Passionate (38 page)

Still, she could not banish the image of his warm brown eyes, nor the surge of pleasure she had felt when he had admired her painting. She knew she had done an excellent job with the flower. His approval should not matter to her.

Lily folded her arms and stared at the twining pattern on her carpet. Why was she thinking of James when Lord Buckley awaited her below to formalize their arrangement? It was beyond foolish.

This was her chance to see that the mistakes she had made in Tunisia did not bring ruin. It was not just for her. Her family’s standing could be jeopardized and Uncle Edward’s discovery tainted by association.

Lord Buckley did not love her. She knew that. She was not sure he was even capable of such emotion, at least for females other than his mother, but he was not such a horrible match. Nothing more than she deserved.

Lily straightened her shoulders and pulled open her door.

As she entered the parlor, Lord Buckley moved from his careful pose beside the marble fireplace and took her hand. “Miss Strathmore. You look charming today,” He was staring at the top of her head.

“Thank you, my lord. Shall we sit?” She indicated the chintz-covered settee.

Lord Buckley dropped her hand. “Of course. Though perhaps I ought to kneel.” He gave his odd little laugh as he settled beside her. “I had hoped to find you at home yesterday. I did promise to call upon you on Wednesday, do you not recall?”

Her gaze darted to the door. “Did you receive my message? I would have liked to be here, but it was imperative that I finish the illustration for my uncle’s monograph. He is presenting it quite soon.”

He frowned. “I must make it clear that I do not approve of this scientific illustration nonsense you are involved in. A future countess has her standing to think of. This type of thing reflects poorly on the entire family.” He patted her hand. “Not that you should stop dabbling. I simply ask that you limit yourself to decorative painting. Science is a man’s work. We wouldn’t want to cause an unnatural imbalance.”

She stared at him, unable to frame a reply. Over the last three days she had spent nearly every waking minute at her uncle’s, first making careful pencil studies of the flower, then applying paint to paper. It was as if she had finally woken from a stupor of the senses and come fully alive again. Now Lord Buckley was asking her—no, commanding her—to abandon the work. He wanted her safely swaddled in a cocoon of what was ladylike and acceptable.

Most women of her acquaintance welcomed that kind of life. They found everything they wanted there. Just look at her mother. Why should Lily be any different? She could almost hear her mother’s voice telling her to accept and be patient. Once established as a countess she would soon learn to manage her husband.
Apply yourself to being agreeable, and then slowly introduce the desired change—quite simple, darling.
Lily shivered.

Abruptly, her attention returned to Lord Buckley. He had obviously taken her silence for acceptance and was in the process of getting down on one knee.

“Wait!” She held her hand up. “Lord Buckley—”

“Now Miss Strathmore. No need to act the shy debutante with me. We are both of an age that can see past such foolishness.” He straightened his trouser leg where it had bunched at the knee. “It has long been our understanding that this moment would come. I trust that I can provide you with every comfort. Give me your hand.”

It would cause such a scandal if she refused him. Yet even now he called her Miss Strathmore. And he had never even tried to kiss her. Lily held out her hand. It trembled.

Seeing that, he let out a soft tsk. “My goodness. You women are quite ruled by your emotions. Your sex needs the firm guidance of a man to steer you through the troubled waters of life. Miss Strathmore, let me be that man.” He cleared his throat. “Will you marry me?”

She closed her eyes. This was the bargain she had made, the promise that had freed her to travel with the expedition, to love, however briefly, and to look into her own soul far more deeply than she ever had before. It was time to seal the bargain.

Her heart beat frantically, like a moth against a windowpane. “Lord Buckley…It would make me, that is, I would be…” The words froze in her throat.

“Yes?” he said encouragingly, his pale blue eyes staring directly into hers. He held her hand lightly, too lightly. The silence in the room was tangible, pressing her into the cushions.

She glanced toward the window. The sun glinted off the summer green of the ancient elms that towered over the garden, daisies flung at their feet like bits of light.

Her chest felt constricted and she could not draw breath. Surely she was not fainting! If only she could breathe.

Look into your heart, bella.
It was suddenly so clear.

