Authors: Elizabeth Squire
Right. Brave the dragon and meet the antidote. Last time he’d braved Marguerite Woolner, he’d walked away scorched to the bone. This didn’t bode well. And he’d probably have to dance with the chit. There’d better be some bloody fine brandy on offer; it was the least that Martinbury could do.
***
‘How about this one, Yvette?’ Liliane held up a pale blue ribbon for inspection. ‘The colour is subtle enough not to detract from your dress, but it would complement your eyes beautifully.’ She held the ribbon against her cousin’s face. ‘It has a sheen to it that makes your eyes look more like a silvery blue than grey.’
Yvette held the ribbon against her and looked into the mirror. ‘You’re right, it’s perfect. But what about you. Have you found something to go in your hair yet?’
Liliane shook her head contemplatively and looked around the shop. She’d already dug through every roll of ribbon on display, and discarded each of them. She sighed. ‘No, I’m not sure what would look best. What do you think?’
‘Hairpins, each topped with a sparkling diamante. In the candle light, they’d glisten like raindrops. Look, these are perfect.’ Yvette picked up a handful of hairpins from a table to the side of the front counter and slid them into Liliane’s dark lustrous hair. ‘See the effect? Now, imagine how well they would look with your shimmering dress and silver dancing slippers. You’d positively sparkle, from tip to toe.’
Liliane fiddled with the hairpins and stood before the mirror. ‘You always know instinctively what will look good, whereas I’d have ended up getting Marthe to weave a couple of rose buds into my hair and be done with it.’
From her place beside the counter, Marthe nodded enthusiastically. ‘They’ll look good, Miss Desailly, just what you need to finish off your coiffure. Roses would look lack-lustre.’
Not giving herself a chance to change her mind, Liliane paid for the hairpins. ‘Then I think we are done.’
‘Good,’ smiled Yvette. ‘I propose that we go to Gunter’s, I’m desperate to try a cherry ice.’
Stepping outside of the haberdashery, Liliane slipped her purchases into her reticule and linked arms with Yvette. Marthe, accustomed to their idle chatter, followed several paces behind. With the amount of traffic on Bond Street today, it would be nigh impossible for her to hear anything anyway.
‘So,’ Yvette began, ‘Marthe asked me about the scar on your ribs this morning.’
Damn, she thought she’d been careful in keeping it hidden from her maid. ‘And what did you tell her?’
Yvette slid her a side long glance. ‘That you fell from your horse and a stick grazed you. I said that you hadn’t wished to alarm Great-Aunt Woolner, and that nothing more was to be said about it.’
Liliane relaxed her shoulders. ‘Thank you.’ They stopped at the corner and waited for a carriage to pass by before crossing over to Bruton Street. She cast a look back at her maid. It hadn’t been easy planning how to get to France without Marthe becoming suspicious, until Yvette had come up with the cunning idea of sending the household staff on holiday. The maid was still plying them with effusive thanks.
Yvette slowed her steps. ‘I haven’t pressed, Liliane, but you’ve been back several weeks now, and you have yet to tell me anything about the enigmatic Monsieur St Clair. You spent several days with the man, came home with a bullet wound in your side, but have told me nothing other than the bare facts.’
Liliane glanced at her cousin and then looked forward again. How could she tell Yvette what had happened when she didn’t even have the answer herself. She stopped, realising they were about to walk past the tea shop. She really needed to stop letting the slightest mention of Sin distract her so much. It was enough that she lay awake most nights remembering his sandalwood scent and the deep timbre of his voice and wishing she could hear it one more time, feel his touch once again. If Yvette kept peppering her with questions, she was likely to find herself blurting out the whole sorry story.
She gave herself a mental shake and ordered ices all ‘round. Outside she and Yvette found a table under the shade of a maple tree while Marthe went to watch the squirrels in the gardens.
No sooner had they sat than Yvette resumed her interrogation. ‘It’s not like you,’ she pressed, ‘to act so recklessly.’
‘I didn’t act recklessly,’ Liliane sighed. ‘I did what needed to be done to save Sin’s life.’
‘Sin?’
Liliane shrugged her shoulders. ‘That’s what he insisted I call him.’
‘I see. And did you?’
‘What, call him Sin?’
‘No. Sin.’
Liliane coughed loudly, the confection sliding down her throat in an icy avalanche. ‘
Yvette.
