“Of course, Miss Norwood. We’ll be certain to have this ready for you before Lady Shelby’s party in two weeks.”
Lillian pressed her lips together to stop the smile. She should have known word of William’s courtship would spread like wildfire. The girl behind the counter didn’t seem malicious, merely curious, and for that Lillian was grateful.
Three days after Christmas and the village buzzed with this new gossip. Lillian nodded to the girl and turned to look at hair combs. The blue sapphires embedded on a sea of silver reminded her of William’s eyes.
“Oh, Miss Norwood, good,” Mrs. Spriggs said as she entered the dress shop on a burst of cold wind. “They told me you were here.”
“Who?” Lillian asked, confused.
“Everyone,” Beatrice laughed.
“Why would everyone be interested in my whereabouts?” she asked, confused.
Lillian glanced from the shopgirl, who tried not to stare, to the barren street outside. No one watched her through the windows or looked as if they followed her every movement.
“We all heard about the invitation from Lady Shelby,” Beatrice said in a quiet rush. “Why the postman, Mr. Wright, shared with Mr. Stevens the news of your invitation. And, well,” she continued but shook her head, “once the baker knew… ”
Beatrice trailed off. She wasn’t one for gossip — not spreading it, at least. But she did somehow always seem to be in the know. Lillian felt her eyebrows rise with every word Beatrice uttered.
“And with the basket Mr. Pennington sent you from the baker’s” — Beatrice shook her head, but her smile widened even more — “it’s clear he’s courting you. Is that not correct?”
When William promised the entire county would know he courted her by week’s end, Lillian only partially believed him. She was wrong. It’d taken only three days.
“Yes.” She grinned widely. “Yes, he is.”
Beatrice clapped her hands together, utterly delighted. “I had hoped!” she said loudly. She looked around the shop and once more lowered her voice. “I truly hoped this would happen,” she confided. “And so, too, did Mr. Spriggs.” Her cheeks flushed, but her smile remained undimmed. “I’m sorry I didn’t confide in you sooner; however, it is all rather new.
“It’s of no concern,” Beatrice beamed. “I’m so delighted for you! I can see it now, the soon-to-be Mrs. Pennington.”
Lillian’s breath caught. It was one thing to think of it when she and William were together in the privacy of her cottage, or when she was alone and smiling like a fool. It was quite another to hear her friend utter those words.
“Mrs. Martins will have a fit over it,” Beatrice said softly. But she shook her head and waved a hand in dismissal. “Pay her no mind.”
“I did not intend to,” Lillian agreed.
She hadn’t paid Mrs. Martins any mind before this.
“Would you like to see my gown?” Lillian asked.
Beatrice agreed, and they spent several long minutes discussing fabric and cuts before Beatrice finally bade farewell. Lillian wandered back to the hair combs, but decided against the silver and sapphire for now.
She exited the dressmaker’s shop and turned for the milliner’s. Lillian walked no more than two steps when she recognized Fitzgerald, William’s driver.
“Miss Norwood,” Fitzgerald said with a tip of his hat.
He huddled in his greatcoat against the December’s wind but looked cheerfully down at her. A footman stood at attention by the carriage door and opened it in invitation.
“Mr. Pennington sent his carriage for your use, miss,” Fitzgerald added. “It’s our pleasure to take you wherever you need to travel today.”
“Thank you, Fitzgerald,” Lillian managed.
She wanted to refuse, to tell them she didn’t need the carriage for a walk around Chesham. However, the wind bit through her pelisse, and three days ago she had a fever and horrid cough. Weakness tugged her limbs despite her consuming joy.
So Lillian smiled up at them. “I’m off to the milliner’s,” she said and graciously entered the carriage.
* * * *
Exhausted, Lillian leaned her head against the carriage seat. She spent far too much time doing errands today and now only wished to rest. A nice cup of tea, perhaps one of the biscuits William sent over, and she’d sit in front of the fire.
William planned to call on her later, though now with the entire county aware of their courtship, she warned him there’d be more scrutiny. He hadn’t cared.
That, too, warmed Lillian. William didn’t care about gossip or the malicious tongues on so many. He cared about her. He loved her.
Smiling, she looked up at Fitzgerald and called her thanks. “I’ll not venture out again today,” she promised.
He looked worried, but nodded and waited until she let herself inside the cottage.
Still grinning, she hummed “Greensleeves” as she stoked the fire. Satisfied with her work, Lillian set the water to boiling. She just poured the tea when she heard horses clatter down the street.
William? No, he had business to see to in The Vale today and would return late. Mrs. Miller, come for more gossip? That seemed most logical; however, it didn’t stop Lillian’s heart from swooping in her chest when she looked out the windows.
Not William. Not Alice Miller, either.
Lillian didn’t recognize the carriage and frowned as it pulled to a stop. She stepped away from the window and picked up her tea. No sense letting it cool. In the setting sunlight, Lillian watched a woman exit the carriage in a blue winter pelisse.
Mrs. Claire Martins.
Lillian stepped further back. Did she want to open the door? No. Mrs. Martins knocked, and she hesitated again. Sighing, she cursed her manners and opened the door.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Martins,” Lillian said with a polite smile. “What an unexpected pleasure.”
Claire Martins did not look pleased, but Lillian stepped back and allowed the other woman to enter the small foyer. She didn’t shed her gloves and pelisse; clearly she did not plan to stay long.
“I’ve just made tea, would you care for a cup?” Lillian asked and gestured into the front parlor.
