The Secret Heart, page 5
“Alas, no,” Millicent replied lightly, rising to her feet. “It is a matter of grief to both of us, but we have not been so blessed. Would you like to make some calls with me this afternoon?”
Lily accepted the change of conversation, though it bothered her slightly—not so much that her hostess clearly did not wish to discuss it, but the way her eyes seemed to shut down as soon as Lily mentioned children.
“Actually,” Lily said, “If you would let me, I thought I might spend the afternoon looking at your accounts and so on, and see if I can straighten things out for you a little.”
Millicent regarded her doubtfully. “Well, I’ll show you where things are, but I fully expect you to run screaming from the room within five minutes. I won’t mind, you know. I am happy to help Torbridge if I can, especially as I rather like you, Cousin Lily!”
Ridiculously pleased by this accolade, Lily followed her to the morning room, where an elegant desk stood, piled high with papers in one disorganized splaying heap. Even more worryingly, the corners of other documents stuck out of the drawers, as though they were stuffed too full to contain everything tidily.
“Oh dear,” Lily said faintly. “Are those all unpaid accounts?”
“Oh, no,” Millicent replied, much to Lily’s relief. “There are invitations and letters I haven’t answered, too.”
“Perhaps,” Lily said, “you had better tell me how much money you have now and when you will have access to more?”
Millicent replied in a slightly strangled voice, after which she recalled some other pressing duty and fled. Lily squared her shoulders and walked up to the desk. It was tempting just to sweep everything on to the floor, but she refrained. Instead, she tidied it into two large but relatively neat heaps on the left of the desk, leaving her space to work. It also revealed a pen in a stand.
Rummaging in the drawers, she discovered a bottle of ink, a knife to trim the pen, several sheets of expensive letter paper, and a notebook. She set to work and wrote down the figures Millicent had told her, hoping her vague hostess hadn’t simply plucked them from the air. Then she began going through the daunting piles of documents, sorting them into letters, invitations, and accounts, all in order of date, and filled the wastepaper basket with old invitation cards, advertisements, and other rubbish.
She was nearing the end of the first pile when a man walked into the room. She glanced up quickly, hoping it was Lord Torbridge, but it was a stranger who met her gaze. A gentleman of medium height, impeccably dressed, his brown hair cut short, the smile on his lips faintly sardonic.
“Cousin Lily, I can only assume? I’m George Masterton.”
Lily leaped to her feet, almost tumbling the chair in her hurry, and bobbed an awkward curtsey. “Sir George,” she murmured in her best Lady Lily accent. “I am so grateful for your kindness in letting me stay.”
Sir George raised his quizzing glass and inspected the desk. “Trust me, Miss Darrow, it will be nothing to my gratitude if you make sense of my wife’s correspondence.” The quizzing glass was lowered. “You are making impressive progress.”
“Thank you,” Lily said doubtfully. He was, she thought, an intelligent man, and not unkind. But there was something discontented, even unhappy, about him. “It shouldn’t take us too long.”
His lips twitched as though he recognized her attempt to include Millicent in the task for the loyal fiction it was. “I can only wish you luck. And look forward to becoming better acquainted over dinner. I understand Torbridge is also to join us.”
Her heart lifted at this good news, and she smiled at its bearer. Sir George blinked, smiled faintly in return, and bowed before departing. Lily returned to the task in hand.
When she had begun on the second pile, a footman brought her a cup of tea with a plate of scones and a slice of cake. She thanked him with some delight and carried on while she ate and drank.
She was just finishing her tea and wondering about lighting the candles when Millicent rushed in with great excitement. “The new gowns have arrived! Come up at once and see!”
Obligingly, Lily set the dressmaker’s respectful reminder from a year ago in its correct place in the to-do pile and followed her hostess upstairs. Emily and Prince were sent for, the bathtub filled with steaming water and scented oil, and she was sent to soak in it.
