Contrasting this picnic with the one she’d been on with Nathan was like comparing black against white. Or a Worth gown versus a linen smock.
Lily couldn’t be sure which she preferred. Worth gowns were pretty, as was this picnic. Liveried footmen ferried crystal serving dishes from table to table, and a three-piece orchestra strummed out a Haydn sonata. Every lady wore an elaborate hat and pastel dress, men light summer suits and bowler hats.
But linen smocks were more comfortable—like her picnic with Nathan. There she hadn’t felt a bit self-conscious, even when her dress hung on her like a waterlogged burlap bag. There she’d let herself eat her fill of that amazingly delicious cake, without worrying what anyone might think. There…well, what did it matter? She wasn’t there anymore, but here.
Mr. Kingsley had returned, profusions of “I’ve missed you” on his lips and a volume of Shakespeare in his hand. A belated birthday gift, he said.
How sweet he was—to think of her amid his busyness.
“Enjoying yourself?” He accepted another helping of foie gras from a waiter. The hostess of the picnic, Mrs. Livingston-Hockley, had an obsession for all things French and planned her menu accordingly. She had a passion for all things Versailles and Marie Antoinette, too, though after what had happened to that sorry royal, Lily couldn’t understand why.
“Immensely.” She nibbled on a baguette slice.
“How are your party plans coming?”
“Pretty well.” A footman held out a tray of pear and peach tartlets. My, those did look tempting. All golden brown and sprinkled with crystalized sugar. Though what would Mr. Kingsley think if she gave in to her urge to take two? Best not test it. She daintily accepted one—the tiniest pear piece she could find—and plated it. “It’s to be a costume ball, you know.”
“And who are you posing as?”
She watched as he also took one small pear tart.
“I’m not telling.” An impish smile lifted her lips. She’d decided to dress as an English shepherdess, but she certainly wasn’t letting him know that. It would be a surprise, one she hoped he’d be pleased with.
“What color is your dress then? That way I’ll know what sort of flowers to bring.”
“Blue. But you won’t hear another word about it.” Her attention was diverted by Mrs. Livingston-Hockley’s young daughter, Amy. Though children were generally neither seen nor heard at gatherings such as these, a few mothers had decked their young ones in enormous hair bows and sailor suits and brought them along. Amy’s hair bow had gone crooked, and fat tears dripped down the seven-year-old’s cheeks.
Mrs. Livingston-Hockley stood on the opposite side of the lawn, giving directions to the orchestra and not paying a whit of attention to her daughter.
With a quick word to Mr. Kingsley, Lily pushed back her chair, hurried across the lawn, and knelt down beside the little girl. Of course, the grass would probably stain her pale lilac skirt, but the sadness in the child’s eyes was far more important than any mere item of clothing.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” She brushed her fingertips across Amy’s cheeks, wishing she’d brought her reticule so she could offer a handkerchief.
Amy’s lower lip trembled, her pudgy face red and flushed. “Mary Sue said I’m as…as fat as her mama’s pug dog. She says I’d better not eat anything for the next ten years, else I won’t be able to get a handsome prince like Cinderella did. I…really, really want a prince like Cinderella.” She burst into another round of blubbers.
Lily drew in a breath and smiled at the girl. “First of all, Amy, you are a beautiful young lady. No matter what Mary Sue or anyone says to you, it doesn’t change the truth. And handsome princes, if they are truly good men, will look past our outward appearance and see the people we are inside.” She pointed to her heart. “And I know you are very beautiful there, too.”
“You mean a handsome prince will love me even if I do look like a pug dog?” Amy had ceased crying and regarded Lily with wide, interested eyes.
“A true prince will love you always. He won’t care whether you’re as rich as the Vanderbilts, or poor like Cinderella. It won’t matter to him if your nose gets all red when you cry or if your teeth are a little crooked.” She opened her mouth to show Amy her slightly crooked bottom teeth. “A true prince will always care for you, no matter what. But it’s your job to recognize the true princes from the villains who might look like princes. And never, ever give your heart away until you’re absolutely sure.”
Amy sniffed, wiping her nose on the back of her sleeve. “Mary Sue isn’t as smart as you. She doesn’t know about true princes. Thank you for telling me, Mrs. Montgomery.”
Lily smiled, pulling the girl into a gentle hug. Amy nestled into her embrace, wrapping both arms around Lily’s waist. She inhaled the scent of soap and chocolate, reveling in the sensation of holding this sweet child. What a wonder it would be to experience this joy every day. Imparting wisdom to, loving, a little girl of her own.
An ache swelled in her chest.
“Now, you go find Mary Sue and tell her what I just told you.” She released the girl and reached to straighten her pink hair ribbon.
“I will!” Giving her one last happy smile, Amy scampered across the lawn.
Lily turned. Mr. Kingsley stood a few feet away, leaning against a tree, watching her. She got to her feet, smoothed the front of her dress, and crossed to where he stood.
“What was that all about?” He offered her his arm and led her back to their table.
“Just giving some womanly advice.” She smiled up at him, liking the way her hand rested on his arm. As if it had been there for years and would continue to remain so.
“You left that little girl smiling. You do that, Lily Montgomery. Make people smile. Bring joy into their lives.” He pulled out her chair and pushed it in once she sat down.
“You really think so?” The compliment warmed her heart the way the sun warmed her skin. She could easily grow used to hearing such words every day, a balm to the scars left by her marriage to Jackson.
“I know so. And what’s more, I want to…hope very much to…” He looked down at his plate. Despite the chatter and laughter of the nearby guests, a sense of intimacy lingered between them.
What was he going to say? Did he care for her? Did she, for him? What was love, anyway? Was this it? Her only prior experience had been with Jackson, and she realized now that her feelings for him had been no more than girlish dreams and fantasies, as light and void of substance as the cream puffs that sat in the center of the table. Did a true prince lie in her future, as she’d promised Amy? Was he to be found in the man before her?
Mr. Kingsley seemed to hesitate. “Never mind. There’ll be time enough to say what I wish later.” He lifted his glass of lemonade, as if to make a toast.
“Indeed.” But the smile he gave her made her believe he wished later came sooner instead.
There was a time when one had to quit holding on to hope. Admit defeat, let the best man win.
Nathan had come to that point in his feelings toward Lily Montgomery.
Since Kingsley’s return, he and Lily had been as inseparable as before. And as they grew closer, Nathan sensed his own distance with Lily lengthening. Like a rope, stretched tighter and tighter, tested further and further, until it reached the breaking point. They had only two weeks left in the Newport season. And if Nathan didn’t miss his guess, Lily and Kingsley would announce their engagement before the end of it.
Never mind her care of him after his operation. Never mind their conversation, the smiles passed between them. Never mind their picnic—standing next to her in the water, two seconds away from kissing her senseless.
In Lily’s eyes, it meant nothing.
What did matter, though, was ascertaining one thing. He’d prayed about it and felt the Lord’s peace about pursuing the truth.
He had to make sure Kingsley would treat Lily as she deserved. There was no way his own life could hold any remaining speck of joy if he heard of Lily’s later unhappiness.
So he’d investigate Kingsley. Ascertain that the man’s motives were as honorable as first impressions would have one believe. All it would take was a telephone call to New York, to the office of a lawyer, a man Nathan had met while serving as footman during a house party on the Hudson River. The man would help him; Nathan had little doubt of that.
One telephone call.
Then he could give her up and hope and pray for his heart to follow.
Nathan got the answer to his telephone inquiries a week later.
He opened and read the hastily penned note.
A howling anxiety whirred through his mind.