Lily (38 page)

“For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and cleave to his wife, and they twain shall be one flesh.’ “

She had no choice. “Unnatural act” or not, what she was doing was a practical necessity, nothing more or less. Her other two options were the poorhouse and prostitution. Rather than marry Lewis, she might have picked one of those—except for the baby. The solution was not to think about it. Submit; let it happen. And don’t faint. Gratefully she felt the solidity of Lewis’s shoulder against hers. But it surprised her too, for she hadn’t realized she was leaning against him. Soames had stopped reading and was addressing his “dear friends,” telling them why they were gathered here together.

It’s not the end of the world; it’s a wedding. To a good man, a respectable man. Just then he took her hand—his father must have told him to; she hadn’t heard—and she looked down at Lewis’s huge, blocky fingers, hers invisible inside them. She tried to imagine him touching her with passion, and everything in her shriveled and shrank. It was a sin, but she thought of Devon’s hands, touching her. Even last night, in his anger and pain, there had been moments of undeniable tenderness between them—never mind that they had been against his will, half buried under some inscrutable torment. But he didn’t love her; he had as good as given her to Lewis, without regrets: “I wish you happiness with him,” he’d said. His heart was a mystery she would never unlock, because she would never see him again.

Marriage was an indissoluble union, Soames was saying, sanctified by the word of God and prayer. It was a sacrament proclaimed by Christ according to Mark, indivisible once undertaken save for the cause of fornication. Fancy, Lily knew, but it seemed to her that Cousin Roger’s piercing gray eyes could see through her concealing veil straight to her wicked heart.
Submit,
she ordered herself. Don’t think, just do it. Do it for the baby. Her hand in Lewis’s was drenched with perspiration, but she was shivering as if with a chill. She heard a whirring in her ears, and despaired: dear God, she was going to faint after all.

But it wasn’t whirring, she realized a second later, it was whispering; and now it was murmuring. People were
talking.
Impossible; was she losing her mind? Were they? What had Soames just said that could have provoked it? “In the absence of any impediment” was the last thing she could remember. She glanced up at Lewis, but he seemed equally bewildered. Soames stopped talking and peered, scowling, between her and Lewis’s shoulders. They turned around together, still holding hands. The crowd behind them was parting in the middle, falling back to make way for a newcomer.

In the instant before she saw him, Lily knew it was Devon. Her first response was sheer, wild delight. Behind the veil, her face was transformed; she had to hold back a laugh of pure joy. He was here! He was going to save her! He was dressed formally, all in black; he even wore a wig. Had he been here all the time, pretending to be a wedding guest? Knowing it would be unseemly just now to flash him a huge, rapturous smile, she kept her veil in place. She saw him glance down at her and Lewis’s clasped hands, and gave a tug to break the contact. But Lewis held on.

“I know of an impediment to this marriage,” Devon announced in an idle, conversational tone that nevertheless carried to every ear in the long room.

But Lily saw through his seeming casualness; she could read the hot intensity in his eyes, and she felt its answering flame in her own heart.
Oh, my love,
she called to him silently; the jumping of a muscle in his hard jaw made her imagine he’d heard.

“At least, I should find it a bit of an impediment if I were standing in the happy groom’s shoes at this moment.”

“Who are you?” demanded Soames. “What do you want here?”

“I’m Devon Darkwell, Viscount Sandown, and I know a reason why young Lewis here might not wish to bind himself forever in holy wedlock to this woman. Are you interested in hearing it?”

The room had gone deathly quiet. Even Soames, for once, seemed incapable of speech. Finally it was Lewis who answered. “Speak your piece quickly, sir, and then leave us. You are not known here.”

“Not entirely true, my friend. I’m known by one of you. Known rather well, in fact.” His voice was still matter-of-fact; it was the slight sneer on his lips when he uttered the last words that sounded the alarm in Lily’s brain. “But you asked me to be quick. I’m happy to oblige, for I’ve no more stomach for prolonging this unsavory business than you. Think you, sir, that you are marrying a virgin?”

A gasp went up. Lewis’s fierce grip on her hand tightened painfully, and she was relieved; it took her mind off the agony inside as every hope died and each foolish dream crumbled. Devon had not come to rescue her, he’d come to ruin her. She had a swift vision of everything that would happen, like lightning illuminating a catastrophe, and then it all went black again.

