Love According To Lily (17 page)

Marion would never even have
considered
being so disobedient with her parents. They had chosen a husband for her and she had never questioned or resisted their wishes. It had not been easy, but she had endured her difficult marriage because it had been her duty. Her duty!

What was wrong with these young people today who would not do the responsible thing? she wondered, seething with a pent-up rage that throbbed at her temples. They all seemed to live for their passions and impulses, and ignored their obligations. Duty
had
to be fulfilled. It was a fact of life.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, she stared into the empty grate in the fireplace. She remembered suddenly a night in the early days of her marriage when her husband, the duke, had shouted and banged at her door. He had burst in smelling of another woman’s perfume, and had thrown her private childhood journal into the fire. She had burned her hands trying to retrieve it, but in the end had watched it dissolve into ash.

Lily, you will be so unhappy with a man like Whitby…

But no. Lily was defiant. If she were ever unhappy, she would leave. If she had been in Marion’s shoes, Lily would have left the duke. In fact, she never would have married him in the first place.

Marion’s breath caught in her throat. Could
she
have refused to marry the man her parents had chosen, like Lily was doing? Could she have?

No, no. She could not question that now. It made her heart pinch in her chest to even
consider
questioning it. She couldn’t possibly live with that thought. She couldn’t think about what her life would have been like if she’d made her own choice.

I
married the duke because I was an obedient daughter, and I remained at his side because I was a dutiful duchess. I did not ignore my obligations. I did the right thing
.

Then she broke down into a fit of sobs.

Chapter 19

Whitby entered James’s study at precisely 10 A.M. James was seated at his desk, but rose to his feet and walked around to greet him. “You’ve gotten your color back,” he said.

Whitby nodded, but the truth was, he needed to sit down before he collapsed. Just the walk down the hall had exhausted him. “The fever is gone.”

“Well, that’s good news.” James gestured to the sofa. “How can I be of assistance?”

Whitby wished he knew the right way to tell James what was on his mind, but supposed there was no right way to say it. He would simply have to do it as directly as possible.

He sat down on the sofa, while James sat in a facing chair. “I’m afraid this will not be easy for you to hear.”

James inclined his head. “It sounds serious.”

“Indeed.”

James probably thought it had something to do with the illness, or Whitby’s last wishes. He was most definitely going to be taken aback.

Whitby leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands together in front of him. “Are you aware, James, that Lily has had an affection for me in the past?”

James sat back. “There were occasions over the years when I sensed she might have entertained a bit of a crush.”

“Yes, well, it has become more than that. She’s a woman now and—”

“Has she expressed this to you?” James asked, looking concerned.

Whitby stared numbly at him. “Yes.”

Raising his eyebrows, James stood and paced around the room. Whitby gave him a moment, hoping he would calmly figure things out on his own.

“Well,” James said at last, “this is indeed awkward. I wonder if it had something to do with the pressure our mother was exacting upon her to marry Lord Richard. Lily can sometimes react to things by rebelling and darting as quickly as she can in another direction. And perhaps with you being so ill, a captive audience so to speak… I do apologize, Whitby, if this has caused you any worries. Would you like me to speak with her?”

Whitby pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. This was not transpiring as he had hoped it would. It was going to be difficult to explain.

“No, James. That won’t be necessary. Lily and I have already discussed it, and the reason I am here is to ask for your blessing in regards to…” He paused, not quite able to finish. In an attempt to start again, he stood, thinking it would be easier if he could face James at eye level, but it was not easier. He had no strength. “In regards to my marrying her.”

James’s face pulled into a frown. “I beg your pardon. Did I hear you correctly?”

“Yes, you did.”

They both stood tall, each with their hands at their sides, though it cost Whitby dearly, for he was still exceedingly weak.

“You want to marry my sister,” James said.

“I do.”

James’s eyes narrowed with anger, or maybe it was confusion. Whitby couldn’t be sure.

“Why?” James asked.

It was not a question Whitby had been prepared for, though he should have been. He supposed the correct answer was, “Because I love her,” but he couldn’t seem to say those words out loud. James would never believe them if he did.

In all honesty, he wasn’t sure he did love Lily. He cared for her, certainly, and he was attracted to her. But love… That was beyond his experience as of yet, and James knew it.

“Because I care for her,” he said, “and she wants to be my wife.”

“Many women over the years have wanted to be your wife,” James said with rancor, “but you could never bring yourself to commit to being anyone’s husband. What is different now? Is it because you are ill and you are grasping at one last chance to live?”

Whitby could not lie to James. He was too good a friend, though Whitby wasn’t sure how much longer he would be after this. “That’s part of it.”

“And the other part? You want to keep your title from passing to Magnus? You once told me the only reason you would ever give in to the shackles of marriage was for the sake of an heir.”

Whitby didn’t reply to that. He knew it was indeed a factor in his very complex motivations regarding his actions last night in bed with Lily. A part of him had wanted to conceive a child.

But not just because of Magnus.

