“The best medicine for a bruised heart is the company of dear friends and a steaming pot of tea.”
—The Debutante’s Revenge
“I know the art studio was supposed to be a surprise for your sister,” Sophie said over the rim of her teacup. “But I suspect that we’ll all spend many enjoyable hours in this room working on The Debutante’s Revenge. The space is so lovely and inviting.”
Lily looked around the nearly completed room. She’d worked from dawn to dusk the past couple of days, and the transformation was stunning. A pair of Fiona’s ethereally beautiful paintings adorned the pale blue walls, and a plush gold carpet covered the waxed wood floors. Sheer silk drapes billowed in the soft breeze, while colorful pillows encouraged lounging and lively conversation.
Sophie had added her signature touches to the studio too. Fragrant greenery and wildflowers spilled out of vases she’d placed on the mantel, shelves, and table. Vines trailed over the polished surfaces, softening the room’s edges and bringing it to life.
Lily sighed happily, confident her sister would adore the new studio. “It did turn out well. And the easel will be delivered tomorrow. It shall be the focal point—the piece that unites everything.”
“I’m certain it will be magnificent, just like the rest of your improvements,” Sophie said, thoughtful as always. “I hope you haven’t overexerted yourself, rushing to ready the room. Forgive me for saying so, but you look rather weary. Almost … sad.”
Blast. Her friend was too insightful by half.
“I’m fine,” Lily fibbed. She’d barely slept since leaving Nash’s house. When she wasn’t worrying about Delilah, she was haunted by a pair of intense amber eyes, brimming with pain and longing. “Perhaps I am a bit tired,” she admitted. “I couldn’t sleep last night, so I began working on next week’s column.” She retrieved her journal from the table, sat on the sofa beside her friend, and handed her the paper she’d slipped inside the book’s front cover. “Will you give me your honest opinion?”
Sophie acted as a curator for the letters Lily wrote and the sketches Fiona drew. She had the wonderful ability to sort through both their piles of work and select pieces from each that were perfect complements. She also had a keen sense of which topics the column’s faithful readers wanted to explore each week.
“You can always count on me to be honest.” Sophie eagerly took the paper and began reading aloud.
The Debutante’s Revenge Dear Debutantes,
Love is risky. Governesses, headmistresses, and matrons alike will warn you of its perils. They will advise you to exercise caution and guard your heart. But love does not work that way.
To experience true love, you must give your heart completely. You must disregard every urge to protect yourself and jump into it with utter abandon. For it is only by exposing your deepest, truest self that you can allow someone else to touch your soul.
Love is fraught with danger.
It is almost certain you will be hurt.
Even worse, you will likely hurt another.
Some days you will swear your heart has been ripped out of your chest.
But you must love anyway.
Sophie set the paper on her lap and narrowed her eyes. “Lily,” she said firmly. “Is there something you would like to tell me?”
Lily snatched the paper back and shoved it inside her journal. “It’s horrible, isn’t it?”
“Not one bit. It’s beautiful … and gut-wrenching.”
Unable to meet her friend’s eyes, Lily strode across the room, pausing in front of one of Fiona’s paintings, a lovely portrait of a young woman on a swing. “I miss Fiona.”
“Lily Hartley,” Sophie scolded. “You’re avoiding my question. Do you have feelings for the duke? If you want to talk about it, you know you may confide in me.”
For a moment, Lily considered baring her soul to her friend. But speaking the words would make her and Nash’s relationship—and its disastrous ending—all too real. Better to let the time she’d spent with him linger in her memory like some pleasant but fading dream.
“I can’t,” she said regretfully.
Sophie shot her an understanding smile. “Very well. But if you should change your mind—”
“Pardon me, Miss Hartley,” Mr. Burns intoned from the studio doorway, “but you’ve a visitor—Lady Delilah Nash.”
Lily’s heart bounced with joy. “Delilah!” Lily ran to her and smothered her in a fierce embrace. “I was dreadfully worried about you. You have no idea how glad I am that you’re here.”
Delilah let out a muffled chuckle. “I have some idea. You’re hugging me so tightly, I can scarcely breathe.”
“Let me look at you,” Lily said, holding her friend at arm’s length. Her blond hair fell from her crown in a cascade of ringlets, and her pink cheeks glowed with happiness. “You don’t appear to be any worse for the wear.”
