One Whisper Away (14 page)

Her dressing gown was a soft blue color that matched her eyes, and she gathered it around her and more tightly cinched the sash. “Because I will still know they are whispering.”

“They whisper about me, apparently,” he pointed out with prosaic firmness, “and it doesn’t bother me enough to affect my life. Let them talk. If my heritage is offensive, then so be it. It doesn’t offend
me
.”

His sister’s lips trembled. It was not much, almost unnoticeable, but he also caught the quiver of her slender shoulders. “You cannot help your parentage.” She swallowed but didn’t look away. “My disgrace is of my own making. It is not at all the same thing. So please, just respect my desire to stay out of the path of the gossips and let me be.”

This was definitely not his area of expertise, but he found himself oddly willing to try in spite of her resistance. “You’ve no dreams of a husband and a family? In my experience most women do.”

“That’s not fair.” Her voice dropped a notch.

“Explain to me how I am not being fair by pointing out the obvious.”

“I don’t wish to discuss this.”

“I do.”

“And you always do as you please.”

He really didn’t want an argument. “No,” he said after a moment. “I don’t. I wish I could. But I have responsibilities, and those preclude self-indulgence. It isn’t just that either. Happiness is a conscious choice. My aunt taught me long ago that spiritual gifts are accepted or refused by how we live our lives. The most impoverished peasant can be delighted by the opening of the first spring flower, and the most wealthy aristocrat can curse the day he was born because of some petty offense to his sensibilities. She is a very wise woman. To achieve serenity we have to view life not as it is measured by the world around us but as we ourselves measure it. We must accept that the scales are not at all equal.”

“That is much easier to say,” his sister informed him flatly, “as a privileged male.”

“It wasn’t at all easy to say,” he responded, “when I knew it would be met with exactly that response. I am not trying to lecture you, just discussing the matter at hand. Are we at an impasse?”

Lillian finally looked away, staring at a portrait above the fireplace. The subject was a young woman, blond and lovely, with a spaniel at her feet, a smile on her perfect oval face.

He recognized the portrait. His father’s second wife. The beautiful Lady Ruthanne had been every inch the English countess. As Jonathan had sensed from a very early age that he was not precisely welcomed in his father’s new household with open arms, he’d never known her well, and as a grown man he understood to a certain extent why. His mother had been first, and by his father’s own admission, she was the love of his life.

Because of that, he could certainly afford to give Lillian some latitude, especially when he could only guess at what had happened in her past because he hadn’t been there. His sister said quietly, “I don’t know if it is an impasse exactly, but we don’t see the matter in the same light.”

A slight exhale preceded his response. “Lily, you don’t make it easy to help you. I want to see to your future. It isn’t just my duty; it has to do with my desire to see you happy. We don’t know each other well, but we
are
brother and sister.”

“We shared a father.” She bristled.

“My point exactly,” he said calmly, not willing to be provoked. She was younger, she was obviously deluded into thinking her future was over, and he wasn’t about to argue about their disparate parentage, since neither of them had had a choice in the matter. “Now, tell me why you refuse to rejoin society. Leave out the gossipmongers. They aren’t worthy of your—or my—attention.”

Lillian stared at him, and then a small, brittle smile curved her mouth. “It is easy, my lord, to look down your nose at the workings of society when, as I pointed out, one is not only a male and an heir but also bound to a course which will take you away from the sphere. I am not so lucky. What happened, happened. It isn’t forgotten, nor did I ever expect it to be.”

“No,” he agreed, crossing his booted feet. “Which is why I wonder who you deliberately sacrificed your future for, since I am willing to stake my life that you were never compromised.”

 

There was one supreme disadvantage to having a brother from America with absolutely no sense of propriety and even less of an inclination to be a true gentleman.

He didn’t tiptoe around asking questions but was instead disconcertingly forthright.

Damn him.

“What do you know of it?”

“Not enough. Care to enlighten me?”