The luxury of doing more than a quick “dunk and scrub” in often cold water was unexpectedly blissful, and she was almost annoyed when Emily disturbed her to wash her hair and summon her to the main bedchamber.
Wrapped in soft towels, she emerged to discover her “court” had been joined by a hairdresser, who brushed out her hair, stared at her assessingly, and began to cut. With much of the weight removed, the natural wave of her hair was artfully used to curl around her face, while the rest was pinned high on her head. The hairdresser was dismissed, and Lily was dressed in new undergarments—a fine lawn chemise and silk stockings that seemed to caress her skin. Until she was tied into the instrument of torture they called stays.
At least Millicent granted her some reprieve here. “There is no need to lace them so tightly. She is hardly plump! Just enough to emphasize that shapely bosom. Excellent!”
The new lavender evening gown was thrown artfully over her head and laced up by Emily. Then everyone stared at her in the glass.
“Excellent,” Millicent pronounced.
“Jewelry, my lady,” Prince reminded her.
“Oh, the very thing! The sapphire necklace, Prince.”
“Oh no, Cousin,” Lily said, distressed. “You mustn’t lend me all your best things! Look, I have a little necklace here…”
She pulled the small, worn box from her dressing table drawer and opened it. It was a simple pendant on a short chain of twisted gold. The pendant itself was a small gold disk with a smaller gemstone stone at its center. It had always been her pride and joy, a Christening gift from a generous lady whose name her parents did not even know.
Emily took the necklace and fastened it about her neck. Worried that it would not be considered good enough, Lily looked anxiously at Millicent.
“Perfect,” Lady Masterton pronounced. Emily smiled. Even Prince nodded. “Now, I must change, too! How long do I have, Prince? Lily, don’t dare go down without me! I want to see Torbridge’s face when you walk into the room!”
Lily rather thought he would laugh to see the innkeeper’s daughter so elegantly dressed. She certainly didn’t look like Lily Villin anymore.
Chapter Five
Only fifteen minutes later, Millicent returned for her in a cloud of perfume and gauze, and swept her downstairs to the drawing room.
As soon as they sailed side-by-side through the open doors, she saw Lord Torbridge. Very smart and handsome in black evening clothes and snowy-white cravat, he stood by the mantelpiece with Sir George, laughing at some remark of his host’s. They both glanced over as the ladies entered, and the smile died on Lord Torbridge’s lips.
Lily’s heart sank, but she had a part to play and kept her expression amiable as the gentlemen bowed and greeted them.
“Do I have to make formal introductions?” Millicent asked.
“Not at all,” Sir George said. “Cousin Lily and I met this afternoon. I have to say, Millie, she has made a gallant effort to tidy your desk.”
“I looked after all my father’s business and correspondence,” Lily said and wondered ruefully how he was coping without her. “So, it is no hardship for me.”
“It seems a bit of a hardship,” Sir George observed, “when my wife was busy calling on friends.”
Millicent shrugged as if the criticism didn’t matter to her. Lily knew that it did, though she wasn’t quite sure how.
“Oh, Cousin Millie asked me to join her,” Lily said. “But I wanted to make a start. I like to be useful.”
“A glass of sherry,” Torbridge pronounced, handing a small glass to each lady.
As Lily accepted hers, he searched her face. His eyebrow lifted infinitesimally, and she knew he was asking about difficulties. She only smiled, for if she was a fish out of water here, it was still oddly fascinating.
For Lily, the evening passed in a far from unpleasant blur. She sat beside Torbridge, which was both exciting and comforting, for she could easily see which cutlery he used for which course. The meal seemed huge, like a banquet, and much more formal than anything she had encountered before. Servants delivered dish after dish, discreetly whipped away used crockery and cutlery, and refilled the glasses. It was a lot to observe and remember, especially while maintaining her accent and keeping track of the conversation.
Lord Torbridge and his sister clearly enjoyed an easy, bantering relationship that kept everyone amused, and Sir George, although often appearing more serious, was equally witty. Occasionally, they talked of things Lily had no idea about—literature or gossip or politics—but they seemed to see when she was struggling and dropped a few words of explanation. They neither left her out nor patronized her, and she began to enjoy herself.
