Lily (52 page)

Reverend Hattie, a tall, lantern-jawed gentleman in a black bagwig, said, “Hmpf,” again. Devon sent his mother a look; she caught it, approached the minister, and set out to divert him. Reverend Hattie was a kind soul, but he was from the old school: he didn’t appreciate the charm in the attendance of the happy couple’s month-old son at the marriage ceremony. In good conscience, he couldn’t condone it; and yet his presence seemed to bless it. The reverend was in a quandary.

Devon unknowingly deserted Francis in the middle of a sentence and set out on a new round of pacing. What could Lily be doing? He glanced at the house. Two round-eyed faces stared back at him from the library window. Seeing him watching, they disappeared at once behind the draperies.

He took the wide terrace steps two at a time and strode into the house. “Galen!” he called to his stableman, who was rushing out of the room, pulling Lowdy behind him.

They stopped and turned around, guilty-faced. “We was watchin’, like,” MacLeaf confessed. His gap-toothed grin was charming.

“Well, hell, man, come outside and watch.”

“Oh! Well now, edn that—”

“Lowdy, where’s Lily?”

“She’m gone to the stables, sir.”

“The
stables?
What on earth for?”

“Don’t know, sir.”

“Well, go and get her. Hurry!”

Lowdy dropped a hasty curtsey and ran out.

Devon went back outside.

“Sit down, why don’t you? Relax. Have some punch.” Clay toasted him with his glass, grinning at him. “Think she’s run off? Got cold feet at the last second?”

Devon ignored him and checked his watch. Twelve-forty.

“Maybe she got a look at that waistcoat,” Clay theorized. Alice giggled, which only egged him on. “It’s hit her that she can’t possibly go through life with a man who would wear such a thing to his own wedding.”

Devon looked down at his vest. “What’s wrong with it?” But he had to smile, too. Crimson brocade wasn’t quite his style; he’d chosen it to brighten up the somber black of his dress coat and breeches. Lily hadn’t seen it yet; he had an idea it would make her laugh. He hoped it would.
Where was she?

“
I don’t know why you’re nervous,” Clay continued, enjoying himself. Today was his first day out of bed and he was full of high spirits. “It’s not as if you two don’t kn-
know
each other pretty well already.” He wriggled his eyebrows in a suggestive leer; Alice tsked a reprimand, but then spoiled the stern effect by giggling again.

“I’m going to remember this,” Devon promised grimly, “next September when you two get married. Just wait.”

Clay and Alice laughed delightedly, Clay holding his side; they were at that stage of infatuation when anything remotely amusing seems, in each other’s company, hilarious.

Devon shook his head at them, suppressing a laugh of his own. But where was Lily? This had gone on too long—perhaps something was truly amiss.

Elizabeth sat down, abandoning the reverend, the better to make clown faces at her grandson. Her little dog, Midge, looked put out. Devon walked over to Elizabeth and asked, “How’s Charlie?”

“Lovely. But he might be wet.”

“Here, I’ll take him.” She handed the baby over reluctantly. Devon smiled down at his son, feeling the usual swell of pride and joy. Charlie’s mother had made him a wedding gown of lemon-yellow flannel, with blue embroidery at the collar as delicate as fine penciling.

Where was she?

“I’m going after her,” he decided suddenly.

“But, Dev—”

“I’m going.” He turned and went around house, arms full of Charlie, and headed for the stables.

He found her with Lowdy in the middle of the hard-packed yard, standing still. The two women had their full-skirted backs to him; he couldn’t imagine what they were doing. They heard him and turned, and he saw Gabriel between them, sitting back on his haunches, tongue lolling.

Lily beamed, then her face turned apologetic. “I’m sorry—I’m holding up everything, aren’t I?”

“It’s all right.” He gave the baby to Lowdy, then reached for Lily’s hand and kissed it. “You look beautiful.” He’d never seen her rose-colored gown of silk damask, elegantly simple, with silver lace tumbling at the sleeves and the low bodice. She was wearing her heavy hair swept up in a pretty French twist. Her tall, graceful figure wasn’t a bit less desirable for being temporarily more matronly.

“You look beautiful too,” she returned, gray-green eyes twinkling, and he stood up taller in his bright red waistcoat “Is everyone waiting? I’m sorry—I wanted Gabriel to come.” She blushed a little. “To the wedding.”

Devon said stoutly, “Of course he should come.”

“But I didn’t realize how long it would take him to get there. He’s resting.” They looked down at the panting dog. He thunked his tail and grinned at them.

