The Lily Brand (20 page)

“I am fine. Thank you.”

“Fine, fine.” The man nodded. “Well, then, off you go, Ronan. To Hyde Park Corner. And drive carefully.”

An expert crack of the whip above the backs of the two dun horses, and the landaulet jerked into motion. To the left and right, elegant town houses rolled by. When Ronan clicked his tongue at the horses, the landaulet gained speed and soon the gates of Hyde Park Corner rose in front of them. As it was still early in the afternoon, there were not yet many people and carriages crowding to get into the park. They passed through the gates, by a great stately house, and immediately the clean, fresh smell of grass met Lillian. Gratefully, she leaned back in her seat and took a deep breath. This was so much better than being shut inside Ravenhurst’s dreary house all day.

Lillian frowned.

It was not that she disliked the house; the rooms were sunny and snug. Nevertheless, she felt as if for a short and precious time she had escaped from prison.

Her frown deepened.

It had nothing to do with the interior of the house. It had nothing to do with the servants, either; they could not have been nicer or more attentive to her wishes. Still, the overall atmosphere was oppressive, stifling.

She recalled how uncomfortable she had felt the day before, when Ravenhurst’s grandmother had called. How the walls had seemed to draw in on her until Lillian had been ready to scream. How Ravenhurst’s grandmother had ranted at him, had taken him to task as if he were a stupid little boy instead of a grown man who had risked life and limb in service of king and country. How the old woman had scorned him for having fallen into the hands of the French before Waterloo. Lillian remembered that Perrin had frequently rambled on about the glories of the battlefield. Clearly, the grandmother cherished similar views of the war.

Lillian doubted her husband did.

No, there were still shadows under his eyes, weariness written in the lines of his face. She could only imagine how much the dowager countess must have hurt him yesterday. If not even his family gave him their support…

Lillian knew what it felt to be lonely, lost in a world that had stopped making sense. There was no one her husband connected to, except, of course—

“Lady Ravenhurst!”

Lillian looked up.

—his friends.

The men rode matching brown horses that shone with health and care. They even wore matching riding outfits, long beige coats over dark brown jackets and caramel-colored trousers. While Mr. de la Mere’s face showed merely the faintest hint of a smile, Lord Allenbright positively beamed at her. “What a lovely surprise,” he said when he came level with the carriage.

“Be careful, the paint is still wet.” Lillian leaned over the side of the landaulet to throw a glimpse at the drying coat of arms.

“My, my,” murmured de la Mere, “if that isn’t a nice little demi-landau. I could’ve sworn that I saw a similar—”

Whatever else he wanted to say was lost as Lord Allenbright waved impatiently. “Don’t be a pest, Jus! My lady, it is a pleasure to meet you here. Would you allow us to accompany you for a while?”

Surprised, Lillian blinked. “Yes, of course,” she murmured. Yet she could not imagine why they wanted to further their acquaintance.

“Is this not a most beautiful day?” Allenbright continued, his voice as cheerful as his smile. “Normally, London is quite dreadful in autumn, of course, but this year—”

“You
generally
dislike London, Drake,” de la Mere cut in, his brows raised.

“Ah well, all that hustle and bustle and all these odious balls and dinner parties and matchmaking mamas.” Allenbright rolled his eyes, making Lillian giggle. Quickly, she stifled the sound with a hand over her mouth, but to no avail. Allenbright’s green eyes had already alighted on her face. “Ah, that lovely laugh is back!” His pleased appearance grew. “You should laugh more often, my lady,” he said gently. “It becomes you.”

To her consternation, Lillian felt a flush stain her cheeks. She lowered her face and mumbled something unintelligible.

“The next Season is going to be a very dull one, I believe,” de la Mere smoothly interjected. “With both Brummell and Byron gone.”

Allenbright gave him a wry grin. “I am sure the Prince Regent will be happy to provide society with a scandal or two.”

Lillian could not interpret the look the two men exchanged. Their gazes locked and held for a few heartbeats until Allenbright’s eyes fastened on some new marvel.

“Oh, look at that!” he cried, then burst out laughing and nearly fell off his horse.

Mr. de la Mere glanced heavenwards. “Really, Drake! One should think that this is your first visit to London. Remind me next year to keep you locked up at home.”

