Lillian ignored the chattering around her, not that it made much difference; she wasn’t included in their talk, anyway. That didn’t bother her; though she arrived over a month ago, the villagers still considered her new.
Alice Miller, however, bothered Lillian. The other woman clearly followed whatever Mrs. Martins told her, and today it was to keep Lillian occupied and as far from William as possible.
Jealousy sparked deep within her, a hot flush of envy that spread through her. Jealousy and shame. She’d been a fool to think William held any interest in her. The poor relation of an earl, viscount’s granddaughter or not, she had naught to her name and lived off the kindness of Edmund’s steward.
Lillian swallowed hard. Another cough rattled her chest, and she politely covered her mouth with a lavender-scented handkerchief.
The Lansdowne sisters paused in their conversation, and she took an extra moment to compose herself and enjoy the silence. They sat with her in a far corner, away from the activity bustling around the hall.
No, they didn’t sit with her. They pinned her to the seat.
From her corner, Lillian couldn’t see William; she could only see the sisters and Alice’s back. She wondered if Mrs. Martins ordered Alice to stand guard against Lillian’s escape. The thought made her grin, but it died a quick death.
She was well and truly trapped. Not even a basket to decorate to keep her busy.
Sipping her cider, Lillian hoped it’d ease her throat, but nothing seemed to. This corner, so close to the fireplace, felt closed off and stuffy, and the close proximity of the sisters did not help. She needed fresh air, cool air, and tried to think of a believable, and somewhat polite, excuse.
“Miss Norwood, I’m so delighted we finally get to meet,” Evelyn Lansdowne said with a crafty smile. “Alice Miller has told us so much about you.”
Lillian doubted that. What did Alice know of her, save Edmund’s steward paid her bills? Then again, wasn’t that damning enough?
“Has she?” Lillian asked with false brightness. “I’m afraid I’ve only known Mrs. Miller a bare month.”
“You only need a short while to know the disposition of a person,” Catherine added, as if she and Evelyn rehearsed their conversation.
Lillian wondered if they had.
“And dear Mrs. Miller tells us you have a very quiet and patient disposition,” Catherine continued.
“The very qualities we look for in a companion,” Evelyn finished.
Oh they rehearsed this, all right — only this wasn’t a conversation. It was an interview. Lillian bit back a sigh and coughed again. She cleared her throat and took another sip of her cider in hopes to cool her heated face.
“We know of your situation,” Catherine commiserated. “Mrs. Miller shared your story with us. And for a woman in your situation, a position such as this is a godsend.”
Unfortunately, Lillian had the feeling that not only did Catherine and Evelyn Lansdowne — who had both been married but now went by their maiden names — truly feel as if their offer was the best available but that she had no other options. Catherine’s commiseration sounded true and honest, and that only stabbed Lillian harder.
She didn’t want pity. She wanted to live her own life.
“You wouldn’t wish to be a burden to Lord Granville’s estate forever,” Catherine continued.
“No, indeed,” Evelyn added. “This position is not only a proper option for you, my dear, but a way to secure your own future.”
Seven years she tended her father. Seven years she gave up her life to see to him. One month she had to herself, to see to her own needs and wonder what she wanted in her life. Four short weeks on her own and now her new village wished her gone.
Lillian sat straighter and tilted her chin just that much more. Her father told her that stubbornness came from her mother, a woman Lillian barely remembered. Right now, with her fingers clasped tightly around her handkerchief and her jaw clenched, Lillian called on every ounce of stubbornness to hold her tongue.
“Earls can be so very temperamental. And depending upon his kindness, that is not truly security,” Catherine agreed.
She pushed back a lock of hair and cursed her inability to style her own hair. Lillian pressed her lips together and waited through the conversation — which started to sound more of a sales pitch than interview.
“With us, you’d have your own rooms and appointments,” Catherine continued. “And I’m certain we can get on very, very well.”
Evelyn nodded in agreement, her brown eyes twinkling despite her age. “And since you’ve done such a superb job here at the hall with the décor, we also thought we’d freshen up many of the rooms in our own home.”
