Chapter Fifteen

Old Friends and New

1824

The Willoughbys, as was tradition, hosted the first ball of the season. With the betrothal, arrangements had been made weeks ago for Michael to attend with his fiancée’s family. After dining at the earl’s home, they traveled by carriage and arrived at the ball together. Lady Natalie seemed more relaxed in his company and even managed to carry on a polite conversation for most of the ride. She asked after his friends, for she had met Harris and Danbury on more than one occasion and knew they had attended school together. She seemed pleased to hear both Harris and Danbury would be attending tonight. She expressed how nice it was to have close friends at these events so one wasn’t always forced to make conversations with virtual strangers. Michael nodded and agreed.

Did she consider him a stranger?

Although he watched her lips move and stared into her eyes as she spoke, Michael’s thoughts were elsewhere.

If he could have ducked out of this damn ball, he would have.

It was understood, however, as Lady Natalie’s fiancé, he was to partner her for the first dance and later, the supper dance. He was expected then to escort her into the supper area and attend her during the meal. To suddenly back out of his commitments at this late hour would be a slight to both the lady and her family. He hadn’t any choice and was thus compelled to attend.

Thoughts of Lilly, however, plagued him.

He could not help but compare the seventeen-year-old girl from his past, brash and open, loving him unreservedly, to the woman he’d visited the other morning.

With maturity, her beauty had taken on a gossamer quality. Sitting in her aunt’s home, she had seemed ethereal, fragile, brittle even, before falling off to sleep. Pursuing her was futile, and yet, he hungered to know the woman she had become.

Although clouds threatened, rain held off as the sleek carriages lined up outside of the Willoughby mansion. Men and women of all sizes and ages, dressed in their finest evening wear, materialized like butterflies emerging from their cocoons as coach after coach moved slowly past the grand entrance. The gentlemen ushered ladies inside regally as befitted the exalted members of the ton. The Ravensdales, along with their guest the Duke of Cortland, were no exception.

Drawing the eyes of many, the betrothed couple made a striking pair. Natalie, only about six inches shorter than Michael, stood tall and elegant with her golden hair drawn up in a jeweled tiara. While she wore a pale-yellow chiffon gown, Michael wore mostly black. Duncan had used a touch of pomade to slick his black hair back, and it had held so far. Their wedding, scheduled for May, promised to be the pinnacle of the season.

Two of the earl’s sons were present as well. Michael had been pleasantly surprised to find them gentlemen modeled after their father. The other two sons, busy addressing concerns at a few of the earl’s northernmost properties, had been unable to come to London for the season. His future brothers-in-law were not a pack of dilettantes who spent their time whoring and drinking away their father’s fortune. So many sons of aristocrats failed to find worthy pursuits. It was a shame, really.

Lilly was nowhere to be seen in the reception line.

Had he expected to catch her watching him, once again, as he had all those years ago? The fleeting thought caused his heart to skip a beat.

It was good she was not here.

Without her as a distraction, he could concentrate on conversing with key political figures and cultivating new connections. Lady Natalie’s hand was tucked loosely into his arm as they mingled strategically, greeting old friends and meeting valuable new acquaintances. When the dancing commenced, he felt more himself as he led his betrothed onto the floor.

Natalie was graceful, calm, and poised. She was beautiful, and yet he wasn’t constantly tamping down amorous thoughts while holding her. Her father had raised her to be intelligent and perceptive. She would make an excellent duchess. He was happy to realize she wasn’t as enraptured with fashion as Lilly’s niece was, after all. He didn’t know how he would have coped with that. Following the first dance, he returned Lady Natalie to her mother’s side and relaxed with the youngest of Natalie’s older brothers, Joseph.

As a family with four marriageable sons, the Ravensdales’ popularity went unrivaled. This particular bachelor son, Joseph, seemed somewhat distracted. Before Michael could escape to the cardroom, Joseph leaned in and spoke conspiratorially.

“Say, Cortland, do you by chance have an acquaintance with any of the ladies standing near that fern. I must have an introduction to the brunette. I’ve never seen her before, and if I must dance with some of the debs tonight, I don’t find her objectionable…not objectionable at all.”

Michael laughed and turned in the direction Joseph indicated.

Oh, hell.

The brunette in question was none other than Miss Glenda Beauchamp. Although Glenda was rather stunning in an icy-blue confection of a dress, Michael’s eyes landed on the more diminutive woman beside her.