“No. Thank you. I’ve come to have a word with you,” Claire said with a hard look. “If you don’t mind.”
Lillian suppressed a sigh and schooled her face into polite curiosity. “Of course,” she murmured and gestured for the other woman to sit.
Mrs. Martins looked around the room carefully, no doubt scrutinizing every inch of the small rented cottage. Lillian sat, her back straight and chin tilted defiantly, and waited for the perusal to end. Whatever Claire Martins found it was lacking in her opinion.
This didn’t surprise Lillian, either.
“It’s my understanding you are to attend Lady Shelby’s soiree with Mr. Pennington,” she began.
Lillian stiffened, her shoulders tense, but only tilted her head in acknowledgement. “Yes, I expect to.”
“This is a very clear indication of courtship,” Claire snapped. “A courtship I believe Mr. Pennington makes in error.”
She should’ve expected that. However, with the words now hanging between them, hard and mean, Lillian felt all her defenses rise up and surround her. But she took a deep breath of warm air and deliberately sipped her tea.
“There is no error between Mr. Pennington and myself,” Lillian assured the other woman. “And if this is what you care to speak on, then I suggest you leave my cottage.”
Mrs. Martins made no move to leave. Lillian honestly didn’t expect her to. “Yes, such a grand home, this pathetic little cottage. I believe it’s the most unkempt in Mrs. Miller’s possession. This is not the type of woman Mr. Pennington deserves, a woman who lives in such a place.”
“I believe,” Lillian said through gritted teeth, “that is for Mr. Pennington to decide.”
“Mr. Pennington is a great leader in our community,” Claire snapped. “A wealthy man who deserves a wife of his stature.”
“I am the granddaughter of a viscount,” Lillian reminded her coldly.
“With no dowry, no fortune,” Claire hissed. “Nothing. My Violet comes with a substantial dowry. And more, she’ll add to Mr. Pennington’s wealth. When her family lands and his merge, it’ll create an untouchable estate in this county.”
Taken aback, and unaware that Violet Simmons’s lands bordered William’s, she paused. She didn’t want William to give up anything to marry her. She had no desire to hurt him in any way.
“Be reasonable, child,” Claire continued in a calmer tone. “Love does not always last and may sour very quickly. Particularly when wealth is diminished because of it.”
Lillian tilted her chin a little higher. “You cannot oblige Mr. Pennington to care for your niece in any way,” she reminded the other woman with all the frosty disdain she felt.
“And you cannot avoid the comparisons,” Claire returned with a sharp nod. “End this courtship now, Miss Norwood. Don’t let it go too far. For when Mr. Pennington realizes what he’s lost, he will rue the day he met you.”
Lillian stood, her back straight. She vibrated with anger but held it in check as best she could. “Please leave my home,” she snapped. “I already rue the day I met you, Mrs. Martins.”
“Don’t be a fool, Miss Norwood.” The other woman stood but continued to look contemptuously at Lillian. “You’re much better off as a companion to the Lansdowne sisters. We were kind to you here. We introduced you to the sisters, knowing your needs.”
Lillian inhaled sharply. It was hardly appropriate to remind one of how far they’d fallen, but clearly Claire Martins didn’t care for propriety.
“You cornered me,” she corrected the older woman. “And tried to press me into a service I did not desire. You didn’t know me nor did you give thought to my needs.”
Mrs. Martins sniffed haughtily and without another word swept out the door, slamming it behind her.
Furious, Lillian took several calming breaths, but her rage refused to abate. Hands fisted, she sucked in a deep breath.
“How dare that woman!” she snapped in the silence of her cottage. “William can make his own decisions and so can I!”
Lillian paced the small parlor and tried to work off some of the excess energy and the anger and humiliation battling through her after Mrs. Martins’s visit. She tried to sit and drink her tea, but it’d cooled now, and she had no stomach for it, anyway.
With deliberate calmness, she pushed the plate of biscuits away and stared blindly at the tabletop. Flushed now, she walked into the kitchens, where the cooler air caressed her cheeks.
Damn Claire Martins for putting the hint in her mind, that niggling doubt. Because Lillian was all too aware of what happened when one leaped on faith and not facts.
William made it quite clear he loved her and planned to marry her.
But she’d leaped with Edmund. Maybe not leapt, but she took it on faith and blind expectations that he’d marry her. The world did not move like that, did not grant everyone their dearest wish and deepest desires.
Mayhap she should step back. Allow for the expansion of William’s business, his fortune, his lands.
Was that not what her father always told her? Love didn’t last, but the family estate always would.
Lillian snorted and slapped her hands on the table. Her palms stung, but she ignored the slight pain. So much for the family estate, now in the hands of a cousin who detested her. Or her father’s words of wisdom, now ashes.
With measured steps, Lillian retraced her path into the parlor. Just in time to hear more horses. She froze. She had never had so many visitors since her arrival in Chesham months ago. Perhaps it was William.
Her heart clenched even as she hoped to see him. But when she looked out the parlor windows, once more she didn’t recognize the carriage. Lillian released a long sigh and bit her lip. She needed strength to see her through whatever happened next.
Deliberately waiting for the knock on the door, she once more opened it to the bitter winds. A tall, handsome man, bundled against the cold, took off his hat and bowed.
“Miss Norwood,” he said.
It took her a moment to realize who he was. Lillian blinked at the man for a second and suddenly realized who he was.
Mr. Tate. The cousin who inherited her estate.