Still chuckling, Allenbright wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. “Don’t be such a spoilsport.” He grinned. “It’s not every day that I see the Red Dove holding court.” He pointed at the strange assembly on the path to their right.

In the middle of the group, a dark-haired woman sat in her chic little phaeton like a queen, all cast in ruby red to match the upholstery of her equipage. A small red hat was balanced high on her carefully arranged curls, and in the lobes of her ears diamonds glinted in the sunlight. Flitting around her carriage like bees around honey, several men on horse or foot tried to catch her attention. There were men in their forties or fifties, their hair thinned and gray, men in their thirties, of portly inclination, and young men with fresh, flushed faces, their curls as artfully arranged as the woman’s.

“Ah,” Lord Allenbright sighed. “Reminds me of the old days when the Three Graces used to grace the green of this park with their presence.”

“Yes,” his friend agreed, his drawl even more pronounced than usual. “It was great fun to watch all those fellows make complete fools of themselves. Even our great national hero, the Iron Duke himself, became all sappy near Miss Harriette Wilson.”

“Gone, too. Left for France or wherever.” Allenbright heaved another big sigh.

“And how our friends would brag whenever they got an
audience
with Miss Wilson.” De la Mere rolled his eyes.

Allenbright winced. “Goodness, you might have thought she was the queen herself!”

“On the other hand, it’s not very likely they would have wanted to lock lips with the
queen
…”

The two men looked at each other and then dissolved into fits of laughter. Even Ronan the landaulet-driver allowed himself a quiet cackle.

These men were really the strangest of creatures! Her hands primly folded in her lap, Lillian sat and waited for the merriment to subside.

“Oh dear,” giggled Lord Allenbright. “I am sorry, my lady. We probably shouldn’t be talking like this with you present and all… and talking about the goddesses of the demimonde, on top of that.” He had to stop to overcome another burst of gaiety. “Oh dear. Oh-dear-oh-dear. Troy would take us to task for this…” He shook his head, obviously trying to restore his control.

Mr. de la Mere, by now all suave impassiveness again, raised one brow and commented dryly: “In that case, we would blame it all on the Cornish wilderness and lack of civilization. At least dear Troy was not one of the chaps swarming around Miss Wilson’s carriage. So, my lady, you can rest assured that your husband’s foolishness has certain limits.” He gave her a strangely unfathomable smile.

Lillian wondered what he was getting at, yet Lord Allenbright’s restless gaze had already bounced to another object of curiosity. “Oh, look at that!” he cried, as excited as a small boy in a candy shop.

Over the next hour, the two men took turns pointing out the more interesting members of society enjoying outings in the park. There was Lady Bumbleham, who not only had a queer name, but also a tendency to adorn herself with the strangest of hats—hats with generous, wide brims and opulent flower arrangements. On that particular day she even had a stuffed bird nestled among the wilting blossoms. Then there was the Green Man, a gentleman who went around dressed in shades of green. Even his hair had been dyed green, a fate that had also befallen his unfortunate poodle.

“He looks like a wandering fir tree,” Allenbright muttered.

The Honorable Mr. Beran, by contrast, sported the most enormous moustache in all of London, carefully groomed and twirled. A bit further down the path, surrounded by her liveried footmen, her driver and her pale companion, the old Dowager Duchess of Deary sat in her carriage and peered at the world through an overdimensional monocle, which made her look like a strange insect.

Ravenhurst’s friends were charming and courteous, and apparently eager to please Lillian and to make her smile. They enchanted her with their witty humor, their obvious affection for each other and the constant cheerful banter they so much enjoyed. They enquired after the dinner parties she had visited, the balls she had attended. When she told them that she only had been presented at court a second time since returning—this time, not as the granddaughter of the Marquis of Larkmoor but as the wife of the Earl of Ravenhurst—they appeared scandalized.

“What!” Allenbright exclaimed, his clear green eyes round as saucers. “You have spent all these weeks in that town house? But surely you’ve been shopping at least?”

Lillian shook her head. She would not know what to buy anyway, even if she could.

Mr. de la Mere frowned, his gaze far too sharp for her liking, as his next words revealed. “He has forgotten to give you money.”