Ah, yes, the — how did Mrs. Primsby describe it? — the soul destroying mausoleum. Lillian wasn’t sure why the Lansdowne sisters wished to employ her so desperately. Oh. Oh, of course she did; what a coup to have a viscount’s granddaughter as their companion.
“Yes.” Catherine smiled, enthusiastic as well. “It’d be lovely to travel to the other villages for furnishings and such.”
“Ladies,” Lillian interrupted and swallowed hard on another cough, “I thank you for your offer, but at this time I’m still settling into my cottage.”
Small and paid for by Edmund, though it might be. She bit back her bitterness, surprised at its resurgence.
“I require time to consider your offer,” she finished with a cool, polite smile.
It felt stiff on her face, and with a start, Lillian tried to remember the last time she used that particular smile. Since the ball, she thought — since the night she spoke with Camilla and allowed Alice to introduce her to the patronesses like a marionette.
Since before she began working with William. At the assembly hall, with William and the Spriggses, Lillian relaxed. For the first time in forever, she felt herself rather than the proper and dutiful young woman who saw to her father during his illness. Rather than the distant cousin in need of money to survive.
“Oh.” Catherine frowned, her blue eyes predatory. “We hoped you’d start with us right away.”
“Yes,” Evelyn agreed. “We wanted to renovate the rooms before we hosted our New Year’s parties.” She leaned forward, her brown eyes dancing again. “We’ll let you in on a little secret.”
Catherine laughed and said, “Miss Simmons, Mrs. Martins’s niece, has her mind set on Mr. Pennington. And we’re certain she’ll get what she wants.”
Evelyn laughed, a light, girlish sound at odds with her age. Lillian may have found it endearing. Despite their age, the Lansdowne sisters certainly did not act like septuagenarians. She might once have enjoyed their company, their enthusiasm.
Not any longer. Not with her heart pounding uncomfortably in her chest. Her lungs seized, and Lillian struggled to breathe, to contain her heartache. She willed her gaze not to search the crowd for William, to remain on Catherine’s excited blue eyes.
“As she always seems to,” Catherine finished.
“Mrs. Martins always gets what she wants as well,” Evelyn confided. “And she, too, wants Mr. Pennington married to her niece. And it’ll be a good thing, marriage between Miss Simmons and Mr. Pennington.”
“Oh, yes, quite the prestige for this little village,” Catherine agreed.
“I see,” Lillian managed.
She finished her cider and desperately wished for more. However, she wasn’t certain her legs could hold her.
“Please don’t wait too long to tell us your decision,” Catherine finished shrewdly.
“Oh yes, it’ll be quite the coup to have the granddaughter of a viscount in our employ.” Evelyn nodded.
At least they were honest, Lillian thought grimly.
What did she feel? Shock? Shame? Yes, all that and more. It crawled sickeningly through her, a viscous eddy of humiliation and resignation.
Why had she ever thought William might truly care for her? She was a spinster; Lillian knew that. No prospects, barely one hundred and twenty-five pounds a year to her name, dependent on Edmund’s steward for anything else.
She’d never be self-sufficient, no matter her hopes. Not with so small a stipend from the cousin who inherited her father’s estate. But the thought of being a paid companion to two women who wanted her for her name, her connections, sickened Lillian.
“I shall consider your offer, thank you.” The words were even and conciliary, and Lillian almost choked on them.
“Good.” Evelyn nodded. “But don’t take too long. We want you, but we need someone promptly.”
Uncertain what more there was to say, Lillian made her excuses and her escape. The heat closed in on her, and she needed room. She skirted the tables, her polite smile firmly in place. Frowning, she focused more on them.
Too much holly. The baskets were covered in holly; there was barely any room for the baked goods meant to fill them. Lillian bit back a sigh. And that was why she and William planned to have the baskets decorated after the goods arrived.
She swept her gaze over the room and saw Mrs. Martins and her cider brigade and almost, almost, crossed for more drink. But no, she hadn’t the strength for another conversation with that woman. Lillian wondered where Alice Miller wandered off to, as she no longer guarded Lillian’s escape, but then dismissed the thought.
Mrs. Martins spilled cider on the table, freshly scrubbed and sanded. Lillian’s teeth set together with a snap.