How could ask such a thing?’
Yvette sat frozen, her ice halfway to her mouth and forgotten. ‘Because you’ve been walking around glassy eyed and distracted since the day you arrived back in London. And because you have rejected four proposals in the last two years and now seem resigned to submitting to Lady Carrick’s insistence that you marry Freddy. Seriously, Liliane, Freddy Parkes of all people?’
Liliane took a great gulp of her strawberry ice. ‘I don’t see your point.’
‘My point is, running off and experiencing a grand passion is just the thing you would do if you decided you were going to then capitulate and play the dutiful niece.’ Yvette paused and wiped the melting cherry ice from her hand. ‘And from everything you’ve told me, Monsieur St Clair was as dashing and rakish as Freddy is moral and pompous … and you’re blushing.’
‘I—’
Yvette leaned forward and grabbed her hand. ‘It’s alright, you don’t need to say anything. Just know, I will keep your secret.’
Liliane’s eyes welled up and she looked gratefully at her cousin, her best friend. ‘I know you will. I’ll tell you one day—it’s just all too raw right now.’ Yvette nodded in understanding.
Taking another bite of her ice, Liliane looked out across the square. Two riders on the far side caught her attention. As she studied them she realised the first was her Uncle Nate. But who was the gentleman with him? Something vaguely familiar about him alerted her senses.
He controlled his chestnut stallion with the ease of someone accustomed to spending a lot of time in the saddle, yet his movements where measured and elegant. He was wearing a deep blue coat over buff breeches and his Hessians were polished to perfection. From this distance she couldn’t make out the details of his face and his hat obscured most of his hair. If she were to hazard a guess, though, it would be jet black, and his eyes would be a fathomless brown.
Liliane jerked upright and her blood ran cold. Sin. She stared intently at the man trying to make out his features. He was broad and muscular, and he moved with all the confidence of Sin. Her heart pounded against her chest and she felt her hands begin to tremble with shock. But no, it wasn’t possible. There was no way it could be him, not here in England, and most certainly not riding through Berkeley Square with Uncle Nate.
‘
Sweetie
, are you alright?’ Yvette laid a hand upon Liliane’s wrist.
Liliane gazed at the two horsemen a moment longer. ‘I’m fine. I just noticed Uncle Nate riding by, that’s all.’
‘But you’re crying. What’s up?’ Yvette gently queried.
Liliane shook her head. ‘It’s nothing. I think I’m just overly tired, what with all the excitement of my birthday ball tomorrow night.’ She gave an empty laugh and pushed aside the remainder of her ice and stood. ‘Come, it’s time to go home.’
She tried not to notice the delicate frown on Yvette’s face. She knew she’d been difficult to be around since her return to England. But there was a spark missing, and she just didn’t know how to reignite it. To make matters worse, poor Yvette had been the reluctant witness to her numerous arguments with Great-Aunt Woolner these past few weeks as she begged and pleaded to delay accepting any marriage proposals until next year. Liliane blinked back a tear. It seemed as vehemently as she argued, the Dowager Countess was equally resolute in her determination for her to marry before the end of this Season. Perhaps she could state her case one more time this afternoon when they were all gathered for tea.
***
‘My girl, I have grown tired of this conversation. You will be married, and that is final.’
Liliane resisted the urge to roll her eyes as her Great-Aunt sat ramrod straight with her mouth pinched in an uncompromising line. The blue feather atop the Dowager Countess’s turban vibrated in concert with her suppressed rage.
‘Aunt, I didn’t say I am not going to marry. All I have done is request a few concessions.’ Why did talking with her Great-Aunt always make her feel like an undisciplined child?
‘And I don’t wish to hear them.’ The matriarch of the family, her face a mask of rigid disapproval, picked up her cup of tea and held it delicately before her. Every element of her was pristine, from her iron grey coiffure artfully displayed beneath her turban to the tips of her elegantly gloved fingers and the rigidly starched cerulean blue spencer that was buttoned uncompromisingly to her throat.
‘Liliane, lest I remind you, you are about to turn five and twenty. With your mother’s indulgence in delaying your presentation until after your twentieth birthday, followed by her untimely demise, and your own choosiness, you are nigh well past a marriageable age. You should be grateful that someone is still willing to take you on—you shall marry as soon as it can be arranged.’