Snatching her hand away, Lily jumped to her feet. She dragged in an uneven breath. Sound returned in a rush—the rustle of her skirts, the thrum of her pulse, the sound of hoof beats passing in the street outside. Lord Buckley was still on his knees, dismay in his pale eyes.

“Lord Buckley, I cannot marry you, and—and someday we will both be thankful for it.” She felt dizzy with relief. “Please excuse me.”

Her stride was light as she crossed to the parlor door, leaving him gaping behind her like a beached fish. “But Miss Strathmore—the arrangement. Won’t you even look at the ring?”

She had found her wings and they would carry her away from Lord Gerald Buckley, out of the parlor, out of London as quickly as possible.

It did not take long to pack her valise.

Lily’s mother flung open the bedroom door. Her face was flushed, her lips tight. “Lily! What have you done? Edwin informed me that Lord Buckley departed a short time ago, and that he did not look much pleased. I have a terrible suspicion…”

“You are looking over-warm, mother. Please, sit down.” Lily waited until her mother had settled in a nearby wingback. She had nothing to be ashamed of. And though seeing the pain and disappointment in her mother’s face was difficult, it did not compare to the prospect of an empty life as Lord Buckley’s wife. “Lord Buckley called today, as you surely know, to ask me to marry him. I refused.”

The echo of Baronessa Bellini’s words came back to her.
You have the courage to look into your own heart
. It had taken her far too long to do so. But in the end, she had. She had made her choice and would stand by it with everything she was.

Her mother swayed. “But how could you? After we had planned everything so carefully? How could you be so ungrateful? What of your dreams of marriage? Of holding a title in your own right?” She drew out a silk handkerchief and pressed it to her mouth.

Lily’s throat was tight. “I am sorry to grieve you, but those were
your
dreams, not mine.” She sank to her knees beside her mother. “I don’t expect you to understand, but it was the only thing I could do. I only regret I did not see that sooner.”

Lady Fernhaven clenched the silk tightly and made no reply.

It would take time. And would be easier for all of them if Lily were gone. “I am leaving London,” she said. “Today.”

“You cannot simply leave. Where will you go? To Brookdale Manor? You cannot hide there forever.”

“I don’t expect to—but I need to be there now. Edwin is seeing to the carriage, and I will be departing in a quarter hour. I will send word soon.” She hesitated and nearly reached for her mother’s hand. Lady Fernhaven kept her gaze averted.

“Goodbye, Mother.” Lily rose and retrieved her valise. She closed the door quietly behind her.

Before she could quit town, there was one stop she needed to make.

“I won’t be long,” Lily assured her maid as the carriage drew up in front of the Strathmore’s townhouse. “Just the time it takes to speak with my uncle and collect my brushes.”

Bess sighed. “Very well, miss. I’ll wait here, if you don’t mind.”

The sudden departure had left Bess in a state, poor girl. A half-hour in which to pack for a trip out of London had been short notice, but the maid had risen to the task. As Lily opened the carriage door Bess leaned her head back against the cushions and closed her eyes.

Sir Edward was in the study. He glanced up from his desk, his smile fading as he saw her expression. “Lily. Whatever is the matter?” He was up from his chair and wrapping his arms around her before she could even frame a reply.

Closing her eyes, she leaned into him for a moment, then straightened. “Uncle Edward, I have come to ask a favor. I would like to go to Brookdale for a time.”

“Of course, my dear. We’ll be traveling home next week after I present the monograph. You are more than welcome to join us. You always have a place with us—I trust you know that.”

“I do. Thank you.” She swallowed, grateful beyond words for his solid, accepting presence, for that fact that he would not press her for answers. “I need to go there now. I have…I have rejected Lord Buckley’s suit.”

“Oh dear. I see. Well!” A smile warmed his face. “If it is any comfort, we were quite concerned, your aunt and I, about his suitability—that rubbish about your being unable to paint specimens because you needed to assume your place in society. Indeed! I should have known you would come to your senses. You had us worried, though.” He sobered. “I suppose your mother disagrees. I can see how it might be a bit, er, uncomfortable for you in London just now. By all means, Lily. Go to Brookdale.”

“Thank you. I’ll await you and the family there, although I’m sorry I will miss the monograph’s presentation.”

He patted her hand. “I understand. Perhaps I should send Richard with you? Or Mrs. Hodges?”

