The Lily Brand (19 page)

Yet, what made her husband who he was?

Despite all the evenings Lillian spent in the library, the answer to that question remained elusive. She witnessed her husband’s reserve even with his best friends, even when he lost the veneer of social politeness. It seemed to her that Ravenhurst resembled a tiny snail that never really left his protective shell. It was understandable, under the circumstances, yet she suspected that such a life would prevent him from ever healing properly.

Everything needs balance.

Nanette had taught her to heal, and still… still, the enchanted castle would forever remain locked within its spell; the sleeping prince would never wake up, and the beast would never be transformed. For how could her husband forgive what had happened to him? How could he forgive the theft of his soul?

Lillian sighed.

When depression threatened to weigh her down, she went outside to wander alongside fields, through meadows and below trees, to harvest what nature offered freely. Day after day, week after week, she would come back to the Hall, her basket full of flowers, herbs and blossoms so the supply would last over the winter.

Until one day, when the corn on the fields was golden and almost ripe and the rose hips were almost ready to be picked, Lillian came home and found Nanette earnest-faced. “Lord Ravenhurst wants to return to London,” the old woman said. “And you are to go with him.”

Lillian schooled her features into nonchalance. “I see. And when does he want to set off? Next week?”

There was pity in Nanette’s kind eyes. “Tomorrow,
chou-chou
.”

Lillian swallowed. “I see.”

“It was to happen sooner or later, you know.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Lillian turned away. She would have thought he would prefer to spend the autumn and winter in the country, and only return to Town in spring. She had thought to see the apples ripen, to watch the harvest on the fields, to wave the birds good-bye when they started their journey to the south. But it was not to be.

Lillian closed her eyes.

The summer idyll was over.

PART IV

All precious things, discover’d late,

To those that seek them issue forth;

For love in sequel works with fate,

And draws the veil from hidden worth.

—Tennyson,
The Day Dream

Chapter 11

After the lush green of the countryside, London seemed gray and dreary. The smells of the streets, the smoke that stung one’s eyes and nose, the noise of the carts and carriages, of the people and the animals, came together in a shrill symphony of discord and made Lillian yearn for the peace and quiet of the gardens of Bair Hall.

She missed not just the gardens, but the house, too, that vast, empty building where she had not met her husband for days or even weeks. In London, by contrast, they lived in a narrow town house, too small for her to keep out of his way, to stay hidden in shadows. Time and again she was thrust into his presence, was confronted with the signs of strain and weariness on his face. As tall and dark as he was, always impeccably groomed, Lillian still saw traces of the man in the prison cell, the man chained to Camille’s construction.

Every time she met him on the stairs or entered the breakfast room when he was still taking his coffee, her heart would constrict in her breast, a funny, little pain, which for a moment would cut off her breath. He would look up, his eyes so blue, those same eyes she had seen clouded with pain, and then he would pretend to look through her as if she were not there. Yet he never succeeded very well. His eyes would become all stormy, his lips compress into a thin, tight line, deepening the grooves that bracketed his mouth. He looked old and haggard then, and the pain inside Lillian would intensify until she wanted to cry and scream.

Of course, she never did.

Instead, she witnessed his pain in silence, a penance for the hurt she had inflicted upon him all those months ago.
Her responsibility…
While at the Hall she had been able to flee into the gardens and the fields, here in London she had nowhere to go. She could not roam the streets on her own; she had no friends to visit; she was stuck in the house, was stuck in the churning of shame and guilt.

How she missed the easy chatter of Aunt Louisa and the quiet presence of her grandfather! Nanette urged her to sit down and write a letter to her family. “You should have done so weeks ago,” the old woman said. “But, of course—”

“Yes,” Lillian said quickly. She did not want Nanette to worry more than necessary. Nanette had taken up again her work for the sick and the poor, sewing blankets, knitting socks and scarves. In the afternoons that dragged so endlessly along, Lillian would sit down with her in the morning room to knit, to sew, to create things that would keep other people warm in the winter to come.