“You must realize,” James said icily, “that I would never allow my sister to be used and abandoned in that way. Not by anyone.”

“I would never abandon her.”

“It might be out of your hands.”

Whitby could not argue with that. The statement seemed to bring a halt to their discussion. James took in a few deep, controlled breaths.

Whitby felt a great need to reassure him. He had to know that Whitby would never intentionally hurt Lily.

“I care for her, James. And you’re right—I don’t know how much time I have left. It could be a month, it could be years. I only know that I want to spend that time with your sister.”

James stared at him in disbelief, then turned away and walked to the window. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re not yourself right now. In a few days, you will look back on this and wonder what the hell had come over you. I know you, Whitby. You can’t possibly want to marry Lily.
Lily
! My
sister
!”

“I’m sorry, James. I know this must come as a shock to you, but I
will
be marrying her.”

James whirled around and glared at Whitby. “But you have never been true to any woman.”

“I have not, as of yet,” Whitby replied, “but there is always a first time. You of all people should know that. You have been true to Sophia.”

James squared his shoulders. “Yes, I have, but Sophia is Sophia. We are talking about Lily here.”

“She’s not a child, James.”

“And when the hell did you notice that?”

Whitby sighed. “I’ve been aware of it for quite some time.”

Which was not entirely true, but it was what James needed to hear.

“Yet you said nothing to me.”

“How could I? You would have thrashed me, like you want to thrash me now.”

Whitby could see the tension building in James, for he had always been protective of his sister,
especially since the Paris incident, for which he had blamed himself, and to this day had not completely forgiven himself.

“I certainly do want to thrash you—if only to knock some sense into you. You’re ill, Whitby. You are in no position to propose to anyone.”

Whitby knew it could not be avoided any longer. What was done could not be undone. He was going to marry Lily as quickly as it could be arranged. No one—not even James—could stop it. Whitby would not allow it.

“I’m afraid it’s a little late for contemplation,” he said. “The fact is, I have already proposed and Lily has accepted. I will remind you she is of age.”

James stared at him for a long, hard moment. “Too late, you say.”

Whitby could see in James’s eyes that he was grasping the reality of the situation. Whitby hadn’t really intended for James to know what had occurred between him and Lily out of wedlock. He had hoped no one would ever have to know about that. But James had a knack for seeing through things.

But if that’s what it would take to get James to agree, Whitby would use it—because he didn’t have time to tiptoe around James or anyone else for that matter. He needed a preacher here within the week.

A dark shadow of anger and loathing passed over James’s features. “Tell me you haven’t.”

Whitby swallowed hard over his sore throat. “I’m sorry, James.” He saw the shock and devastation on his friend’s face, and felt a violent onslaught of remorse. God, this was wretched.

He took a quick step forward. “James, I never intended…”

He could not go on.

James sank into a chair. “
You
. You came with me to Paris to bring her home. We had all been so worried that she’d been ravished and ruined by that despicable Frenchman, and now you—my oldest, most trusted friend—come into my home and ruin her under my own roof, knowing you could be dying.”

Despite a sudden eruption of shame and regret that ripped brutally through Whitby’s heart—for his friend was losing all trust in him, and for good reason—he struggled to cling to his purpose. “I’ll be good to her, James. I’ll make her happy.”

But even as he spoke the words, a sudden onslaught of self-doubt nearly choked him. Who was he trying to fool? James was right. Whitby had ruined Lily, and he’d taken away all her chances for future happiness.

He began to feel a sharp sense of panic about what he’d done. He should have been more firm with her and told her to go back to her own bed. He shouldn’t have been thinking of his own needs. He was not the kind of husband she deserved. Whitby had taken her innocence thoughtlessly and selfishly, and now it was too late to change it.

“For how long will you make her happy?” James asked tersely, echoing what Whitby already knew.

But there was no point in answering the question. It would not improve matters here.

They both remained silent for a moment while Whitby let the news sink in. He stood listening to the ominous ticking of the clock, and wished regretfully that he was not standing here having this conversation.

Then he squared his shoulders and surprised himself with the conviction of his next demand, considering how he was feeling at the moment.

“We’ll need to make arrangements as quickly as possible.” His only explanation for such resolve was that he knew he had nowhere to go but forward. There were no other choices. “A small wedding will do.”

James glared up at Whitby with quiet abhorrence, then his shoulders rose and fell with a deep intake of breath. He leaned forward and raked a hand through his hair in defeat. “I’ll never forgive you for this, Whitby—for what you have done to Lily.”

Whitby sucked in a slow, difficult breath that made his chest ache. He had never felt like he was dying as much as he did at that moment, as he reflected upon James’s biting words and thought of Lily—dear, sweet Lily, who only wanted his true and genuine love.

But he was a man who had never lived for anyone but himself.

Whitby swallowed hard over the pain in his throat. He did not want to disappoint Lily—
he did not
—but God help him, James was right. Whitby simply did not possess what it would take to make her truly happy, and she was surely going to suffer for it.