“I will not be responsible for making either of them miss your triumph. I’ll be fine. Bess and I have made the journey many times. I’ll just gather up my supplies and go.”

“Safe travels then, my dear.”

Lily kissed her uncle on the cheek, and then hurried down the corridor to the sunroom. She began tucking supplies into her satchel—sketchbooks and paper, pans of paint, her brushes. Afternoon sun slanted in through the mullioned windows, pricking the air with dusty glints of light. She would not reach Brookdale until after dark, but the roads were safe and well-traveled. It was the first step on the journey of her own life. She would no longer have to worry about Lord Buckley. Or Reginald.

Or James.

She placed the last brush with the others in her satchel and took a final look around her. She had everything she needed.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor and Isabelle burst in. “Lily! Father said you were here, but about to leave London. Whatever is going on?” She folded her arms and planted herself in the doorway. “I won’t let you leave until you tell me everything.”

With an exasperated laugh, Lily set down her satchel. “Everything? I think not. The long and short of it is that I refused Lord Buckley’s offer.”

“You did? Your mother must be furious.” Isabelle beamed at her. “I’m so glad. Now you are free to marry James.”

“Whatever put that idea into your head? I will do no such thing. Besides, he has not asked.” But he had, of course. She seemed to be making a habit of refusing offers of marriage. Lily picked up her bag. “I must go. Bess is waiting in the carriage.”

“Wait.” Isabelle stretched her arms across the doorway.

“You can’t mean to leave London just like that. What about James?”

“You seem to have had a change of heart. Wasn’t it you who so questioned his motives that you nearly refused to leave the steamer in Tunis? Well, I have changed my mind as well.”

“I was wrong about him. I started to realize it the day he rescued you from the river. And then…” She shook her head.

“Lily, where have you been? He brought back the flower! He stayed behind even though we all left. If only you had seen father when James returned with the flower. I was wrong, and so are you if you think poorly of him.”

“I do think poorly of him. In fact, I believe I dislike him as much as he despises me. He was more than pleased with the idea that I would marry Lord Buckley. In fact, he encouraged me to do so.”

Isabelle dropped her arms. “Are you certain?”

“Absolutely.” Lifting her chin, Lily stepped past her cousin and headed for the door.

“But Lily…” Isabelle trailed behind her.

Lily paused in the foyer. Fishing a letter from her reticule, she slipped it in with the others awaiting the afternoon post.

“It is all for the best, believe me. Give my love to Aunt Mary. I will see you at Brookdale.”

Chapter 25

His supper tasted like ashes. James shoved the plate away and stood. It was useless. He could not stop thinking of Lily as Buckley’s wife. The man did not know her, could never appreciate her passion. From what he had overheard, it sounded as if Buckley did not even approve of her painting. How could she choose that?

He paced to the door then back to the table. Exactly seven strides each way. His mind went back to his own proposal to her in the wilds of Tunisia. Would it have been different if he had spoken of love instead of duty?

A knock sounded on the door, interrupting his thoughts.

“Mr. Huntington!” Two women stood on the step.

“What the devil?” James blinked in surprise.

“You make a very poor butler, Mr. Huntington. Do invite Miss Isabelle inside. She has something for you.” Mrs. Hodges marched across the threshold with Isabelle in tow, scanning the small room that passed for James’s parlor. The fire still burned in the grate, and he was glad to see that the remains of his supper had been cleared away. Isabelle looked about her curiously.

“What is wrong? Tell me,” he said. The hour was far too late for a social call.

Isabelle glanced at Mrs. Hodges.

“Go ahead, girl, give it to him. Then we can explain.”

Isabelle drew a letter from her reticule and held it out to him. His name and address were written across the envelope in Lily’s angled hand.

James took it slowly, schooling his body, his face, to reveal nothing. The last time he had read a letter concerning Lily it had nearly destroyed him.

“Open it,” Isabelle breathed.

Had Reggie already acted to ruin her? No, he wouldn’t—not before he had gotten his hands on Somergate. And how could the letter contain any worse than what James already expected—that Lily would marry Buckley and be lost to him forever? He lifted a gleaming silver opener from the nearby desk and slit the envelope. The paper rustled as he drew it forth.