Liz Tyner - The Wallflower Duchess

She’d intended to tell him later that she’d burned it, but she’d forgotten about mentioning it the next time she saw him. She’d been too excited, telling him that her mother had decided to leave London. She’d not be pulled back and forth between her two parents’ homes any longer. She and Abigail would stay behind.

She wondered why she noticed so much of Edgeworth. She always had. But she supposed it was just because she’d known him her whole life.

Now, he glanced around the room at the soirée and his eyes didn’t stop on her. They didn’t even pause. Her stomach jolted. She knew, without any doubt, that even though he’d not looked at her, he’d seen her. He’d seen her just as clearly as he had on the day he’d glared up and into the window, staring because she’d taken his book.

His eyes reminded her of the story of the man who captured the sun’s rays and reflected them on to boats to light them afire—only Edgeworth’s flares were blue. It was mesmerising, the way he used them, almost like a knight might flash a sword tip in a certain direction, ready to slice someone in two.

Pretending not to be aware of him, she moved to the lemonade table. She kept her back to the men so she would not be tempted to watch Edgeworth. Music from the quartet drifted over her, and she smiled. The night would be perfect for Abigail.

‘Miss Hightower.’ She could not help herself from turning towards the words right behind her shoulder and the voice she instantly recognised. The voice sounded in direct opposition to his eyes. Perhaps, she thought, that was what made him fascinate her. Cool eyes. Warm voice, at least some of the time.

He reached around her, keeping his balance and not touching her, and lifted a glass to her hand.

‘Thank you,’ she said, tone low and attention safely on the lemonade. She looked up for a brief second, taking care not to linger.

He reached out, touching her elbow. ‘Would you like to dance?’

‘No.’ She looked at her feet and admitted, ‘My slippers pinch.’ But something was different. Something about him, and she couldn’t figure out what. Dancing with him—it almost seemed too close. Not that it ever had before. And he’d not asked her sister to dance first, she was certain of that.

‘You shouldn’t wear something painful,’ he said, looking in the direction of her feet.

‘That’s part of why I detest these events.’ She stopped suddenly. ‘I don’t detest them, I didn’t mean that.’ She did. An interloper. One step above a governess—only she knew some of the governesses had a better lineage than she did. One had once told her that. A pang of guilt burned in Lily’s stomach. She’d not so innocently told her mother what the woman had said and the woman had been sent on her way.

Now Lily held her chin level. ‘You look like your old self—frowning from ear to ear.’

A grin did flash, but he quickly hid it. ‘I don’t think one can frown from ear to ear.’

‘Oh, goodness,’ she said, blinking awe into her eyes. ‘You manage it regularly.’

‘Thank you, Miss Hightower. Your presence makes me capable of things I didn’t know possible. Such as my earlier recovery. I wanted to tell you that I remembered your visit to me when I was ill. I suspect I had so much laudanum in me I hardly knew what was real or imagined.’

‘I had little choice but to visit you,’ she said, a smile added. ‘Your mother was pacing outside, weeping, certain you weren’t going to make it. The temperature had turned back to winter and rain had started. I begged your mother to let me see you so I could get her out of the weather.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I may have been worried about you a hair. Just a hair.’ She smiled again.

‘As you had me planned for Abigail’s husband.’ His eyes iced over.

‘Not just that—and you know it. I’ve known you and your family all my life.’

‘Would you have been so concerned if it were my brother Andrew, or Steven, ill?’

‘Of course—’ she insisted. His eyes narrowed. ‘Of course,’ she added, speaking straight into the ice. But she softened her words with an upturn to her voice. ‘But they never caused me to be scarred for life. Growled at me. Or tried to convince me that unicorns did not exist.’

‘Fine. You win. The drawing you showed me did prove that unicorns are real and I hope you have finally saved enough to purchase one.’

‘I bought a doll instead.’

‘I did ask to see the unicorn when you purchased it.’ His shoulders turned to her.

She lowered her chin. ‘Even then, I was not fooled by your sincerity.’

The silence in the air between them was filled with shared memories of childhood.

‘Well, I do thank you for visiting me while I was ill,’ he spoke softly. ‘It meant a lot.’

‘Someone needed to make you mind your manners,’ she said.

‘What?’ He raised his brows.

‘When you were ill and Fox said that dreadful thing and—you—really shouldn’t have done that, you know.’

He shook his head, not following her meaning.

She looked over his shoulder and stared into space. ‘That gesture. The bad one.’

‘Ah...’ He shrugged. ‘I apologise. I was out of my head from the pain and the medicine and I didn’t realise you were there. Fox and my brothers and I don’t always speak gently to each other.’

She shook her head and censured him with her stare. ‘Your mother had stopped in the doorway. I had to make sure she didn’t see it.’ She leaned closer. ‘And then you were whispering that very bad word.’

‘I didn’t whisper anything.’

‘You did.’ She locked on to his gaze. ‘I had to speak to cover your words and get you quiet.’

She examined his face when she spoke to him, because he certainly wouldn’t say what he thought, and if not for the little—well—spasms of emotion that she could imagine, she wouldn’t have any idea what he might be thinking. His words didn’t give much away.

But he had been quite the different person when he was ill. In those moments she’d sat at his bedside, he’d needed her. She’d known it. She’d known he wouldn’t have wanted her sister—or any other woman—to see him sweating and restless, but he didn’t mind her being there at all. ‘You squeezed my hand and called me an angel,’ she said. ‘That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.’ She leaned in. ‘And you had to be out of your head to do it.’

He didn’t respond. Not even with his eyes.

‘What are you thinking?’ she asked.

‘That honesty is refreshing.’

‘Isn’t everyone honest to you? Mostly?’

‘If their opinion is what they think I wish to hear.’

‘Don’t let it concern you. Most people are like that.’

‘It does concern me. Most people won’t say what they’re thinking to me and it seems your words are a reflection of what you truly believe. Not just what is the more correct thing to say to a duke.’

‘Are you wishing you were born a second son?’ She asked the question aloud the moment she thought it.

He examined her face. ‘No. Not at all. I was born to be who I am. As we all are.’

Lily heard laughter break out at the other side of the room. She turned, forcing her attention from Edgeworth, but not truly noticing the others.

Lily wasn’t meant to be who she was. It was just her good fortune not to be living in a home with a fiery pit. ‘One would say your mother was born to be a duchess, too.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘One could say the same of you.’

She gulped in air and moved so that she held her glass with both hands for a second. ‘No. One couldn’t.’ Her heart warmed at his politeness. Edgeworth knew his manners.

‘Don’t disagree when I’m right,’ he said. ‘It’s true.’