Breakfast ended in a painful silence.
Sir Theodore stood. “You ought to talk about it,” he said quietly.
Theo looked Lily square in the eyes. “What is there to say?” he murmured.
Lily put down her fork. She could not bear his icy facade any more. To go from his kindness and warmth of the previous months to this was not something she could comprehend, much less endure.
“I think I will go for a walk in the garden,” she whispered.
“Do you not want to finish your breakfast?” asked Lady Overton.
Lily said tremulously, “I am no longer hungry.” She stood and curtsied to Theo. If he were to be excruciatingly formal, she would return the courtesy.
What did he think she had done?
The question ate at her, but she was not ready to face it. He had asked her about Lord Willowvale the previous night.
She fled into the rose garden. The sun was warm on her face, and the morning birdsong was as soothing as anything could be.
Surely Theo did not think she favored Lord Willowvale? At their very wedding? She had been polite to the fairy, nothing more. Anyway, such an accusation did not make sense; Theo had seen her, danced with her, after Lord Willowvale had been gone, and he had not seemed upset then.
Something else had happened.
She continued walking, finding new vignettes of cultured beauty at every turn. There was a white alcove, full of white Iceberg roses, baby’s breath, white camellias, snowy anemones, and a fragrant gardenia. There was a little fountain surrounded by purple and blue flowers, and a pair of white iron chairs and a petite matching table surrounded by a profusion of pink and coral roses.
Lily focused on the exploration; the overwhelming beauty of the garden helped push her emotions back a little so that she could think.
Had Lord Selby said something to him? What could it be? But Theo had seemed perfectly happy after Lord Selby had departed.
Theo had received a message which had come through Anselm, and that had prompted his departure. But even then, he had not seemed as angry, only hurried and concerned. Only when he returned had he been… angry.
She sat on a hidden bench surrounded by banks of rambunctious purple rhododendrons and let the tears she had been holding in begin to slide down her cheeks.
A shadow fell over her and she looked up.
She gave a startled little shriek, and the fairy did likewise.
The fairy’s appearance changed faster than thought, and she was left blinking at him, half-risen from her seat.
Without a word, he fled down a path in the garden.
“Wait!” she called after him.
There was no reply, and he did not return.
Lily sat down slowly, trying to replay the moment in her mind. The fairy had seen her, cried out, and disappeared.
Why would a fairy be afraid of her?
She had barely gotten a split-second glimpse of him, more an impression than an actual image. A narrow face, wide eyes of a bright blue more teal or turquoise than any human could boast, and wild curls of deep violet.
Maybe that was the glamour, and the human face was his true face. She blinked, trying to remember him clearly. A slight build no taller than herself, and quite young. Hair of golden blond, and fair skin. Blue eyes, a human blue, not the improbable gem-like turquoise.
She sat with her hands in her lap, listening to the birds sing over the hum of insects and rippling murmur of the fountain.
Lily collected herself at last, prodded into action by the edges of hunger in her belly and the growing warmth of the day. She stepped quietly out of the little alcove and tried to get her bearings. The garden was vast, and this section was unfamiliar to her. She could not see the manor house, surrounded as she was by enormous bushes, so she began walking back the direction she had come.
Several minutes later she had figured out where she was and headed toward the great house that she had imagined would someday feel like home.
She found the patio empty and turned toward her suite without meeting anyone until nearly running into Anselm at the top of the stairs.
“Mrs. Overton,” he said with a bow. “Mr. Overton asked me to send a tray up to your room.”
She swallowed. “Thank you,” she said. “I… what message did you bring to him yesterday?”
The man blinked, and his expression grew more carefully neutral. “I am not at liberty to say, my lady.”
“He was happy before it, though, I think.”
The servant bowed, hiding his face. “Begging your leave, my lady, it is not my place to speculate or tell tales.”
Lily bit her lip. “That’s true. I’m sorry. I only wanted to know what had happened. He seemed angry at me when he returned.” The statement was her gentle attempt to probe for any information, but Anselm was entirely too savvy for it to be effective.
He said only, “Mr. Overton’s business is his to share, if he chooses to. Not mine.”
She nodded, and he bowed again, then strode away.
Lily found the promised tray in the shared sitting room. Theo was nowhere to be found, which gave her a twinge of intense relief and, simultaneously, a deep sense of desolation.
She ate on the couch. Perhaps she might invite her mother for tea, and her mother might have good advice. Lady Hathaway was wise and kind, and Lily felt she needed more wisdom than she possessed at this moment.
When she finished eating, she went to the window and looked out at the garden.
The elevated viewpoint helped her get a better sense of the paths in the garden, and she realized that much of what she had walked that morning was part of a larger, symmetrical area of plantings nearest the house. To the left she could see the stable, and beyond that a training ring, with white-painted wooden jumps set up for horses. The large paddocks extended beyond that, rising to a distant hill; beyond that hill, though she did not know it, was Lord Selby’s ancestral manor.