Lily wasn’t sure how to respond, so she settled for a frosty look of pure derision.

Unfortunately, he seemed unmoved. He lounged in the chair—her favorite chair, as it happened—long legs extended, his raven hair loose in careless disarray, his jacket and cravat discarded so the pristine white of his fine linen shirt emphasized his barbaric coloring and accented the imposing width of his shoulders. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said that most of society was reluctant to cross his path. His reputation fascinated the fine ladies and gave the gentlemen of the
ton
pause. Since she had to say something in the lengthening silence, she settled for “No.”

“You are hiding something.”

She was. The perceptive insight was disconcerting.

“You are entitled to your opinion.”

“All I want is the truth.”

Is that
all
he wants?
a self-mocking voice in her head asked.
Just the truth?

Instead of answering him, she looked at the empty hearth, the night too warm for a fire, her spine rigid.

“Stubborn wench,” Jonathan muttered. More clearly, he told her, “Fine. If you refuse to explain to me what happened the night you were supposedly ruined, then I am going to consider the event so insignificant that we will act as if it never happened. From now on, you will attend these affairs with us, understand? Routs, balls, dinners, the whole lot of them. It is ridiculous for you to lock yourself away. From my understanding, your supposed lover has certainly done nothing of the kind but instead married another. If I thought it would do any good I would seek retribution on your behalf, but I suspect it would just make everyone remember the event.”

Even the possibility of that horrified her and she shook her head. “Please . . . Jonathan . . . don’t.”

It was the first time she’d ever in her life used his given name—the same name as their grandfather, the fifth earl. He didn’t miss it either, for his dark brows rose fractionally. “You care that much for the blackguard who by your own admission destroyed your reputation?”

How to answer such a loaded question? Her relationship with Arthur had been so complicated—and yet so simple—that she couldn’t come up with a reasonable response.

“You do not discuss the mother of your daughter.”

“Adela.” Something flickered in his dark eyes. “My daughter’s name is Adela. And no, I do not discuss Caroline.”

That was more information than she’d had before. At least now she knew the woman’s name. Her own disordered life aside, Lillian was curious. His open affection for his daughter had not gone unnoticed by the family or the staff, and truthfully, Addie was an engaging child. It wasn’t deliberate, but Lillian had run into her because it seemed that the little girl was
everywhere.
The day before, they had nearly collided in the hallway and in her ingenuous way, her little niece had coaxed her into a walk in the garden, which had turned into a game of hide-and-seek.

So she did wonder how any woman would have abandoned such a lovely child. She cleared her throat. “You never married her.”

“Just like Sebring never married you.” Her brother smiled, but it was a mere thinning of his lips.

“True.” Lillian could play fair. She exhaled and then said softly, “I would prefer you dropped the subject, and truly, approaching Arthur in any way would be a waste of your time. Just take my word that he regrets what happened as much as I do. But it
did
happen and all the beau monde remembers it. I think it best if I stay as unobtrusive as possible while Carole and Betsy are having their come-out.”

“You do not strike me as a coward.” Her brother’s voice was even, but his dark eyes were very direct. “And your happiness is just as important as theirs. Never undervalue your worth, Lily.”

“I’m doing what is best for my sisters,” she insisted, but there was a tight knot in her stomach that said maybe he was right and she was simply avoiding her future.

Or lack of future. He was right about that as well. Spinsterhood didn’t hold a great deal of appeal. She’d always wanted a husband—one that would adore her, naturally—and children. Having Adela underfoot was a special kind of torture, reminding her of what she was missing. It was a romantic view of marriage, but then again, she was a romantic at heart. Most of the books she devoured transported her to worlds where passion reigned and the heroines met the men of their dreams and their love conquered all the obstacles in their way . . .

But that was fiction, she reminded herself. She’d met her hero and the obstacles had been insurmountable. At the end of their story, they had both been left brokenhearted.

