Chapter Twenty-Seven

Lily folded the last letter and sealed it with hot wax. Sighing, she leaned back in Papa’s leather desk chair, satisfied with her efforts. She prayed the missives to the governor, Captain Babcock, and her uncle would garner support and bear fruit in regards to dear Papa. Although she accepted his right to take a political stance, she wouldn’t let the stubborn man starve to death.

There was Griffin to consider as well. Would she ever see him again? Did he think of her? Did she matter to him at all?

Unwilling to sink in despair and uncertainty, she rose from the chair, braced with a new-found determination. Organizing Papa’s study would occupy her mind and perhaps reap a sense of accomplishment to offset her gloomy mood.

After she sorted his messy desktop, she tackled the cluttered bookshelves. How did the man ever find anything? As she dusted, she removed a few books from a shelf and came upon a personal journal. Had it fallen behind the others and been forgotten, or had Papa meant to conceal it?

Baffled, she returned to the desk, where she flipped through the ink-stained pages, astonished at the drawings of firearms such as long muskets, both single and double-barreled. How odd, she thought, uneasy with her discovery. Yet on second thought, Papa’s creative imagination ran the gamut of a vast assortment of devices, so why not guns?

One page contained a detailed chemical formula. “Gunpowder,” she whispered realizing the significance of her find. If any of these ideas worked, it could outpace the current standard of weapons. Its application would have astounding results. The army with the best and most efficient weapons would have the greatest advantage.

She sank back in the chair. Oh, Papa. What did he plan to do with these drawings and formulas?

“Lord Warwick to see you, Miss.”

Lily jumped and her gaze snapped toward the doorway. Wisely, Agatha had refrained from calling David His Lord High and Mighty though by the look of her thin-lipped grimace, the notion wasn’t far from her mind. “I’ve put him in the parlor,” she added.

“Thank you. I’ll be with him in a moment.” When Agatha had gone, Lily closed the journal and hid it again behind the other books. Under no circumstances could anyone, particularly the British Army, uncover its presence. Swallowing her trepidation, she brushed the dust from her hands, smoothed her hair and left the study.

Two days had passed since she’d last seen David. Hours of consideration had led her to an important decision. Though it would be difficult, she would tell him the hard truth. She could not marry him. Outside the front parlor, she paused and skimmed her damp palms down her skirt. Truth is always the best course, she reminded herself, a belief she learned early on from Papa, and one reinforced by her painful experience with Griffin.

The tick of the grandfather clock in the entryway sounded menacing. She chalked up the ominous sensation to a simple case of jittery nerves. Smile in place, she floated into the formal room with the practiced charm of a stage performer.

“David, how nice to see you.” Her taffeta underskirts swished as she crossed the thick, Turkish carpet toward the fireplace. David’s blue hat, edged with fluffy ivory ostrich feathers, sat upon a side chair, no doubt carelessly tossed there when he’d come in earlier. “I take it you received my message left at the Dorchester yesterday afternoon.”

“Yes. I would have been here sooner except for a pressing matter.”

In an unexpected show of heightened emotion, he swept her into his arms and kissed her cheek. The gesture elicited a twinge. She nudged away and gestured to a Queen Anne chair covered in beige damask.

Not one to do as he was told, he sank onto the sofa and yanked her down with him. “Let’s sit here.”

Though annoyed by his rude penchant to control, she’d opted to ignore being jostled. “Tea?”

“No, thank you.” His face glowed in the afternoon light with the sort of ebullient air often seen when one has achieved a great feat. He sobered and assessed her face with the seriousness of a curious physician. “You look pale today.”

She fidgeted and clasped her hands over her lap. The emotional detachment she so desired eluded her. As she struggled with how to broach the subject, his thumb stroked her wrist. Marking her as his, she concluded with an irritated pang. “I…ah…”

“What is it?” He leaned closer.

This was harder than imagined, and her words stumbled out in a clumsy manner. “I’m honored by your proposal, but I can’t marry you. I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Two vertical lines creased his firm brow. “You said you’d obtain an annulment. It’s too soon, isn’t it? It’s a shock with your father in prison.”

“It is a shock.” So too had been David’s unexpected visit. Never did she think he’d follow her to America and propose. “Times are so troubled, both in my family and in this country.”

“Don’t worry. These ragtag ruffians will be defeated.” He patted her hand. “England is certain to prevail and order will be restored once again. Life will return to normal. Have no fear.”

She was neither naïve nor optimistic enough to believe the world as she knew it would ever be the same. Not in the Colonies or with her father who, by appearance and behavior, was almost a stranger. Yet by far the biggest change, and one she never imagined possible, had taken place within her. Under no circumstance could she return to London blind to what she’d seen in New York, blind to the British treatment of its citizens. Even more pressing, she couldn’t marry David while she loved another, even though things with Griffin were…What?

