “Nothing. I am very comfortable.”

  She waved that away. He was rumbled. They both knew she referred to a deeper comfort, but he held her gaze without difficulty.

  “A trouble shared is a trouble halved, my lord,” she murmured. “I am a good listener, and if there is anything I can do to help, I will and gladly.”

  He smiled, resigned to the gentle ache, which one day would become so severe that it would outweigh the comfort. He would have to stay away, then. “You are very kind and sweet, but what troubles could I possibly have? I assure you, I am perfectly at ease.”

  A moment longer, she stared at him. He thought, ruefully, that he had disappointed her. In fact, as she picked up the tray and turned, he realized he had hurt her. From nowhere, emotion bombarded him. He didn’t want her to go.

  For once in his life, he spoke without thinking first. “My father is dying.”

  Chapter Two

  As soon as the words were out, he stared at his hands, appalled. Because, of course, she laid the tray back down and walked back to him.

  She sat on the footstool, close to his knees, and gazed up at him. God, she was beautiful, with her raven-black hair and brilliant, green eyes, and she had no idea. She would not let anyone suffer if she could help.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “That must be very hard.”

  Again, he was surprised, for he didn’t mind the sympathy at all. “We aren’t close,” he hastened to assure her. “Never were.”

  “Still, he is your father.”

  “Still,” he agreed, “he is my father.” He looked into the fire, allowing himself just a moment to remember everything. “In my mind, he is still a big, strong, roaring man. It’s hard to see him brought so low, so weak.” He broke off before he said too much. God knew the girl always saw too much anyway.

  He felt rather than saw her nod. “Will his death change your life?”

  He glanced up, startled, searching her face. “Yes,” he admitted. “I will be the Marquess of Hay with responsibility for huge estates and hundreds of dependents.”

  “And what you do now, you will no longer be able to do?”

  “You mean fritter my life away in the clubs and ballrooms of London, interspersed with hunting parties and visits to my tailor? I’m sure I’ll fit in a little.”

  Even though he smiled deprecatingly, she didn’t smile back, which gave him his first moment of unease.

  “No,” she said flatly. “I don’t mean that.”

  “Then I’m not quite sure to what you do refer,” he said hastily. “But yes, it seems certain that being the marquess will interfere with my life.”

  “I suppose you will have to marry and settle down.”

  “I suppose I will,” he sighed.

  Her gaze searched his. “I’m sorry. Did you mind very much when Lady Cecily married Lord Verne?”

  He blinked, for it seemed a long time ago. And of course, the world had known he was at Lady Cecily’s feet. He hadn’t been acting either. Or at least, not entirely. “I believe I did at first, but in truth, we would not have suited.”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” Lily agreed.

  “She is happy with Verne.”

  Lily nodded and gazed into the fire. “Is there no lady with whom you could be happy?”

  An ache began deep in his chest. Ignoring it, he said lightly, “I think the question is rather if there is no lady who could be happy with me.”

  “It is part of the question,” she allowed, surprising him again. “And the truth is, if you guard your heart, shroud it in secrecy, it is never truly given, and so unlikely to be accepted.”

  Feeling his jaw drop, he recovered it hastily and rose to his feet, walking to the table where she had earlier left the port. “If you are going to talk like that,” he said, picking up the unused port glass and returning to his chair, “you will have to drink with me.”

  “Oh, no, sir, I couldn’t,” she said, shocked.

  He paused, one brow raised. “We are friends, are we not?”

  She flushed in the firelight, causing the ache in his heart to intensify. “I like to think so,” she said so quietly, he could barely hear.

  His heartbeat quickened. Could that be an admission that to some extent, she shared his wayward attraction? Or was she simply humoring the noble customer? He should send her away, back to her father, who would surely not be pleased to see her sitting down and drinking wine with the patrons. But he had begun it and would condemn her to one glass, even if she never drank it.

  He poured a little wine and gave her the glass. She took it nervously.

  “To secret hearts,” he said sardonically, clinking his glass against hers.

  As he sat, she raised the glass to her lips and sipped dubiously. She looked surprised and took another. “Why this is much more pleasant than the wine I tasted when I was fourteen. I’ve always avoided it since.”

  “Your father keeps a very decent claret. Several decent wines, in fact, to say nothing of the brandy.”

  She grimaced. “I’d better not get a taste for it.”

  “Why not? When the war ends, you can travel all over Europe in search of superior wines, instead of depending on smugglers.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said with dignity, presumably on the subject of smugglers. “But I rather like your idea of buying the wine!”

