Love According To Lily (21 page)

On the third day, Dr. Trider returned from London with the results, having enlisted the services of the most renowned pathologist in the country. Dr. Trider rubbed his chin and walked to the window in the drawing room, while Whitby sat on the sofa, tapping his foot while he waited rather impatiently.

“I don’t know what to tell you, my lord,” Dr. Trider said, “except that you must have had some form of influenza or perhaps even tuberculosis.” Still looking dumbfounded, he faced Whitby. “I will certainly report this case to my colleagues in London. Perhaps there have been other similar cases.”

Whitby stood up. “So I’m not dying.”

The doctor shook his head. “At least not of Hodgkins. Though I am most decidedly confused by this.” He faced the window again and stared out at the horizon. “If it was influenza, I see no reason why you shouldn’t continue to improve. Otherwise, I just don’t know.”

Whitby realized he was staring blankly at the doctor, and his mouth was open. He could hardly believe this news.

“But you should continue to be monitored closely,” the doctor told him. “You’re still very ill, my lord.”

“Of course. I understand.”

The doctor walked to him and patted him on the upper arm. “But this is good news. Congratulations. Lady Whitby will be overjoyed.”

Still in shock, feeling almost in a daze, Whitby managed to form a reply. “Indeed she will be.”

Lily’s gaze flitted to the door when Whitby entered the breakfast room where she had been waiting with James, Sophia and Annabelle.

Her heart pounded suddenly with apprehension, for despite Whitby’s improvements over the past week, she had been preparing herself for the worst. The doctor had said, after all, that periods of quiescence were not uncommon, so she had not quite been able to let go of the fear that Whitby’s condition would worsen.

Nevertheless she steeled herself, stood up and went to him. “What did he say?”

Whitby gazed down at her with a calm and pleasant smile on his face. “Perhaps we should sit down.”

She frowned, allowing him to escort her back to her place at the table. James, Sophia and Annabelle all waited in silence for Whitby to explain, while Lily herself could barely keep still.

“Well,” Whitby said at last, and Lily could tell he was endeavoring to sound casual about whatever he was about to say.

“What were the results, Whitby?” James asked.

Whitby sat forward and looked at each of them in turn. “It’s good news.”

“Good news?” Lily’s hopes erupted within her. Was he going to live? Was her husband going to live? She was afraid to believe it.

Whitby seemed to be in a state of disbelief himself, and appeared to still be ruminating over what he’d just been told. “The pathologist concluded that whatever ailed me was
not
Hodgkins. It was something else. Dr. Trider is still trying to ascertain what.”

Lily stared blankly at him for a moment, digesting this news, then her whole body shook wildly with jubilation. She sucked in a breath. Whitby was going to live! He was not going to die! She would not be a widow! He would live to see his children grow!

She only then realized that she was panting and smiling brightly from ear to ear.

Whitby, however, was only smiling faintly. Perhaps he was still in shock.

He turned toward James. “I suppose I owe all of you an apology.”

“An apology!” Sophia blurted out. “Good heavens, what for?”

“For causing you unnecessary worries. I was too quick to assume the worst.”

“We were all just as quick,” Sophia assured him. “We heard what the doctor said. It really seemed as if there was good reason to worry, so please do not apologize, Whitby. We are all overjoyed to hear that you will live.”

He glanced uneasily at Lily.

She put on her best smile, to show him that she did not blame him for the mistake, either. Of course she did not. She was thrilled that it was a mistake, positively ecstatic that he was going to live!

He looked away again, this time lowering his gaze to the tabletop.

Then strangely as she stared at him, the joy in her heart began to drain away like water seeping through a crack in a bucket. Trepidation poured in, coursing through her veins like a stream of cold river water.

Was he not happy?

She swallowed hard while James and Whitby talked casually about the mysterious illness and how Dr. Trider intended to investigate its uniqueness.

Lily felt rather displaced from her body. She was only half listening to what they were saying, because her mind was slowly digesting the idea that this meant everything was different. Everything was not what they’d thought it was.

Her eyebrows pulled together. She thought of the past week with Whitby, how it had been both terrible and wonderful at the same time. Terrible because she’d known Whitby could be dying. Wonderful because he had appeared to fall in love with her and had allowed himself to do so unreservedly. He had believed there would not be a future, so he had lived fully in the present.

The future had suddenly reappeared, yet Lily felt as if she had just been shot like a bullet back into the past, when she was simply James’s baby sister, always hanging about. Except that now, there was this small matter of an impulsive marriage between them.