Until she could speak with Griffin and sort the matter, she couldn’t begin to understand much less predict her future. Yet one certainty remained. She didn’t love David, not as a woman ought to love a man. “I will always count you as a good friend.”

“It’s the Colonial ruffian you want, isn’t it?”

“This is between you and me. Let’s not speak of him.” She detested his uppity sneer, as though he believed himself the better man. She leaned away from his grasp, but tenacious, he held on. Even worse, he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her tight, curled fingers. Stomach in a knot, she waited, aware of his wiliness and determination to have his way.

“You do realize, Lily, we are meant to be together.”

“At one time perhaps.” She wrested her hand away and earned a flash of his anger.

“Ever since we met, when you were a sad, pretty little girl, it’s always been just the two of us.”

“I admit, at one time we did need each other’s friendship. Circumstances are vastly different at present. We’re not children any longer.” She expected him to scoff and criticize as she’d seen him do to others. Instead, the self-satisfaction on his face left her chilled.

“You can’t deny we are well suited.”

His easy smile suggested an unerring confidence he would win his argument. Casting him aside would not be easy.

“We enjoy the same interests—theatre, riding, parties, beautiful things—”

“Such diversions pale compared to…” Love and freedom. Her throat closed on a swell of raw emotion. “They don’t matter here.” In illustration, she pressed a fist to her heart. “Not any longer.”

The words amused him, and he chuckled lightly. “I never considered you for a sentimentalist.”

“You think love is sentimental?”

David represented the nobility who married for position and wealth. If a couple experienced any romantic love, it happened by sheer luck. He didn’t love her, not as she loved Griffin.

“Love is all well and good.” He gave a halfhearted shrug as though it didn’t signify. “If you need me to say it, I will. I love you. There, are you happy?”

“Oh, David.” To hear his begrudging, perfunctory words filled her with sorrow. He cared for her as a friend, but a mature, passionate love seemed beyond his grasp.

“Be patient, Lily. Once we’re in London, back to the parties and balls, to the world in which we belong, you’ll feel different. I promise.”

“You don’t understand. I won’t go back to England.”

He jerked as if stung with a whip. “Not live in England? You can’t be serious!” In disbelief, he looked about the parlor, to Mama’s portrait, a lamp, a vase, the chairs with delicate curved legs. He made a face. “You propose to live here?” He spread his arms to encompass the whole room and stared with incredulity.

She brushed angrily at her ruffled skirt. “This is my home, with my father.”

“But he’s in prison, for God sake!”

“All the more reason to stay close. He needs me.”

“And I don’t?” he snapped. “I’ve pursued you. Don’t forget I spent seven miserable weeks at sea. I endured the most primitive of conditions.” He thumped his chest. “Don’t my sacrifices mean anything to you?”

His selfishness sickened her. “It’s regrettable such a colossal sacrifice was made on my account.” Bitterness tinged her words.

“It’s him you love, isn’t it?” Angry splotches mottled his cheeks.

“Mr. Faraday doesn’t love me. He doesn’t even trust me.”

“I don’t believe you.”

She drew back in shock. “Am I to be mistrusted by you, as well?”

“I didn’t come all this way to turn around and go back empty-handed. Why, I’d be the laughingstock of all London.”

Could he think of no one but himself? “Let’s speak no further on the subject.” She rubbed the blossoming ache in her temple. “I won’t return to London, married or unmarried.”

Knowing David, she expected further argument. Instead, he smiled with such smug calculation she shivered, afraid to think what he might do next.

“What about your father?”

“What about my father?” she asked warily.

“You need my help.”

Not at the expense of her happiness. Papa would never expect such a sacrifice. She’d find another way to free him from prison—somehow.

“I’ve already spoken to Lester Babcock.” Oh, he looked arrogant. “The wheels are in motion.”

“You’d still help Papa?” Such unexpected generosity astonished her.

He shrugged in an enigmatic manner as if to say maybe—maybe not.

With a narrowed gaze, she leaned closer. “Tell me. Will you or won’t you?”

“These matters take time.” The sudden flash of white teeth was chillingly diabolical. “It’s a delicate balance.”

“I see.” She sat up straighter. All at once, she understood. For David, help would be quid pro quo. “Something for something, is it?”

“It is how problems are resolved in the big world.”

“Your world, you mean.”

“Our world.” He brought his face closer. She feared he might kiss her, but he paused, his breath warm and intrusive on her cheek before he settled back against the cushions.

“I won’t marry you, David. Not even for my father.”

In an unexpected move, he exploded off the couch with a shout. “Give me a chance to change your mind.” His vehemence frightened her. Color rode high on his cheeks. “At least consider my proposal.” The shiny satin of his coat glimmered as his shoulders heaved. A muscle jumped in his strained jaw. “I’ll go, but if you think I’ll return to England alone, with my tail between my legs, you’re sorely mistaken. This isn’t over.”