Page 25 of Not Quite a Lady
An early night, then tomorrow make contact with the remaining names on his list and see how many would be prepared to give him appointments.
And how many of the great and the good – and the less great, but wealthy – would be willing to spare some time to plain Mr Lovell and his schemes? Was he right to follow his instincts, and his pride, and try and sell this on its merits alone, or should he come clean and use what might be a weapon, if only his pride would stomach it?
Jack straightened and went over to the window, blowing out the candle as he went. Below, in the garden, someone was moving about, he could hear the crunch of gravel underfoot.
A housebreaker? They carried no lantern, but they seemed to be making no attempt to hide themselves either. Then, as his eyes accustomed themselves to the gloom, he saw it was a woman, her long cloak brushing the ground behind her as she paced up and down.
Mrs Herrick? No, this figure moved with a youthful grace. Lily then. But she should be frittering the evening away at that reception or dance or rout or whatever it was she said she was attending.
He shrugged, it was her garden, she could do what she wanted in it. Jack half-turned, then looked back. Something indefinable about the pacing figure said unhappiness to him. Unhappiness and indecision.
He should leave her to her private thoughts. Then he recalled how his sisters sometimes welcomed his shoulder to cry on when they would not share their troubles with anyone else, even with Mama.
She could always tell him to go away if she did not want his company. Pulling on his coat, he opened the door and went down to the garden.
He paused in the shadow of the wall, not wanting to alarm her, certain he had made no noise, but she swung round, the heavy cloak swirling around her, the sudden flash of white skirts showing beneath it like sea foam in moonlight.
Then she was still again, a dark column amidst the shadows of the arbour. ‘Jack?’
‘Yes. I did not mean to startle you. I wondered if perhaps something was wrong.’
Lily laughed shortly. ‘You might say so.’
‘The party was not a success?’ he persisted, coming closer,still uncertain whether she welcomed his presence or not.
‘I was…I was snubbed. Some people I thought were old friends cut me dead. I had a horrible encounter with Lady Angela and… and when I went out into the loggia to be alone someone followed me and tried to kiss me and made disgusting suggestions. He implied that Adrian and I had…had…’
She spun round until her back was to Jack and her voice was muffled as she added vehemently, ‘And we havenot.’
‘Oh, Lily.’ He took a long stride forward and caught her in his arms, turning her so she was held against him. ‘Of course not.’
‘Yes, but I almost did, that is why I feel sosmirched.’
She bent back her head so she could look up into his face. The moonlight caught her and he could see the unshed tears glimmering in her eyes.
‘I thought I ought to – Aunt said I ought to do it in order tocatchhim, and I almost did. How I could ever have contemplated it, even for a minute?’
‘But you didn’t,’ Jack repeated. ‘That is all that matters.’
‘I ran away and you rescued me.’ That seemed to provoke more sadness than comfort: there was an unmistakeable sniff from the region of his neck cloth.
Acting on instinct and ignoring the voice of caution which was telling him firmly to find her a handkerchief and send her back inside to her aunt’s care, Jack caught Lily up in his arms and carried her into the arbour to where a wooden bench curved under the tangle of climbing roses.
Lily found herself on Jack’s knee, held firmly against his chest.
‘Now, here is a handkerchief. Blow your nose and tell me all about it.’
It was a very large handkerchief. Lily blew her nose with more force than elegance and sat up. Jack’s arm stayed round her andshe made no effort to free herself.
‘Tell me. It will all sound much better when you say it out loud instead of it churning round and round inside your head.’
‘All right.’ Lily started off reluctantly, but Jack’s very stillness, the concentration with which he was listening to her, gave her confidence.
‘…And then I used my knee and, well, he stopped,’ she concluded.
‘I should imagine he did. What is his name?’
‘Lord Dovercourt. Why?’