Wearing a plain navy dress with long sleeves and a high neck, Lilly appeared paler than usual. With her hair pulled back severely, she clutched the shawl wrapped around her shoulders as though it were a lifeline. She attempted, it seemed to Michael anyway, to appear staid and matronly. Had she but realized the truth—it was impossible to hide her beauty.

“I do,” Michael said thoughtfully. “Old friends of mine. Shall I present you?” They weaved their way across the room, and Michael confidently stepped into their circle.

Glenda welcomed him enthusiastically with sparkling eyes. She was a rather pretty girl—a child, really. Just so she didn’t wish to converse with him of fashion or embroidery.

“Your Grace, how wonderful to see you again! Isn’t this a beautiful ballroom? The candles and ribbons are so very festive!” She spoke to Michael, but her eyes stole several furtive glances at the younger gentleman beside him.

Michael bowed over her hand. “Miss Beauchamp, lovelier than ever. The ballroom needs no decorations when it is graced with ladies as ornamental as yourself. You are enjoying the festivities then?”

“Oh yes.” She again glanced toward Joseph Spencer.

“May I present my future brother-in-law, the youngest son of the Earl of Ravensdale, Mr. Joseph Spencer? Spencer, this is Lady Eleanor Sheffield’s great niece, Miss Glenda Beauchamp, newly arrived from Plymouth.”

Michael watched them bow and curtsy to one another, both more than a little flustered. It didn’t take long, however, before she’d promised young Spencer the supper dance. Joseph was writing his name on Glenda’s dance card when Lilly caught Michael’s eye. Apparently, she’d been eavesdropping on the conversation. She sent him an indulgent smile. Was she remembering a similar introduction?

Michael addressed her directly and proceeded to present her to Joseph as well. Lilly curtsied and gave Glenda and the young rogue her permission to take a turn about the ballroom. “Do not,” she said, “go outside.”

Michael stifled a chuckle. “You are looking more yourself this evening, Lilly. I take it you are in good health again?”

“Lady Beauchamp,” she hissed.

“Pardon?” Michael asked.

“Please, especially in public, address me as Lady Beauchamp.” She explained, “I do not wish to defend our past acquaintance or be the subject of gossip. Glenda must remain untouched by scandal. Her dowry is not very large, and it is imperative that…well, I am hoping she can make a good match this season.”

“She is young yet, Lil—Lady Beauchamp. Surely it’s not necessary for her to find a match her first year out?”

Lilly paused, reluctant to explain. “It would be best if she could. We are no longer…welcome at Beauchamp Manor. The new baron and his family have taken up residence and…we were lucky to have been allowed a year of mourning before they took possession. I have a small portion which has been settled upon us both, but a season does not come cheaply. After the spring, I am to be Aunt Eleanor’s companion, and Glenda is used to a more…pampered lifestyle.”

Michael was stunned. “Wasn’t the security of your future the very reason your father wished you to marry the baron in the first place? Is there no dower house available for you? Damn it, Lilly, what kind of man fails to provide for his family in the event of his early demise?” What kind of man had Beauchamp been? Knowing his home was entailed to a distant cousin, the man ought to have made better arrangements for the women he left behind.

“Your Grace, please, let it rest. It is done. I can only guess Beauchamp never imagined his time would be cut so short.” She glanced around, keenly aware of people chatting around them.

This was most definitely not a suitable place for this conversation. He ought not to be having this conversation with her at all. Michael presented his right arm, indicating they walk. He pulled her across the ballroom, down a short corridor, and then outside through some terrace doors. Anger burned within him.

No, more than that, he was incensed. Knowing Lilly had married in order to be cared for properly for the rest of her life was understandable. He’d accepted the fact. But discovering she had been left financially strapped and must now act as companion to her elderly aunt, when she herself was not yet seven-and-twenty did not sit well with him at all. Her husband had been consumptive, for Christ’s sake. The excuse that he had been unable to make proper arrangements for Lilly and his daughter didn’t wash. It revealed a selfish character indeed!

And this ought not to be Michael’s concern—but it was. Lilly was a woman who deserved to be protected. She deserved to be reminded of how beautiful she was every morning. She deserved to have carte blanche at dressmakers all over town.

She deserved to be loved.

Michael dragged her along, leading them to a small gazebo, away from the sound of the orchestra and the gaiety within the ballroom. Distant laughter carried over the garden. Once inside the gazebo, he indicated she sit on an ornamental bench and then paced across the small space a few times before turning to look at her.