“Who?
Troy?
Surely he would not—” Allenbright shot a glance at Lillian’s hot face. “Oh.” All at once, his expression darkened. “Sometimes I truly believe he needs a good thump on the head so he stops behaving like a ninnybrain!”

It would be horrible if even his friends criticized him. “Oh please,” Lillian said quickly, “promise me you will not say anything to him about this. It is nothing, I assure you. I am”—she swallowed—“quite happy…”

“And a terrible liar.” De la Mere sighed. “But if you prefer to play the role of the martyr…”

Lillian felt her cheeks grow even hotter. “I beg you, do not say anything to him.” She only could imagine how devastating it would be for him to lose the support of his friends. “The dowager countess called yesterday. My husband’s family is… very hostile, I believe. He needs you.”

De la Mere stared at her, his dark eyes inscrutable. Then he leaned over and took her hand where it rested on the rim of the carriage. “Your husband, my lady, is a blind fool,” he said quietly, and then he bowed low to kiss her hand. Straightening, he said, “But in return, you must allow us to accompany you on your drives through the park.”

“I will gladly promise you that.” Lillian smiled.

“Very well, my lady, then we’ve got a pact.” De la Mere winked at her and released her hand.

“We don’t need to seal it with blood, though, do we?” his friend asked innocently. His question promptly got the desired effect.

“Don’t be
absurd
, Drake!”

Lord Allenbright chuckled. “You’re such an easy nut to crack, Jus!” His eyes twinkled mischievously.

Lillian looked from one man to the other. Their moods were so changeable and erratic in many ways. “But you will look out for my husband,” she pressed.

“Of course. We always do.” For a few moments Allenbright managed to give himself an extremely dignified air. “Just like Achilles and Patroclus.”

He held the pose until de la Mere dryly pointed out, “They were just two. We’re three. I’m afraid your simile is inappropriate.”

And as easily as that they were diverted and happily threw themselves into a heated discussion of classical mythology. Lillian listened quietly, marveling not only at their knowledge, but also at the fact that they could argue in such a merry way.

What was more, they remained true to their word: Each day, they waited for Lillian beyond the gates of Hyde Park and took their rounds with her. So perhaps it was due to their presence that no wounded duelist dared to come close to the Ravenhurst landaulet. When they met early, though—and soon they made a habit of meeting early—she could catch a glimpse of the deer and sometimes a rabbit lolloping across the lawn or munching on a flower.

Meanwhile, though, Lillian saw less and less of her husband. He left the house early and stayed out late, on some days never coming home in between. She knew that his behavior worried the servants; the housekeeper had talked to Nanette about it, perhaps in the vain hope that Lillian might have some influence over the earl.

Nothing could have been further from the truth.

Lord Allenbright and Mr. de la Mere sometimes met him at White’s, they said. He did not gamble, they were quick to assure her, at least not excessively. Mostly he sat in an armchair in the corner and looked all moody and distant. Yet Lillian got the impression that Allenbright and de la Mere did not visit the club that often anyway; something in the atmosphere seemed to make them uncomfortable.

Lord Allenbright, however, obviously enjoyed shopping. He could tell Lillian where to find the best snuffboxes—as if she needed a snuffbox—the best and most beautiful fabrics, the sturdiest walking sticks, the shiniest hats, the most delicate jewelry, and the most delicious cakes.

One day, he came to the house before they were due to meet in the park and gave Finney a parcel for her. It contained the most beautiful paisley scarf Lillian had ever seen. When she tried to explain to him later that day that she could not possibly accept his present, he just grinned and waved her objections aside. “It’s all the rage at the moment, I assure you. And if Ravenhurst is stupid enough to call me out over this, I will just tell him that in the future he should buy the presents for his wife himself. Do not worry so, my lady. Nobody needs to know, do they?”

Chapter 12

One morning, just as Lillian prepared for her daily drive in the park, Finney came panting up the stairs and knocked on her door. “My lady,” he gasped through the wood, “you’ve got a visitor.”

“If it is Lord Allenbright—”

“No, my lady, it is the Viscount Perrin.”

Lillian laid down her gloves and opened the door. “Viscount Perrin, you said?”