“How dare you?” blustered Soames, his eloquent voice rising with indignation. “By what right do you come among us with your foul innuendos?”

“Let him speak, Father,” Lewis said softly, and the murmurs of curiosity and outrage tapered off again to silence.

Devon cocked an amused eyebrow. “Thank you,” he said with a mock bow. “I’ll be brief. Assuming that, like most men, you don’t care to find yourself encumbered with used goods on your wedding night, I think it might interest you to know that your betrothed is not precisely what she seems. Not even remotely, in fact. My acquaintance with the lady is short, a matter of months, so I can’t speak of the past. But I can tell you that until four weeks ago she was my mistress.”

Soames was beside himself. “Sir!” he thundered, raising one heavy arm and pointing behind Devon to the door. “Leave my house at once before I have you thrown out. By God, sir, I’ll—”

“Have you proof of this?” interrupted Lewis.

“Alas, no. I can, however, prove one of the lady’s more recent transgressions. Very recent, in point of fact; indeed, I’m speaking of last night.”

A chorus of shocked exclamations erupted from the guests. When she needed it the most, Lewis suddenly dropped Lily’s hand; she wobbled, and felt Soames’s strong, sustaining grip on her shoulder. Comfort from an unexpected source, she mused—and surely a temporary one. She folded her arms around herself and concentrated on not swooning. It would be too cheap a solution.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” Devon went on with the same ghastly confidentiality, “but better to find out now than later, eh? The fact is, I lay with your bride last night in your own bed. Well, not in
your
bed precisely, but you take my meaning. I had her three or four times, I forget which, and then left at dawn by way of that convenient little balcony.” He smiled, and said as an aside, “If you decide to marry her anyway, I suggest you begin your new life together in a room without balconies, for your own peace of mind.”

“Liar!” roared Soames.

“Not at all. Shall I describe the room to you? Small, the minimum of furniture; a rose-colored carpet of a vaguely floral design. White walls, plain ceiling. Truthfully, it’s the bed I remember best—an oak tester with a carved headboard. Cotton coverlet of purple and rose and light blue, I think. You still don’t believe me? Wait, I’d forgotten.” He reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled from it something white. “Voila! The lady’s garter—I divested her of it myself. As you can see, it has her initials.”

All alone now, thought Lily, feeling Soames’s lifeless hand slide from her shoulder. It was almost a relief, because nothing worse could happen. This was the bottom.

Lewis was speaking to her. “Is this true, Lily, any of it? Do you know this man? Is he—”

“Of course it’s not true,” Soames interrupted, rallying, moving to stand between them. “The man’s a liar, and very likely an impostor. Lily is family, my cousin’s child. I’m a minister of the Lord—I’ve been blessed with the gift of seeing into men’s souls, and I tell you this woman’s heart is pure. Do you think I would countenance the wedding of my son to a common jade?” There was a gathering murmur of uncertain agreement. With his next words, Soames’s persuasive voice rang with conviction. “Your lies don’t convince us, sir. Leave my house at once. The wedding will go forward, on the strength of the word of this chaste girl. Lily,” he boomed, eyeing her confidently. “We only wait for the truth from your lips. Tell us, do you know this man?”

“Yes, I know him.” In another mood, she might have found Soames’s expression comical, so obvious was his desire to rephrase the question. Summoning the last of her strength, she turned away from him and faced Lewis, drawing her veil away with an unsteady hand and looking directly into his shocked eyes. “What he says is true. I have been his lover. I ask your pardon, Lewis, I never meant to hurt you. I wanted to make you a good wife—” She broke off when Lewis snarled and shoved her away, hands trembling with suppressed violence, and turned his back on her.

His father confronted him immediately; their low, urgent conversation was drowned out in the rising din of shock and amazement of the scandalized wedding guests. Lily felt their rapt gazes on her as acutely as if she were naked, but she looked at none of them. It was Devon’s glance that held her. Even when Lewis broke away from Soames’s desperate counsel and announced in a strident voice that the wedding was off, she couldn’t look away—no matter that the cruel triumph in Devon’s face desolated her.

She became aware that the room was emptying. She felt a light touch on her arm and turned to see Ruth Soames standing at her side. The confusion in her shy brown eyes made Lily reach for her hand. “
I’m so sorry,
” she whispered. Ruth shook her head in slow bewilderment and started to speak. But Lily would never know what she intended to say, because Lewis pushed his way between the two women at that moment, and Ruth, as intimidated by her son as she was by her husband, turned away and wandered out of the room.

