Page 72 of Long Live the Baron
From behind her, Lady Slight gasped at the public display. It was not fashionable to like one’s husband, nor to be seen enjoying his company, but Lily could not care a fig for what other people might think. She was deliriously joyful, and the entire world could get hanged if they wished to complain. Her dreams had come true, and she would not apologize for it.
Dropping back on her heels, she drew a tremulous breath to calm her quickened pulse before turning back to the widow. “Whomever it was that my husband was with before me, I am ever so grateful that they set him free … so that I could catch him.”
Lily tilted her chin in challenge, daring the viscountess to say something, but Lady Slight could only open and close her mouth like a fish struggling for air. It was then, for a moment, that Lily felt a pang. The widow must be a very unhappy person deep down. Her life was empty. She had married a geriatric lord who had died shortly after they wed. She had no children, and she dabbled with men, changing paramours more frequently than Lily ordered a new pair of stays. These were not the actions of a content person. General Tzu would advise kindness to the fallen foe.
Letting Brendan go, Lily stepped forward to reach out and touch Lady Slight on the back of the hand, which flinched as if burned.
“I wish you the boundless joy of truly connecting with another person. Of opening your heart to another, and finding that you care more about them than your own self. I wish you a strong young husband and healthy children. And I wish you a long and full life filled with laughter, Lady Slight.”
With that, she turned back to take Brendan by the arm, and they walked away toward their carriage. Brendan lowered his hand over hers and smiled down at her with blazing eyes. Leaning in, he whispered in her ear, “I choose you, Lily Ridley. Every kind, fiery, honorable inch of you.”
Lily smiled back at him. “And I choose you, Brendan Ridley.”
EPILOGUE
“Knowledge of the disposition of the enemy can only be obtained from other men.”
Sun Tzu, L’Art de la Guerre (The Art of War)
* * *
After their afternoon shopping for books, Brendan watched Lily as she climbed the steps to change for dinner. Reflecting on how much his life had changed, he started toward the library when Michaels cleared his throat behind him.
Pausing, he spun on his heel. “What is it?”
The butler hesitated, blowing a breath. “The study is ready, milord.”
“The study?” Brendan’s mind was blank, trying to understand the butler’s point.
“We have … managed to … clean the floors, and a new rug has been placed. I took the liberty of moving the furniture and rearranging theobjets d’artto …” Words apparently failed. Despite the butler’s uncharacteristic awkwardness, Brendan surmised Michaels was attempting to inform him that all traces of the murder had been removed, including the offending sculpture.
A hand came up to knead his temple. Catching himself in the motion, Brendan realized that his tension had returned.
“I see.” Brendan had not entered the room since he had found the body. He supposed it might be time to reclaim his place of work. “After you.”
The butler gave a curt nod, then led the way to the study door. Opening it, he stepped aside to allow Brendan entry, who walked inside while Michaels remained in the hall.
The study had been lit, the oil lamps casting their flickering light in the dim room. Drapes had been tied back. His mahogany desk, which had faced east, now stood on the other side facing west. The rug had been replaced, a brighter spot of color in a room that was in need of remodeling.
Looking about, Brendan confirmed that the objects on the mantel over the fireplace had been rearranged, along with the contents of the shelves between the windows on the far wall.
“It was an excellent idea to rearrange the furnishings. I do not think walking in to find everything … To find it how it was that night would be macabre, to say the least.”
Michaels nodded. “It was a sad day for Ridley House, milord. I have no wish to think of it each time I enter the room.”
“Are you … holding up? It must be difficult to take a man’s life.”
Michaels pressed his lips together, gazing out the window for several seconds before replying. “It would have been inconceivable to allow Lady Filminster to be harmed. Her ladyship is a vibrant mistress to forge the next chapter of the Filminster title. I find myself quite looking forward to … the progression of the Ridley family.”
Brendan’s lips twisted into a smile. The oblique reference to Lily’s procreation was a subject that he, too, anticipated fondly.
Michaels left him, shutting the door, and Brendan walked over to the desk. His desk. He ran a hand over the polished surface, admiring the carved edges and elegant legs. It was good to be back. Dropping into the chair, he stretched his legs and contemplated the room.
Michaels had done excellent work refreshing it until it could be renovated. The Aubusson rug on the floor, in deep red and rich blue, already hinted at the improvements to be made by replacing the faded wallpaper.
Leaning back, he ran his hand over the decorative carving on the side of the desk facing him. He had always enjoyed writing in his journal, but since the late baron’s arrival in London, he had not had the opportunity to do so. His fingers found the clasp, the one he had discovered years ago when he had taken up residence in London. His mother had once shown him a similar drawer in a matching desk at Baydon Hall, so he had known to search for it.
The secret drawer sprung open, and he reached for his leather-bound journal. He caught sight of a loose page just as his hand made contact with it. Frowning, Brendan pulled the page and quill pen out, along with his journal, and placed them on the desk.