A movement caught her eye, and she looked back toward the stable to see Theo emerge. He strolled into the garden with his hands shoved deeply in his pockets and his shoulders slumped.
Lily’s heart went out to him, even as her own wounded spirit protested that she had also been wronged. He looked so miserable, and that was so un-Theo-like, that it struck her as deeply wrong.
Then another movement caught her eye, and she sucked in a surprised breath. The young man—fairy—who had surprised her earlier slipped out of the bushes and approached Theo.
How very odd! Did Theo know he was a fairy, or was he deceived by the glamour? The glamour would have fooled Lily, if she had not seen him for half a second without it. Was it the same fairy, or the same glamoured appearance, she had seen from a distance at the wedding, the one that had so perturbed Lord Willowvale?
She had just resolved to go tell Theo that this young man was a fairy, when Theo looked directly up at the window.
Their gazes caught.
Theo bowed in acknowledgement of her attention, and then glanced up at her again. The youth beside him bowed to her as well. Theo held her gaze for one more moment, then nodded and continued walking, his attention on the young man, or fairy.
Lily’s mind raced. Were all fairies as horrible as Lord Willowvale? The youth she had seen, with his eyes wide in surprise and perhaps fear, did not seem particularly fearsome.
But he was not honest, either, if he were pretending to be human to Theo.
She resolved that, no matter what Theo held against her, he needed to know that he was in danger.
She hurried down the stairs and out into the garden again.
They had walked quite some distance by the time she reached the location where she had seen them, and it took her nearly fifteen minutes of hurried walking in the late morning heat before she managed to find Theo.
The youth was nowhere to be seen, but Theo must have heard her coming, for he turned to face her. He bowed formally.
“Mrs. Overton,” he murmured, and the name, though she loved it, felt like a slap in the face.
Lily was quite hot by now, and the exertion and heat and fear had made her cross as well.
“Mr. Overton,” she said grumpily, with a curtsy, then immediately repented of her irritability. “I am sorry to disturb you, since I am sure you must be busy. But I saw something that I thought you should know.”
“What is that?” He swallowed and smiled, and although it didn’t reach his eyes, she saw that it cost him, and that grieved her anew.
“This morning, when I was sitting in the garden alone, the young man you were just speaking with surprised me.”
“Yes?”
“I think he’s a fairy,” she said, her throat feeling tight. “I don’t know what he means here, but for just an instant, I saw him without his glamour, and I think he’s a fairy.”
Theo said, “Why would a fairy be here?”
She blinked at him. “I am sure I don’t know, but I thought you ought to be aware of it. He cannot be honest, if he’s wearing a glamour before you and pretending to be human.”
Theo’s gaze flickered, and he murmured, “Would you walk with me in the garden for a moment, my love?”
She swallowed and stepped forward to tuck her hand in his arm, which he had offered to her with perfect courtesy.
“Were you frightened?” he asked quietly, without looking at her.
She took a deep, tremulous breath and let it out. “Only a little. He seemed frightened of me, and it is hard to be frightened of someone when they flee so quickly. But…” She glanced up at him. “I know not what I have done to make you so cold to me. I wish you would let me know so that I might repent of it.” She trembled, not daring to look up again. “Although you seem to hate me so suddenly, I do not wish you to be deceived by someone you trust. I believe he is a fairy; if he is not, he presented me with the glamour of a fairy, and I cannot understand why he would have done that and then given me his true face and then fled. Might he be the same person Lord Willowvale chased at the reception?”
Theo was silent for so long that she did, at last, dare to glance up at him. His face was stony, as if any crack in the facade would lead to its utter dissolution.
He opened his mouth, then pressed his lips together. She waited, feeling that patience was her best course of action.
Finally, he said, “Thank you for telling me. Please do not tell anyone else, I beg you.” There was an odd roughness to his voice.
“Are you in trouble?” she whispered, as if anyone were around to hear them.
He gave a short huff of startled laughter and looked down at her with a strange warmth in his eyes, as if seeing her anew. When he smiled this time, it did reach his eyes, just a little. “The situation is under control,” he said. “I beg you, my love, do not speak of it to anyone.”
She bit her lip. “If that is what you wish.”
He swallowed, then nodded. “I thank you.”
Lily said impulsively, “I do love the name Mrs. Overton, and I am proud of it, because I was delighted to marry you, but I do so like it when you call me Lily.”
Theo nodded sharply. “It is neither the first nor the last of many mistakes you will have to forgive me for, I am sure,” he said, with a catch in his voice.
“My mother told me, several years ago, that marriage is a long commitment to forgive each other out of love.”
Theo said nothing, only ducked his head in another bow.