Especially when Millicent rose from the table saying, “Come, Lily, let us leave the gentlemen to their wine.”
And Torbridge stood, drawing out her chair for her. There was a smile of approval in his eyes that almost made her preen. “You’re doing wonderfully well,” he murmured, and her happiness was complete.
*
“Very well, Torbridge,” Masterton drawled when the door had closed behind the ladies and he had pushed the decanter of port across the table. “What the devil are you up to?”
“I?” Torbridge said innocently, pouring himself a glassful.
“You and that girl you have foisted on Millie.”
“Cousin Lily,” Torbridge reproved, raising his glass in a toast. “To family.”
“To family,” Masterton agreed. “But that girl is no more your cousin than I am.”
Torbridge sat back and sipped his port, regarding his brother-in-law over the rim of his glass. “Why, who else could she be?”
“You tell me.”
“Very well, if you tell me what she did or said to give the game away.”
Masterton’s eyebrows flew up. “Nothing. Millie told me.”
Torbridge couldn’t help smiling. “I hoped she would,” he said vaguely.
Masterton was silent a moment. Then he said abruptly, “She would do anything for you, you know. I have no objection to her taking in this girl, but I need to know she will not lead Millie into harm.”
Torbridge paused with his glass halfway to his lips and lowered it to the table. “Lord, I hope not. The truth is, she has a task to carry out for me. I don’t anticipate she will have time to lead Millie astray, even supposing she knew how. I am, you will have perceived, relying on Millie to keep her on the straight and narrow.”
“Then she is not a lady?”
For some reason, the question irritated Torbridge. “She is not used to society.”
He met Masterton’s gaze, making up his mind. He liked his brother-in-law and had always trusted him with Millie’s safety, if not with always knowing the best way to deal with her. Trusting him with secrets of national security was something else entirely, but he followed his instincts. “I would like her to be invited, along with you and Millie, to Pennington Place.”
Masterton’s fingers tightened on his glass. He seemed to force himself to take a drink before he answered with quiet deliberation. “I do not care for Pennington.”
Torbridge knew why. In recent weeks, Pennington had made Millie the object of his gallantry. Not the only one, but the flirting had been definite. Torbridge had hoped the situation would cause Masterton to make some push to keep his wife’s affections. But in fact, it seemed to have the opposite effect. They seemed more divided than ever.
“Don’t care for him much myself,” Torbridge agreed. “He is a man of little substance. An exquisitely tailored coat, you might say, full only of wind. It’s his brother who interests me.”
“Jack?” Masterton looked surprised. “He’s a decent sort, though I wouldn’t call him a friend.”
“He does seem decent,” he said vaguely. “But I would like to make sure. I’m hoping there will be opportunities for Lily and me, between us, to find out.”
Masterton was silent. “There is an invitation. I would prefer to refuse it.” He waved one arm in irritation. “If you are going to be there, escort Millie by all means. I trust you to look after her.”
He swirled the brandy in his glass. “If I were you, I would go.”
Masterton’s smile was bitter. “You trust her so little?”
“I think… I don’t like this distance between you. Give her a reason to—”
“To choose her husband over a coat full of wind? It doesn’t seem a choice I should lose!”
“It isn’t,” Torbridge said mildly. “But the coat gives her some attention. It is, of course, up to you. Either way, I will do my best to look out for her. Shall we rejoin the ladies?”
Masterton grunted and downed the remains of his port.
In proposing an early return to the drawing room, Torbridge was, of course, avoiding any further uncomfortable conversation about relationships, while hoping his brother-in-law would take heed of his few wise words. But he was also conscious of a pull toward Lily like an unseen but unexpectedly strong thread between them.
