Wentworth Castle, Yorkshire
October 1884
With the late-afternoon sun beaming in through the lace
curtains and bathing her room in bright, shiny light, Lily
Langdon sat at her desk, tapping her foot impatiently on
the floor while she tapped her pen in a similar rhythm
upon the letter she was trying to write. She gazed at the
clock on the mantel, ticking away in the silence, while
the sunlight reflected off the silver-and-gold plated
face.
She was anxious and edgy today. She couldn't pretend not
to know why. She knew enough about her own emotions to
understand it. It was the first day of her brother James's
annual shooting party. The guests had been arriving all
day, and in a very short time, she would have to begin
preparing for dinner -- dressing in one of her elegant
gowns and donning heavy jewels.
She'd already chosen the gown for this evening -- her dark
blue satin Worth with the black velvet roses emblazoned on
the hem. She need only select the right earrings to go
with her sapphire necklace. Then she would be ready to
venture downstairs and meet all the guests in the drawing
room.
Lily continued to tap her pen upon her desk, still feeling
frustratingly anxious. It was not something she enjoyed,
mingling in a room full of strangers. Of course, they
wouldn't all be strangers. Her family would be there, and
friends of her family, some of whom she had known
forever ...
Perhaps that was why she was anxious.
A knock sounded. She rose from her desk chair, crossed the
room and opened the door. "Mother ..."
Her mother, Marion, the dowager duchess, stood in the
corridor with her hands clasped in front of her. She wore
a long-sleeved black day dress, buttoned stiffly around
her neck. Her dark gray hair was pulled into a tight bun
at the back of her head. "Lily, I must have a word with
you."
Lily stepped back and invited her into the room.
While her mother gazed around at everything -- the pile of
unfinished letters on the desk, the modern novel lying
open on the bed -- a sense of inadequacy swept through
Lily.
She quickly moved to close the book and turn it over, face
down, wondering if she would ever be able to disregard the
enduring weight of her mother's disappointment in her.
Lily's mother had never understood Lily's romantic nature,
in particular when it made Lily take exception to her
duties, for Marion was a strict, humorless woman, and she
would never even consider questioning her duties.
Marion sat down on a chair, while Lily sat on the sofa
opposite. They gazed at each other uncomfortably for a few
seconds before Marion spoke.
"Lily, as you know, the guests have been arriving
throughout the day."
Lily nodded.
"As it happens, there is a particular gentleman who
arrived not more than an hour ago -- a young man I
encouraged Sophia to invite, as I believe he is a charming
and respectable young man. He is Lord Richard, the Earl of
Stellerton's youngest son."
A youngest son. Lily squeezed her hands together in her
lap. There was a time when her mother would only consider
an eldest son as husband material -- for Lily was after
all the daughter of a duke. But Lilywas twenty-one now,
and not exactly without her share of knocks and scratches.
She suspected hermotherwas becoming desperate.
"How old is he?" Lily asked, grasping frantically for
calm, intelligent questions when all she really wanted to
do was leap out of her chair and say, "I don't want to be
shepherded!"
But she didn't leap out of her chair because she supposed
she did want guidance. She was afraid of trusting her own
judgment when it came to men. She knew how foolish one
could become when blinded by passion, for she had become
infatuated with someone once -- Pierre, a charming
Frenchman with an enchanting accent. That man had
unfortunately turned out to be something very different
from what she had believed him to be. Yet for a brief week
or two, she had fancied herself in love with him.
And then there was Whitby. Always Whitby. But he did not
see Lily as a woman. He saw her as a child or sister. To
hope for something more where he was concerned was
unrealistic and foolish.
So yes, she needed guidance, because she wanted to get on
with her life.
"Lord Richard is twenty-six," her mother replied. "I met
him when he arrived, and I can assure you, he's very
handsome."
Lily lowered her gaze. "You know I don't consider that
themost important quality in a husband."
"Well, you did at one time," her mother said flatly,
revealing the embers of resentment that still smoldered
over Lily's recklessness with Pierre.
Lily wondered if she would ever be able to make up for
that misstep.
"Is he expecting to meet me tonight?" she asked. "Is that
why he came?"
"Yes. Like you, he doesn't enjoy London during the Season,
and he is looking for a quiet country girl."
Continues...
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