“Did you tell him Midge is waiting for him? That should get him moving.”

Lily clucked her tongue, indignant. “I’ve told you, Dev, Gabriel is
not
in love with that—
animal
your mother calls a dog.”

“Love is blind, my sweet. Which is a very good thing for some of us.”

She stepped closer and slid her arms around his neck. “Not for you,” she murmured, smiling. “My eyes are wide open.”

Devon kissed them closed, whispering something Lowdy couldn’t hear, try though she might. Lowdy’s own eyes grew wide as the embracing couple began to kiss in earnest. Right there in the stableyard, front to front, arms all wrapped, mouths mashed. It got even better when the master started moving his hands around on the new mistress’s waist and what-not—and then that long-nose preacher went and spoiled it.

“Here now, enough of that,” boomed Reverend Hattie, striding toward them. Lily and Devon broke apart without much haste and not an ounce of shame. “Turn right around, both of you, and march yourselves into the house.” Without ceremony, he took the baby from Lowdy and made shooing motions with his free hand. “March! By heaven, this cub’s going to have honest parents within the next ten minutes, or I’ll know why not.”

Devon shrugged, resigned. “Right you are, Reverend. A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do, however heavy the task.” Laughing, he pulled Lily close and kissed her again when she opened her mouth to object.

“No more of that till you’re wed,” exhorted the parson, then glanced down at the infant in his arms. “Not that it makes much difference now.” Charlie stared back at him, mesmerized.

Gabriel got up carefully and began to walk toward the house, leading the way at a slow, dignified pace. Lily and Devon followed, holding hands.

“Who might you be?” Reverend Hattie inquired, craning his neck behind him.

“Loveday Rostarn, your honor,” Lowdy piped. She decided to expand. “Her as who you’re marryin’ next week wi’ Galen MacLeaf.”

“You haven’t got a baby too, have you?”

“Phaw,” scoffed Lowdy, blushing prettily. “Tes them two what can’t keep their ‘ands off each other,” she declared, nodding toward the meandering pair ahead. “Me an’ Galen …” she trailed off, leery of lying to a man of the cloth.

“Have been lucky so far,” Reverend Hattie guessed cannily.

Lowdy grinned. “Well, that’s as may be, your reverence, but ee did ought t’ be makin’ haste after them two.”

“Why is that, Miss Rostarn?”

“Bain’t it clear as day? Ee’ve a babe in your arms as tes, an’ ee can see what
they’re
like.” And in fact, the pair in question were already kissing and snuggling again. “Was I in your line o’ work, I’d be quickenin’ along, your grace, t’ make sartin there ain’t another early-born thistle shootin’ up afore next spring!”

Patricia Gaffney is a
New York Times
bestselling and award-winning author of twelve historical romances and five contemporary women’s fiction titles. She has won the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart award and has been nominated six times for the RWA’s RITA award for excellence in romance writing.

Born on December 17, 1944, in Tampa, Florida, to an Irish Catholic family, Gaffney grew up in Bethesda, Maryland. After graduating from college, she worked as a high school teacher for one year before beginning a fifteen-year career as a freelance court reporter. It was during this time that she met her husband, Jon Pearson.

Gaffney’s life changed course in 1984 when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Her battle with the disease prompted her, in 1986, to pursue her lifelong dream of becoming a novelist. Her first novel,
Sweet Treason
(1989), won a 1988 Golden Heart Award and the
Romantic Times
Reviewers’ Choice award for First Historical Romance. Her second novel,
Fortune’s Lady
(1989), which is set in England against the backdrop of the French Revolution, was shortlisted for the RITA. She followed her early success with
Another Eden
(1992),
Crooked Hearts
(1994),
Sweet Everlasting
(1994),
Lily
(1996),
Outlaw in Paradise
(1997), and
Wild at Heart
(1997), the latter of which was among ten finalists for RWA’s reader-nominated Favorite Book of the Year Award.

Since the late nineties, Gaffney has found added success writing women’s fiction. Her novels
The Saving Graces
(1999),
Circle of Three
(2000),
Flight Lessons
(2002), and
The Goodbye Summer
(2004) all appeared on several national bestseller lists.
The Saving Graces
was on the
New York Times
bestseller list for seventeen weeks.

With her friends Nora Roberts (writing as J. D. Robb), Mary Blayney, and others, Gaffney has also contributed novellas to three anthologies, all of which were
New York Times
bestsellers.

Gaffney lives with her husband and two dogs in Blue Ridge Summit, Pennsylvania.