“I’ll bring another place setting for tea,” the butler announced smoothly.
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Burns,” Lily called over her shoulder. “Delilah,” she said, unceremoniously pulling her by the hand, “you must come and meet my dear friend Miss Sophie Kendall.”
Sophie surreptitiously scooped up the new column and set it facedown on a table before gracefully extending a hand to Delilah. “It’s a pleasure,” she said, her eyes crinkling in a warm smile. “But I should leave the two of you so that you may have a proper visit.”
“No!” Lily and Delilah protested in unison.
“I insist that you stay, for it is I who have barged in,” Delilah said, apologetic. “And I cannot remain long in any event. Nash told me that you recovered your memory and that I might find you here. The reason for my visit is twofold. First, I wanted to apologize for giving you a fright and assure you that I am, indeed, well.”
“Thank heaven.” Lily waved both women back to the sofa and offered Delilah a scone, which she gratefully nibbled. Lily was desperate to ask after Nash and would have devoured even the most mundane news about him—what color waistcoat he wore or whether he’d shaved that morning—like a mongrel lunging for dinner scraps. But Sophie and Delilah were far too insightful, and Lily feared any question she posed would reveal too much. “Your brother was beside himself. He must have been so relieved to see you.”
Delilah’s eyes welled. “Yes. I’m terribly sorry for upsetting you both. I knew I’d made a mistake shortly after I left, but I wasn’t quite ready to go home. I shall tell you all the embarrassing details another day, because I’d much rather discuss the second reason for my visit. Nash has decided to host a ball to properly launch me into society.”
Lily blinked and shook her head, incredulous. “I beg your pardon. It sounded as though you said Nash—that is, the duke—is hosting a ball.”
Delilah chuckled and nodded. “I could scarcely believe it myself—and I’m delivering the invitations before he has a chance to change his mind.” She pulled an ivory notecard from her reticule and presented it to Lily. “Please say you’ll come.”
“I don’t know,” Lily said. She was imagining how painful it would be to see him, breathtakingly handsome in his dark evening jacket, dancing waltz after waltz with the most beautiful ladies in London. She wasn’t sure her heart could take it. “I’m not certain that’s a good idea.”
“Please, Lily. It wouldn’t be the same without you.” Delilah’s pretty blue eyes pleaded like a puppy’s. “You know that all our guests will be judging me—scrutinizing my every move. I’d feel so much more confident with you by my side.”
Lily hesitated, searching her mind for some excuse. But Delilah was a true friend, and Lily couldn’t leave her to face the ton alone. It would be like stranding her in a den of hungry wolves.
“Very well,” Lily said, already dreading the ball. How was she supposed to greet Nash in a room full of people and pretend that they scarcely knew each other? How was she supposed to act as though she’d never kissed him or spent the night in his arms?
“I’m so glad that’s settled.” Delilah beamed. “Miss Kendall, I do hope you’ll be able to attend as well. Your friends and families are welcome too. It’s sure to be a festive event—if only because every member of polite society will wish to witness the spectacle with their own eyes: the notoriously private Duke of Stonebridge entertaining on a grand scale. If you’d told me such a thing was possible a fortnight ago, I wouldn’t have believed it myself.”
“I’m sure it shall be a lovely affair,” Lily said with forced brightness. “And I’m very happy to hear that the duke is indulging your wish to enter the social whirl.”
“He’s changed recently,” Delilah replied, thoughtful. “I believe you may be to thank for that.” She gave Lily a saucy wink. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I should be on my way. I’ve a few more invitations I want to hand deliver—but yours was the first.”
They stood and hugged each other tightly once more. “Everything is going to work out,” Delilah whispered in her ear. “For both of us.”
Fiona’s easel arrived early the next morning, and it was as exquisite as Lily had hoped. She spent a couple of hours in the studio, rearranging items on the shelves, organizing drawing supplies, and fluffing pillows. When every last detail looked perfect, she hopped off her stepstool, set down her dust rag, and massaged her lower back.
A final gaze around the light-filled room confirmed that her efforts had been worthwhile, but she was already looking forward to a bath—and perhaps a short nap.
She returned to her bedchamber and, while the tub was readied, pulled the baby bootie Serena had given her out of her bedside table drawer. She turned the little shoe over in her hand, thinking how strange it was that she’d had to forget who she was in order to figure out where she came from. And she contemplated the words Serena had told her: If you’re fortunate enough to find love, fight for it.