But she also wrote the letters to her family. Her grandfather would spend the autumn and winter at Abberley House before he would return to London for the opening of Parliament. Aunt Louisa stayed with her eldest daughter, who was coming down with her fourth child, and asked Lillian to light a candle in church for mother and babe. So Nanette went with Lillian to a small church nearby, a Catholic one, where they lit a candle at the feet of a smiling Mother Mary and her chubby baby son.

~*~

During their second week in London, the Dowager Countess Ravenhurst honored Lillian and her grandson with a visit. Clad all in black, she sat enthroned on the only chair in the drawing room and watched with eagle eyes as Lillian poured tea. Calmly, Lillian passed her a cup and tried not to notice the proximity of her husband’s body beside her upon the settee. He sat near enough, though, for her to feel the heat radiating from him and to be enveloped in the alluring scent of sandalwood and oakmoss.
Such a lovely smell.

He cleared his throat. “We are very happy, granddame, that you’ve found the time to call.”

The old woman sniffed disdainfully. “It is a disgrace, Ravenhurst, that you chose to return to your bachelor lodgings instead of moving into Ravenhurst House.” She pierced her grandson with a withering glance. “I told you I would move out if need be.”

“And I told you that this would not be necessary.”

“Do not talk rubbish, Ravenhurst!” Her thin nose quivered. “Not necessary? How do you plan to entertain in this… this
house
?”

Tension radiated from his body, and Lillian felt her own muscles stiffen in sympathy. “I did not realize that entertaining would be part of the obligation,” he said through gritted teeth.

Obligation?
From underneath lowered lashes, Lillian risked a glance at him. His face was granite, his jaw set; in fact, he did not look happy at all to see his grandmother—and small wonder, if all she did was berate him. Could she not see how desperately he needed her support and understanding?

“I do not know what has come over you, Ravenhurst!” the old woman snapped. “The way you behave I could almost believe that your cousin is right and that you have truly lost your mind!”

It was only for her years of exercising self-control that Lillian managed not to flinch. How could the Dowager Countess speak in such a way to her grandson? Lillian’s heart ached for her husband, who did not deserve such cruelty. Had he not been hurt enough in the past? The tip of the branding iron pressing against his skin, the smell of scorched flesh…

Her responsibility.

“Granddame—”

“Be quiet, Ravenhurst! I have not brought you up to bring shame over the family name time and time again!” The corner of her mouth turned down, making the woman look even older, like the witch in the fairy tale. “After you destroyed your cousin’s happiness and after all the scandal, the least you could do is to make some sort of effort. You have lived as a recluse long enough.”

Lillian looked up. In the past few months she had seen enough hurt inflicted upon this man, and now she’d had enough. “But Lady Ravenhurst, do you not think that after all the years at war, Lord Ravenhurst has deserved some months of rest?” Her voice rang loud and clear in the sudden silence of the room. She made herself smile at the old woman, whom she would have happily thrown out of the house.
If I were the real mistress…

Her outburst earned her a look of contempt. “And what would
you
know about it, young miss? Years at war? He went and got himself imprisoned in some nameless village in France. It is time now that he acted like a man instead of—”

“Lady Ravenhurst.” Lillian stood, her back straight, her hands clenched into fists to keep them from trembling with anger. “I have just remembered that I have urgent business with my dressmaker to attend. I am sure you know how it is.” Her smile sweet, she looked the old woman straight in the eye.

The Dowager Countess raised one white brow. “Well, what is this? This is most unusual, young woman. I am not used to such inconsiderate behavior.” Her eyes narrowed. “But then, what can one expect from a young miss who encouraged one cousin and had her merry way with the other? In any case,” she turned to her grandson, “you will have to throw a ball for her so that there won’t be any talking. And she needs a carriage. People will wonder if she does not go out for a drive.”

Lillian lifted her chin. “You can rest assured, my lady, that I have no wish for either a carriage or a ball.”

“Your wishes, young woman, are of no concern here. I will not sit by and see how the family goes to ruins because of a flimsy young miss.”

“Granddame, this is quite enough,” Ravenhurst said stiffly. “You were in favor of this marriage.”