“Tell me about your marriage,” he finally said. Something didn’t seem right. She’d been married to a baron, for God’s sake, and if George Bridge had had confidence in the man’s solvency, Lilly most definitely ought not to have been left in such straits. George Bridge had been stubborn and manipulative, but it had been for the sake of his daughter and wife’s fiscal security. He’d be turning in his grave if he had heard what Lilly was saying tonight.

“Did Beauchamp care for you well, while he was alive?”

Lilly shifted and looked at her hands. “Please, Michael don’t do this. There is nothing to gain by going into this…” She wouldn’t look at him. He would see the truth in her eyes.

“I want to know, Lilly. I need to know.” He went down on one knee before her so she would have no choice but to look into his eyes.

Lilly kept her gaze focused downwards, as though studying the polish of his boots. Her lashes fanned out on her delicate skin. As a younger man, he’d been determined to make her his—to protect her forever. And now he sensed she’d needed him more than he could have imagined. What had happened?

He touched her jaw lightly. “Please, tell me your husband treated you kindly.” Was he pleading? God, it was what he wanted to hear—what he needed to hear.

She allowed him to tilt her chin upwards. “Of course,” she said brightly.

Too brightly.

There it was—the brittleness. She was lying. Michael took hold of her hands. “Tell me the truth. Please, Lilly, tell me…It’s all right. It’s only me.”

As he waited, a cloud drifted over the moon, making it impossible to see her expression. And then her voice, tight and reluctant, pierced the darkness. “It was…not an…amicable marriage. But it is behind me now.”

Michael waited.

But Lilly remained mute, averting her face once again. With each second that passed, rage heated within him. Rage directed at a dead man.

And if he were truthful, directed at himself.

What kind of a person could ever be unkind to Lilly? Even though it had not been a love match, Lilly had been, still was, a tenderhearted, lovely, lovable girl. He was reminded, all at once, of everything he had loved about her.

She believed the best about others until they proved themselves unworthy. She welcomed new friends eagerly but had been extremely loyal to her family. She loved animals, for God’s sake, and flowers! What excuse would her husband have for treating her poorly?

And then it struck him, like a fist to the gut he knew. “You were not a virgin.”

Lilly emphatically shook her head from side to side. “Please, Michael, please, none of this matters anymore. Let it be.” She tried to pull her hands from his. She attempted to stand, but when Michael had knelt, his knee settled on the hem of her dress, effectively trapping her. Nausea and self-disgust engulfed him.

She had suffered. She had suffered at the hands of her husband. She had suffered at the hands of her husband because her innocence had already been taken.

Taken by himself.

Raggedly, Michael pulled her into his arms. To comfort her? To comfort himself? He was not sure. He’d been so caught up in his own troubles and later angry with her for not awaiting his return, he had selfishly not considered such an obvious dilemma for Lilly.

She had been so young. Of course, her husband would have expected her to be untouched. Had her parents suspected? Had they known? Mrs. Bridge had watched him suspiciously on several occasions. She’d interrupted them more than once as they’d hastily jumped apart and attempted to set themselves to rights.

“My fault,” Michael stated flatly. His face pressed against the tender skin just behind her ears. Tendrils of her hair caressed his face. So soft—his Lilly—so vulnerable.

Lilly shook her head. “No,” she denied. “We did not know, neither of us could have known.”

He held her tenderly. She stirred, as though to pull away, but he could not let her go. He wondered when she’d last been held. When she’d last been comforted by another human. He rubbed his hand along her back until she relaxed again.

“Lilly?” he prodded. And then, “Please? Tell me.” She’d never denied him anything before. In that moment, she was simply…Lilly. Nothing else mattered.

A shaft of moonlight settled upon her. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and then gave in to his request, voicing her memories.

“He hated that I was not…untouched,” Lilly began. “He would never treat me as his w-w-wife…He said, instead, I was his…his…” She began to shiver, and Michael held her tighter. “He refused to annul the marriage. He said, because of the scandal it would create for my family and for Glenda.”

As she spoke, Michael felt his eyes begin to sting.

“He came to my bed, after I was asleep, but not in a loving way, not in a way…and he did things so I could not have a child…He…said he’d rather die without an heir than for a whore—there was nothing I could do! My father was ill, and there was my mother…and Glenda…” The tremors running through her grew stronger. She ducked her head away from him, as though filled with shame.

Because of him…

Because he’d not come for her…

And he’d blamed her…

It could have been an hour. It could have been a minute. Guilt and shock stole even his sense of time upon realizing what she’d gone through.

After what felt like a lifetime of silence, Lilly squirmed and pushed him away.

His arms dropped listlessly.