They found Millie sitting at the pianoforte, with Lily standing beside her, one finger hovering over the keys while she listened to whatever Millie was saying. It was a pretty vignette, and Lily deprived him of breath. Not just because she was beautiful—she had always been beautiful—but because she was in his world.
And that was where the danger lay. Over the last year, he had made several visits to the Hart, some for duty, others just because he couldn’t stay away from her. But it had been a safe attraction, for he would not seduce a respectable girl, and any thought of marriage between people of such different classes was ridiculous. And yet, there she stood in his sister’s drawing room, in a fashionable gown with her hair elegantly dressed, and suddenly everything seemed possible.
Even though it wasn’t. Neither of them could change who they were.
“Do you play, Cousin Lily?” Masterton asked.
“Oh no,” Lily said hastily.
“But you do sing,” Torbridge said, just to see if she would. And because he had liked to hear her voice around the inn, sweet, soothing, and joyful as she went about her daily tasks.
Her eyes widened in surprise as if she hadn’t realized she was overheard. “I don’t think idle humming counts as an accomplishment.”
“I shall be the judge of that,” Millie said. “Sing, and I will play.”
Of course, they knew none of the same songs, but at last, Lily broke into a soft, traditional song of unrequited love, which Torbridge knew better than to take personally, and Millie supplied an approximate accompaniment. Even here, her untrained voice was delightful, and he was glad to hear Masterton ask her for another. To his surprise, without fuss, she broke into a very different, funny song that had them all in stitches.
Torbridge’s heart swelled with pride, though why he didn’t know. It wasn’t as if he had any hand in teaching her. But there were hidden parts to Lily, like unfurling petals, and emotion swelled within him when she came and sat on the sofa beside him.
“Well done,” he said warmly. “I’m glad to see you are not easily confounded or embarrassed.”
“I suppose if I was, I wouldn’t be doing this at all,” she mused. “Even for you.” She cast him a quick glance. “Will I embarrass you in public? Will I embarrass them?”
“No, I rather think not. You have learned astoundingly fast.”
“Just as well, because apparently, we are at home to morning callers tomorrow.”
“Excellent. And I will take you driving in the park at the fashionable hour of five.”
“Why?”
“The more you are out and about, the more likely you are to become acquainted with Jack Hill.”
“What if he does not notice me or does not like me?”
“I think it unlikely. But the main thing for the moment is to have you invited to Pennington Place with Millie.”
She nodded, a little uncertainly, causing him to ask, “Is something worrying you?”
“I’m pretending, acting. But I feel like…like a pig in lace,” she blurted. “I’m a rough innkeeper’s daughter shoved into silk, and I’m afraid everyone will see that and upset all your plans.”
He knew a pang of guilt, for he’d always been aware that what he was doing was unkind to her on many levels. “I always have other plans,” he assured her. “But I see no reason to fear any such thing. Your hosts have obviously taken to you.”
“Yes, but they are kind, too. I went to school, but I do not have their kind of education.”
“Neither do most of the other young ladies of the ton,” he said sardonically. “Truly, no one likes a blue-stocking. Just giggle and tell the gentlemen they are much too clever for you. They’ll believe you and think none the worse of you. And remember, a formal education is not the only kind that matters. You have more. You observe the life and events around you and learn from them.”
“Do I?” she asked doubtfully.
He held her gaze. “Yes. You do.”
Her breath gave a little hitch. He wanted to put his arms around her, whisk her away from everything either of them knew, and just be with her. Alone. He dragged his gaze free, searching for an easy topic of conversation, and became distracted by the necklace she wore, a simple pendant on a twisted gold chain.
“That is pretty.” Without thought, he reached out and lifted the pendant between two fingers. “It doesn’t look like Millie’s.”
Her breathing had quickened. He could see the pulse galloping at her throat, very close to his fingers. And his own heart hammered in response. She was not immune to him. He moved her. He didn’t know if it thrilled or terrified him.
“It isn’t Millie’s,” she whispered.
He released the necklace and sat back. “Forgive the liberty. Can I ask where it came from?”