Now Liliane did huff. ‘I’m not precisely old, Aunt. I would wait forever for the one I loved.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I don’t think I am.’ Why did she even bother? This was yet another wasted argument.
The Dowager Countess of Carrick’s brows dipped further. ‘And now you are being deliberately impertinent.’ Placing her tea cup on the table, she proceeded to stand. ‘This interview is at an end. I shall have no more of this foolish talk. Your ball is tomorrow night and I expect you to behave.’
‘Just one moment, Aunt.’ Nate stepped away from where he had been lounging against the mantel piece. ‘Call it idle curiosity, but I would like to hear what Liliane has to say.’
Liliane drew a deep shaky breath. If she didn’t say this right, if she couldn’t convince them how important this was to her, she would have missed her chance. She looked around the room, usually her most favourite place to pass the time on a quiet afternoon. She loved the warmth of the Aubusson rugs, their brilliant hues of ivory and gold, and their embellishments of pink roses. The walls were adorned with luscious silk hangings in the palest shades of green and large gilded mirrors designed to capture and magnifying the light. But it was the windows that most attracted her, opening as they did over the gardens, which in summer time were a riotous mess of flowers.
Fixing her gaze on the figurine of a red robin displayed atop the Queen Anne table between the windows, she gathered together the words that she would need. ‘While I would prefer to have this last Season dedicated to simply enjoying myself, I have consented to marry a gentleman of your choice, this year. But, I have three requests.’ Liliane looked at Nate to ensure she had his undivided attention. She didn’t dare look towards her Great-Aunt.
Nate quirked and eyebrow and indicated that she should continue.
‘Firstly, I don’t wish to accept any offers of marriage until the last week of the Season. Secondly,’ she ticked off her finger, ‘I don’t wish to be married until December when we all adjourn to Manning Grange for Christmas.’ Liliane steadied herself. ‘And, thirdly, I would like permission for Yvette and I to visit our cousin Solange in September.’
Liliane maintained eye contact with her uncle and resisted the urge to squeeze her eyes tightly closed. She was deeply conscious of Yvette sitting quietly in a corner chair, her hands clasped and head bowed to avoid drawing attention to herself. Not because she feared becoming the recipient of the Dowager’s wrath, but because she would be the one to step in and play peacemaker once this latest battle of wills had been fought.
The air in the room positively crackled with tension. Great-Aunt Woolner was the first to break the silence. ‘Absolutely unheard of. I have allowed you to entertain your fanciful notions for far too long. You will marry at St George’s in June. It is already booked.’
Aghast, Liliane stood abruptly. This could not be happening. Her afternoon tea turned to acid in her stomach. ‘I don’t believe I have selected my bridegroom yet, Aunt.’
‘Sit down, girl, and behave with some decorum. I—’
‘Thank you, Aunt, but please remember, in accordance with her father’s will, I am Liliane’s legal guardian until she marries, and ultimately, I will have the final say pertaining to who and when she marries.’
Nate directed a pointed look at his late father’s sister as she sat huffing and gasping for something to say. Turning to Liliane, he continued. ‘Now Liliane, I don’t deny you have some unusual requests.’ He held up a staying hand as she sought to elaborate. ‘However, I take no issue with you wanting to delay any prospective betrothal, and I certainly have no objection to a Christmas wedding.’ He indicated towards his Aunt. ‘My lady, I regret, but you will just have to cancel the booking at St George’s. Family tradition has seen most of our brides wed at Manning Grange anyway.’
Marguerite Woolner stood, her slender body trembled with outrage. ‘This—’
‘Aunt, please sit back down,’ Nate quietly instructed.
‘But—’
‘
Aunt!
’ Nate waited until his Aunt subsided back into her seat and continued. ‘While I find, Liliane, that I’m accepting of your first two requests, I am unable to approve your third. Your idea to travel to France is foolhardy. I should think that after a busy Season you will be grateful for some respite in the country.’
Liliane walked to the window where she stood and looked out onto the gardens below. The flower beds were a riot of spectacular colour, but today they could not compete with the ash grey cloud of misery that threatened to subsume her. She bit down hard on her bottom lip to stop it from trembling. She’d bought the time she so desperately needed in order to resolve matters with Sin, but getting back to France was going to take some orchestrating. And she may have just crushed any chance she had of slipping away unnoticed again.