  “You have a taste for travel, then?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I would like to go further than Finsborough.” She took another sip from the glass. “Sometimes,” she confided, “I feel trapped. By the inn, by everyone’s expectations of me. As if it’s all written in advance and what I must do. Marry a local man and bring up his children and one day inherit the Hart, which I shall give to my second son. The first, you see, would follow in his father’s footsteps.”

  “That doesn’t leave much room for traveling,” he agreed, frowning in sympathy. “It sounds as if we are both a little trapped.”

  “Well, I have made myself a breathing space by rejecting Ned.”

  “Perhaps you could try something else? Seek a different sort of position with one of the local gentry families? You might get to travel with them.”

  “I think I’m too managing to be a chambermaid, too young to be a cook. And I don’t have the training to be a lady’s maid.”

  “You could be a different kind of assistant. Like a secretary. I know you keep the accounts for your father.”

  She appeared to consider that with some interest, then sighed. “I can just imagine the gossip if I did that. Quite a decent girl, I admit, but my dear—the innkeeper’s daughter!”

  A burst of surprised laughter escaped him, for not only her accent, but her voice and mannerisms were a perfect replica of a confiding Lady Overton.

  Lily flushed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I think I shouldn’t have drunk the wine!”

  “I won’t tell Lady Overton,” he assured her. “But you are far too good at that. Who else can you be?”

  In rapid succession, she said a few words as Lady Barnaby, Lady Cecily, and Mrs. Lacey.

  As his laughter faded, an idea nudged at him.

  “A challenge,” he said. “Hold a conversation with me as Lady Lily Villin, a sweet young debutante being charming to her old uncle.”

  Leaning forward, she slapped his hand playfully. “My dear uncle, you are not old,” she scolded. “You have been so kind to me. I was just wondering if you could see your way to buy me this bonnet? I shall wear it when we visit you on Sunday.”

  “You are a wicked girl,” he said, amused.

  “Oh, no, Uncle, merely a trifle extravagant.” She batted her eyelashes. “It is the fault of my upbringing, but I really cannot do with less than twenty bonnets each Season, a dozen pairs of boots, shoes, and dancing slippers. And gowns! A different ensemble for every morning and every evening. You are such a good uncle.”

  He leaned forward, controlling his rising excitement, for her accent held true throughout her grasping little speech. She could be the perfect solution to at least one of his problems.

  “Would you really like these things?” he asked.

  “Of course not,” she scoffed, Lily once more. “Where on earth would I put them? Besides, I’ve always found something slightly sickening about wheedling.”

  “But you would like to see more of the world?” he pursued. “At least travel to London, and perhaps a different county to Sussex.”

  The smile died in her eyes. She looked wary, which hurt.

  He sat back, deliberately clearing all expression from his eyes, his face. “Compose yourself. I am not offering you a carte blanche, but a position. A temporary position.”

  Her breath caught. “In your household?”

  “Sort of, but not quite. I would pay you. You’d live with my sister, go into society, cultivate certain friendships and, hopefully, discover some things I need to know.”

  She closed her mouth, staring at him. “With my Lady Lily voice?”

  “It would be better for our purposes than Lady Overton’s.”

  A choke of laughter escaped her, but she said with regret, “I don’t think I could keep it up.”

  He shrugged. “A matter of mere practice.”

  She searched his eyes, his face, where she should have been able to read nothing but what he allowed her to see. But with Lily, he had no confidence in his powers of concealment. Besides, common sense was returning, reminding him of what he was really asking of her. The thought of putting her in danger made him feel queasy.

  And yet, this was the girl who had chased across the county after thieves, stood up to noble hostage-takers and French raiders. She possessed no shortage of character, courage, or ability to think and act for the best.

  But it seemed he did. “I’m sorry. I should not have asked it of you. It would not be right. Forgive me.”

  She did not drop her gaze. She drew in a deep breath. “But I want to do it. Give me a chance.”

  *

  This was her chance. To be close to Lord Torbridge. To help him in whatever it was he wanted. It was also a way to see a different kind of life, but mostly, she would have done anything for him.

  His gaze was locked to hers, turbulent, almost fierce.

  “It would be rude,” she pointed out, “to withdraw your offer.”

  “But it would be sane.” He nudged the wine bottle with his foot. “I should not have opened the second bottle. And perhaps I shouldn’t have given you any.”

  She held up her glass, which was more than half full. “I hardly think I’m foxed. And if you are, you hide it very well,” But then, he hid most things very well. “I accept your offer. When do you want me?”

  Heat flared in his eyes, and she hastily dropped her gaze, realizing what her words could have been construed. Did he want her in that way? Her stomach dived with excitement, with nerves, with hope.

  And yet, she had always known where such an attraction would lead. She brushed that aside, concentrating only on the immediate benefits. Going with him to London. Helping him.