“It is useless to visit this, Michael. I am unharmed. It happened. It is done.” When she raised her eyes, they held resignation. There were no words to soothe her. Nothing he did now could change the past.

“I am alive, and he is dead,” she persisted. “And I am free. Free to live a peaceful existence with my aunt. It will be so much better than…before…I will appreciate it greatly. We will do simple things: shop, go to garden parties, and perhaps even travel to the continent. She has given me carte blanche over her garden. I shall be content. You need not feel guilty, nor pity me, Michael. Please, leave me alone…Go to your fiancée. She is a lovely woman and probably wondering where you are this very moment.”

Of course, she was right. Her words made sense, even though his mind had not ceased echoing her words.

He invaded my bed, after I was asleep, but not in a loving way.

He did things so that I would not have a child.

There was nothing I could do!

Hatred toward Baron Beauchamp was only eclipsed by the loathing he felt for himself.

What a selfish cad! What a goddamned bastard he had been! So utterly irresponsible and selfish. He’d only considered his own pain at the time. He’d only considered what he had perceived to be her betrayal.

No wonder her smile was brittle. Michael had taken her innocence, and then that damned husband of hers had taken everything else.

What else had he done? He had to ask her, in case he had been informed incorrectly.

“You were not with child? You never carried my child…?” Sitting back on his heels, he implored her. How self-absorbed he was! He should not have left the matter of ascertaining her childlessness to somebody else. He should have gone to her himself! He’d made love to her! He’d promised her they would be together forever. He’d given up too easily, far too easily.

“No, Michael.” She shook her head. “There were times I had foolishly wished…but thank God, I was not.” An even more poignant sadness settled into her eyes, and she looked at her hands. “I was not.”

The unresolved issues from their affair were violent and messy. Seeing her, talking to her, touching her was akin to reopening a wound he hadn’t realized was festering. It was painful but, perhaps, necessary.

And then Lilly straightened her spine. Her eyes implored him. “When we were together at the waterfall…so many times I have returned there in my mind. My mother warned me about men, you see, that they would say anything…What I’m trying to say, to ask, was it…was I…When I couldn’t believe any longer that it had been about love and…” And then, “Michael, I have felt so ashamed of what I did. If it had not been love, then what was it?” Lilly covered her face with her hands. “Just tell me, even if you must lie, tell me it was more than that. I have spent years berating myself—”

Her torrent of words stopped when Michael tore her hands away from her face. In fevered desperation, his mouth sought hers almost violently.

She let out a cry and entwined her arms around his neck.

In less than a moment, the years fell away.

She was his dream, his soulmate, his past, his future.

She was his everything.

He trailed his mouth along her jaw to the tender skin behind her ear. As he did so, she tilted her head back and a choked sob escaped her.

It was only a moment, a moment of madness, but he couldn’t help himself. She was a lifeline, an oasis, a portal to joy.

He was not a free man.

Gasping, hating himself, Michael tore himself away from her.

“Good God, what the hell am I doing? Have I no honor? No control? Haven’t I caused enough pain?” He couldn’t look at her as he knelt there, once again aware of the distant laughter and music floating across the grass. And then, like a man who’d had far too much to drink, he clumsily pulled her to her feet. As she stood, there was a tearing sound. One foot was still on the hem of her dress, and it ripped partially when she rose. “Oh hell!”

He assured himself that she was steady and then took one, two, three steps away.

Ignoring the lace which had detached from her gown, Lilly lifted her dress and fled as though the hounds of hell chased her. Barely able to comprehend his own actions, he watched her disappear.

This was madness!

Anybody could have come across them! Jilting his fiancée was not an option. An honorable man did not break off his engagement! There was far too much at stake!

For nearly a decade he had done all he could to uphold the honor and integrity of his father’s and brother’s legacy. Was it all to be for naught?

Furthermore, the political alliance he’d been so carefully building could fall apart. If the amendment failed, it was likely the current laws would remain and England would be that much closer to revolt.

He must get himself back into that ballroom by Lady Natalie’s side, and he must not allow his baser instincts to get the better of him again. He could not think about Lilly now. They must set the past to rest once and for all.

It was the Duke of Cortland who smoothed the creases on his pants and brushed his hair back before turning to walk toward the ballroom. He would enter via the terrace. Alone.

Glancing at his hand, he realized it was shaking. A tremor ran through him.

What must Lilly have endured all those years, married to a man who resented her, or even worse, hated her and considered her unworthy of respect? Why had he not considered the possibility of this? The duke pushed these thoughts out of his mind.

It would be time for the supper dance. He strode purposefully back into the ballroom.