“In order to curb the scandal!” The old woman rounded on him. “Have you any idea how your poor cousin suffered? I would not have thought you so selfish as this, Ravenhurst. I am
displeased
, very much displeased.” With that, she stood and swept out of the room.

They heard how she hailed the butler on the stairs to bring her pelisse and call the coach. The high-pitched voice echoing in the hallway made Lillian shiver.

“That was not very clever,” Ravenhurst said. Lillian turned to look at him. He had crossed his arms in front of his chest, his face dark and brooding. “She would have supported you in society.”

Lillian squared her shoulders. “I do not need her support.”

“You could have used it.” His mouth curled into an ugly sneer. “It was not wise to rouse her enmity.”

Lillian calmly held his gaze. “I have lived with worse,” she said. “As you well know.” And with that, she left, before the feelings of guilt and shame engulfed her wholly.

~*~

The next afternoon, while Lillian and Nanette sat in the small drawing room, both of them knitting, the door opened to reveal the rather red face of the butler. “My lady, the carriage,” he said in dignified though slightly breathless tones.

“The carriage? Which carriage?”

“Why, your carriage, of course, my lady.”

Nanette’s needles kept clicking merrily, even when she looked up to glance at Finney. “Now, don’t talk in riddles, Fred.”

At the butler’s longsuffering expression, Lillian had to bite her lip to prevent it from twitching betrayingly. Some days ago, Nanette had cured Finney of his aching back, and since then he had been putty in the old woman’s hands.

“My Lady Ravenhurst’s new carriage is waiting in front of the door,” he elaborated. “Please, my lady, you have to drive through the park in it, else the dowager countess will hear and then we’ll all be well and truly cooked.” A fleeting look of despair crossed his kind, blotchy face.

“A drive in the park. What a lovely idea. Don’t you agree,
chou-chou
?” Nanette gave Lillian a wide smile, obviously all in favor of the new carriage.

Of course she would be. Lillian suppressed a sigh. Time and time again, her old nanny had implied how much she wished for Lillian to have a “normal” life. Yet after the delights of the Ravenhurst lands, a drive through a park seemed very tame. Nevertheless, Lillian forced herself to smile and say: “Very nice, indeed.”

“Good, good.” Finney gave an audible sigh of relief. “The carriage can depart whenever you are ready, my lady.”

“You should change into something more stylish,
chou-chou
.” It seemed to Lillian that even Nanette’s knitting needles had taken on a merrier sound. “And don’t forget your parasol!”

Fifteen minutes later, Lillian walked down the stairs to the town house entry. She had not changed her muslin dress with the floral print, which she liked very much, yet she had taken great pains to tame her wild curls so that only a few would fall from underneath her bonnet and tickle her cheeks. A reddish brown spencer jacket and gloves completed her outfit. Her frilly white parasol dangled from her arm and slapped annoyingly against her legs with each step she took.

How she wished she were back at Bair Hall.

Yet for the butler’s sake, Lillian plastered a smile on her face and stepped out of the door as if the prospect of a drive through a park was the most exciting thing in the world.

Officiously, Finney handed her into the shining black landaulet. “Be careful, my lady, the print of the coat of arms on the doors is still wet, I understand. We have put the back down as it is such a beautiful day today. I hope this meets with your approval, my lady.”

“Yes, thank you.” Lillian made herself comfortable on the soft, sandy-colored leather seat.

“And this, my lady, is Ronan, your driver.”

The tall, pale man on the driver’s seat turned around to bow. “At your service, my lady.”

“Lovely,” Lillian said.

“May I suggest a ride through Hyde Park, my lady?” Finney went on. “It is quite beautiful and safe—if you beware of the duelists and the deer.” He threw a look at her driver. “And as I am sure Ronan will beware of the duelists and the deer, there is no need for disquiet, my lady.”

“I am sure there is not,” Lillian agreed.
Duelists and deer?

Finney’s worried eyes swiveled back to her. “Are you quite comfortable, my lady? Will you need a pillow or a blanket for your legs?” Now that he finally had her inside the carriage, the butler seemed reluctant to let her go.