Mary Balogh - One Night for Love

Lily was feeling depressed. Neville had made a quick recovery after coming out of his fever, as might have been expected of a seasoned soldier, and had returned to Kilbourne House two days later. He had called the day after that, but only briefly to announce that he was leaving town for a few days. He had not explained either where he was going or when he expected to return—if he ever did. His manner had been abrupt and impersonal, though he had taken Lily's hands in his when he took his leave. Elizabeth had been in the room too.

"Lily," he had said, "you will promise me, if you please, not to leave this house alone and not to leave any room in a house other than this without company."

He had waited for her answer. It had not seemed an appropriate moment to assert her independence. Anyway, she would have done as he suggested even if he had not asked it of her.

"I promise."

He had squeezed her hands, hesitated a moment, and then said more. "When you do leave this house," he had told her, "you may sense that you are being watched and followed. You must not be alarmed even though you will be right. There will be more than one of them—watching out for your safety."

Her eyes had widened, but she had not argued. It was no longer possible to persuade herself that she had been imagining any of the attacks on her life. And he had earned the right—with a bullet in his shoulder—to show an active concern for her safety.

She had nodded again and he had left after squeezing her hands once more and bending toward her to place one light kiss on her cheek.

Since then she had gone driving in the park twice at the fashionable hour with Elizabeth and the Duke of Portfrey, and she had been to one private dinner at the Duke of Anburey's and one select soiree at the home of one of Elizabeth's friends—a lady with a reputation as a bluestocking. And her lessons had resumed.

She had thrown herself into her studies with a frenzy of energy and determination. At last she seemed to have passed a frustrating plateau and could see progress again in almost all skills except embroidery.

But she was depressed. No progress had been made in apprehending the man who had tried on three separate occasions to kill her. She had kept quiet about her own groundless suspicions. There were no clues, no leads. But in the meantime she felt as if she lived in a cage. She could go nowhere alone even though the weather had been uniformly glorious and the early mornings had beckoned her with an almost irresistible invitation. And even when she was from home she felt the presence of her guards.

Her nerves were feeling frayed. Elizabeth had mentioned quite casually that she was glad to have learned that Lauren was going to her grandfather's in Yorkshire. A change of scene would be good for her.

When had she left?

"Did Gwendoline go with her?" Lily had asked.

But Lauren had intended going alone. Had she really gone to Yorkshire ? Lily could not help asking herself. But it was absurd. Lauren, though she rode, was not the type to gallop astride across the open stretches of Hyde Park. And one could not somehow imagine her aiming and firing a pistol. Or thrusting a rock from its moorings on top of a cliff. But even so…

Worst of all, Neville was gone—just at the time when Lily had thought there was a new courtship between them and he was on the verge of declaring himself. She tried not to think about him. She had a life to live. But that life was so very dreary at present. She looked forward to the evening party Elizabeth had been planning for several weeks. It was expected to be a large gathering. Lily's fame had reached new heights after the incident at Vauxhall. Besides, invitations to Elizabeth's select parties were always coveted.

Lily dressed carefully for the occasion. She intended to enjoy herself and to acquit herself well. She was to be in the nature of a hostess since she lived here, and that was an entirely new venture for her.

"What do you think, Dolly?" she asked her maid before going downstairs. "Am I beautiful or am I beautiful?" She pirouetted, her arms held gracefully to the sides.

"Well, I don't know as how either word would describe you exactly, my lady," Dolly said, her head tipped to one side, one finger against her chin—Dolly had never stopped addressing her as if she were a countess. "If you was to ask me—which you are doing —I would say you look beautiful."

They both laughed, tickled at the sorry joke.

"You always look lovely in white," Dolly continued. "And lots of ladies would kill for all that fine lace. You need some jewelry, though."

"Shall I wear the diamonds or the rubies?"

They chuckled together again, and Lily fetched her locket from the drawer beside her bed. She had not worn it since Vauxhall—that very special occasion that had gone all awry. But she would not be superstitious. She touched a hand to it after Dolly had clasped it about her neck. Oh yes, he had been right, she thought, closing her eyes briefly. The locket made her papa seem closer and reminded her of her mama. But most of all it made her think of him taking her to the jeweler's to have the chain mended so that she could wear it again.

"He will come back, my lady," Dolly said.

Lily looked at her, startled. Her maid was nodding sagely.

"Gracious," Lily lied, "I was not even thinking of him, Dolly."

"Then how do you know which him I was talking about?" Dolly asked saucily, and went off into peals of laughter again.

Lily was still smiling as she went downstairs. The guests began arriving almost immediately, and she had no time for further thought or brooding. She concentrated on her posture and smiles, on listening and on saying the right things. It was not so very difficult after all, she was finding, to mingle with the ton . And most people were kind to her.

She was in the book room about an hour later with Elizabeth, the Marquess of Attingsborough, and two other gentlemen. Mr. Wylie had asked her in the drawing room if she had taken out a subscription to any of the libraries, and the marquess had informed him that Miss Doyle could not read but they would not hold that against her as she was certainly one of the loveliest young ladies in town. Lily had been unwise enough to protest indignantly that indeed she could read.

Joseph had grinned at her. "People who tell fibs, you know, Lily," he had said, "go straight to hell when they die."

"Then I shall prove it to you," she had told him.

That was why they were in the book room. Lily had challenged the marquess to withdraw any book from any shelf and she would read the first sentence aloud.

"Are there any books of sermons here, Elizabeth?" he asked, looking along the shelves.

"I say," Mr. Wylie told Lily, "I would take your word for it, Miss Doyle. I am sure you read very prettily indeed. And I cannot see that it matters if you don't. I was merely making conversation."

Lily smiled at him.

"Gallantry to ladies," Elizabeth said, "was never Joseph's strongest point, Mr. Wylie. There are no sermons, Joseph. I hear enough at church on Sundays."

"A shame," he muttered. "Ah, here, this will do— The Pilgrim's Progress ." He made a great to-do about drawing the leather-bound volume from the shelf and opening it to the first page before handing the book to Lily.

She was laughing and feeling horribly flustered at the same time. She felt even more embarrassed when someone else appeared in the doorway and she saw that it was the Duke of Portfrey. He must have just arrived and had come to greet Elizabeth.

"Ah, Lyndon," she said, "Joseph has insulted Lily by claiming that she is illiterate. She is about to prove him wrong."

The duke smiled and stood where he was in the doorway, his hands clasped behind him. "We should have had a wager on it, Attingsborough," he said. "I would be about to relieve you of a fortune."