They walked in silence for quite some time, until they reached, quite to Lily’s surprise, the expansive patio on which they had danced only the day before, to the accompaniment of music and cheerful congratulations.
She looked up at Theo.
He bowed to her, still terribly formal, his face pale and strained, and he held out one hand to her. “Would you honor me with a dance, Lily?”
She could hear how her name almost stuck in his throat, the rough edges of emotion she could not identify.
Lily curtsied to him, but it was not meant to be cold this time. “I would be delighted to,” she murmured.
They danced with no music. His hand trembled in hers, and she bit her lip and tried to hold back tears. She could not ask why he looked at her as if he were drowning; she knew he would not say. She caught her breath and bit back a sob.
They danced for much longer than one song, slow and melancholy and silent, and at last they stood facing each other.
“Thank you, Lily,” Theo said.
“Thank you, Theo.” Lily wanted to throw her arms around him, wanted him to kiss her until she could not breathe, but instead she waited for him to show her what he wanted.
He shuddered again, then bowed, deep and long, and kissed her hand with trembling lips.
The second morning after the wedding, Lily woke when the sunlight brightened her room to a white and gold glow. She dressed in one of her new dresses Mrs. Collingwood had made and went out to the shared sitting area. Theo was waiting, dressed in immaculate pale blue trousers and a matching vest over a crisp white shirt, with a tray of tea, fruit, and light pastries.
“Good morning, my love.” Theo stood to greet her and bowed over her hand.
“Are we to be this formal forever?” Lily’s voice was only a whisper.
“I am sorry.” Theo invited her to sit beside him. He poured hot tea from the pot into their two delicate tea cups, painted with pink roses and accented with shining gold on the rim. “How might I please you, Lily?”
Her lips trembled, and she wanted to weep. Why was he not delighted, as he always had been?
“I just want you to be happy.” She looked at him with tears in her eyes. “I don’t know what happened, or what I did, to make you so… so unlike yourself.”
His eyes flickered, and she thought for a moment he might weep himself. Then he smiled, and though it wasn’t quite like before, there was warmth in it too. “I… shall do my best to be so, my love.” He looked down at the tray. “I asked for a light breakfast this morning. Then, if it would please you, I thought we might go for a drive around the grounds, then return for a mid-morning tea.”
Lily swallowed. “I would like that.”
He clasped both her hands in his and bowed his head over them, as if he were praying, though he said nothing aloud.
The meal was quiet, but perhaps a little less tense than before.
When they had finished the last of their tea, she said, “I did have a gift for you.”
He blinked at her, and said, “You didn’t…”
“I wanted to,” she whispered. She stood and hurried to her room. From the trunk which still contained most of her belongings, she pulled the pen stand and pen that she had chosen for him, as well as the handkerchief she had embroidered.
Her cheeks flushed pink when he accepted the gifts.
“Thank you, Lily,” he said quietly. “These are lovely.”
He offered her his arm; they descended the stairs and he took her to the front steps, where a bright little two-seat phaeton was ready for them. The horses were beautifully matched bays, and Theo stopped to stroke their noses and introduce Lily to them. He helped her up, then jumped in himself.
The drive was quiet; Lily admired the extensive grounds, and admired Theo’s skillful hands as he drove. By the time they returned, she was getting a little hungry, and Theo had apparently planned for this too, for tea and cold meats and fruit and fancy cheeses she had never before tasted were waiting in a nearby alcove in the garden. Theo’s eyes scarcely left her, and whenever she looked at him, he smiled a little. It was not the effervescent joy she had always seen in him, but there was something familiar in it, and it reassured her.
That morning set a routine for the next two weeks. She would wake to the sunlight, dress, and have breakfast with Theo. He invited her to enjoy the library, and she spent many afternoons in it, reading by the windows that looked out upon the formal garden to the north of the manor.
He asked if there was anything she might like to do, and she answered that she enjoyed playing the piano. He immediately led her to the music room and let her know that she was welcome to play the beautiful piano therein.
“Shall I play something for you now?” she asked with a smile.
“If you wish.”
Lily chose the most romantic music she knew, a delicate, sweet little portion of a larger movement in a concerto. She had never played it so well.
When she looked up, Theo said quietly, “Thank you, my love. That was beautiful.”
In the evening, they would eat either in a pretty little dining room on the west wing of the house, just the two of them, or in a larger dining room with Sir Theodore and Lady Overton. The meals were quiet and a little melancholy, marred as they were by the great, unknown hurt between them, but after that first breakfast, they were also careful and kind. Lily, though she felt wronged, appreciated the Overtons’ kindness all the more, for all of them, herself included, made an effort to speak of pleasant things.
The third day after the wedding, Lady Overton asked her at dinner, “Theo told me you had been reading. Have you found a book you particularly enjoy?”