Was this going to make things awkward? she wondered in a panic. Would it be a problem for him?

She swallowed hard over the thick lump of anxiety rising up from her belly, and tried to sit calmly, tried to keep herself from fidgeting or turning pale. It was not so easy, however, when she felt sick to her stomach.

It was all very strange. She would not have expected this reaction from herself upon hearing that Whitby was going to live. She would have expected to feel only joy, nothing else. But she had not anticipated Whitby’s response.

She had not imagined how it would feel to see him avoid her gaze.

Chapter 24

Lily woke from a brief nap when a knock sounded at her door. She sat up groggily in her bed, wondering if it was Sophia. Sophia had wanted to talk to her earlier about the good news, but Lily had wanted to be alone. She hadn’t wanted to discuss the situation, for she didn’t feel ready.

For one thing, she didn’t fully understand what Whitby’s true feelings were, and there was no point speculating about it until she could speak to him directly. All she could do at the moment was tell herself that everything was fine. Perhaps he had just been in shock at breakfast.

The knock sounded again, so she called out, “Come in!”

When the door pushed open, she sat up on the edge of the bed and felt her heart flutter at the sight of her husband.

Yes, he was still her husband, she reminded herself. The news about his illness did not change that, even though so much of what had occurred between them over the past few weeks did not seem real.

Lily watched him with apprehension as he entered the room and closed the door behind him. He did not approach the bed right away. He stood in front of the door and faced her. Lily had to force herself to keep her eyes fixed on him. She was so afraid he was going to tell her they’d made a terrible mistake.

“You disappeared from the breakfast room before we had a chance to talk,” he said with a charming, jovial, heart-stopping smile.

There it was. That magic, playful appeal.

He’s back
, she thought instantly, feeling her heart return from its pathetic rendezvous with self-pity and despair. He was as charming as he had been every night in his bed since they were married, as charming as he was in a drawing room, surrounded by pretty ladies. Did this mean he was not uncomfortable with what they’d done?

“I knew you had to escort the doctor out,” she said. “I assumed you would come to see me when he was gone.”

Whitby did not need to know that she had spent a good amount of time lamenting over the certain fact that he would
not
come to see her, or that she had practically convinced herself that he would never come to see her again.

He walked to the bed where she was sitting, her hands squeezing the edge of it, her feet not quite touching the floor.

She was surprised by the compassion in his eyes as he ran a finger down the side of her cheek. For a long moment he looked at her. He pushed a fallen tendril of hair behind her ear.

Lily’s heart was now racing like a wild stallion. She did not know what to expect. She was still afraid he was going to tell her they’d made a mistake.

“Don’t look so worried, darling,” he gently said, and all the pent-up tension in her body blew away like feathers in a breeze. “Good God, at breakfast, you almost looked disappointed that I was going to live.”

Lily let out a tight breath. “No, Whitby, not at all.”

He chuckled. “I’m only joking. I think I know why you were so serious, and why you’re still serious now. You were afraid I was going to regret marrying you.”

Lily shuddered with both joy and fear—joy because he did understand her—he
did
—and fear that he was about to tell her the truth: that yes, he did harbor some regret over their hasty marriage.

He cradled her chin in his hand and shook his head at her, looking almost amused.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, slightly miffed that he could find her anxiety humorous.

“You,” he replied, bending to kiss her lightly on the lips. “Why is it so impossible for you to believe that I desire you, and more than that, I care for you like I’ve never cared for anyone? Didn’t you see that over the past week?”

Lily stared at him, quite unable to get even the smallest word past her lips.

“No woman could ever mean more to me than you do, Lily,” he continued, “and I will never regret my actions when I was ill. I feel quite the opposite, in fact. I will always be thankful for that brush with death, because it forced me to finally grow up and recognize how precious and brief life is, and how none of us should waste a single minute drifting along, waiting for things to happen or feeling as if we have all the time in the world to do later what we could, and should, do today.”

Lily continued to stare up at him, speechless while her heart pounded in her chest. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. He was speaking to all her fears, as if he had been able to read her mind all morning, while she was lying up here alone in her bed, imagining the worst.

“You don’t regret what we’ve done?” she asked.

He rested his forehead upon hers. “Of course not. It was the best thing I ever did. You’re my wife now, and nothing is more important to me than you and our future children.”