Knowing it was hopeless to try to make peace with Lewis, Lily simply waited. When she’d put on her pretty green wedding gown this morning, she’d been conscious of the irony that the day was glorious, the sun shimmering down from a sky of pure azure. Now, without surprise, she saw through the long drawing-room windows that a raucous wind had sprung up, blackening the sky and hurling dead leaves against the house. A much more fitting conclusion to the debacle of her wedding.

Lewis curled and uncurled his fingers into fists. With his back to Devon he hissed at her, “Lily Trehearne, you’ve dishonored my home and brought shame on my family. Leave this house; you’re dead to us now. But know that God’s wrath follows you and His justice is swift and terrible. Out, whore! Filthy, fornicating slut—”

She didn’t truly believe he would strike her, even though his hands were clenched and raised; still, she felt relief when Devon seized him by the collar and pulled him backward, cutting off the tirade. “What, no words of denunciation for me? Not very evenhanded of you, Lewis, old man. A girl has to have a partner to be a filthy, fornicating slut—or hasn’t your father explained that to you yet?”

“Villain! Spawn of the devil! Get out of my house, both of you! Here—what are you doing? Get back. Stop it, I said—”

Devon was marching Lewis backward toward the door, nudging him with a flat hand on his chest each time he stopped. “Go away, Lewis,” he told him quietly. “I’ll leave in two minutes. But you’ll appreciate that I need to have a word with Lily first.”

“No, you—”

“Two minutes.” He gave him a last firm shove and shut the door in his face.

Lily looked at the only seating accommodation, a loveseat set under the windows for some infirm wedding guest. But it was on the other side of the room, miles away; she would never reach it before her legs gave way. A long wainscoted wall was behind her; she stepped back until she felt its reassuring solidity against her shoulders. Devon sauntered over unhurriedly, hands in his pockets. The look of casual victory in his face and bearing was a mask, she knew, for there was nothing casual about him. He stopped in front of her and braced an arm against the wall beside her. She felt the subtle menace radiating from his body, but she was not afraid of him now.

“Too bad about the wedding,” he murmured, smiling with false sympathy. “But I was wrong about Lewis—he’s a canting arse. In my opinion you’re well rid of him. What will you do now, do you think?” She didn’t speak. “I expect you’ll land on your feet one way or another. Your kind always does.”

Numbness, not pride, kept her from weeping. It was hurtful to look at him, but she had to know the answer. She swallowed down the viscous lump in the back of her throat and got the word out: “Why?”

Slowly his face changed. Malicious whimsy faded to stark hatred, and under it, grief. “Clay,” he said hollowly. “He isn’t better, Lily. I think he must be dead by now. I stayed with him for a month, but he never woke up. The doctors gave him no chance.” He pulled something from his pocket and handed it to her. “And you killed him.”

She opened the worn, folded piece of paper. Her legs buckled; she steadied herself by locking her knees and leaning all her weight against the wall. Her arms fell to her sides and she closed her eyes as the hissing in her ears became a roar.
Lily shot.
All the blood drained from her face; she looked like a standing corpse. But it passed; the spell passed and she didn’t faint—another mercy denied her. When she could move, she folded her arms around her middle, protecting her womb. She wet her lips with her tongue. “Why didn’t you just kill me?” she whispered. She saw him lean forward and realized he hadn’t heard. The words hurt her throat, but she said them again.

“I wanted to. Want to. But this is better.”

Because she couldn’t look at him any longer, she didn’t know he was leaving until she heard his slow footfalls on the carpet. A second later the door opened with a soft click, and after that she knew she was alone. Quietly, gradually, she slid to the floor.

She hooked her arms around her knees and rocked herself, fighting nausea brought on by the sweet, relentless smell of carnations. The house was uncannily quiet. With her cheek resting on her knee, she could hear the blood pounding in her ears, feel it swishing through her wrists. Inside her was another heart, tiny, beating fast and birdlike; within her was another being, vulnerable, helpless, innocent. It was her responsibility, the only one now, to keep her baby safe. For that reason, Lily put aside thoughts of self-destruction. And for that reason, after only a few more minutes of quiet, empty-headed numbness, she climbed to her feet and carefully made her way from the room.