Lily told them that Theo had invited her to read anything she liked, and she had found a history of Valestria that was educational, though rather dry. Theo was quiet, as he had been since the wedding, but he managed a wistful smile at this.
The next morning, she found a well-worn book entitled The Pirate King of Wakelin on the low table in the shared space beside a fresh bunch of pink roses from pale shell-pink for innocent first love to a deep reddish-purple for passionate adoration. A few white sprigs of honeysuckle peeked out, signifying sweetness and the bond of love.
That gesture, only four days after the wedding and the subsequent hurt, was immensely reassuring to Lily. She spent much of the day devouring the book, which was not only immensely entertaining, but shed new light on Theo’s character. She wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret what she’d learned, but it was decidedly different than the history book she had been attempting to slog through. There was a great deal of sword-fighting and several grand speeches, and a triumphant victory of the most heroic sort at the end. The most delightful part of the whole book was imagining Theo as a bright-eyed child, devouring this story, and others, full of gallantry and derring-do.
“May I ask my family to tea soon?” Lily asked one morning about a week after the wedding.
Theo blinked. “Of course. Please invite them whenever you wish. This is your home.”
She swallowed, then nodded. “Thank you.”
That very afternoon she sent a note to her family by way of Anselm, who gave it to one of the stable boys, inviting them to tea the following day, if they were free. Only a few hours later she received the reply stating that Oliver was committed to an afternoon lawn tennis tournament with several new friends, but her parents would be delighted to see her.
The next morning she had breakfast with Theo again. He said, “Please convey my regrets to your parents; I have a commitment this afternoon that I must honor.”
“I will, though I am sure they would have been delighted to see you.”
“I am sorry I cannot be there.” He gave her a sweet, though slightly melancholy smile. “I do hope you have a lovely time.”
“May I ask what your commitment is?” Lily ventured tentatively.
He swallowed and looked down at the tea pot. “It is a private matter, my love. I will be honored to tell you, if it is ever possible.”
She reached out to touch his hand, wanting to comfort him, though she didn’t understand why he might need to be comforted. “I understand.”
He glanced up at her through his coppery lashes, then down at her hand. He bent to kiss her fingers and murmured, “Thank you, my love.”
Shortly afterward he departed on his horse, looking tall and elegant and entirely untroubled by the distance between them.
Her parents arrived not long after by way of a hired carriage. Anselm met Lily at the door as she hurried to greet them. As he opened the door for her, he said, “I will be delighted to take them home when your visit is completed, Mrs. Overton.”
“Thank you, Anselm,” she replied.
When her father helped her mother down from the carriage, Anselm repeated this offer to her father, who accepted and sent the driver back to town.
“Anselm, would you mind showing us where we might have tea together?”
“Not at all, Mrs. Overton.” He showed them to a sunny little sitting room that looked over a sheltered little patio and a bank of pink roses. “I will return with tea in a moment.” He let the door close quietly behind him.
Lady Hathaway had already perceived that Lily was not quite as deliriously happy as everyone had expected her to be after such a beautiful wedding to a man obviously madly in love with her.
“How are you, my darling?” she asked quietly. “You seem troubled.”
Lily hesitated, then said, “I am not entirely sure, Mother.”
At this moment Anselm returned with tea. He set out the tray and poured everyone’s first cup of a sweet-scented jasmine tea which paired perfectly with the accompanying petite flaky pastries topped with whipped cream and raspberries. Lily waited until Anselm bowed and departed, giving them a little privacy.
“Did something happen?” asked her mother when they were alone.
Lily took a sip of tea, considering her words. “Theo is desperately unhappy about something, and I think he believes it was my fault. But I do not know what it was, and he will not tell me.”
Sir Jacob asked, “Has he been unkind to you?”
“No, Father.” Lily blinked back unexpected tears, thinking of that first night, when they ought to have been so happy, and then putting the memory aside. “But it is so unlike him to be melancholy, and I do not know how to help him, or myself, find the happiness we both expected.”
Sir Jacob gazed at her, and she knew he saw the tears in her eyes and the trembling of her lip. He put his hand over hers reassuringly.
She brushed at her eyes and said, “I don’t even want to speak of it now. I’m sorry. I oughtn’t to have said anything.”
Her father said quietly, “You don’t owe us an explanation, Lily. But we love you, and we want you to be happy.”
“I am. I ought to be. He’s been so kind to me, even after… whatever happened.” She brushed tears from her eyes. “He sent his regrets, by the way. He was disappointed that he could not be here to see you.”
She showed them around the gardens and to the library, then, after more tea and talk of the garden, they allowed themselves to be taken back to the city by Anselm. Lily wondered what Sir Theodore and Lady Overton would think she had told them, but at dinner that evening, both they and Theo merely asked if she had had a pleasant visit.