Not all fairy tales had a happy ending. That bitter realization haunted her every single day.

“Let me worry about Carole and Betsy. There’s no reason for you to consider yourself on the shelf.” There was an implacable edge to Jonathan’s voice. “By my existence alone we already are a slightly unconventional family, so I see no benefit in you sitting alone night after night. As you pointed out, no one will get away with insulting you if I am present, so why not enjoy yourself? Men can be obtuse—I won’t disagree with that—but with all our myriad flaws, some of us are not unintelligent. Perhaps you will meet the man who looks past one small incident and values you for the person you are.” He paused. “Unless, of course, you tell me now that you absolutely have no desire to ever marry. In that case, I won’t force you to return to society.”

A part of her was taken aback. Even their father, who was kind and fair-minded, had not shown quite that level of benevolence.

She wanted to lie to Jonathan, to convincingly tell him that no, she didn’t want to become a wife, a mother, and have her own family, her own life.
Happiness.
Yes, she wanted happiness. So she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. Stiffly, she said, “I doubt anyone truly wishes to live out their life alone.”

His teeth were very white as he flashed a triumphant grin. “I was rather hoping you would say that.” Jonathan rose to his feet in one lithe movement. “I am looking forward to escorting all three of my sisters to the next event, and perhaps you can assist Carole and Betsy with their many suitors. James is helpful, but truthfully, I don’t have enough experience to know who is a possible fortune hunter and who might make a very respectable husband.”

He was trying to make her feel useful, and Lily experienced an unwanted twinge of gratitude. Everything about him was foreign, from his deplorable accent to his dramatic dark coloring. For heaven’s sake, the man didn’t even drink tea. But maybe he was more tolerable than she had first imagined.

For instance, he very definitely had her father’s smile.

And oh, how she missed her father.

Their
father.

Her brother left the room and she sat there, quiet, contemplative, wondering if she had just made a grave error. Not for a moment did she think Jonathan’s motives were strictly altruistic. He hadn’t made a secret of the fact that he wished to return to America as soon as all was settled with his affairs in England. She was one of the details that needed to be tidied up, like a meeting with his solicitor, or a discontented tenant. If she married, he could abdicate responsibility for her future to some other male and walk away a free man.

On the other hand, he had proved to be surprisingly insightful, and it was clear that he would defend her honor in the most primitive way possible if need be, so perhaps . . . perhaps they could form some sort of truce.

She suddenly yawned, realizing she was extremely tired.

Maybe tonight she would sleep.

“M
y driver said the wheel was perfectly fine when we left for the ball, but it clearly was damaged in some way. I suppose it’s possible that we hit a hole, but I don’t remember a jolt for the life of me, and he thinks it was deliberately tampered with—”

“I might marry her.”

It was undoubtedly an unfair gambit, but Jonathan was still gratified to be able to startle James enough with the interruption that he dropped his forkful of eggs. “What? Marry who?”

“The duke’s beauteous daughter.”

That really sent James into a coughing fit. When he recovered, he asked, “Have you lost your mind or am I dreaming? I ask because I have a vested interest in the answer. If it is the former, I’ll just take the steps to have you declared incompetent and take over your estate. If it is the latter, I’ll have a good chuckle at my vivid imagination when I awake.”

Jonathan had to laugh. He stirred his coffee, pondering what he would say next, but in the end it was simpler to just be honest. “It is a bit complicated, but be prepared for the announcement of a betrothal. I have contemplated the matter and wonder if it wouldn’t be for the best for both of us if we marry.”

“A marriage usually follows a betrothal, I believe.” James visibly hesitated, and then said, “Not to be argumentative, Jon, for the lady is both lovely and well-bred, but you are going to have to get her father’s approval.”

“I realize that, but Cecily evidently doesn’t think it is going to be a difficulty.”

“That’s . . . interesting.”

“Ah, you seem to disagree.”

“I don’t know the duke well enough to judge, but . . .”