Mary Balogh - One Night for Love

"Lily," he said.

"Yes." And suddenly she knew that all her anxieties had been very foolish indeed. "Hello, Neville."

She set her hand in his.

***

There were a number of guests already at the house even though the birthday party was still one day away. Dinner was a crowded and noisy affair. His mother, Neville was pleased to note, had seated Portfrey at her right hand, Lily at her left. They were far distant from his place at the head of the table. Apart from those moments on the terrace during the afternoon, there had been scarcely a chance to exchange a word with her.

He did not really mind. He was content for the moment to observe, to watch her, to note the changes a few months had wrought in her. He remembered Elizabeth telling him at one time that new knowledge and skills did not change a person but merely added to what was already there. It was true of Lily. She was fashionable and poised and animated. Gone was the terrible sense of inadequacy that had tongue-tied her in genteel company—in female company, at least—when she was last at Newbury Abbey. She talked as much as anyone and more than many. She smiled and laughed.

But she was still Lily. She was Lily as she had been created to be—but free now to find joy in any company and in any surroundings.

He caught snippets of her conversation for the simple reason that she seemed somehow to be the focus of attention with everyone and there was often near silence along the length of the table as everyone leaned forward to hear her—when Joseph asked her how her reading skills were coming along, for example.

"Oh, you would lose a very large wager if you were foolish enough to make one now, I do assure you," she told him. "I read very well indeed. Do I not, Elizabeth? I can read a whole page in half an hour, I daresay, if there are no distractions and no very long words. And I do not have to say the words aloud or even mouth them silently. What do you think of that , Joseph?" She laughed merrily at her own expense, a sound that was echoed along the table.

"I think I would fall asleep long before you reached the end of the page, Lily," Joseph said, yawning, the fingers of one hand delicately patting his mouth.

She was delightful, Neville thought, trying to take his eyes off her occasionally so that he could keep up a conversation with the relatives who sat closer to him. It was not easy to do.

Oh, yes, she was still Lily, he thought a few minutes later. One of the footmen leaned across the table beside her to remove a dish, and she looked up at him, her face brightening with recognition.

"Mr. Jones!" she exclaimed. "How do you do?"

Poor Jones almost dropped the dish. He blushed scarlet and mumbled something that Neville did not catch.

"Oh, I know," Lily said, instantly contrite. "I do apologize for embarrassing you. I shall come down to the kitchen tomorrow morning if I may and chat with everyone. It seems an age since I saw you all."

His mother, Neville noticed, was smiling at Lily with what looked to be genuine affection.

"If you do not mind, that is, ma'am," Lily said, turning to her. "I forget that I am not at home. I often go down to the kitchen at home, do I not, Father? It is the coziest room in the house, and I can always be sure of finding something useful to do there. Father does not mind."

"And neither do I, child," the countess said, patting her hand on the table.

"One quickly learns, ma'am," the Duke of Portfrey said with a sigh, "that daughters were created for the express purpose of wrapping their fathers about their little fingers."

He looked like a different man, Neville had noticed almost from the moment of his arrival. There was a glow of happiness about him, and he did little if anything to disguise the enormous pride he felt in his daughter.

Later, in the drawing room, Lily made herself charming to everyone, sitting and talking with each of his aunts and with his mother. After the tea tray had been removed and some of the cousins had gone into the music room to entertain themselves with music, she sat for a while with Lauren and talked earnestly to her, holding her hand as she did so. And then Gwen was bending over her, saying something, and they smiled at each other before going into the music room arm in arm.

It must be a difficult evening for Lauren, Neville thought sadly. There had been a certain awkwardness between them since his return from London—she had not after all gone to Yorkshire—for though nothing had been said in their hearing, they both knew that speculation was rife in the neighborhood about his future plans. Did he intend to offer for Lady Lilian Montague, or did he intend to renew his plans to marry Lauren?

He and Lauren both knew the answer. But it had never been put into words between them. How could it be? How could he tell her that he had no intention of renewing his addresses to her without implying that she expected such a thing? And how could she tell him that she understood there could be nothing more between them than friendship without implying that she expected him to marry her?

But as always she behaved with outer poise and dignity. There was no knowing what went on in her mind.

He had loved Lily for a long time. He had not thought it possible back in the spring to love her more. But he did. He had tried to live his old life without brooding constantly about her. He had tried not to be too certain that she would in her own time come back to him.

But one sight of her had banished all pretense from his mind. Without Lily life would have very little meaning for him. She was sunshine and warmth and laughter. She was… Well, she was simply his love.

He kept his distance from her. He would not rush her even though there was an inevitability to the way this visit was developing. She had come with her father to celebrate a birthday party. He would allow her to enjoy it, then—tomorrow. But after tomorrow…

All his dreams rested upon what would surely happen after tomorrow. He refused to doubt, to fear.

***

Lauren and Gwendoline did not go immediately to bed when they returned to the dower house even though the hour was late. They sat together in the sitting room, in which a fire had been lit. It was a smaller, cozier room than the drawing room. They both gazed into the depths of the crackling flames for a while without talking.

"Do you know what she told me?" Lauren said at last.

"What?" Gwendoline asked. There was no need to clarify about whom they were talking.

"She told me that she knows I must resent her," Lauren said. "She told me that she resented me too last spring because I was so perfect, the model of what all ladies should be, so much more suited to being Neville's countess than she was. She told me that she admires my restraint, my dignity, my unfailing kindness to her despite what my real feelings must be. She asked me to forgive her for ever doubting my motives."

"She is right to have spoken so openly of what is between you," Gwendoline said. "She does speak her mind, does she not?"

"She is—" Lauren closed her eyes. "She is the woman Neville wants. Did you notice the way he looked at her all evening? Did you see his eyes ?"

"She told me," Gwendoline said quietly, "that she knew she had hurt me by stepping all unbidden into the midst of my family when I had not finished grieving for Vernon or adjusting to all the upheavals of my life. She asked me to forgive her. She was not being obsequious, Lauren. She meant it. I still wish it were possible to hate her, but it is not, is it? She is so very likable."

Lauren smiled into the fire.

"When I said that," Gwendoline added hastily, "I did not mean—"

"That you do not therefore like me?" Lauren said, looking at her. "No, of course not, Gwen. Why should it mean that? She is not my rival. Neville and I would have married if she had not come, but it is a good thing she did. Ours would not have been a love match."