She slipped into the steaming, fragrant water and let the warmth soothe her aching muscles. When the water cooled, she climbed out of the tub and toweled off, rubbing her hair dry. And when her fluffy pillow beckoned, she slipped on her dressing gown, crawled into bed, and closed her eyes.
Lily rolled over on the mattress, hoping to block out the world a bit longer.
But the relentless tapping on her foot would not cease, no matter how many times she kicked beneath the coverlet.
“Lily,” called the familiar voice. “Wake up!”
Reluctantly, she removed the pillow covering her head and cracked her eyes open—just enough to see the silhouette of a woman sitting at the end of her bed. For a moment, Lily felt as if she were thirteen years old again, in the dormitory at Miss Haywinkle’s School for Girls. Fiona was nudging her and pulling off her covers, urging her to rise before she missed breakfast entirely.
“I’m not hungry,” Lily mumbled.
“No?” her sister replied, amused. “You might at least welcome your older sister home. You act as though you haven’t missed me at all.”
Dear Jesus. Lily bolted upright. “Fiona?”
Her sister shot her a radiant smile. Her emerald traveling gown complemented her auburn hair perfectly, and the pink glow on her cheeks was a testament to her happy marriage and devoted husband.
At the sight of her, Lily erupted into tears. The dam she’d carefully constructed to contain the torrent of emotion couldn’t withstand the sudden onslaught.
“Lily!” Fiona was at her side in an instant, wrapping her in a warm embrace. “What’s wrong?”
How could she tell her sister all that had transpired in the fortnight since she’d left? “I’m so glad you’re home.”
Fiona arched a skeptical brow. “I’m glad to see you too. But I confess I am somewhat surprised. Why aren’t you home with Mama and Papa?”
“It’s a long and convoluted story,” Lily said, sniffling. It seemed she’d cried more in the last week than she had in her entire life.
“Might it have something to do with this?” Fiona held up the baby bootie that Lily had left on her desk.
“It might,” Lily admitted. She patted the mattress beside her. “Take off your slippers and make yourself comfortable. It shall take more than a few minutes to explain what a spectacular mess I’ve made of my life.”
Fiona listened intently as Lily told her about the tavern brawl, her memory loss, Delilah, and Serena. And Nash. As Lily recounted every incredible and sometimes painful detail, concern flicked over Fi’s face, but never judgment. Clearly, all that mattered to her was that Lily was safe and sound.
When she’d reached the end of her long, pathetic tale, Fiona blinked—as if she were waiting for more. “Is that it?”
“What do you mean?” Lily asked, incredulous. “Weren’t the tavern brawl, amnesia, love affair, and brothel madam enough?”
“Oh, you’ve been through plenty,” Fiona said, slipping an arm around her shoulders. “And I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. But it seems to me that your story has yet to reach its conclusion.”
“You’re speaking in riddles, Fi.”
“While I was away, you were growing up and opening doors. You opened a door on friendship with Delilah and a door on family with Serena. You also opened a door on love with Nash—and no matter how dire things may seem, that door hasn’t slammed shut yet.”
Lily swallowed. “I don’t know what to do. He claims he’s incapable of loving me the way I need him to. Even if he could, how can I give my heart to a man who doesn’t respect my life’s passion?”
“I wish you could hear yourself.” Fiona tickled Lily’s chin with the baby bootie she still held. “You are one of the most determined, daring, and persuasive people I know. Of course, there are risks involved. There are no guarantees that all will turn out as you wish. But if anyone can turn this ship around, it’s you. And if you fail … well, at least you’ll know you tried.”
Hope shimmered in Lily’s chest. “I’m not at all certain I can convince Nash to open his heart to me, but I shall see him at a ball he’s throwing for his sister next week.”
“A ball?” Fiona grinned. “Why, all sorts of magic is bound to happen at a ball. You shall have plenty to write about in your diary, at least.”
Lily moaned and covered her face with a pillow. “I’m still catching up from the events of the last two weeks.”
“Well, I’m delighted to hear that we’ll have no shortage of material for our column.”
Lily let her pillow plop onto her lap. “That reminds me—have you been in the library since you returned home?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
She jumped out of bed, feeling lighter than she had in days. “Allow me to throw on a gown—and I’ll show you.”