Page 65 of Never a Duchess
Heavens! The world was full of reprobates.
The mantel clock chimed four.
Would Dounreay be home?
Was he meeting Mr Daventry to withdraw his assistance?
Her vision blurred as tears gathered in her eyes.
Knowing not to trust a word from either suspect’s lips, and not wishing to stay a second longer, she thanked them for their time and hurried to join Ailsa in the carriage.
As soon as her bottom hit the seat, Lord Denton, whose vehicle was parked across the street, took it as his cue to leave.
Ailsa watched the lord’s elegant equipage lurch forward. “Och, that man is insufferable. He plans to steal my book. Told me so as plain as day.”
“It’s an auction, and he collects old books. He means to bid on the tome because he wants it for his collection.”
Ailsa huffed. “Why would he want a Tudor woman’s diary unless he means to torment me?”
“Because it’s three hundred years old and extremely rare. He might wonder why you want another book written in Latin when you have many in your collection.”
“He’ll drive up the price,” Ailsa said, fretting.
In the scheme of what might have happened to her father, losing a book one didn’t own should hardly cause sleepless nights.
Losing a friend, losing a man that made one’s toes curl, one’s heart beat so fast it might burst from one’s chest—that was a reason to lie awake, crying in the darkness.
ChapterTwelve
Despite returning home to a house full of people, Lillian felt cold, desolate, so dreadfully alone. She crossed the landing to her bedchamber, her limbs so heavy it was like trudging through gorse and bracken on a walk up a never-ending hill.
Noises permeated the air: the children’s squeals, the creak of boards, the distant clang of pans in the kitchen, the chime of the long case clock echoing like a death knell.
One sound drowned out all others.
The whispers of her soul calling for Dounreay.
She needed to write a note to Mr Daventry—a perfect distraction from her troubles—yet she flopped onto the bed, battling her tears.
How could she find a way forward when she had spent her life avoiding intimacy? How could she trust these newfound feelings when she had been tricked before?
Eliza passed the open door before doubling back and coming to lean against the jamb. “Lillian. How was your day?”
“Exhausting.”
Heartbreaking.
“Have you decided what you’re wearing to dine with the duke? You’ve not much time to dither.” Eliza scanned the corridor as if scouting for eavesdroppers. “Although Adam means to allow you the freedom to make your own decisions, he is not finding the task easy. So I’ll ask you again, are you sure you want to visit Dounreay? You’ll have to arrive incognito.”
She would not be arriving at all.
“I’m not going. There’s been a change of plan.” Her blasé tone failed to reflect her inner turmoil. “I shall dine at home tonight.”
“At home?” Sensing something was wrong, Eliza slipped into the room and closed the door. “But I’ve never seen you as excited as you were this morning. What made you change your mind?”
For once, her mind hadn’t wavered.
For once, she wasn’t battling uncertainty.