He lifted her chin and kissed her, his tongue sweeping smoothly past her parting lips and into her eager mouth. All her womanly desires sparked instantly into red-hot flames, and she reached up to hold his head in her hands.

“Oh, Whitby,” she whispered breathlessly, dragging her mouth from his and tipping her head back as he kissed her neck. “Make love to me?”

He rose from the bed, looking down at her while he removed his jacket and began to unfasten his trousers. “I had every intention of doing just that when I knocked on your door.”

Then he came down upon her, heavy and warm and so much of a man.

She smiled up at him, though inside her head, she could not stop herself from doubting what was happening.
This can’t be real. It can’t be true. It’s too wonderful. He can’t possibly love me like this
.

He lowered himself upon her, coming to rest snugly between her parted legs while he devoured her mouth. He thrust his hips against her, and she cupped his muscular buttocks in her hands.

He rose up on his hands to free space between them, so she could untie the ribbon on her drawers and slide them down. Lily slid his trousers down, too, while he was still propped up on his hands.

As soon as the way was clear, he lowered his hips between her legs and positioned himself. Lily closed her eyes, as the pleasure of his entry flowed through her like wine.

He made love to her slowly and gently, and without a word as the early afternoon sunlight beamed through the window. Lily tossed her head back and gave herself up to the ecstasy of the moment.

She would
not
let herself think of his behavior in the breakfast room earlier that day, after he’d learned he would be her husband until he was an old man. She was going to forget that. She would
force
herself to forget it. And she was going to enjoy the gift she had been given—the gift of Whitby’s life.

A short time later, Whitby slipped quietly out of Lily’s bed while she slept. He picked up his clothes from the floor and carefully pulled them on, for he did not want to wake her. Shrugging into his jacket, he left the room, closing the door gently behind him.

As soon as he was alone in the corridor, he breathed in a deep sigh of relief at having a difficult chore fulfilled: He had reassured Lily that he had no regrets.

He leaned against the wall and tipped his head back, feeling weary and depleted. He shut his eyes and covered his forehead with a hand.
Jesus
…

He might have reassured her, but dammit, he had also lied to her. He
wasn’t
entirely comfortable with what they’d done, and he suspected that on some level, she knew it.

His chest tightened painfully. What was wrong with him? Now that he was no longer on death’s door, he felt like his feelings for Lily had changed, that the mad passion had diminished, and he felt agonizingly guilty about that.

What the devil had happened? Had he misinterpreted his feelings for her? Had he simply wanted a chance to be more than a lover to someone? To experience what it would feel like to be in love? Had he been swept away by everything, and had it all been a distorted reality?

He raked a hand through his hair. He didn’t want it to be that way, because he
had
felt completely in love with Lily over the past week. He remembered his wedding night, and how he had felt impossibly happy when he’d made love to her. It had been overwhelming, the most passionate affair of his life, and he didn’t want it to end. He didn’t want to feel what he was feeling now.

Pressure
. He was in for the long haul. She could be pregnant with his child at this very moment.

His mother had died giving birth. He still remembered the devastating sound of her screams.

Feeling a sudden wrenching pain in his gut, Whitby slid down the wall to sit on the floor, and rested his forearms on his knees, his hands joined together between them.

It suddenly dawned on him that perhaps he’d also given Lily the illness he’d had. The doctor didn’t know anything about it. It could have been contagious.

A very predictable bout of dread rushed through him, and he had to force himself to suppress those thoughts. It would do him no good to worry about what he could not control. He would simply have to get through it somehow and focus on the positive: at least now he would finally have an heir, and his title would not pass to Magnus.

Whitby took a deep, cleansing breath. He
would
get through this, he told himself. He would get through everything. They were married. He was a husband, and he cared for Lily. He had allowed himself to care, so he would not let her down.

He had done his best today to reassure her, and he would do his best every day for the rest of his life. First thing tomorrow, they would leave for his ancestral home and she would begin her duties as mistress of the house. He had every confidence that she would fulfill that role admirably.

He told himself it would not be so difficult. He would simply be the man she believed him to be. He would be faithful to her and kind to her, and he would treat her with the respect and adoration she deserved. He would make love to her and he would make her
feel
loved. He would do everything in his power to never,
ever
hurt her.

He rose to his feet, took a deep, shaky breath and returned to his own bedchamber to tell Jenson to begin packing for the morrow.

Stepping out of her coach in London, Marion felt a cold raindrop hit her cheek. She lowered her head as she quickened her pace to the front door of Wentworth House.