  He dragged one long, elegant hand through his hair. “If your parents permit and you can be ready in time, we’ll leave tomorrow. Early enough to reach London by nightfall.”

  She smiled from pure happiness. “Tell me about the work I would do for you.”

  “Tomorrow will be time enough. I will need to speak to your father.”

  She nodded, trying to contain her elation, though she was sure it shone from her eyes, from her whole being. She raised the glass to her lips, then frowned and laid it on the hearth beside his. “I have been away too long. They will need me. But we will talk tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow,” he agreed with odd reluctance as she all but danced toward the door. She had reached it before she remembered her tray and had to go back and pick it up with an apologetic smile.

  His lips quirked in response, which made her happy, even though she could not read his expression.

  She rushed to catch up with her work, clearing the remains of meals from the taproom and the coffee room, serving ale in the taproom to help her father, then returning to the kitchen to help Bessie with the washing up.

  Only when Bessie had gone home, and things had quietened down, did she make a cup of tea for her mother and herself, and sit down at the kitchen table.

  “Lord Torbridge has offered me a position,” she said.

  Her mother paused in the act of lifting her cup. “What sort of a position? You already have one!”

  “Yes, I know. This would just be temporary, helping him with some problem in London.”

  Her mother stared. “In what capacity?”

  “I’m not quite sure yet, but I would be staying at his sister’s house.”

  Her mother’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “For how long?”

  “I don’t know yet. He said he would speak to you and Dad in the morning.”

  “Then we’d better warn your father now, give him time to come around,” She frowned at Lily. “You want to do this?”

  “More than anything.”

  Her mother reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Lily, men like him do not look at women like us. At least, if they do, it is only for one thing.”

  “I know that,” Lily said steadily.

  “Do you? Guard your heart, love, or you’ll lose everything.”

  “Don’t, Mother.” She snatched her hand back. “He does not see me in that way.”

  “Tell that to your father,” she said grimly.

  As it turned out, there was little opportunity to tell her father anything, for he flatly refused to allow it.

  “Flying off to London with you, from right under my nose?” he raged. “Who does he think he is? Of course, you will not go, not tomorrow, and not any other time either! By Christ, I would have thought better of him than this!”

  “No, no, Dad, you don’t understand,” she pleaded.

  “No, Lily,” he thundered. “In this case, it is you who don’t understand! I’ve known gentlemen like him all my life, and you will go nowhere with him! Never! And that is the end of the matter. I’ll hear no more about it.”

  He stormed off, leaving Lily staring after him in dismay. She couldn’t remember him ever opposing her with such certainty before. He truly meant it.

  Lily was gentle in nature and slow to anger. Moreover, she loved and valued her parents and had no desire to displease them. But anger that they would deprive her of this opportunity surged. How dare her father doubt Lord Torbridge? Or his daughter, come to that. In her not infrequent dealings with entitled young noblemen, she had more than once had to turn aside indecent proposals and had managed in such a way that preserved their good humor and their custom. Why should Torbridge be any different?

  Well, he was different. Her father probably knew that, as her mother obviously did, although she had never said a word on the subject until now. Still, he should trust her, trust his lordship, and keep his vulgar suspicions to himself! He just didn’t want her to leave. He wanted her to stay here forever and ever and marry Ned Bunton to give him an heir for the Hart.

  She rushed out of the kitchen and upstairs, meaning to go all the way to her chamber at the top of the house. But halfway up the second flight, she paused and ran back down to the guest chambers on the first floor.

  Lord Torbridge had been given the best one as a matter of course, and she knocked on his door without hesitation.

  It opened almost immediately. Torbridge stood there, his eyes widening at the sight of her, so stunned that he didn’t even move when she brushed past him into the room. He closed the door and swung around to face her.

  He wore only his loosened shirt and pantaloons. His waistcoat and cravat had been thrown over a chair, and his boots resided on the floor beside the bed, as though he’d just taken them off.

  She gave him no time to ask what she wanted at this hour. He had sent for nothing, merely gone up to his chamber without touching the rest of the wine. She knew that because she’d cleared away the bottles and glasses when the parlor was empty.

  “My father won’t let me come,” she blurted. “So, we’ll have to leave secretly.”

  He blinked. “We’ll do no such thing.”

  She almost laughed, rubbing her fingers across her forehead. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I know you are not exactly the prim and proper gentleman you pretend to be.”

  “I’m not sure I care for prim, but I hope I am proper. In any case, I will not take you without your parents’ approval. I’ll speak to them in the morning. If I try tonight, I imagine I’ll get nowhere with your father, except kicked out.”

  “Could he?” she asked, distracted from the main point.

  “Could he what?” Lord Torbridge demanded, frowning.

  “Kick you out.”

 

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