Resolutely turning from Martins, and her sloppy pouring, Lillian strode toward the rear office. William was there; she knew he hid inside. Unfortunately, it wasn’t until she approached the door that Lillian wondered if the beautiful Miss Simmons was also hiding in the rear office.
Braced for anything, Lillian stepped through.
She was not braced for anything, she realized. Not at all.
William stood over Miss Simmons, papers in one hand, the other on the back of her chair. Back to the door, he leaned over her, and though the words she heard sounded like he offered her instruction, they buzzed dizzily around Lillian’s head.
Miss Simmons looked up at him, her eyelashes fluttering and full attention on William. Lillian had honestly never seen eyelashes flutter, but Miss Simmons seemed to have mastered that fine art.
William straightened from the chair the instant she opened the door and he looked at her, surprised.
She read everything incorrectly. Much as she had with Edmund, with her assumptions based on her father’s fanciful ramblings, Lillian saw things that simply were not there.
The arrangement between William and Miss Simmons had to have always been in place. And she was the bumbling fool who thought three weeks of working together to get the assembly hall ready for a Christmas feast meant more than it clearly did.
“Pardon me,” she managed.
Lillian cleared her throat and gathered what little confidence and pride she had left. William moved from the chair, and she pasted on the polite smile she thought never to use around him.
“It seems everything is well in order,” Lillian said with a nod. “I thought I’d gather my things and say good day.”
She nodded again, still feeling foolish. She raised her chin and stilled all movement. Her fingers didn’t reach for the bit of hair she just knew had once more escaped her chignon, nor did they twist about her handkerchief.
William frowned and stepped forward. “Oh there’s much more for us to do,” he said, his voice pitched low. His blue eyes caught and held hers. “Won’t you stay?”
Lillian fancied she heard a pleading note in his tone, but given her propensity to see things that certainly did not exist, she brushed it aside. Apparently she couldn’t tell the difference between politeness and honesty.
She glanced over her shoulder to where Mrs. Martins’s brigade still worked like little bees. “I believe you have quite enough assistance for the feast,” she said and wondered if that dry note was as obvious to William as it was to her.
“And I have things to attend to in my cottage,” she added.
“Please allow me to send for my carriage to take you home,” he hurried to say.
Pure solicitousness, Lillian reminded herself. He was only being kind, though the offer of his carriage did tempt her.
“Mr. Pennington,” Miss Simmons called. “Do look at this; I believe there’s a problem with the accounts.”
He turned, and before he said anything, or could move away, Lillian retreated. She had no desire to see him interact with the other woman and no need to stay in a place she clearly was not wanted.
Lillian hurried across the hall, though she needn’t fear anyone stopping her. Mr. Spriggs appeared just as she slipped through the crowd.
“I’m afraid I’m not feeling well, Mr. Spriggs,” she said with a soft smile for the man who had been nothing but generous with her. “Please tell Mrs. Spriggs I’ll speak with her later in the week.”
He frowned but nodded. “I’ll, ah, I’ll fetch your coat then, Miss Norwood.”
Spriggs quickly returned, and Lillian nodded her farewell. Buttoning her coat, she rushed from the hall.
New town, old gossip. They knew too much about her past for her to ever break away from the hold it had on her.
And why should someone like Mr. Pennington give her a second look? She never should’ve considered him an option and never listened to Mrs. Primsby — a matchmaker, so of course her occupation was to help others marry.
Maybe that was an occupation Lillian might consider. No. In the same breath she thought that, she dismissed it out of hand. Maybe, once, when she was young and knew society, when she actually socialized. Now, after nearly seven years hidden in a distant estate by her father’s ill health, Lillian knew no one.
Even those she counted as friends abandoned her once Father died.
The wind continued to buffet her, but Lillian only quickened her pace. She wanted the semi-familiar walls of her cottage, the quiet of her front parlor, a cup of tea. She wanted solitude to nurse her wounds in peace and quiet.
Though a part of her railed against it, Lillian supposed agreeing to the employment with the Lansdowne sisters was her only option. At least there, she knew exactly what to expect and what was expected of her. No missing the signs whatsoever.
Not as she misconstrued with William.