Page 96 of Wild Lily
“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 fromthere. 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.”
